Tight Lies

by Ted Denton

  ‘Stay the fuck still, you crazy bitch,’ I ordered, one hand gripping the door frame, the other drawing my gun.

  Matilda froze, her pale blue eyes widening as she looked up at me. She flicked her hair, jutting her chin forward in defiance. She composed herself, paused a thick five seconds and then spat back at me.

  ‘What the hell do you want? I suppose you’re going to try and rape me now like a big tough man? Right here in the car park?’

  The words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. Bad thoughts. Too many haunting memories. The brutal weapon of war. I steadied myself against the car window, head reeling. Maria… please… don’t hurt her… it’s me you want to punish….

  I breathed in hard. Exhaled.

  ‘Calm down. That is not going to happen. Give me the keys. Put your seat belt on and the gun goes away. Now please. Just do it.’ I struggled to bring control and measure to my voice. Matilda reluctantly buckled up. I put the gun away and walked around to the empty passenger seat, climbing into the car beside her. Locked the car doors and looked at her in silence. She was now crying softly to herself. Whimpering, shaking.

  ‘Matilda, listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need some information about Daniel Ratchet. We believe that he’s been kidnapped and I’m here to bring him back.’

  She looked through me with haunting tear stained eyes.

  ‘Who has taken him Matilda and where? Do you know? If you know you must tell me and now. We haven’t much time.’

  ‘I don’t know much about it. He left me a voicemail saying there was a problem with a contract. He was studying some strange data patterns or something. I think his room in the hotel had been burgled. He needed my help and now he’s gone. They’re saying things didn’t work out for him on Tour and he went home. I thought we had something special.’

  ‘Okay. Do you have any idea where he’s gone or why? I need to get the facts here and fast.’

  ‘Try asking a golf coach called Bob Wallace. He’s been peddling some theory about how the winners on Tour are all fixed. It seems totally far-fetched. Everyone knows Bob has an axe to grind but Daniel was the new boy out here. Bob got him sucked into these crazy ideas and now he’s gone. Perhaps he got disillusioned with it all. Couldn’t hack it. I know that feeling too sometimes.’

  She looked so sad.

  ‘Do you know any more about this tournament fixing theory? If it is for real and Daniel was poking about where his nose didn’t belong, it could it be a reason for someone to want him out of the picture, don’t you think?’

  Matilda turned and looked at me dispassionately. A coolness revealing itself behind those watery blue eyes, cutting her off from the pain. ‘I already told you I don’t know anything about it. We all have to survive and make our living out here. Now just leave me the fuck alone will you’.

  It wasn’t going the way I had hoped.

  ‘Thank you,’ I replied with as much sincerity as I could muster. ‘You’ve been helpful. I know it’s difficult. I only want to bring Daniel back to you and his family.’

  I left Matilda in the car, defiant. People react in a variety of ways following the kidnapping of a loved one and defensiveness was a common characteristic. She was hurting right now but something told me she would pull through. I figured that she was tougher than that pretty feminine exterior suggested. I’d learn more from Bob Wallace, when I located him. Perhaps he would be better apprised of the complex relationship between Daniel Ratchet and the group of caddies that I had overheard before. One thing was for sure. I needed a trail to locate the Target before I could act.

  And there was no time to waste or, when we did get to him, there might be nothing more than a stiff cold corpse waiting.

  Chapter 19

  SPAIN. EUROPEAN TOUR. DAY FIVE. EARLY MORNING.

  Throbbing. A dull, deafening pulse. A relentless beat drumming menacingly inside his brain. He opened his eyes to darkness and struggled onto his side. Hands and feet tightly bound. A coarse, thick, prickly rope bit into his skin. He groaned against the rancid gag. The taste of stale blood pervaded his mouth. Ribs felt like they had been smashed in on his left side. The ear drum shattering sound continued unabated. He worked hard to get a better sense of his surroundings. A vast, cavernous, pitch black space. The room felt empty—cold and malevolent. His thoughts stifled by the imposing clatter of old clunky machinery. He wondered if he was in some sort of factory. He wondered what the hell had happened. Last thing he could recall he was talking to an attractive woman outside the hotel at the golf course. Something about a camera? A stabbing jolt jarred through his back as Daniel was bumped up into the air like a rag doll and smashed back down hard onto his throbbing ribs. Pitiful groaning. This was no old fashioned factory. He was inside a moving vehicle.

  The articulated lorry junketed, bumped and swerved wildly across the white lines of the road on two side wheels. Tyres screeched as it clumsily avoided a collision with a white Range Rover travelling fast in the opposite direction. Up front in the hot cramped cab, the agitated driver behind the wheel slapped his face hard to clear his head from its dreamlike trance. He had driven hard all night, barely passing another vehicle, lost within the seductive trails of his own thoughts, the mesmeric sound of turning wheels and the bare tarmac stretching endlessly ahead. He’d woken from his daze to find his lorry driving on the wrong side of the road. It had been everything he could do to prevent a head on collision with the other vehicle. Too close. He shook his head in disbelief. Face and neck slick with a sheen of cold sweat.

  And after what seemed like endless hours of blackened hell to Daniel’s aching limbs and battered ribs, feeling every imperfection in the road beneath as his helpless carcass banged and buffeted against the unforgiving wooden trailer bed, the sun began to rise. Shards of fractured sunbeams prised themselves into the lorry through the cracks and chinks in the side panelling.

  As the heat rose steadily with the sun, so did the unmistakable stench of rotting meat, ascending to an unbearable peak. Daniel retched as his body reacted to the enforced environment. The sunlight stung his eyes. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had something to drink and his mouth and throat were so dry that he couldn’t swallow. It hurt to try.

  Huge sharp metal hooks, like menacing inverted question marks, creaked in the gloom above him. Some of the hooks held enormous carcasses with what could only really have been skinned or untreated pigs fixed upon them, presumably those not fit for refrigeration or human consumption. The stench of death, of flesh and smoke was everywhere. Daniel Ratchet was imprisoned in some kind of moving abattoir.

  ‘I’m telling ya. He was supposed to meet me at the Irish bar, lassie. Daniel had figured it out. He’d made the connections between the stats and the decline in specific players’ form at specific times. He was on to those miserable cheating bastards and I think they knew. We were going to draw up the battle plan on how to get the Tour cleaned up and rid of this scourge of corruption.’ They were sitting closely together in the busy and brightly lit atrium of the hotel. Safe. Drawing comfort from each other.

  ‘I can’t understand it. He wouldn’t just up and leave the Tour. Not without saying goodbye. This was his dream job. And we’d only just met, Bob. He told me he loved me. I know it sounds strange but until I met Daniel I have always felt so alone out here. He was the only one to ever really understand me. Not just wanting to get me into bed. He really wanted to get to know the real me.’ She pulled earnestly on the old man’s shirt sleeve as if to emphasise the point.

  ‘I figured he was sweet on you, princess. Suppose there’s not a man out here that ain’t. I wasn’t buying that little ring you wear. It never kept Krostanov away from you neither, what with all those fancy dinners and the like.’ Bob always played the straight bat, whatever the wicket.

  ‘That was business, Bob. I didn’t have a choice. And I never said I was with Michael or anyone else, I let people make their own assumptions. They can think what they want. I just want the creeps to st
ay away. I was so happy I had found Daniel.’ She twisted the lace of the table cloth between tense fingers.

  ‘And I’m telling you sweetheart,’ Bob reiterated grimly, ‘he’s not left. He didn’t bottle it. Danny wasn’t like that. That’s just some official nonsense that the pubic relations people have put out so no one will make a fuss, so he wouldn’t be missed. Nobody will care one jot out here if some upstart agent decides he can’t hack the pace and ups and leaves the Tour to head home, tail between his legs. People are always coming and going. And as you well know there are always plenty of young bucks ready to grab their chance with both hands when they get it. He’ll be replaced without missing a beat.’ He banged his fist on the table top as he spoke the word.

  ‘What those bastards couldn’t sanction would be some salacious crime or story about missing persons. Oh no, that would be picked up by the media and besmirch the precious name of the Tour. Reflect directly on their golden goose sponsors and the like. This is a fix up Matilda.’ They leant together, faces only a few inches from one another. He spoke in a low voice cracking with emotion. ‘They’ve taken Danny because he knew something about the dark forces at work out here and he told me he finally had the proof to make it stick.’

  ‘What’s going to happen? Who do you think is responsible, Bob? Do you have any real evidence that you can take to the police?’

  ‘I’ve long held the belief that a certain criminal element amongst the caddies out here run a black market gambling ring. I know they have bullied certain players to miss puts during rounds and manipulate the scoring to meet their own ends.’

  Bob peered about the hotel searchingly, as if expecting to be overheard.

  ‘They even go so far as to get some of the coaches and managers in on the act when it serves them to score a big pay day. I don’t know how high up this goes but I wouldn’t be surprised if the bloody sponsors and officials were in on it too for all I know.’

  ‘But you don’t have any proof of this?’ Matilda asked. Again touching Bob’s arm.

  ‘Danny was going to show me the stats he had uncovered which showed the best players throwing tournaments away at the last minute against the run of form. Very convenient as a bookie if you have a lot of money piled on the favourite I’d say. I was going to ask him to use his position dealing with sponsors to see how they felt about it.’

  ‘The sponsors?’

  ‘I know you have to work with Krostanov, sweetheart, seeing as the company he works for sponsors the physio-truck along with everything else around here. Lord knows I’ve seen him sniffing around you enough like a dog on heat, but I have a bad feeling about that mob from Rublex too. Why would a man of his position spend time with those lowly bag men? Especially cretins like Razor and Sean? My guess is that they are up to their necks in this too somehow.’ Face stony and resolute, meeting the girl’s eyes.

  ‘Bob that’s crazy! Sergei talks to the caddies because Rublex sponsor the players they work with. And they would only want their players to do the very best when they play. That’s surely the point of sponsorship after all. You have no evidence of impropriety whatsoever, Bob.’ Matilda shifted a little distance between them. Bob’s conspiracy theories had been known to become contagious over the years.

  ‘Listen. I’ve called in a favour,’ the old coach growled in his gravelly Scottish drawl, eyes narrowing to hardened slits. ‘I’ve brought in some help from the best I know, back from my time in the Services. They’ll get the evidence if it’s there. We’re going to have to fight to get Danny back and figure out this mess. These are the fellas you want on your side and no mistake.’ He looked down at the floor and spoke in a softer voice, the passion drained.

  ‘Matilda, it’s my fault the wee lad got dragged into this. I’m so sorry for that. I need to make it right.’

  The old man sat back in his seat, a single tear snaking its way down his wrinkled cheek. He buried his head in his hands. Matilda gazed back at him numb, again lost to a familiar world of hurt. After a minute she straightened from the table and wordlessly walked away.

  Chapter 20

  SPAIN. EUROPEAN TOUR. DAY FIVE. 14.45 HRS.

  The meat truck pulled up to the side of the road and finally came to a slow grinding stop. Daniel waited. Held his breath, listening intently for the faintest sound, anything to provide a clue as to what was happening. Everything was still now, even the creaking of the metal hooks straining under the weight of heavy carcasses had stopped. He pulled against the ropes, burning his wrists as he twisted and writhed. But struggling was hopeless. He was expertly hogtied and tightly gagged in the foetal position so that he could barely move. The idea briefly taunted him that he was no better off than one of the stinking slabs of meat above. The cab door slammed shut and Daniel could hear the sound of a man’s heavy footsteps rounding the side of the lorry, moving away from the occasional traffic of the road. Whomever they belonged to, they must have been standing not more than a couple of yards away from him now, as he lay helpless inside the lorry. The driver cleared his throat and spat on the ground before scratching impatiently at a lighter flint. The waft of bitter cigarette smoke, rich with tar, pronounced reward for his industry. Daniel could faintly hear bird song. Where the hell am I and why is this happening to me?

  And then the crunch of gravel told of a car approaching slowly. The double clunk of its slamming doors indicated to Daniel that his driver had now been joined by two new people. He heard footsteps walking away from the lorry and then gruff voices conversing at a short distance. Fuck my head hurts. Can’t think. This is it. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. God help me. Please. Please.

  The men were arguing. Voices raised and angry. Daniel couldn’t make out any specific words nor the gist of what was being said, but one thing was for sure, they were not happy people. Footsteps moved briskly towards the lorry now. Daniel shut his eyes tight and prayed. A button was pushed and Daniel could hear the incessant high-pitched whirring of electric gearing at the rear of the vehicle. He could hear the grating of metal steps being set into place. Suddenly aware he was super alert. Bristling with fear, his nerves on edge. The door was flung open and blistering sunlight flooded the inside. Daniel winced, peering through sore and crusty eyelids towards the end of the tunnel at the black silhouetted outlines of two bulky men framed in the square of light at the entrance to the lorry. They’re going to kill me. They’re going to kill me. They’re going to kill me.

  One of the men clambered up into the back of the truck. He coughed and cursed under his breath as the stench hit him. Daniel gagged again as the man peeled his way through the hanging carcasses which were now wreaking a fearsomely thick and putrid stench in the heat. He paused, slamming his heavy fist against one of the dead pigs in his way forcing it to lash wildly from side to side, metal hook creaking angrily. Punishing the carcass for the unpleasant odour. Daniel heard chuckling. He watched helpless as the shadow stepped closer, hunkering down onto its haunches to assess its bound captive. Suddenly his head was jerked upward by a fistful of his hair. The man stared directly into his fearful bloodshot eyes. In return he saw no hint of compassion. Nothing human to relate to or communicate with. He could taste the repugnant odious breath which warmly bathed his face.

  And then, upon satisfying himself with the sorry looking mess within his grip, he issued a cold smirk, and spat directly into Daniel’s swollen face. The grip on his hair was suddenly released, his body discarded like an unloved child’s toy clattering rigidly to the floor. The shadow turned, gingerly stepped back through the lorry out of the thick funk and into fresh air.

  Daniel lay there motionless, heart beating furiously out of his chest. He could feel the thick globule of saliva slowly slithering its way down his cheek and over his cracked bloodied lips. He was grateful of the moisture. It was pitiful. He breathed deeply. The paralysing fear he’d been so overcome with earlier was slowly passing.

  If they wanted to kill me then I’d already be dead. Somehow that bastard had seemed please
d. They must need me alive.

  Chapter 21

  ENGLAND. LONDON. RIVER THAMES. NORTH BANK. 07.48 HRS.

  A rusted tug boat blasted its horn in pugnacious warning at nearby vessels as it jostled for position on the river approaching Westminster Bridge. The sound caused Derek Hemmings to look up from his newspaper and check along the towpath for the twelfth time that morning. He relished crisp, bright, spring mornings such as these and invariably looked forward to his brisk walk to work alongside the shimmering river Thames. Observing the bustle of the boats; marvelling at the industry of a city at work. But today was different. Derek was ill at ease and agitated. He was waiting for a clandestine appointment at the secluded riverside bench which he occupied. And his meeting was late. He glanced furtively at his watch, tutting quietly to himself and shaking his head.

  ‘Still impatient I see, Derek,’ Simon Prentice’s velvety smooth voice admonished gently behind him.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Simon. I’m afraid I don’t know who else to turn to, who else may possibly be able to assist.’

  ‘It must be serious old boy. It’s been forty odd years since you turned your back on us spooks in MI6. Defected to the Foreign Office. Embraced the Dark Side.’ He smiled the same slow calculated smile that had hung long in the memory.

  ‘Come now. It was never like that, Simon and you know it. I loved the job, truly. But when Robin came along so unexpectedly, well, there was just no choice. Alice needed me at home. She insisted that I had to put family first, and rightly so I suppose.’ Derek stood and shuffled from foot to foot, somewhat animated.