by Tim Roux
We, the parents, are escorted from the conference room, comforted by police liaison officers, keeping our heads down. In the car park, we go our separate ways.
And then there is Agnes, who also insists on shredding our nerves. Confidentially, we allocate her an official wailing wall in the hallway where she can indulge in as much keening as she has a heart to do. She never uses it as we never actually inform her that it is there. Instead, she becomes a one-woman Greek chorus. Isn’t it horrific? Isn’t it sick? Can we guess what she would do to these people if she ever got hold of them? Poor little Ella! Poor little Mark! What will become of them? What will become of us? How will we fill the time while we wait for news? How can we bear it? Will we be able to cope? If there is anything we would like her to do …… (other than disturb us less, that is). It is sweet, and decent, and kind, and humane, but God does it unsettle us yet more than we are already. We have all these thoughts occupying our own heads without their being repeated out there in reality. The only consolation is that after a while we are forced to comfort Agnes, the two of us, and that serves to distract us, that and endless phone calls which are sometimes from our friends, but mostly from the press, so we disconnect the phone after a while.
In the end, we give Agnes a couple of days off to come to terms with her continuing ordeal. We do have to recognise that she has been caring for our children all these years every bit as much as we have. She is a pseudo-grandmother, and she is suffering a real grandmother’s distress.
Nadya, on the other hand, is a different matter. For all her studied motherliness, she is sniffing big bucks big-time. She wants to know how we can track the children down, so I call Mike. I catch him in first time and he says that he already knows where the children are being held. Fingers is keeping him informed. They are in a remote former-farm holiday cottage on the Hereford-Wales border. Mike counsels me urgently not to do anything stupid. Planty is not planning to hurt them. They’ll be champion if we just keep up what we’re doing. Planty is well-pleased, and we all know exactly why.
“Do you have the address of where the children are being held?”
“Yeah, I ‘ave the address when you need it.”
“That’s great. Thanks, Mike.”
“Don’t mention it. And next time you are in this neck of the woods, be sure to drop in, won’t you? Kathy and I were most ‘urt that you didn’t even try to see us.”
“You sound like a married couple, Mike.”
“You never know. We might yet get that way.”
* * *
And then events take a dramatic turn for the worse. The blow comes from Planty amid a flurry of blood-curdling oaths.
“What the fuck!” he starts, and he never really stops.
“What the fuck!”
“You crazy fucks.”
“I’m goin’ to fuckin’ kill yer.”
“I’m goin’ to brain yer fuckin’ kids.”
“I’m goin’ to tie belts around their fuckin’ necks and fuckin’ strangle ‘em.”
“I’m goin’ to drown ‘em in baths of boilin’ fuckin’ water. I’m goin’ to skin ‘em alive.”
“I’m goin’ to fuckin’ chop up yer kids, and then fuckin’ come after yer as well and rip yer fuckin’ tongues out.”
“Ye’re goin’ to be fuckin’ sorry for this.”
And I respond desperately and fatuously in equal measure.
“Calm down, Trevor!”
“Calm down, Trevor!”
“Calm down, Trevor!”
“Calm down, Trevor!”
“Calm down? I’m goin’ to fuckin’ kill yer fuckin’ kids, then when I’ve finished with ‘em, I’m going’ to fuckin’ kill yer. It’ll be slow, it’ll be painful, it’ll be my pleasure.”
“What has happened?”
“Yer know fuckin’ well what ‘as fuckin’ ‘appened.”
“No.”
Chrissie has walked into the room. She is visibly alarmed.
“Yer know fuckin’ well what ‘as fuckin’ ‘appened,” he repeats.
“What has happened?”
“Yer’ve given phoney piccies to the coppers. Yer’ve tried to do me in. Yer tryin’ to send me down. I’m going to fuckin’ kill yer, all of yer. No exceptions.”
Right.
“Our private detective took pictures of your guys casing the children’s school last week …..”
“They weren’t fuckin’ casin’ the fuckin’ school …..”
“So how comes she got pictures then?”
“They weren’t fuckin’ there. These piccies are soddin’ fakes. Yer’ve faked soddin’ piccies to send me down.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well someone soddin’ ‘as.”
“They are pictures taken by our private detective ……”
“I’m going to fuckin’ kill ‘er as well. Cunt! ……”
“….which we gave to DI Martin before we met you.”
“…and yer didn’t think to fuckin’ tell me.”
“It didn’t come up.”
“It’s going to fuckin’ come up now – right up yer fuckin’ arse. Right, I’m goin’ to give the order now. Your kids are fuckin’ dead.” He slams the phone down.
“Quick,” I say to Chrissie. “Where’s Planty’s phone number. It’s an emergency!”
I have never seen Chrissie outright scared before. She is rushing and dithering and spinning round in circles.
“On your mobile,” I suggest.
“Oh yes.” She hands her mobile over to me, shaking so much that she drops it and we crash heads bending down to retrieve it.
I phone.
“Trevor ….”
“Too late, mate, I’ve given the order. Yer kids will be snuffin’ it about now. All four of ‘em. Do you want to listen to it ‘appenin’. I’ll get ‘em to call yer.” He slams down the phone again.
Our phone rings.
“Planty’s told us to wipe yer kids. ‘e says yer want to listen.”
“If you touch our kids, you cannot begin to guess what will happen to you. The devil may fry you in hell, but I’ll fry you first, and that is a solemn promise.”
Chrissie loses it entirely.
“What’s happening?”
“What’s happening?”
“What’s happening?”
“What’s happening?”
I hear Ella shriek in pain and terror. The phone goes dead again. I hit Last Number Recall. The number has been masked. I phone Plant. “Plant,” I declare, “I curse you to a thousand generations. I curse you to rot in hell. I curse you to hellfire eternal. I curse your body, your soul, your mind, your heart, your liver, your spleen …….”
He laughs. “Now yer’e talkin’ sense,” he says.
I pause.
He cuts off again.
“What’s happening?”
“They’re threatening to murder the children.” I tone down what they have really said.
“What???” Her mouth drops to her chest, and she hits the floor where she begins loud, inconsolable, breathless screaming. “Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make them stop.”
Agnes hurries in. I am flailing. “Agnes, please quickly, take over with Chrissie. I have to make another call.” I run upstairs, dialling Mike as I go.
“Mike?”
“Mike. They’re threatening to kill the children. Planty has gone mad. I heard them torturing Ella. What can we do? Is there anything we can do?”
“’e’s not going to kill your kids, Keith. ‘e simply wouldn’t do that. They’re his family, ‘is nephew and ‘is niece. ‘is code of honour would never allow it. ‘e might come after you, but ‘e’ll never ‘arm them, ‘owever narked ‘e gets. ‘e can go completely psycho, ‘e offen does, but ‘e’ll never ‘arm them, I promise you.”
“I heard Ella squeal.”
“It was for show.”
“What can we do?”
“Give me five minutes.”
The longest five minutes
ever.
* * *
He rings back. “Planty ‘as cancelled the order, but ‘e wants to see you. You personally. Alone. And ‘e wants you to approach ‘im with your knob in your mouth, and ‘e doesn’t mean doubled-up. You’d better accept, for now leastwise. It’s the best offer you’ll get.
* * *
Chapter 23
I have always thought that the line of “we never negotiate with terrorists” is a peculiarly empty and feeble one. What is there for me to negotiate with Planty? What have I to offer? I can do somersaults, and it will be irrelevant to what he decides to do with Ella and Mark and the other two children. He has the power to do anything he can persuade his guys to do. If his conscience does not intervene, nor will my special pleading.
Chrissie has taken to her bed. I think I can sense Jerry and Sam praying frantically over the ether. I don’t blame any of them. This is a hell of a situation, the worst possible.
Tomorrow night I will travel up to confront Planty. It will do me no good to grovel to him. The only hope is that he regards me as a worthy and honourable opponent. If I appear to be begging, he will ritualistically humiliate me and relish the exercise of his power. He will cut me to pieces physically and psychology. I really will end up with my penis in my mouth as he is demanding. He will get two of his men to hold me, he will rip my trousers down and he will slice it off and shove it in my mouth. I am sure that he has every intention of doing just that. I have twenty-four hours to prepare myself, either to thwart him or to make peace with my fate.
I go into the bedroom. Chrissie is actually asleep, or rather passed out. I kiss her, and she momentarily stirs, which I regret. I go straight to the shed where all my DIY equipment is stored. It takes me three hours to fashion a discreet weapon.
I phone Mike. “Can I stay at your place tomorrow night?”
“Me casa es su casa,” he replies.
I climb in beside Chrissie and fall asleep.
* * *
“Don’t concede anything until he has released the children,” Chrissie urges me.
“I won’t,” I promise.
“Wait until it is confirmed that the children are safe.”
“I will.”
“And darling, please, please look after yourself.”
That I cannot guarantee. “I will.”
It only takes me four and a half hours up to Hull – M1, M18, M62, A63. turn left towards the Infirmary, left, left and right.
Mike is waiting for me. Fran and Kathy are chatting in the kitchen. Tommy is drawing in the sitting room that Mike has opened up at long last. It is stacked full of boxes, filled with all the debris he shared with his wife while they were living together. Tommy has cleared himself a space. “Hello,” he greets me. “Are you Keith?” I hug him, a gesture which he does not resist.
Fran comes over and kisses me on the cheek – the Judas kiss. Kathy hesitates, then follows suit. I feel like the last knight of the roundtable with his sorry final act of valour still ahead of him.
“What time are you meeting Planty?” Mike enquires
“Ten.”
“Where?”
“The Market Place.”
“What do you expect to happen?” Fran asks.
“I haven’t a clue. It’s going to end up in a fight of some sort.”
“Men are pathetic,” Kathy comments. “Seriously, you should all be locked up. You’re all loco.”
“What would you rather I did?”
“Dunno. I would have to be a man to answer that,” Kathy replies.
“Are you all right?” This is from Fran.
“I don’t know what I am, Fran. I just know that I have to do whatever it is I will have to do.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
It was ten at night when I arrived, so we soon turn in. Fran and Tommy go home. I can hear Mike and Kathy creaking domestically in the bed as they settle themselves down.
* * *
I arrive in the Market Place at five to ten, accompanied by Mike, Fingers, and a couple of the others I barely know.
Planty and about ten of his crew approach from the old gateway.
Life ebbs around us, oblivious.
Planty steps forward. So do I.
“I don’t see yer knob in yer mouth,” Planty taunts me.
“I haven’t heard that the children have been released.”
“I never said they would be.”
“Release them now, then,” I suggest.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because the alternative is too horrible to contemplate for all of us. You’ve got what you want. Why prolong the agony?”
“I need to teach yer a lesson.”
“You are always teaching people lessons, Trevor. Isn’t it time you gave teaching a rest?”
“I can see that ye’re way out there in cuckoo land this morning, Keith.”
“Release the children, Trevor.”
“And if I do?”
“And if you do, we have peace. You can’t fight everyone forever.”
“I’m not fightin’ everyone, Keith. I’m dealin’ with yer for lyin’ and cheatin’ and generally fuckin’ me about. I need to teach yer some respect in front of the lads ‘ere. Are yer ready, lads?”
“We’re ready, Planty,” Nobby confirms.
“Drop yer trousers, Keith, and we’ll get it over ‘n’ done with. Show us that you can ‘andle at least some’at with dignity.”
“And you are calling kidnapping young kids dignified, are you, Trevor?”
“We ain’t come ‘ere to discuss owt with yer. We’ve come to do a job. Let us carry out yer punishment without a struggle and we’ll let the kids go. Come on, lads.”
Nobby comes at me first. He is about an arm’s length away from me when I slide the machete down from its sheath between my shoulder blades and slice his carotid artery in two. I step round him and slash at Planty’s head, slicing his ear off as he manages to pull his head away from me. As the others back off, I kick Planty’s legs from under him and stab him through the stomach. Planty is lying there, looking as startled as a chicken on a production line.
“Right, Plant,” I order. “Release the children.” As he hesitates, I cut him across the cheek. “Release my children.” I wave the machete at the other members of his gang. “Give him a phone.”
Somebody I don’t recognise runs forward, places a mobile in his right hand, and runs back to his place.
“You have five seconds, Plant,” I state blandly. “On the sixth I take you out. Okay?” I poke him in the groin with the machete.
I really don’t know what he will decide. He is not a man who is easily intimidated. He might order the children to be killed out of sheer cussedness.
“And don’t think I am not going to kill you,” I add. “Five, four, three, two …..” He begins to dial the number.
“If the children die,” I continue, “you will go to gaol for life. You may be sectioned as a child killer, or you may not. Either way, you are going to be trussed up for years and years and years, and every moment is going to be a living hell. Why would you throw everything away like that? Why would you decide to jump into the shit and drown there? What good would it do you, when you can simply walk away? You release the children, and that is the end of the matter.”
He watches me levelly, his hand shaking not from fear but from loss of blood and clinical shock. “’ullo,” he says. “Planty ‘ere. Kill ‘em!”
I wield the machete and slash it as hard as I can down the middle of his face. No-one steps anywhere near me to try to prevent me, not from either side. Two police cars screech up alongside me, and four policemen jump out. One relieves me of the machete, and leads me quietly away. A third police car arrives, and DI Martin gets out. He takes stock of Nobby lying dead on the pavement, and the bloody mess that is Trevor Plant. “Good news, Mr. McGuire,” he announces. “We’ve just heard that the children have been found safely wandering around Hereford town centre.”
Ar
thur Windballs approaches me. “Planty wasn’t really goin’ to do owt to yer, yer know,” he confides. “’e was only trying’ to scare yer.”
“He succeeded,” I retort.
* * *
Trevor Plant pulled through, more is the pity. Apparently he looks like Frankenstein’s monster with a deep scar down the middle of his face. They managed to stitch his ear back on again. We feared for a time that he would come after our children again, or even after us, but Mike assured us that he is a spent force. I had carved him up in front of the most important members of his gang. He had lost in single combat to a southern architect with no previous history of violence whatsoever (they didn’t know about the kick-boxing), thereby effectively resigning from the Inbies even as he was being carted off to Hull Royal. Mike tells me that the new boss, who was not present that day, is called Charlie Stone, and he doesn’t expect him to be bothering me.
I was prosecuted for carrying an offensive weapon and for breaching the peace, and received a suspended prison sentence and forty hours of community service as the result of a plea bargain. Adam loves that and has rewarded me with a significant promotion.
Chrissie hired a genealogical investigator to check her relationship with Planty, Harry and Kathy. There isn’t one. Planty is indeed Harry and Kathy’s brother, and there is, or was, a fourth sibling, called Christine. But she was Christine Norris with a different surname, birth place and birth date from my Chrissie.
Ella and Mark consider me to be the ultimate hero, taking on Goliath face-to-face, and ripping him to shreds. Chrissie seems to think much the same thing, and any impropriety on my side has been forgiven.
