Chapter 45


    In the office, Charlotte, looking helpless, sits with arms wrapped around the wildly sobbing Kirstie,


    patting her on the shoulders, making crooning noises and pushing a conveyor belt of tissues into her


    hand.


    I feel terrible.


    Fucked that one up, didn’t I…?


    Perching a hip on the desktop by her, “Kirstie… I’m so sorry. I tried…”


    She sniffles into the tissues. “It’s not your fault, James. He wouldn’t listen to me. He wouldn’t listen to


    you.” She rummages in a pocket, tugs something out; a crumpled ribbon of velvet.


    She holds it in her hand. The single pearl it carries dangles forlornly. “It’s done,” she says.


    “Do you want to go home?” I ask. “I’ll drive you.”


    Her head swings. “No, thank you, James. I’d rather work. I’d rather be here.”


    *****


    Klempner - Twenty-Six Years Ago


    True to his prediction, Bech produces an address for Conners in under an hour. “I put Malory on there,”


    he says, “to check out if she’s there. It’s on the fourth floor, but he confirms he’s sighted a red-headed


    woman moving around inside.” He tugs at his chin, eyeing me spectively. “What are your orders,


    sir?”


    I want nothing more than to walk away from this. To lie down. To sleep away the banging inside my


    head.


    “Sir?”


    This is about survival…


    “Sir, we cannot let this woman run free. She knows too much. She’s a loose cannon.”


    He’s right…


    But I can’t bring myself to give the order.


    Bech inhales. “Sir, I understand that you find this difficult. If you wish, I will handle it.”


    “No!”


    Bech jolts at my tone.


    More calmly, “No. As you say, Bech. It has to be handled. Tell Malory to stay where he is. Keep a track


    of where they are. We’ll meet him there.”


    *****


    By the elevator, Malory is waiting for us as we arrive. In blue overalls and with a toolbox on hand, he’s


    making a show of working on a radiator under the window. Conners’ apartment is down the corridor


    one way. In the other direction; thending branches to the stairwell, then more apartments.


    “They both inside?” I ask.


    “She’s inside.” Malory thumbs out of the window, down and across the street. “He’s in the take-out.


    Saw him go in there ten minutes ago.”


    Bech grunts. “Should be due out any minute now then.”


    As we watch, a familiar figure, carrying arge t box, exits the pizza parlour and crosses the road. He


    enters the building and a few secondster the indicator for the elevator shes downwards for the


    ground floor.


    “You two stay in the background,” mutters Bech. “I’ll meet and greet our Mr Conners.”


    Malory and I retreat to the stairwell, watching through the ss panel. Bech stands away from the


    elevator to be behind Conners as he exits and turns for his apartment.


    The elevator bings, the doors open and Conners steps out, heading for the corridor. Bech follows


    behind. “Mr Conners? Frank Conners? Could I have a word please.” He shes a badge, and for just a


    moment, Conners only sees the badge and the uniform…


    Then his eyes widen in recognition…


    He has no time to react. Bech cuts off his words with a punch in the gut that drops him to his knees,


    gasping and coughing. Then he and Malory haul him upright between them.


    “Keys,” I snap.


    Bech reaches into one pocket, then another. Then frisks him. “Not on him.” He nces at me and I nod


    permission.


    Bech produces his gun, shows it to Conners, holds it to his temple. “Here’s what’s going to happen.


    We’re going to that door. You’re going to call her and tell her to open the door. All very normal. Nothing


    to upset her. If anything does upset her before the door opens, you’ll be taking the high-speed short-cut


    to the ground floor. Understand?”


    Conners rolls eyes at me. “Larry…” His voice chokes. “I thought we were friends?”


    “So did I. That must be why you tried to steal Mitch, eh?” He pales.


    Bech shifts, his voice low and silky. “Only so many chances, Frankie. You going to do as you’re told?”


    He pushes him away and along the corridor, the barrel still levelled towards him.


    Conners stands in front of the door. Bech, Malory and I stand to one side. Conners looks to me again,


    sweating. I raise brows and eye-point him back to the door.


    He taps, starts to speak. “Mitch…” He swallows. “Mitch. It’s me. Open up.”


    The click of a peep-hole, the rattle of a door chain, the rasp of a lock…


    The door opens. Bech jams in a foot, pushing hard and from beyond, there’s a shriek of fear…


    Mitch…


    Scared…


    My guts drops.


    Bech and Malory barrel in, pushing Conners ahead of them. As I follow in behind, Bech is on her, a


    hand at her throat, the guning up to her face.


    I roar. “Get your fucking hands off her!”


    His face whips round to mine, fury written there, the whites showing all around his eyes. Then he


    subsides, pushing her away with the t of his palm on her chest.


    “You handle Conners,” I say. “Get him out of my sight. I’ll deal with himter.”


    t-lipped, Bech jerks his chin to Malory. The two frog-march Conners, squealing all the way, to the


    door and out.


    Mitch stands, chest heaving, hair a-fly… Her breathes in quick bursts and her pupils are dots.


    “Don’te near me.” She skitters back. “Don’t you daree near me. Don’t touch me!”


    Pressed against the wall, she darts eyes this way and that…


    Looking for a weapon?


    An escape?


    “Mitch, I''m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”


    Her chin lifts. “And what about Frank? What about those girls I saw? Chained up. What happens to


    them?” Her lip curls. Disgust drips through her voice. “You sell them to the highest bidder? Is that it?”


    My abs clench. I don’t speak.


    She looks at me as though she’d found a maggot in her food. “Is that what you would have done with


    me once you''d got bored?”


    “No. No. I would never… Mitch it’s different with you. You’re different. And… I’m different when I’m with


    you. You make everything… better.”


    Believe me…


    Please… Believe me…


    “You had me fooled, Larry. You really had me going. When you left, I wasing to see you. To say


    yes. To say, I’d give it a try. And then I saw them…”


    Disappointment ws at me…


    So close…


    “Mitch, it was like that. But it’s different now. I''m changing. You''ve changed me. I''ll change it all,


    everything; Blessingmoors, everything. You can help. I want you to help me.”


    “Change what?” she hisses. “Not sell your women? Your goods? What will you do? Let them go? Send


    them home, wherever they came from?”


    “Yes. I’ll set them free. Send them home. If that’s what you want. If you’ll stay with me.”


    She sucks, as though working up saliva. “And your man there, that took Frank away... Bech was it?


    There’s a murdering bastard if I ever saw one. Will he agree to all this? Just like that? All that profit


    down the bend?”


    “Bech’ll do as he''s told.”


    Her panting isn’t quite so frantic. Her eyes are softening. “Come with me, Mitch. Please. You know it’s


    good between us. Be with me.”


    Her head raises. “What about Frank?”


    You ran to him…


    You chose him over me…


    Some two-bit salesman...


    “Come with me and I''ll let Frank go.”


    Anger shes across her face. “That''s how it works with you, isn''t it? Coercion. Force. You have no


    concept of freedom to choose.”


    I step forward. She doesn’t back away. Carefully, I reach, holding her at the shoulders. I drop my


    forehead to hers. “I just want you to choose me. Choose to be with me. Please, Mitch.”


    But her voice is cold. “I can''t be with you… the man you are, Larry.”


    “Mitch, please…”


    But she twists away from me, heading for the door. “I’m going now.”


    “No, you’re not.”


    “Let me go!”


    There’s a crash and shouting from somewhere out beyond the door. Then Bech’s echoing voice. “Get


    up the stairs after him…”


    This content is ? N?velDrama.Org.


    What the fuck…?


    I dash out, sprint back to the elevator. Bech is shouting up the stairwell.


    “What the fuck happened?”


    “We got him into the elevator; just about to head down. Bastard turned on us. Attacked Malory and got


    out the doors right at thest moment just as it was going down.”


    “And you were doing what exactly? One ck-jawed salesman left this room with two supposed trained


    professionals in control, and he attacked you?”


    Bech nches, looking down, tension visible in his jaw.


    “We’ll talk about thister. Get after him. Find him… Alive and undamaged.”


    Mitch…


    I about face, head back to the room…


    The door is closed…


    Locked.


    Banging on the timber with the t of my hand, “Mitch, open up. Mitch, open the fucking door.”


    From behind, something creaks, and a voice says, “Can’t you keep the damn noise down?”


    I turn to face a five-foot troglodyte wearing bunny slippers and an attitude. “Go find something to do,


    grandma.”


    She res at me but retreats with the m of bolts being drawn home.


    I turn back. Nothing happens at the door, but something is going on in the room. The sound of banging


    echoes through, then a ng…


    Then a series of splintering crashes…


    Breaking ss?


    … and whimpering?


    I stand back and nt my boot squarely above the lock. It oomphs under my foot. A second kick and


    with the screech of shattered wood and tortured metal the door bangs open…


    … just in time for me to see Mitch climbing through the window.


    In my dash to reach her, shattered ss crunches under my feet and I trip, almost falling over the


    heavy, cast-iron pan lying abandoned on the carpet.


    But I get there, reaching, trying to catch. My fingers graze her skin, her face, her neck, snagging on


    something which strains and pops to dangle from my fingers before she twists, swinging at me with


    something…


    A second cast iron pot canons into my hand, crushing it against timber and broken ss. White pain


    erupts and for seconds I can do nothing but gasp for breath.


    Spots dancing behind my eyes, cursing, I mber out after her, seeing her already well below me,


    helter-skeltering down the fire escape.


    She sprints, descending, ttering down steel steps. I swivel, snatching for the handrail, but my fingers


    are slippery with blood streaming from sliced fingers and palm. Digging into a pocket I drag out a


    handkerchief, wrapping it around my streaming hand.


    *****