Bitter Sweet (21 page)

‘It’s like a triangle; he’s to the north at the apex.’

‘Check with Mike, is he stationary?’

Mike confirmed that Erjon was holding position on Spencer Street.

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘he’s waiting to close us in.’ I checked the mirrors again. ‘The M3 has just joined Faraday.’

Ivonne glanced in the nearside mirror. ‘It’s well back.’

‘Don’t suppose that phone can plot relative positions?’

‘What?’

‘Like a chart plotter.’

Ivonne shook her head. ‘Not likely.’

‘Too much to expect
, and anyway you’d have to keep inputting the locations of Erjon and the M3. Mike’s our best bet.’

Faraday Road ran into Tower Street and the traffic began to flow faster. Still I couldn’t overtake and neither could the M3.

‘Erjon’s position?’

Mike’s voice boomed through the cars telling us that Erjon was immobile on Spencer Street.

‘He’s waiting for something,’ Ivonne said.

‘He couldn’t know we’re headed for the refuge?’

‘Anything is possible,’ Ivonne said, disbelievingly.

‘How far to the refuge?’

Ivonne checked the satnav on the phone. ‘One point five miles.’

‘Do we stay on this road?’

‘No, there’s a right turn coming up on to Howard Street, then left on to the Bradford Road—’

‘Does that narrow the distance to Erjon?’

Ivonne’s fingers moved over the face of the phone. ‘On Howard Street, yes. If he stays put on Spencer, then, when we reach Bradford Road the gap widens.’

I checked on the M3; it was still back there. Either the driver had tired of aggressive overtaking and bullyboy tactics, or he was content to wait for an opportunity to close the distance, or Erjon was waiting to head us off.

Whatever, at that moment I knew my 330D in topaz blue was a disadvantage. A white van or some sort of common-or-garden car and we’d be less easy to spot. 

I turned right on to Howard Street and the opportunity to overtake presented itself. I didn’t hesitate.

‘At the light turn left,’ Ivonne instructed.

With three cars ahead of me, I cruised towards the light which was red. Before I braked to a halt, the light changed to green. I put on my indicator and sped around the corner on to Bradford Road. One look told me I was back on a busy thoroughfare, and it had a bus lane – not good. I had no choice but to take the bus lane, the M3 would do so immediately and close the gap.

Second gear, third gear, eighty-miles-per-
hour, the traffic on the right flashed past in a blur.

Mike’s voice on the hands-free phone distracted me and I eased off the accelerator. Erjon was on the move, confirming what I had suspected, but had been consciously ignoring.   

‘What should we do?’ Ivonne asked.

‘Do a U-turn?’

‘And go where?’

‘That’s the catch. And there’s no going back, Erjon knows by now, without a shadow of a doubt
, that the girls are with us.’

‘Can we make it to the refuge?’ Ivonne asked, turning to look at me.

We zoomed up behind a bus; I slowed the car and nipped across into the right-hand lane.

‘Distance to the refuge?’

Ivonne checked the satnav. ‘One mile to go.’

‘Ask Mike which direction Erjon has taken.’

The answer came back fast, and whilst Ivonne compared the direction of travel against ours, I checked in my mirrors for the M3. It was back there, racing along the bus lane. I overtook the bus and powered up the inside.

‘Show me the route to the refuge.’

Ivonne held the phone in front of my face. I bit my lower lip – it could be done.

‘I can’t make the decision alone,’ I said. ‘This is a death or glory ride.’

‘There will be no glory,’ Ivonne said, quietly. ‘And if we don’t make it, death might be the better option.’

For a moment I concentrated on the road ahead, not wanting to think about what might happen if we didn’t make it.

‘Mike will get you a good lawyer,’ Ivonne said. ‘He promised, and he’s the type of guy who keeps his word.’

‘On the other hand,’ I turned my head to look at Ivonne; our eyes met, ‘we’ve come this far. And good lawyers are always available.’

Ivonne grinned. ‘Shall we?’

‘Let’s do it,’ I said, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

It was time to really burn some rubber. I put the auto-box into third and blasted along the bus lane.

‘Slow it down,’ Ivonne said. ‘Right turn coming up.’

I braked hard, orientated myself and moved into a gap on the right. For once the lights were with us; I followed the traffic right, on to North Road, immediately took the bus lane and floored it.

‘What’s the distance to the refuge?’

‘Nought point seven miles.’

‘The satnav showed Talbot Street towards the end of this road?’

‘That’s right,’ Ivonne said.

‘I want to cut left before we reach it and come in on one of the side streets.’

‘Okay.’ Ivonne looked down at the phone.

‘There is a bus ahead. Can I go left
now
?’

‘Yes,’ Ivonne said
, looking up.

I put the car into second, braked hard and checked my mirrors. There it was
, coming around the corner, the M3.

‘Your choice,’ Ivonne said. ‘Any street on the right will do.’

Mike voice resounded over the hands-free phone; ‘Where are you?’

‘On Weir Street,’ Ivonne said.

‘Get out of there,’ Mike commanded. ‘Erjon’s less than half a mile from you. And you’re headed in his direction.’

I spun the wheel hard right and powered around a corner, entering a narrow side street.

‘We’re now on King Street,’ Ivonne said into the phone.

‘Christ no,’ Mike yelled. ‘It’s a trap! Get out! Go back!’

I heard the panic in his voice and scanned the street, half expecting to see the other black BMW from last night racing towards us.

‘Where is he?’ I yelled at the phone.

‘He’s
on
King Street.’

I narrowed my eyes searching for a black BMW.

‘There is nothing,’ I yelled at the phone, and started to scan the pavements.

‘For God’s sake, T
ina,’ Mike voice boomed through the phone. ‘Stop being stubborn. Go back!’

I was fast approaching  a street on my right. A white VW bus was at the corner, indicating to turn left in our direction. I slammed my fist down on the horn.

The VW bus moved forwards, half blocking the road.

‘Bugger that.’ I rammed my fist back down on to the horn.

The driver didn’t react.

‘Oh fuck.’ The driver was staring at me.

One flash of realisation. ‘Oh fuck.’

I slammed on the brakes and looked in the mirror.

‘Oh fuck.’ The M3 was close behind us.

The ABS juddered. ‘We’ve had it, Ivonne.’

The VW bus completed the turn, positioning itself in the middle of the road.

Mike’s voice boomed; ‘
T I N A
.’

I braked to a stop. Automatically, I engaged reverse. Two men jumped out of the bus, carrying wheel wrenches, Erjon leading. They sprinted towards us.

I checked the rearview mirror. ‘Fuck.’ The M3 was tight up against my back bumper. Its doors flew open. The driver and the thug sprang out.

Erjon reached my door, the wrench held high. He swung the wrench at the driver’s window. The glass shattered. I screamed. The wrench hit my head and everything went blank.

Part IV

18

I was drifting, not wanting to pay attention to my senses, not wanting to surface into consciousness. It was safe here, the discomfort was not acute, it was a dull presence, one which could be ignored; self-deception told me it would go away, in time.

I was wrong, and I knew I was wrong; the discomfort increased, reality was inexorably drawing me to the surface into the physical world of existence.

On the surface there was daylight, not much, but all the same daylight, and a headache. No the headache already existed, here, centred on the right side of my head, but up there I would exposed to its full force.

I turned my head away from the light, ignoring the feel of a rough surface on my cheek, attempting to remain in the comforting embrace of ignorance. The movement, however, allowed further physical messages to reach my brain; my arms felt numb, and with the slight shift of my body my left arm began to tingle with pins and needles. The sensation increased. Flexing my muscles would ease the feeling and circulate blood. My brain sent the signals to my arm. Wow, it was completely unresponsive; my arm would not move.

Disquiet bloomed. I ordered my arm to move; it did, but only a little. Something was restraining my hand.

I tried to roll on to my back. Ouch, both hands registered the hard surface. I tried again, this time resisting the jolt of pain which shot through my hands as my body weight bore down on them. The pain rushed to my brain. The physical response mechanism came fully alive – my feet were bound together.

I surged for the surface, breathing hard, my heart pumping.

I sat up and opened my eyes. Oh shit! 

‘T
ina!’ Ivonne said. ‘Slow down.’

I took a deep breath.

On the other side of the room sat Maria, Olga and Yana. The look of sadness and fear in their eyes was chilling. Their backs were against the wall, their arms folded awkwardly behind them. However, their legs were not bound together. I glanced down at my ankles; they were secured with cable ties. Then I turned my head towards Ivonne, who was sitting on my side of the room, and looked at her ankles – no cable ties.

‘What’s with the cable ties?’ I asked.

‘After that stunt of yours in the station,’ Ivonne said, ‘they must think your legs are dangerous.’

I grunted and took a closer look at Ivonne. The mascara around her eyes was smudged, highlighting the concern and worry in her bloodshot eyes.

‘We didn’t make it,’ I said, curling my lips into a pout.

‘No, we didn’t.’

We stared at each other. We’d made the decision together and we both knew we weren’t appointing blame. It was a moment of mutual introspection.

‘How are the girls?’ I whispered.

Ivonne frowned. ‘Not good. The malevolent looks they got from Erjon and his cronies were scary enough. When we got here the yobs with evil grins on their faces slapped them about.  Then Erjon came in and said something to the girls. That’s when they clammed up with fear. What was said they haven’t told me.’

‘Shit. They haven’t said
anything
?’

‘They wanted to know if you were still alive. Otherwise they’ve withdrawn into themselves.’ Ivonne smiled at them. Maria made a mopey face. Olga and Yana just stared at us, fear in their eyes.

‘Anyway,’ Ivonne said. ‘How’s your head?’

‘Sore.’ I shrugged. ‘Do you know where we are?’

‘On the edge of some industrial estate to the north of the city. It was difficult to see anything from the back of the van.’ Ivonne shuddered. ‘The windows were blacked out and we were all made to sit on the floor.’

I sucked my lower lip. ‘Means no one knows where we are?’

Ivonne nodded.

‘Not even Mike.’ I looked around the room. There was a metal door to my right. The room was about five metres by five. At some stage the block-work walls had been white, now they had yellowed with time and were scraped and dirty. A window was set high up in the wall to my left; it was narrow and rectangular with metal bars on the outside.

‘Did you try the door?’ I asked Ivonne.

‘Didn’t need to, heard the key turn and the bolts sliding home.’

I took another look at the door; the hinges were on the inside. Could they be popped open? But with what? The room was bare, just a battered metal dish lying on the floor in the corner, and no toilet paper – great.

I studied the window – too narrow, not even Yana would be able to squeeze through, metal bars or not.

Could I, if I stretched my arms down as far as possible, slide my hands under my bum and then wiggled my legs through? I’m sure I’d see it done in a film. I rolled on to my side and pushed my hands as far down my back as they would go – impossible, you’d have to be a conjuror or have arms the length of an orang-utan.

I pulled my feet towards me, drew them under my bum and just managed to make it into a squatting position. Then I forced myself on to my feet and
, using the wall for support, stood up. I had to lean against the wall waiting for the throbbing in my head, caused by the exertion, to subside.

I had always been good in school at the sack race. However, with my arms restrained behind my back, balance would be an issue. I took the first tentative hop – so far so good. Keeping my knees bent, it took me five hops to reach the window. My eyes were almost level with the window ledge, enough to discern that the casement stay was bolted down. The window frame sat secure in the block work and there was no way, without tools, of removing the handle of the casement stay. I had hoped its metal edge might have functioned as a saw.

I leaned against the wall, hiding my disappointment
, and to recover as each physical exertion sent pain shooting through my head.

As the pain receded to a dull throb, I looked around the room seeking anything that could be used as a cutting edge. The metal pan might be an option; however its rim was rounded. I studied the door, could the hinges be used? I hopped across the room and reached the door; one look told me the hinges were no use.

The throbbing in my head eased and I turned and leaned my weight against the door frame. My hands touched the rough surface of the blocks. Idiot. I twisted my hands within the cable tie, exposing as much of it as possible, and began to saw the tie against the edge of the blocks forming the door reveal.

Jeez, with little vertical play, my muscles were soon on fire. I kept going, the
burning sensation in my muscles increased and my arms began to twitch and shiver.

‘Ouch!’ I had scraped my wrist against the cement edge of the blocks and felt droplets of blood running down into the palm of my right hand. I gritted my teeth, ignored the burning pain in my wrist and continued to saw the cable tie against the rough edge.

My arms weakened with the constricted movement. The burning feeling in my muscles became excruciating. I stopped and saw four sets of eyes focused on me. I smiled wanly. 

Ivonne stood up. ‘Let me have a look how you’re getting on.’

I turned and faced the door. Ivonne bent down and inspected the cable tie.

‘It’s working,’ she said. ‘Keep at it, you’re halfway.’

I groaned. My head was throbbing and my arms were weak. ‘Ah well, it’s good training for the arm muscles.’

I turned back, splaying my fingers over the rough edge of the reveal.

‘Ivonne,’ I said. ‘Try and see if the plastic is on the same spot.’

Ivonn
e went down on her knees. I pushed my bum away from the wall and Ivonne eased her head into the gap.

‘A little towards me,’ she said.

I moved my hands fractionally.

‘That’s it.’

This time I sawed more methodically, using my legs to move my body up and down. After a while I had to stop.

‘Something wrong?’ Ivonne asked.

‘A bit dizzy. Take another look, would you?’

I pushed off the wall and Ivonne examined the plastic of the cable tie.

‘Not much to go,’ she said, and then helped reposition the plastic. Finished she stood up and moved to the door reveal to my right. ‘Time for me to have a go.’ She positioned her hands against the rough edge and began to saw at the tie.

She flashed me a smile and I set to with renewed enthusiasm.

It wasn’t long before the plastic parted and my hands sprang free with the sudden release of pressure.

‘Done it!’ I exclaimed, half laughing.

‘Nice one,’ Ivonne said, smiling.

I flexed my hands and then carefully examined
, with my fingertips, the lump on the right side of my head created by the wheel wrench. It was exceedingly tender. I reckoned I was lucky that the skin had not broken, or for that matter, that the damn thing hadn’t cracked my skull open.

I inspected the graze on my wrist; the blood had already congealed. I hopped away from the wall, wind milling my arms, enjoying the freedom of the movement and the chance to stretch tense
d muscles. The girls watched me with smiles on their faces.

‘I’ll free my feet,’ I said to them, ‘then it’ll be your turn.’

I hopped back towards the door and lay down on my back with my bum against the edge of the reveal and my legs pointing upwards towards the ceiling. I positioned the cable tie securing my ankles against the rough edge of the reveal and attempted to saw at it. It was not as easy as I had thought. If my ankles came too far down, the angles changed and the plastic tie lost contact with the edge.

After a few attempts, I tried using my hands to push my bum off the ground, allowing for the tie to remain longer in contact with the edge. It worked, after a fashion, more of a ripping than a sawing action.

Ivonne’s cable tie parted. She came over and held my ankles steady, focusing the movement on to an exact spot on the plastic.

With the combined effort the tie soon parted. I rolled on to my side and stood up. All the physical exercise must have flushed fresh blood through my system as the dizziness was gone and the throbbing pain had receded to a dull ache.

A few warming-up exercises confirmed, to me at least, that I had not incurred any lasting injury.

‘Who’s first?’ I asked looking at the Maria, Olga and Yana.

They looked at each other, the uncertainty and fear returning to their eyes. Yana rolled on to her side in preparation to stand up, surprising me. I had assumed that Maria was the leader. But then, Yana had witnessed what I had done to the yob in the railway station and maybe that had given her reason to believe that I could get us out of here.

‘I’ll go first,’ Yana said.

‘No, Yana,’ Maria said. ‘It’s not wise. They’ll be back, you know what they said.’

Yana sat down.

‘What are you talking about?’ I asked. ‘What did they say?’

Maria glanced rapidly in every direction, except towards me.

‘Tell me what they said!’

Still no answer. I turned to Ivonne. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know. It’s whatever Erjon said to them.’

At the mention of Erjon’s name, Maria shook her head.