Danny Dempsey and the Unlikely Alliance (22 page)

‘Now, Mr. Dawson, if I could impose on your attention for a few moments,' Myles continued, his voice soft and soothing, his expression one of sincerity and reassurance. ‘You do recall my mentioning my promise to you regarding your granddaughter's welfare?'

‘Which,' Matthew retorted sharply, ‘I deem to be entirely worthless coming from someone such as yourself!'

‘I believe you've expressed those sentiments before, Mr. Dawson,' Myles replied, totally unruffled at the insult. ‘They become rather tiresome with too much repetition.' He held up a hand to forestall whatever further slur Matthew was about to cast in his direction. ‘Please contain yourself, if you'd be so kind. What you are about to observe will convince you I'm most certainly a man of my word.' He snapped his fingers commandingly. ‘Mr. Tattoo, if you will! Step forward so that Mr. Dawson may study you in every detail.'

Matthew was about to demand an explanation, but, in spite of himself, felt a tinge of fear as Teddy came and stood in front of him, his expression as impassive as a sphinx. ‘Now, Mr. Dawson, you will agree Mr. Tattoo's features are distinctive? Once seen, hardly likely to be forgotten? Certainly not by an intelligent, observant man such as yourself? Please be kind enough to concur. After all, this
is
in connection to the welfare of your granddaughter. Surely that deserves a response to my questions .'

Matthew didn't know what it was all about, but hearing Lily mentioned yet again in connection with these odd goings-on, he decided it best that he cooperate, if only to find out what exactly all this had to do with her. He remained stony-faced as he circled Teddy, taking in the vivid images all over his chest, back and arms. He took another while studying Teddy's unblinking face, thinking to himself that even if he wanted to, he'd never be able to forget this titan of a man with the physique of Hercules, and the body-paintings of a particularly bizarre art-gallery.

‘Well, Mr. Dawson?' Myles all but purred when Matthew had completed his inspection.

‘I don't know what this is all about,' Matthew replied, still prepared to display a modicum of defiance. ‘But, yes, I agree. I wouldn't have the slightest difficulty in recognising this muscle-bound minion of yours again.'

‘Excellent, Mr. Dawson. Now please seat yourself, if you will.' Myles answered amicably, then did likewise himself in the opposite armchair. ‘You may proceed, Mr. Tattoo.'

Teddy nodded obediently, then went and stood in the centre of the room, facing Myles, his back to Matthew. He knelt and carefully placed the drinking-straws in an upright position on the carpet, two to the left, two to the right, with approximately twenty-four inches between either pair. He sat cross-legged beside them, commencing to chant softly to himself, closing his eyes in meditation.

Matthews watched sceptically. If they thought this mumbojumbo was supposed to impress him, they had another think coming. Why he was being subjected to the rigmarole was a mystery to him. What was the purpose of it? He suspected the straws remained upright with the assistance of some adhesive substance. It might possibly go down well at some children's magic-show, but it certainly wasn't deceiving him. Just as he was about to scoff derisively at the infantile display, Teddy began to slowly rise off the floor, still in a cross-legged sitting position. Matthew gaped.

Mid-way between floor and ceiling, Teddy ceased his chanting. Matthew couldn't take his eyes off him. He strained to see the wires he knew had to be holding him in position, but stare as he did, he couldn't see any. Then Teddy uncoiled, straightening himself so that now his feet pointed towards the ceiling, his outstretched hands hovering inches above the straws. Every single movement Teddy had engaged in, he'd kept his back to Matthew. He continued to do so as he placed his palms on both sets of straws, balancing on them as though on solid steel. The result of his position now was that his inverted face was clearly visible to Matthew.

Teddy's eyes were glowing with a soft green light which he directed into Matthew's irises. Matthew tried to close his lids, but found it impossible. He was being forced to watch whether or not he wanted to. Then Teddy started to slowly dissolve before his startled eyes. His tattooed body disappeared in sections from the feet downwards, until there was nothing left but his upturned, shaven head, with the soft green light radiating from his eyes into Matthew's. Then it, too, became mist-like before vanishing altogether, leaving the four upright drinking-straws standing on their own in the centre of the room.

Matthew stood up and approached them. He'd forgotten that Myles was in the armchair, and gave a start at the sound of his voice. ‘You look a trifle pale, Mr. Dawson,' Myles said, ‘don't you feel well?'

Matthew looked at him in surprise. He felt strange, his head light. He didn't feel ill, but as though something peculiar had happened inside his head which he couldn't quite account for. Then, when he looked down again and was about to bring the drinking-straws to Myles's attention, he found they had also vanished.

‘What is it, Mr Dawson? Would you like me to fetch the doctor?'

‘No, I'm – I'm fine.' His finger was still pointing to where the drinking-straws had been. ‘That's the most amazing thing I've ever seen in my life.'

‘And what would that have been, Mr. Dawson?' Myles asked, looking at him, feigning puzzlement.

‘That – that man - -', Matthew replied uncertainly, for some reason feeling more hesitant by the second, and beginning to doubt his own judgement. ‘The one who was here a minute ago.'

‘What man, Mr. Dawson? What did he look like?'

Matthew strove to recall his description, but the harder he tried, the more hazy the details became. Was he tall, medium or short -sized? Matthew couldn't remember. What colour hair had he? Was he fat or thin? Nothing came back to enlighten Matthew's bemused brain. In every other way, Matthew felt fine, but for the life of him he couldn't get his brain to function properly to bring a clear picture of the man before his mind's eye. Then he began to wonder if he'd been in the room at all, even though he was certain he had.

‘Difficult, isn't it, Mr. Dawson?' Myles broke into Matthews strivings. ‘Though surely now even a cynic such as yourself is convinced of your granddaughter's future safety.'

Matthew looked at him vaguely. ‘What do you mean?' he asked.

‘Oh, come now, Mr. Dawson. Please don't tell me the full implications of the demonstration have been lost on you. What has happened to you will also happen to your granddaughter when the ransom has been paid. Her recall slate for people's faces and their physical descriptions will be wiped clean.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

Myles sighed, by his demeanour giving the impression of a patient teacher endeavouring to instil a simple lesson in the mind of a particularly backward pupil. ‘Come, Mr. Dawson,' he said rising from his armchair and making his way towards the bookcase. ‘Allow me to explain.'

Matthew watched once more as Myles made the necessary adjustments with the lamp brackets to revolve the bank of TV monitors into the bedroom. When they were in place, Myles switched on one of them and brought it into focus. ‘Here we are, Mr. Dawson. A friend of yours, I understand.'

Myles looked at the monitor, convinced this fiend was taking pleasure in making him watch Lily again. Why? He'd already done what had been asked of him. But it wasn't Lily. The screen showed a gymnasium in which some enormous, muscular man with tattoos all over his chest and arms was engaged in weightlifting. He looked strong enough to wrestle a lion and emerge victorious. But what had that got to do with him? He'd never seen the man before in his life. Something he wasn't long conveying to his captor.

‘Are you sure, Mr. Dawson?' Myles smiled. ‘I was of the opinion you wouldn't have the slightest difficulty recognising him again. You told me so yourself.'

‘What are you babbling about now?' Matthew said angrily, feeling all his old contempt for his jailor return. ‘I told you I never saw him before in my life!'

‘Splendid, Mr. Dawson. Excellent altogether. Now perhaps I can put your mind entirely at ease.' Myles returned the bank of monitors back behind the wall, engaging the locking mechanism without allowing Matthew a clear view of how he'd done so, then returned to his armchair, indicating to Matthew to follow his example.

‘I prefer to stand,' Matthews snapped, before adding sarcastically. ‘If that's all right with you.'

‘As you wish, Mr. Dawson, as you wish. I won't delay you much longer. Then you can return to your book. That man you claim you never laid eyes on before was in here not fifteen minutes ago. He's one of my most versatile employees, proficient in so many skills it's difficult to know where to begin. We could be here all night if I were to recount them all.'

‘Get on with it!' Matthew growled impatiently.

‘Well, the fact is, you spent five minutes taking in every detail of his appearance. You were also a spectator to his amazing talents, yet you couldn't remember ever seeing him before when I showed you his image on the monitor. What do you deduce from all that, Mr. Dawson?'

‘I've been brainwashed,' Matthew said grimly, biting his lip in frustration.

‘Bravo, Mr. Dawson. You have indeed. And will be again before we take leave of each other. As will your darling granddaughter. Now you understand everything. So I trust you'll be more at ease now for the duration of your stay.'

‘Will there be after-effects? Will she suffer any long-term memory loss?' Matthew asked anxiously. ‘She's only a child.'

‘None whatsoever. But as far as my employees and myself are concerned, neither of you will have the slightest recollection of what any of us looked like. It's a much more civilized method of dealing with awkward situations.' Myles smiled broadly at the simplicity of it all. ‘Considering the alternative, Mr. Dawson, it's fortunate for both of you I employ such gifted people.' He arose from the armchair gracefully. ‘But enough about my humanitarianism for the moment. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've some pressing matters to attend to.'

‘Just a minute!' Matthew said, blocking Myles's path towards the door. ‘There's something you haven't explained. Why did you make me phone the Minister and tell him you were going to shoot Lily and myself if the ransom wasn't paid in forty-eight hours? It doesn't make sense after what you've just told me.'

‘That will only happen as a last resort, Mr. Dawson.
If
the ransom is withheld. As a businessman yourself, I'm sure you appreciate I must protect my reputation. It wouldn't bode well for any future business deals I become involved in to be seen to be in any way weak concerning this one.' He smiled his infuriatingly pleasant smile as he made his way around Matthew and headed for the door. ‘But I'm sure there's nothing for you to worry about. After all, the Minister is a man of his word, is he not?'

Then the door closed and the key turned in the lock. Matthew stood staring into space, the realisation that he was being held captive by a manipulative monster well and truly confirmed. He wondered what benefit he derived from indulging in such despicable mind-games. What was the point unless the main purpose was to inflate his own ego and satisfy his sadistic streak?

Going to all that trouble of pretending concern and giving reassurance, then just as promptly pricking the bubble of hope by confirming what would happen should the ransom
not
be paid. Matthew told himself that only for Lily he'd have attacked the man with his bare hands before he'd had a chance to leave, and gladly suffer whatever consequences which might follow. It would be a happy release for him if they shot him there and then.

N
eedles congratulated himself on the fact that he was definitely becoming fitter. He was standing in front of the wardrobe mirror in his room, stripped to the waist. While he had to admit that he was never going to be mistaken for a member of the Chippendales, when he flexed what passed for his biceps, there was a definite improvement on the last time he'd checked. His arms were like a couple of thin tubes with hands attached, but he
could
make out a bit of a muscle knot developing where previously there hadn't been the slightest bulge no matter how hard he'd flexed. He had to concentrate mightily to see it, squinting his eyes only inches from the mirror, but there was no denying the tiniest of bumps had arisen.

And he'd Teddy Tattoo to thank for it. Teddy had encouraged him to try his hand at lifting some weights one day after they'd had a swim. And as Dapper Desmond wasn't around at the time to make fun of his efforts, Needles had had a go. He was all but exhausted from having done five and a quarter lengths of the pool, but he was determined to make it six on his next attempt. Then build up the lengths until he'd wipe the smile off Dapper's face when the day came that he could match him length for length. At least, that was Needles long-term plan. He knew it wasn't going to happen overnight. So he accompanied Teddy to the gym when he'd made the suggestion.

Big mistake. Needles told himself he should have gone to his room and had a bit of a lie down instead. At first he though Dapper had to be in on it. That he'd casually mentioned to Teddy to bring Needles along sometime when he was working out himself. Get him to pump some iron, build up his stamina, etc, etc, etc. Needles could picture Dapper giving Teddy some guff about Needles wanting to have a shot at it, but was too nervous to try on his own. And seeing as Needles admired Teddy so much, it would be better coming from him. Needles was convinced it was another of Dapper's practical jokes at his expense when he tried to get one of those thingamajigs with the circular discs on it off the floor.

It wouldn't budge. Either someone had super-glued it in place or soldered it into position. Needle's spine almost snapped in half with the effort. It wouldn't move even when he tried to roll it forward with the sole of his gym shoe. The discs or wheels or whatever they were remained stationary. Needles looked around, expecting to see Dapper spring out from behind wherever he was hiding, shaking with laughter at this latest stunt he'd pulled off at Needles expense. But all he saw was Teddy lying on something resembling a padded surfboard, muscles bulging in his gigantic arms as he hoisted a bar with weights on it which were enormous in comparison to the ones on the floor Needles had been struggling with. Teddy held the bar stationary above his head for about sixty seconds, then began to treat it like it was an inverted yo-yo or something, lowering, hoisting, lowering, hoisting, all accomplished with such sleek economy which made it appear as though both bar and weights were fashioned from cardboard. His arm muscles rippled like wavelets, making his tattoos look as though they were alive.

Needles had sat down on a treadmill and watched him for a while, pondering on the joke nature had played on him when it was allocating physiques. He'd been given a string-bean body, a face that would easily get him a job haunting a house, the stamina of a clapped-out banger, plus the athleticism of a cellophane bag stuffed with elastic bands. Needles had resigned himself to these facts long ago, but it still bugged him as he watched Teddy go through his paces. Granted, he had made minor improvements in the swimming pool. Again, it had been Teddy who'd urged him to participate there.

*

The first time he'd eased himself into the water at the shallow end, he was pleasantly surprised to find its temperature to his liking. He'd half-expected to turn blue with the iciness the white tiles below the surface gave the illusion of, but the warmth which surged around his waist before he waded in up to his chest was very encouraging indeed. Needles had launched himself forward enthusiastically. He'd forgotten how long it had been since he'd employed his unique swimming stroke whilst out of his depth. It was at least twenty years ago. The only water Needles had been partial to since then had been in a shower or bath.

In his early teens, Needles and his pals used take to the stagnant waters of the canal adjacent to the rundown housing estate in which they lived. On a hot summer's day, when the shone beat down from a cloudless blue sky, they'd indulge themselves in the luxury of competing for room with the floating carcass of a dead cat or dog, allied to the clutter of general debris bobbing about the filthy water. The deepest spots were the most popular. These were at the bridges. It was a point of honour to plunge in headfirst and somehow scramble your way from bank to bank. Either you made it across or disappeared into the depths to perhaps become entangled in weeds and heaven knows what else lurking at the bottom. It was really a case of do or die, and it was in the canal where Needles had learned it preferable to imitate a windmill than suffer the more hazardous alternative. Some of his braver pals jumped in from the tops of the bridges, yelling for clearance below first, then came hurtling down, sending dirty water skywards as though it were lava erupting from a volcano. Needles, however, was happy to remain struggling from bank to bank, thankful each time he made the far side without sinking like a brick.

In the nice warm swimming pool of the hideaway that first day Needles decided to follow Teddy's advice, he cursed and spluttered and sucked in enough chlorinated water to sink a ship as he strove to keep afloat. What keep running through his mind as he battled not to drown was all that nonsense people sprouted about swimming and riding a bike, and the fact that once you knew how, you never lost either skills.

As soon as he'd thrown himself forward, Needles immediately regretted it, but had no choice but to keep going. He was afraid that if he attempted to turn back, he'd disappear to make closer acquaintance with the white tiles down below. In the canal, it had been fast-forward with all the power at your command. No fancy stuff like a lot of the other guys could do without even seeming to try. Needles eventually made it to the far end of the swimming pool after one of the toughest battles of his life. As he clung to the safety rail, Teddy looked down at him approvingly.

‘Well done, Needles,' he said. ‘And no need to worry. I was watching you all the way. Any problems, I was here to fish you out.'

Needles had been too exhausted to reply. He gasped a bit instead, waving one weary arm in acknowledgement. He was thinking, ironically, of course, it was only terrific to have had an audience in the first place. He'd nearly have preferred to drown than have anyone there to witness his inept efforts at self-preservation. But he'd made it just the same, and Teddy's words had given him a curious sense of satisfaction, even if their contents sounded to Needles a bit of a contradiction. But he knew Teddy didn't mean them that way. Teddy was many things, some of them too complex and frightening to dwell upon, but he wasn't into laughing at other people's expense. Not like some Needles could bring to mind without having to think too hard about it.

*

When Teddy had completed his effortless pumping, he placed the bar on a stand over his head and eased himself to his feet. Needles was still sitting on the treadmill, looking forlorn. Which was his natural expression, but Teddy's keen eyes noticed his little ferret face was even more puckered than usual.

‘What'd wrong, Needles?' he asked. ‘Why aren't you working out?'

‘Because,' Needles replied, nodding towards the bar he'd been trying to shift, ‘that thing's stuck to the ground.'

Teddy gave it a nudge with his bare foot. ‘No, it's not,' he said, as the bar rolled a few feet along the wooden floor, the weights clanking against each other. ‘See?'

‘Well, it might as well be as far as I'm concerned.'

‘That's because it's too heavy for you.'

‘Tell me something I don't know.'

‘You should have taken some of them off,' Teddy said, kneeling and removing most of the heavier weights. ‘No one would expect you to grapple with that big a load on your first attempt. Now try it.'

‘I thought they were wheels,' Needles sighed, getting up and looking down at the bar on which Teddy had left only one small weight at either end. ‘Give it a handle and it could have passed for a scooter.'

‘Bend your knees,' Teddy instructed as Needles stood over the bar, drawing in a few deep breaths just like he'd seen those muscle-bound mountains doing on the telly at the Olympic Games before descending on the bar. ‘Then easy does it. If it's still too much for you, we'll start with just the bar itself.'

And that's exactly what they had to do until Needles felt confident enough to try it with a couple of kilos at either end. Teddy's patience with him was unbelievable. They'd built it up gradually, Teddy giving more time to Needles progress than to his own workouts. There was a lot of wobbling involved along the way. Sometimes, the bar went crashing to the floor, narrowly missing slicing off a couple of Needle's toes. Or sometimes Teddy averted embarrassment by steadying the bar with one massive hand while Needles swayed this way and that, looking as though he was caught in a powerful crosswind and wasn't sure which way to lean. But when Needles was able to workout on his own under a total of twelve kilos, he felt so proud of himself, he didn't care any time Dapper came into the gym and saw him at it. Teddy had fixed that problem too.

The first time Dapper did see him, he doubled up laughing. ‘You want to mind you don't strain yourself there, Needles,' he spluttered, bending and jerking a massively laden bar up to his chest, then over his head, holding it aloft for about thirty seconds, before letting it bounce back on the floor. ‘A fly lands on one end of that thing, you're gonna topple over.' He laughed again, then repeated his bend and jerk, this time easing the bar down on to the ground as though it was as light as air. ‘A wimp like you's gonna wind up with a couple of broken wrists you keep heaving
heavy
loads like that.' He laughed again. ‘Say, I got an idea. Maybe if I take a shot of you with my digital, we could send it to
Muscle Magazine
, see if they might put you on the front cover.'

‘Why don't you put a cork in it, Desmond,' a soft voice fluttered into Dapper's ear from behind him. ‘And mind your own business for a change.'

Dapper swung around, his mood altering from mirth to anger in the split second it took him to turn.

Whoever was giving him lip like that was gonna find out pretty darned quick they weren't dealing with no pushover, Dapper thought to himself, as he prepared to deal with whoever it was thought they could tell him what he could and couldn't do. Nobody was gonna interfere with his taking it out on Needles whenever he felt like it. He'd shove the guy's teeth down his throat for openers, then unscrew his head. After that, who knows? Whoever it was had lipped him sounded like a girl, anyway. Probably one of the cissies from catering.

‘Who said that?' Dapper snapped, seeing nobody behind him, ‘You taking ventriloquist lessons or something?' he demanded, turning his attention back to Needles. ‘You sure could do with
something
to make you lighten up a little.' His good humour returned as he surveyed Needles normally pallid face suffused with colour from his exertions. ‘Right now you look like a red lollipop strayed in here by mistake.'

‘I'm not going to tell you again, Desmond,' the same quiet voice came from behind him, this time with an undertone of menace which went a long way to making Dapper's blood chill in spite of himself.

Still, he thought, nobody's gonna - -.

It was then Teddy stepped out from behind a screen where he'd been drying himself off after taking a shower. He had his track suit bottoms on and was towelling his shaven head. His bare chest was still wet, beaded in droplets of water which made his tattoos glisten in the artificial light. He casually strolled towards Dapper, dabbing his chest with the towel, his expression so inscrutable as to make his face appear as though it had been carved from granite. He halted a yard away from Dapper and slung the towel over one massive shoulder, looking down into his face. Dapper glared back at him with that thousand-yard stare he'd used so many times during his prison stretches to intimidate anyone who needed reminding about who was cockof-the-walk. Trouble was, it didn't seem to be having any effect on Tattoo from about three feet away. Dapper doubted it would bother him from any distance, but, hey, it was always worth a shot.

Teddy's soft tones never altered an iota as he asked, ‘You did hear what I said, Desmond?'

Dapper blinked first. ‘Yeah, sure, no problem. Me and Needles, we were just having a laugh. That right, Needles?'

Needles ignored him, seeing as he wasn't in any position to give him an unmistakable sign involving his fingers. Not when his hands were still firmly wrapped around the bar he was holding over his head. But he was still enjoying listening to Dapper having his clock cleaned.

‘You're not a nice person, Desmond,' Teddy told him in the same even voice, ‘and if I ever hear you poking fun at my friend again, I'll be forced to make you regret it.'

Needles tried to smile, but the effort of continuing with his exercising put paid to any hope of that. However, he was chortling inside. Teddy was so polite about the whole thing, it was an absolute wheeze. And marking Dapper's card for him in such a positive way, well, that really made Needles day. Officially, he was now Teddy's friend.
Got that, Dapper?
Things just kept getting better all the time.

*

Now, standing in front of the wardrobe mirror, admiring the knot in his string of an arm, Needles couldn't help grinning his twisted ferret grin when he recalled Dapper's handsome face clouding over with suppressed rage as he exited stage left from the gym that day. See how you like
that
, Mr. Bigmouth, now that you've got Teddy to contend with. No contest. Even Dapper had more sense than to tangle with Teddy. Maybe at last, Needles thought to himself, I'll have a bit of peace and quiet, and - -.