Tom Weaver - The Dead Tracks

'Where are the lights?'

'There,' Drayton nodded.

He was looking at a panel of white switches to my left. I flicked them all on. Strip lights buzzed in the darkness, then stark white light fed along the ceiling.

The rear door was the same size as the delivery entrance at the front. Drayton unlocked the padlock with a second brass key, also marked red. Then Healy used him as a battering ram, forcing him forward into the door until it opened enough to let them through. Out in the yard, four security lights flicked on simultaneously, shining down from poles built into the fencing. In their glow, rain sheeted past us.

Healy glanced at me and jabbed his head towards the pile. 'Show him.'

I looked between him and Drayton, then walked around to the spot I'd glimpsed earlier and pushed aside a couple of the bigger containers. Beneath one, the edge of the trapdoor emerged.

'What's that?' Healy said to Drayton, pushing at his neck.

'It's for storage.'

'No shit.'

I moved some of the other boxes. A minute later, I'd cleared a space. A circle, cut into the floor and about two feet across, was freeze-framed in the security lights. It looked like a manhole cover. There was a handle cut into it and a lock attached. I dropped down, slid my fingers in and pulled. It didn't budge.

I glanced up at Drayton. 'Which key unlocks it?'

No reply.

Healy forced Drayton forward, so he was almost standing over the manhole. 'Which key is it?' he said through gritted teeth.

Drayton threw the key ring over. It landed in a puddle on the floor next to me. 'It's the small silver one, marked with a blue dot.'

I selected the key and slid it into the lock on the manhole cover. It clicked. Sliding my fingers around the handle again, I pulled it out from its surrounds.

The space dropped down less than a foot.

And the only thing inside was a piece of A4 paper, folded in half.

The rain started getting heavier, hitting the corrugated iron of the warehouse. I took out the piece of paper, slid it inside my jacket and nodded to Healy that we should go back inside. He pushed Drayton ahead of him, and we re-entered the building.

I opened up the piece of paper.

'What is it?' Healy asked.

It looked like a map of a street. We both recognized the style immediately: black marker pen; just lines. No street names. No places. No identifying marks. It was the same style as the map of the school I'd found on the LCT website. This one was a single straight road, with houses—drawn as identically sized squares - either side. Halfway down, one of the houses was coloured in red. A line came out of it to a number twenty-nine. Apart from that, there was nothing else on it.

I glanced at Drayton. 'Who gave you this?'

He just stared at me.

'Who gave you the map?' Healy said.

Again, Drayton didn't reply. Healy squeezed his fingers tighter around Drayton's neck. 'You tell us who gave you this map, and you tell us what it's of, or I swear to you the next time you wake up it'll be with your balls in your mouth.'

Drayton's eyes fixed on me. For a moment it looked like he was going to say something. Then he stopped, glanced as best he could at Healy and shrugged.

Healy smashed a fist into the side of his head. The impact sounded dull, like a wet flannel hitting a wall. Drayton didn't make much noise; just collapsed on to all fours, and then rolled on to his back. He looked up at Healy, blood leaking from his nose.

'Healy.'

He turned to me.' What?

I stepped forward, closer to him. Calm down. He saw my expression, and then glanced at my feet, as if I'd just stepped into his personal space. He took off his jacket and threw it on top of the nearest box. 'Who gave you the map?'

No reply.

' Who gave you the fucking map ?'

Drayton glanced between us, but remained quiet.

Healy blew out some air. You're one stupid piece of shit, you know that?'

'Drayton,' I said, trying to rein Healy in. 'This is easy. Tell us who gave you the map, and then we walk out of here and you never see us again.'

He looked at me from the floor; a look that said he couldn't tell us, and that I was the only one who could intervene. Then he turned back to Healy, blood filling the gaps between his teeth, and looked him in the eyes.

Silence.

'I think we need to clean out your ears,' Healy said. Across from us, a set of metal stairs wound up to a viewing platform, where a desk and chair sat looking down across the warehouse. Healy's eyes locked on the chair, and then on a roll of duct tape on a box near to us.

He reached down, pulled Drayton up and dragged him across the warehouse, scooping up the duct tape on the way. When they got to the stairs leading to the platform, Healy shoved him up them. Drayton looked back at me, the same message in his face: Stop this.

'Healy—'

He flashed a look at me. 'If you don't like it, go and sit in the car.'

When they got to the top, they marched across the platform and Healy pushed Drayton into the chair. I followed.

'You wanna play games?' Healy said, unravelling the tape.

He used one of his hands to secure Drayton's wrist to the arm of the chair and started circling with the duct tape. Once that was done, he did the same to the other wrist. Then both legs. Drayton looked at me, then back to Healy, who was taking a handkerchief from his jacket and screwing it into a ball. He shoved it into Drayton's mouth, ripped off another strip of duct tape and secured the gag in place.

'You don't have kids,' Healy said, leaning in to Drayton, nose to nose. 'I mean, look at you: you're just a kid yourself. You've got no idea what you feel for something you created. The bond you have. What lengths you'll be prepared to go to, to protect them. What you'll do to avenge them.' He straightened, rolling his shirt sleeves up even further. 'But you're about to find out.'

He shifted forward quickly, arcing a fist up into Drayton's stomach. Drayton doubled over, the wind bursting out of him, arms locking into place on the chair.

This was starting to get out of control. I stepped forward. 'Drayton — stop screwing around. Just tell us who gave you the map and all this ends.'

He was leaning over, saliva and blood leaking from his lips.

'Drayton' I said again.

Nothing.

Healy smiled at Drayton. 'You're a fucking idiot, you know that?'

Not even movement now. Just silence and blood and saliva and the sounds of shallow breathing.

Healy turned around and started going through one of the drawers of the desk. In the third one down, he found something. A letter opener. Long and thin. Double edged. He removed it and then lifted Drayton up by his hair so they were facing one another.

'You remember what I told you?' Healy asked him.

Drayton said nothing.

'That you'll wake up with your balls in your mouth?'

A flash of fear in Drayton's face now. Air jetted out of his nostrils. He tried to shift in the chair, looking between the letter opener and Healy.

'Well, now you get to find out I wasn't joking.'

Chapter Fifty-three

'Healy,' I said, but he ignored me, reaching to the belt on Drayton's trousers and loosening it. ' Healy.'

This time he stopped, studying me. 'You think he's going to tell us anything if we ask him nicely? Does it look like that to you?'

'He's a fucking kid.'

'So what?'

'So, take a look at yourself.'

He paused, glanced down at the sweat coming through his shirt, and Drayton's blood dotted across the cotton. Then he studied me, his face blank. For a second, it felt like the fuse had gone out. Then he turned back to Drayton. 'I don't care if he's a kid,' he said quietly, and I realized the only way this was going to end was if I stopped it.