Joseph Bridgeman and the Silver Hunter Page 23

  Price sighs loudly and raises a finger. ‘If you two are right and he robs the van down this street, we will block both exits and nick him like any other petty criminal, chase after him and stick him in a pair of handcuffs… It’s pretty straightforward.’

  No one says anything.

  This was a time of bobbies on the beat; they knew everyone and there were lots of them too. They had respect, even from the villains. When criminals were caught in the act, they actually used to say, “It’s a fair cop, Guv!”

  We sit in silence for a while, the minutes counting down until the time of the robbery comes... and then goes.

  My heart sinks. Vinny looks confused.

  The police officers just look annoyed.

  Something went wrong. Somehow, we have influenced and changed the past.

  ‘Right,’ Price growls, ‘if it’s okay with you three, we can get back to some proper police work now.’ He stares at Green who lives up to his name and looks like he’s about to puke.

  We spill out of the van, which is a relief. It was getting pretty funky in there. Price slams the door shut and glares at me. ‘Total waste of police time.’

  ‘They must have known we were coming,’ I tell him.

  ‘Or, it was never going to happen in the first place!’ He takes a step towards me, his breath smells of coffee and anger. ‘Valuable time wasted on a tip-off from a couple of…’ He stares at Vinny then back at me. ‘A couple of right oddballs.’ He turns to Green. ‘You and I will talk later.’

  DI Price gets into a lime-green Triumph Herald. Vinny and I admire the car. Chrome hubcaps, two-tone with flared wing mirrors. He revs the engine loudly and screeches away.

  PC Green looks crushed. ‘I believed you,’ he says, voice horribly flat.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him, ‘I don’t know what went wrong. The robbery was supposed to happen, right here, today.’

  ‘We weren’t lying,’ Vinny adds.

  ‘I don’t think you meant to muck us about.’ Green straightens his tie. ‘But you need to get your facts right before you come to us.’

  Vinny and I nod. Our friendly neighbourhood copper gets back into the van and it pulls away, leaving us standing on the once-famous street.

  Vinny smacks his fist into the palm of his hand, like Robin. ‘We did have our facts straight,’ he says, cursing under his breath. ‘It’s written in a hundred books.’ He turns to me. ‘What happened?’

  I shrug. ‘Someone must have tipped them off; maybe someone in the pub overheard us.’

  Vinny’s anger morphs into frustration. He sighs, scrapes a hand over his stubble and says, ‘Now what?’

  I check the watch; the change-event symbol has gone. ‘There’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘How long have we got left here?’

  ‘Just under two hours.’

  Two hours to hang out in the sixties and think about how crap we are. My chest tightens, mouth dry. I knew this wasn’t going to work, I could feel it. I glance at my trusty sidekick, aware that complaining isn’t going to get us anywhere.

  ‘Come on, Vin,’ I say, placing my hand on his shoulder, ‘maybe another change event will come up.’

  I look up and down the street, wondering what to do next. I used to fail all the time, but back then the only one who got hurt was me. Now, innocent people are attached to my failures and it sucks.

  I hear squeaking and see a young boy cycling in our direction. He skids to a halt in front of us. He’s a tough-looking kid, chunky and strong. He’s wearing a striped top, shorts and – I kid you not – a black sheriff’s hat.

  I know you’re not supposed to talk to kids you don’t know, but I can’t help myself. ‘How are you doing there, sheriff?’

  He stares at me, serious and aggressive. ‘Are you police?’

  ‘No,’ I assure him, ‘why?’

  ‘I saw something suspicious,’ he tells us.

  ‘What?’ Vinny asks.

  ‘Can I trust you?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I tell him seriously. ‘Yes, you can.’

  He thrusts his hand out, palm up. He stares at me and then nods at his hand. I guess some things don’t change, like PC Green said. Everyone wants something.

  I offer him five pounds. The kid’s eyes are plates. He stuffs the cash into his pocket. I’m convinced he is about to cycle off. Instead he inches closer, twisting his handlebars left and right.

  The kid peers at us, licks his lips. ‘I can show you, if you like?’

  I glance at Vinny, who looks as nervous as I feel. He curls his lip and shrugs at me. Without speech we say, what have we got to lose?

  ‘Alright,’ I say, ‘show us.’

  The kid cycles down a narrow passageway between two red brick houses. Vinny and I follow. We pass washing lines. The smell of washing is strong, reminds me of being the same age as this kid. He pedals hard and cuts left, taking us deeper into the maze of alleyways that connect the houses and streets. After a few more turns, we emerge onto another street. This one is similar to the one we just left, but it’s quieter. In fact, it’s deserted.

  The kid cycles away, pumping the pedals for all he’s worth.

  ‘Hey!’ I shout.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Vinny says. ‘We should get out of here.’

  I’m about to agree when a white van screeches around the corner and skids to a halt right in front of us. Two men burst out wearing masks. Before I know what’s happening, Vinny and I are wrestled into the back of the van. There’s shouting. Doors slam and we’re plunged into complete darkness.

  One of the men bangs the side of the van and it pulls away. I make out a figure. ‘What do you want?’ I ask.

  An explosion of pain in my poor and constantly battered face provides the answer. We’ve been kidnapped, but you know what hurts the most?

  Even more than my nose?

  I paid that kid five pounds for the privilege.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  I’m seated. My hands and feet are bound. I open one eye and then the other. To my left is a large inglenook fireplace, a stack of logs burning away. I’m in a large room with stone floors and high ceilings. There are bookcases against every wall, stacked with dusty volumes.

  I ache all over, head throbbing. Being tied up is bad, but there is something deeply unnerving when it’s so close to a fire. It really tickles the fear deep within. Perhaps it’s because we used to burn witches. Either way, like cold liquid in my gut, fear grows.

  My nose starts to itch, which is bloody annoying and reminds me of having my arm in a cast and attacking it with a ruler. My mind – a smashed jigsaw puzzle – takes a while to reassemble its various pieces. Slowly, the reason I’m here clicks into place. The robbery that never happened, the kid who looked like a sheriff who tricked us. How long was I out? I feel the cool metal of my watch against my skin but I can’t check departure times.

  That thought leads me to Vinny.

  What have they done with him? We need to get the hell out of here!

  I’m losing the feeling in my fingers and toes. Whoever tied me up wasn’t worried about bits of me falling off. I stretch my fingers, trying to move a little blood around and they connect with something squidgy and warm. A groan behind me.

  My eyes widen. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Morning, Cash,’ Vinny replies jovially. ‘Sleep well?’

  ‘Vinny,’ I exhale loudly, relief palpable. ‘Thank God.’

  He snorts. ‘I wish they all said that when they wake up next to me.’

  I laugh and then grimace. ‘Owwwwwwuhhhh.’

  ‘You okay?’

  I groan. ‘It only hurts when I laugh. You?’

  ‘Oh, tickety-boo.’ Vinny’s trying to stay cheerful, but I can hear the pain in his voice.

  I try and sit up more. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘We’re tied up back to back in the cliché lair of a London gangster,’ Vinny says. ‘One who considers himself a bit of a country gent, by the look of it.’

  I glance
around. Vinny’s appraisal is pretty accurate. We’re in an impressive, cavernous room with oil paintings on every wall. The rug on which Vinny and I have been placed is the size of an average tennis court. It’s a stately home.

  The big man shifts his weight and for a horrible moment I think we’re going to topple over towards the fire. ‘Vinny!’ I cry, leaning to my right, trying to compensate, which reminds me of our antics on the motorbike.

  ‘Sorry,’ Vinny replies. ‘The ropes are tight.’ A grandfather clock chimes in the corner. ‘Cash,’ he says, ‘how long before we travel back?’

  ‘How long was I out?’

  ‘About an hour since they picked us up,’ Vinny replies.

  I do some quick mental arithmetic. ‘It’s a guess, but we have twenty minutes, maybe less… Have you seen Shaw?’

  ‘Yeah, briefly,’ Vinny says. ‘Mad Harry as well… he tied us up. I guess we cocked up… again.’

  I frown. ‘Yeah, I guess we did.’

  We sit in silence for a few minutes. What else are we going to do? The fire hisses and pops. We need a plan.

  ‘Listen,’ I say, twisting my head a bit, ‘if Frankie arrives, we just need to keep him talking. Agreed?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Vinny replies.

  I’m usually good at kidding myself, but I’m shaking like a bloody washing machine. Like Dorothy, I wish I could just click my heels together three times.

  Wait... a.... minute.

  ‘Vinny,’ I say, ‘I’m going to see if I can get us out of here.’ I reach out and make sure our fingers are touching.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’m going to try and time travel.’

  ‘I thought Bill said you couldn’t do that any more?’ Vinny says.

  ‘He did, but I’m not sure I believe him.’

  All I have to do is go back to when Vinny and I decided to follow the cowboy kid on his bike. We could avoid this entire encounter.

  I close my eyes and channel Alexia, my breath slow and steady. Before the untethering, I was getting pretty good at this – I managed to land smoothly at the fairground at a time and location of my choosing. I focus on the kid, the bike, the details, the sounds. It’s all about embedding yourself in the moment, like carefully lifting a tonearm and dropping the needle precisely where you want it.

  I get a sinking sensation.

  Good.

  But then I begin to fall, tumbling into darkness.

  This isn’t right... I get the strangest sensation, as though I am somehow detached from myself, my mind disconnected from my body. I’m not breathing, it’s dark and I can’t open my eyes.

  Death.

  This is death!

  ‘Joe!’ Vinny shouts.

  I gasp, feeling as though someone just hit me with a defibrillator. ‘What happened?’ I ask, sucking air desperately.

  ‘You stopped breathing!’ Vinny cries.

  I try to steady my heart rate. ‘It’s no use, Vinny,’ I pant, ‘I think Bill’s right.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says, ‘it was worth a try. We’ll be alright.’

  We sit quietly again.

  The problem with fear is that it grows if you let it. But I know a few tricks of the trade. Sometimes you have to take your fear and turn the energy into something else. For me, humour works best. Finding light in the darkness. I remember a game Vinny and I played once. But that was before. I wonder if he’ll remember it.

  ‘Hey Vinny,’ I say cheerily, ‘check out that book over there.’

  He clears his throat and shifts in the chair. ‘Which one?’

  I try out my best (worst) German accent. ‘No Vay Out,’ I say, ‘by Hanz Tied.’

  Vinny laughs and gets the game immediately. ‘Ooooohhh, look, there’s another one… Haunted House, by Hugo First.’

  I smile. ‘I’ve read that one, it’s a classic.’

  ‘Tales of a Cat Burglar by Robin M. Blind,’ Vinny says.

  ‘Nice one,’ I chuckle.

  I’m out of silly book titles but Vinny seems to have an endless supply. He continues on, naming such classics as Happiness is a State of Being by B. Joyful and An Exploration of Faith by Neil Down. We giggle like school children.

  ‘Surprise! by Omar Gosh.’ Vinny belly laughs at this one but stops when a massive oak door creaks open, bathing us in light.

  Two men enter the room.

  The first is Mad Harry, all ten tonnes of him. He is suitably dressed, top-to-toe in black. He stares at me. He has a hammer in his hand.

  My brain explodes in panic, sending fresh pain through every nerve ending in my body. Mad Harry walks to the far edge of the room and faces us, hammer by his side. His eyes are dead, giving him the look of a demented zombie builder.

  Frankie Shaw breezes in, smiling, the complete opposite of his henchman. He is dressed in a dark-blue shirt, cream trousers and pointed brown-suede shoes. He stares at me, flashing perfect white teeth. I manage to hold his gaze, desperately clawing for confidence.

  The time for jokes is over.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Frankie stops a few feet away from me, folds his arms and studies me with amusement. Skin pale, blue eyes glowing. His smile fades. ‘It’s Joe, isn’t it?’

  I nod.

  ‘I’m going be honest with you, Joe,’ he says, voice slow and calm. ‘I want you to do the same with me. Okay?’

  Honesty is important to him. I nod.

  He glances at the fire and then up to the ceiling. ‘When I woke up this morning I had a plan, something I had been working on for a long time.’ His gaze snaps back onto me. ‘Meticulous…’ he whispers, ‘that’s a big word. It means careful, considered, detailed.’

  He licks his lips, eyes narrow. ‘And then you two turn up again and fuck up my plans something rotten.’ He leans close to my face and I can smell aftershave and mint. ‘After I warned you.’

  I swallow. ‘I can explain.’ Obviously, I can’t, but I need to say something, need to keep him talking.

  Frankie shakes his head. ‘Shhh,’ he says quietly. ‘Let’s do this properly.’ He paces left and right, quickly. ‘Question number one,’ he announces. ‘How could you possibly know about me hitting that van today?’

  I stare at the floor. That is a good question, one that leaves me tongue-tied.

  ‘Wow,’ Vinny exclaims, making me jump. ‘That was a total guess! Did we get it right?’

  Frankie’s eyes widen in genuine shock, then he tips his head back and laughs. He looks at me and says, ‘I like your mate a lot more than I like you.’ He glances at Harry. ‘He’s a funny fucker, ain’t he?’

  Harry the shadow nods. ‘Yeah,’ he replies in a really deep voice, like one of James Brown’s backing singers.

  Oh, Vinny, what the hell are you doing?

  Frankie moves out of my field of vision. ‘And what’s your name, Chrome Dome?’ he asks Vinny.

  ‘Vincent Vega,’ Vinny answers quickly, emulating Uma Thurman’s character in Pulp Fiction. It’s a long time before Frankie would get that reference.

  ‘Well, Vincent Vega,’ Frankie says cheerily, ‘what else have you got to say?’

  ‘I would tell you my favourite joke about short people,’ Vinny says, ‘but it would probably go over your head.’

  Vinny is trying to buy us time and who knows, maybe even trying to earn the respect of Frankie Shaw for being brave. But it isn’t going to work.

  Frankie sighs. ‘It pains me, Vincent, but it’s time to add some injury to that insult.’

  ‘Frankie,’ I mumble, ‘please, you don’t have to –’

  Frankie nods at Harry who strides over to Vinny’s chair. Perhaps it’s a good thing I can’t see what’s about to happen. A horrible silence is followed by the slide of feet and a loud crunch. It reminds me of my dad tenderising steaks.

  I feel Vinny clench and vibrate. He growls and then laughs. ‘I’m being beaten up by Mad Harry Hurst!’ he cries. ‘Cool!’

  ‘That’s not cool, Vinny!’

  Frankie takes a p
oker from a stand next to the fire. He tilts his head in thought and then pushes it into the fire.

  He turns to me and smiles. ‘Yes, you’re a smart boy. You know what’s coming next, don’t ya?’ He leans down, minty breath right in my face. ‘I’m gonna give you one more chance because I’m decent like that. Let’s come back to my original question. How did you know my plan, who told you?’

  I stare at the poker, beginning to glow.

  ‘We… er.’

  ‘If you don’t tell me,’ Frankie says, ‘Harry is going to knock Vincent’s knees off like he’s playing croquet. Ain’t that right, Harry?’

  ‘Yeah.’ His basso voice echoes behind me.

  Vinny clears his throat. ‘Any chance you could make it multiple choice?’ he says. He does an admirable job of sounding brave, but I can tell he’s petrified.

  Frankie doesn’t laugh this time. ‘You’re pushing your luck now, Vincent, me old mate.’ He stares at me and then glances at the fire again. I wish he would stop doing that.

  ‘Now then, pretty boy, I know you work for Don Dickerson and I know he killed my brother. You’re going to tell me what happened.’

  A hundred things flash through my mind. Time travel, the rest of Frankie’s life, home, Alexia, Amy, Lucy. Everything I could lose, people I love in pain. They cancel each other out and no words come from my mouth.

  Shaw nods, and I wince. There is another horrible smacking sound, the chair rocks and Vinny cries out. Frankie knows what he’s doing, how to get me to talk. This is all my fault. I have to get them off Vinny.

  ‘All right,’ I gasp, ‘all right… I will tell you.’

  ‘Joe,’ Vinny says, ‘what are you doing?’

  Frankie leans down, placing a hand on my knee. ‘Go ahead, Joe. You were saying?’

  I suppose I could just tell him that we’re time travellers, here to stop the murder of Lucy Romano. Or make up stories and beg for our release. But, come on… You really think that’s going to work? You think you negotiate with someone like Frankie Shaw?

  He’s going to kill us no matter what we do.

  That thought fans the flames of my stupidity. My brain delivers a piece of information Vinny shared with me during our research and then switches off. I hear myself talking, using a nickname Vinny warned me never to use. ‘Have you ever heard the story of the Ginger Pimpernel?’ I ask him.