Hatchet Man was sober and deadly. A tank. Impervious and unyielding, armour plated and designed for battle.
Even worse, he was angry.
Furious.
Hatchet Man’s cheeks went pale, a sure sign he was preparing for fight or flight. Prosper knew it wouldn’t be the latter.
Paris lay on the ground, groaning.
Ty climbed to his feet, but he looked groggy.
And God knows where Wolfe had disappeared to.
Prosper and Hatchet Man circled each other, Hatchet Man assuming a grappling pose. Whatever he had been reaching for in his pocket was now forgotten – either that or he didn’t see his four assailants as a real threat.
Prosper tried to weigh up his opponent. The expression ‘muscle bound’ was a misnomer that belied Hatchet man’s speed. So he had to be careful. If he timed his attack wrong ...
A scream punctuated the air and Prosper and Hatchet Man turned as one to see Wolfe charging along the alley.
A light in one of the houses came on. A window opened. A head poked out.
“Bloody shut up,” someone shouted. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
The window closed. The light went off.
Wolfe slammed into Hatchet Man’s side, bowling the larger man over.
Hatchet Man’s head struck the ground with a loud crack. Seizing the moment, Prosper jumped on top of their quarry and pressed the chloroform soaked handkerchief to his nose.
Time seemed to stop. Prosper wondered whether it would work. Wondered whether the chloroform had evaporated before he had the chance to use it.
Hatchet Man struggled, but Wolfe grabbed his arms, trying to restrain him. And then Ty also joined in, the three of them holding him down for dear life, human shackles.
Eventually Hatchet Man relaxed, but Prosper didn’t dare remove the handkerchief.
“Quick, let’s get him to the car,” Wolfe said as he stood. “Prosper, give me a hand.”
Apprehensive, Prosper eventually took the handkerchief away and held his breath, wary of Hatchet Man jumping to his feet. When he didn’t move, Prosper gulped in air and stood to help Wolfe. Holding Hatchet Man beneath each armpit, they lifted and Prosper saw traces of blood where the now unconscious man’s head had struck the ground. He groaned to himself. The last thing they needed was incriminating evidence left at the scene.
As they dragged their quarry towards the waiting car, Prosper looked around for the drunken man, but he didn’t see him anywhere.
Hatchet Man felt heavier than he expected, but the burden lessened when Ty joined them and grabbed his legs.
Paris still lay in the alley. He wasn’t moving.
What if Hatchet Man had caused him serious injury? Ruptured his spleen. Fractured his skull. That would be all they needed.
At the end of the alley, Wolfe checked the road, and then they dragged/hauled/carried Hatchet Man to the car. Wolfe opened the boot.
“Houston, we have a problem,” he said.
Prosper gritted his teeth. “What is it?”
Wolfe gestured towards the boot. “Well unless we cut him into little pieces, our friend here is not going to fit inside.”
“Oh that’s just bloody brilliant. You and your fucking BMW. I knew we’d need something bigger.”
“Calm down. We can put him on the back seat,” Wolfe said. “Come on, give me a hand to lift him in.”
Prosper grabbed Hatchet Man’s feet, while Ty and Wolfe took a hold underneath each arm. Wolfe lifted with ease, but Ty struggled, cursing as the body slipped. He readjusted his hold and they pushed Hatchet Man onto the back seat as far as they could before Wolfe ran around the other side of the vehicle to pull while Prosper and Ty pushed, adjusting the position of the man’s limbs to fit him inside.
“Right, I’ve got some cord in the boot,” Wolfe said. “I’ll tie him up while you go and check on Paris.”
Prosper nodded, and Ty followed as he jogged back down the alley.
As they drew close, Prosper was relieved to see Paris sit up and hold his head. His friend had pulled his balaclava off, and although still dark, Prosper saw blood dripping onto the ground.
When they reached his side, Paris looked up at them. “'E broke me nose,” he blurted, spitting out a wad of blood.
“As long as you’re OK,” Prosper said, grimacing as he looked at the speckles of Paris’ DNA dotted around the floor.
“Well I’m not.” Paris said, incredulous. “Me nose is broken.”
“Well, we can’t hang around here. Ty, help him to the car. Then get to the warehouse.”
Ty nodded and helped a protesting Paris to his feet.
Prosper watched them hobble away along the road, and then he looked at the blood on the ground.
This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.
CHAPTER 21
Prosper kept looking back, checking that Hatchet Man was still unconscious as the streets sped by in a blur. He didn’t fancy trying to restrain the large man in the BMW, and he didn’t want to use the chloroform in the confined space, as it would undoubtedly put them all under its somnolent spell.
Up ahead, a police car pulled out of a side street, patrolling the roads like a shark. “Damn it,” Prosper said as they fell in behind it. His heart did a somersault and he wrung his hands together.
“Calm down,” Wolfe said. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“I think abducting someone is doing something wrong, don’t you?”
“Yes, but they don’t know that. Unless police detection methods have vastly improved, I don’t think they can read minds.”
Prosper wasn’t so sure. Sometimes while grilling a suspect, he could tell if they were guilty, reading something on a subconscious level that gave them away.
Wolfe indicated to turn left. Up ahead, the police car also indicated; also going left.
Prosper’s heart sank. It would be just their luck to get pulled over for a routine check. And what would they think when they saw Hatchet Man on the back seat?
The car’s headlights scythed the darkness. Prosper kept his eyes on the police car in front. He saw it indicate, and then it pulled up at the side of the road and he let out a sigh of relief.
He stared straight ahead as they drove by, not daring to look aside.
The next minute, Wolfe said, “They’re following us.”
Prosper wanted to turn around in his seat and look, but he couldn’t. He kept facing the road ahead. His heart hammered, his breath hitched in his throat, and his head spun.
The car filled with cold blue light that chilled the marrow of his bones.
We’re in for it now. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Why did I agree to all this? I knew it was a crazy idea from the start.
He put his head in his hands, picturing Natasha’s face when they told her what he’d done. Kidnapping. At least it wasn’t as bad as murder.
He saw the light flashing between his fingers, slowly growing faint.
“They’ve gone,” Wolfe said. “Prosper, are you all right?”
Prosper dropped his hands and rounded on Wolfe. “Of course I’m not. Don’t you know how close we just came to getting caught?”
Wolfe grinned. “Exciting, wasn’t it.”
Prosper couldn’t believe what he heard. It was anything but exciting.
Turning in his seat, he stared at Hatchet Man. Did he just move? Was he coming round?
Prosper remained quiet for the rest of the seemingly unending journey, contemplative and anxious. Eventually the warehouse came into view, a solitary building that looked disturbingly sinister in the moonlight. Knowing what they were going to do added to the macabre ambience and Prosper shivered.
Even the muddy river looked spectral, eddies and swirls taking on otherworldly aspects, like portals to fairy realms.
Wolfe parked the car around the side of the building, out of sight.
They exited the car together. Even in the muggy air, Prosper shivered.
The creaking pulley sound
ed more ominous at night, the pigeons having given way to bats that flitted through the sky, their wings beating a papery cadence that sounded like rustling leaves.
“Quick, let’s get him out of the car,” Wolfe said, opening the back door.
Hatchet Man groaned as Wolfe pulled him out of the vehicle, dropping him unceremoniously onto the ground.
“Now let’s get him inside,” Wolfe said.
Prosper grimaced. “But there’s only the two of us. And I told you, this is as far as I go.”
Wolfe grinned, his teeth ominously white in the moonlight. “I’ve got a plan.”
“What plan?”
“Come on; drag him to the front of the building.”
“Look, tell me what’s going on?”
Ignoring Prosper’s protestations, Wolfe dragged Hatchet Man along the ground. Prosper watched him struggle for a moment, and then with a sigh went over and assisted him.
At the front of the building, Wolfe said, “Wait here.”
“Why, where are you going?”
“Just wait. You’ll see.”
“Wolfe ...” he hissed. But it was too late; Wolfe slipped into the night, a shadow among shadows.
Prosper leaned against the wall and looked down at Hatchet Man. Did he move? Although moonlight bathed the area, it remained too dark to see clearly, but he was sure that Hatchet Man was coming round. Prosper’s shoulders tensed, his breathing slowed. He tapped his foot on the compacted ground, clenched his fists. Hatchet Man’s jacket lay open, and Prosper frowned as something caught his eye. He crouched down and pulled out a gun. He stared at it in disbelief. Just as he had expected, the man had been carrying a weapon. Realising how lucky he had been not to get shot, Prosper bit his lower lip and shoved the gun into the waistband of his trousers.
Where the hell was Wolfe? And where were Ty and Paris? They should be here by now. They couldn’t have gotten lost, could they? Or perhaps the police had stopped them. Perhaps that’s why that police car had sped off. Perhaps they’d crashed. Jesus, that would be all they needed.
A sudden bang made Prosper jump. He looked around, surveying the night, his eyes wide, fearful. At his feet, Hatchet Man groaned. He was waking up.
Prosper couldn’t take any more, his nerves stretched to snapping point.
Then the banging came again from above, followed by a squeak and a squeal.
Prosper looked up and saw a noose descending.
Wolfe leaned out of the overhanging extension. “Put the rope around him,” he shouted.
Stunned, Prosper realised Wolfe had left nothing to chance.
He tied the rope around Hatchet Man’s waist and then stood aside and shouted up to Wolfe. The pulley squealed in protest as Hatchet Man started to rise, and Prosper moved further away, in case either the rope broke or the pulley collapsed. But obviously Wolfe had done his homework. He must have already tested the pulley when he put the new rope on it. His old friend’s ingenuity amazed and intimidated him.
He watched Hatchet Man rise into the air; heard a car approaching and saw headlights cut a path through the dark. He froze, held his breath. What if it wasn’t Ty and Paris? What if it was the police? What would they think if they saw the man dangling from the rope and then found Wolfe’s props in the room above?
Blinded by the light, Prosper covered his eyes and looked away. He stared up at Hatchet Man dangling in front of the building, swaying like a corpse, his shadow stretched across the front of the building like a character in a grotesque Balinese shadow puppet show.
He wanted to run. Wanted to get as far away as he could. But where could he go?
The car headlights dipped, and the car pulled up alongside Prosper. A window descended, and Ty poked his head out and looked up at Hatchet Man. He let out a slight whistle. Paris sat beside him, a sodden cloth at his nose. He removed the cloth and offered a wan grin.
“Switch the lights off and get that car around the side,” Prosper said, talking fast. He watched the taillights blink and disappear around the corner of the building like a mischievous winking demon, but still he couldn’t relax.
Overhead, the pulley squeaked in protest and when Prosper looked up, he saw Hatchet Man had stopped ascending. His body twirled slightly, head hanging limp. Are his eye’s open? Is he glaring at me?
“Where’s Wolfe?” Ty asked, emerging from around the side of the building with Paris a few steps behind.
“He’s up there.” Prosper said, pointing.
Ty nodded.
“How’s the nose?”
Paris removed the blood stained cloth. His nose looked swollen, his eyes beginning to bruise, the dark rings like eclipsed suns.
“I’ll live,” he groaned, “but that bastard won’t.” He glared at Hatchet Man.
“Hurry up, come on,” Wolfe shouted. He leaned out of the double doors, using a hooked pole to drag Hatchet Man towards him like a fisherman pulling in his catch; or a killer snaring his quarry. “There’s a torch in the doorway,” Wolfe added.
“Lead the way,” Ty said, extending his hand in front of Prosper.
Prosper shook his head. “I’ve done all I’m going to do.”
“You know the way.”
“You’ll find it. Go up the stairs.”
“Jesus, Prosper. I’m only asking you to show us the way. You’ve come this far. The quicker we get this done, the quicker you can leave.”
Prosper felt as though the very air around him applied pressure to his shoulders. But Ty was right. Raising his hands in defeat, he entered the warehouse and grabbed the torch. He switched it on and shone the beam around the ground floor. The white light highlighted the pillars and beams, casting runic shadows.
The floor creaked and groaned underfoot, making Prosper even more wary in the gloom. The plastic sheets hanging from the overhead beams reflected the torchlight, becoming surreal in the murky surrounds.
The stairs seemed even worse than the floor, swaying back and forth as the three of them climbed. Prosper felt certain the whole thing would collapse, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped out onto the second floor.
In the semi-darkness, the warren of passages between the rooms was a Minotaur labyrinth; he only hoped no monsters lay in wait. Didn’t the Minotaur feed on human flesh? He shivered, chastising himself for such morbid thoughts.
When they reached Wolfe’s room of the macabre, Prosper hesitated. Bright light radiated from underneath the door. Knowing what to expect inside made his stomach gurgle and his palms sweat.
“What’s up?” Ty asked.
Prosper shook his head. “Nothing.” He pushed open the door and entered. Paris and Ty followed him inside. And stopped.
“Jesus Christ,” Ty said.
“Shit,” Paris muttered.
It was the first time they had seen Wolfe’s handiwork, and at night, highlighted by the lights Wolfe had erected, the mannequins appeared even more lifelike.
Even though Prosper knew what to expect, he had to force himself to stay calm. The bright lights erected on top of poles rendered the scene in vivid colour, and instead of making the mannequins look fake, it made them look like real corpses, blanching the latex skin to make it look like authentic, bloodless flesh. By the looks of it though, Wolfe had done even more work on the display since Prosper last saw it. Using his artistic flair, he had applied makeup to the corpses to make them appear as though their blood had pooled, and he had made some of the latex look as though it was decomposing flesh. To complete the picture, the pig’s blood he had used to adorn the wounds had attracted swarms of flies that flitted in the lamplight.
Wolfe stood by the double doors, his body framed in the doorway. With his shirt removed, his naked torso gleamed like a spectral Adonis as he held an axe above one shoulder.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” he said, overly melodramatic. “Now let’s kill this son of a bitch and get it over with.”
CHAPTER 22
Wolfe was being too flippant. They were going to kill someone. To loo
k at him, anyone would think he was enjoying it, lording over Hatchet Man like some sort of psycho.
Hatchet Man groaned and his eyelids fluttered open. “Where am I?” he mumbled.
Wolfe grinned. “You’re in my parlour, said the spider to the fly.”
Hatchet Man looked at Wolfe as vaguely and dumbfounded as Prosper did.
“Look, just let me go and I won’t kill you,” Hatchet Man said, gritting his teeth as he wrestled against his bonds.
Wolfe laughed. “It’s not us that are going to die tonight.”
Hatchet Man struggled to sit upright, but Wolfe kicked him back down.
Prosper stepped forwards. “That’s enough,” he said. “There’s no need to taunt him.”
“What’s it matter? We’re going to kill him anyway.”
Hatchet man frowned.
“What’s this all about? Come on, I can pay you if you let me go.”
Ty spat at him. “We don’t need your money. Remember that woman you raped a few weeks ago?”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about.”
Wolfe kicked him in the stomach. “Then you’d better start remembering.”
Hatchet Man coughed and gagged, curled into a ball. He took a couple of deep breaths. “Look, let me go. If you hurt me, people’ll come looking for you.”
“And who are they going to come looking for?” Wolfe asked.
“You, that’s who.”
“Well, who are we? Do you know?” Wolfe’s voice was lilting, almost singsong.
Hatchet Man sneered. “It doesn’t matter who you are. You won’t hurt me. You haven’t got the balls.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong.”
“Just untie me. Now!”
“No can do,” Paris snuffled. “Look what you did to me nose. You’re going to pay for dis.”
Hatchet Man laughed.
Prosper looked at the supposedly unperturbed man before them and his stomach churned over. He felt faint, struggling to draw breath. They seemed to be enjoying this too much. Panic consumed him; his old friends seemed to be getting a kick out of taunting Hatchet Man.
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