Robert Young - Gatecrasher

‘Hate to be sceptical old chap but you aren’t overestimating the scope of your influence are you?’ said the other man, his voice thick with contempt. Drennan felt his hackles rising but he fought his temper. He needed to conduct himself with cool detachment and politeness, just as he had in the park that cold morning, days ago.

‘It shouldn’t be an issue. Anyway, I’m also running down a lead where he was last seen and will be tidying up that loose end shortly as well. All a touch unfortunate but taken care of without too much fuss. Certainly no need for panic.’

‘You’ll excuse me if I don’t share your confidence. This loose end. How loose is it?’

‘Well I haven’t taken care of it yet but — ‘

‘So how do we expect to tidy that up? Please elaborate Matthew.’ The tone was both condescending and irritable now.

There was silence on the end of the line briefly. ‘He was taken into the hospital by somebody and I have an address. Seems the barrel maker stumbled into a party in his haste to uh, disassociate himself from the others and then… had a fall. This chap — and trust me, he is nobody — he brought him in saying something about falling and landing on a wine glass apparently.’

‘I take it he didn’t land on any such thing.’

‘Who’s to say? He may well have.’

‘Let me rephrase that. The wine glass was not what did for our friend.’

‘Not entirely no. But as I said, I have an address so I think perhaps myself and Tyler ought to pop over and explain to him how very virtuous silence can be.’

‘Drennan, far be it from me to suggest that your subtle psychological manipulation might be less than flawless but have you given this any sort of thought at all? As far as we know, these two had a good long cosy chat about this whole fucking business and he’s sitting at home now on the phone having a natter with the press.’

‘I think you’re over reacting, with respect.’ Drennan said carefully.

‘Really? Well its wonderful that you feel you can share your informed and considered opinion Matthew but I think this has gone far enough now don’t you?’

‘I have people on it and the guy doesn’t have a clue. In and out to work nice and punctual, picking up his dry cleaning, renting movies.’

‘Nevertheless Matthew. Tick tock.’

‘I’m not sure I follow you.’ Drennan’s self-assurance was deserting him now and the other man did not miss the note of apprehension creeping into his voice.

‘Well, assuming that the worst has happened and we have a major leak on our hands, a bloody spillage — and considering the implications of this, there is absolutely no reason I can see that we may risk assuming otherwise — then only swift and decisive action is likely to be of any value at this stage. I will ensure that such action is taken. Let me have the name of the police contact you have. Unlike yourself, I am under no illusions as to the extent of my own influence.’

‘Very well. I’ll dig it out and pass his number on. What about our loose end? What do you want to do about that?’ There was a nervousness in his voice now, an uncertainty that was rarely present.

‘That’s no longer a concern of yours Matthew.’

‘Let’s not be rash.’

‘You would rather we rely on cheap scare tactics and the word of some young man we don’t know? One uncertainty is one too many.’

‘Well, may I ask who you intend to use for this?’

‘I maintain a number of associates in various fields. Many of them can be relied upon for efficiency, discretion and loyalty. There should be no reason why this need go on any longer, nor for any of us to be further entangled in this mess. Agreed?’

A pause. ‘Agreed.’

‘Perfect. Consider our problem eliminated.’

Drennan said nothing.

‘The Barrel Maker?’ snorted the other man. ‘You are beyond parody sometimes.’

Wednesday. 12am.

Somewhere off to the left he could hear a squeaking sound, more metal than animal. An occasional tapping punctuated it. A loose window? The air was cold and he could feel his muscles begin to tense and shiver as a breeze crept around his ankles.

The shuffling of feet, movement around him, a wooden clunk as something heavy was set down. A cough from behind.

His wrists, tightly bound at his back, had begun to feel warm with the friction as he struggled to find a more comfortable position and he thought that he felt something wet there now. Sweat?

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck as a huge hand clamped around it and pinched the skin there. He felt his head snapped backwards and twisted sideways and then he could feel hot breath on the side of his face.

‘Now you be fucking polite and I might decide to leave you alone,’ a voice growled in his ear and he was released with a rough shove that threatened to knock him off balance for a moment before his seat righted itself.

‘Good evening gentlemen. And what do we have here?’ From the right came the thick East London accent and he could tell immediately that this new presence was in charge. Anyone that would speak to the other man in that way could only be his boss.

‘Take the blindfold off,’ the same voice instructed sharply.

Even in the relative gloom of his surroundings the light stung his retinas and Campbell squinted hard. Standing in front of him was a balding man in thick rimmed glasses who stood a very stocky five foot six or seven he guessed. His chin was stubbled and jowly and his nose sat squat in the centre of his face but his black eyes peered out through the lenses of his glasses and Campbell knew that even without the ropes he would have been unable to move under that gaze.

‘Mr Campbell. Been fucking itching to meet you old son,’ he growled and offered a hand that looked as if it could enclose his entire head in its grasp.

‘Don’t forget your manners, please,’ he said after a pause and Campbell frowned, puzzled.

‘Uh, George…’ said the other men and nodded toward where Campbell sat.

Gresham looked from the man to Campbell and leaned forward to look down over his shoulder. ‘Oh yeah. Silly me. Slater, take the ropes off.’

Campbell felt the ropes being tugged roughly from his wrists and it stung the raw flesh there as much as it relieved his discomfort. He drew them into his lap and saw that the chafing of the rope had drawn blood, which had run down over his hands and spread rusty smudges of it around his wrists and forearms.

‘Mr Campbell.’ He looked up at the man called George as he slid a stool across the floor and sat in front of him face to face. Close enough to smell the sweet coffee on his breath.

Campbell nodded but his jaw felt as if it were clamped shut and he said nothing.

‘Do excuse my enthusiastic friend. No harm done?’

Campbell shook his head. ‘No. No, fine.’

The other man eyed his wrists and raised an eyebrow. ‘Not fine at all are you?’

‘Um. No. Not really.’

‘Not really. That’s one lie.’ Gresham said and held up a finger as if to count it off. ‘How did Keith treat you?’

Campbell turned his head slightly to see Slater pat a hand on his ribs. Gresham leaned forward and took hold of Campbell’s shirt at the bottom, lifting it to reveal two large and darkening bruises on either side of his rib cage. Campbell winced as he saw the extent of it for the first time.

He had been bundled roughly back into his flat and almost lifted off his feet. Slater, without a word had landed a solid right into his left side. Campbell, the wind knocked thoroughly out of him, collapsed to his knees and gasped for breath, curling up on the floor and clutching at his ribs. Before he could regain his breath Slater had snatched him back up to his feet and with both fists gripping his shirt at his shoulders had pinned him solidly against the wall.