The Passenger

by Daniel Hurst

  I want this damn code, and the longer I go without getting it, the more I am prepared to do things that are expected of a man who has spent considerable time behind bars. I’d hate for people to think that I’m not dangerous just because I wear a sharp suit and talk fast. I can be just as dangerous as all those men I met on the inside, the ones with the shaven heads, scarred faces, and murderous eyes. The only reason I haven’t demonstrated this yet is because I’m exercising patience. But it’s starting to wear thin the longer I go without this code. I can’t understand why Amanda is still refusing to give it to me, and the only possible explanation I can think of is that she doesn’t fully understand the severity of the situation she finds herself in. Maybe that’s my fault.

  Maybe I haven’t been clear enough.

  ‘Do you enjoy playing games with Louise’s life?’ I ask the woman opposite me after I have showed her the photo of her daughter tied to the bed.

  I had told James before today that he was to do whatever it takes to keep Louise occupied until I was able to send him the code, and it looks like he has done just that. I honestly thought I would have had the code by now, and I know James did too, but things don’t always go to plan. A younger man such as my partner might panic in this situation and do something hasty. But an experienced man knows to stay calm and that everything will work out well in the end just as long as you stick to the plan. So that’s what I am trying to do right now. I am staying calm, and not even the quick check on my watch makes me concerned. We are twenty-five minutes away from Brighton, and every second that goes by is a second closer to Amanda not giving us what we want, which would force us to hurt her daughter as punishment. But it won’t come to that. Amanda might be a little feisty, and she still might be doing everything she can to delay her fate, but it is inevitable, just like mine was on that day I stood in the dock and prepared for the judge to send me down.

  Amanda will give me this code. She has no choice if she wants to see her daughter again.

  ‘Seeing as you clearly don’t realise exactly how much trouble Louise is in,’ I say as I place my mobile phone on the table and rest my hands in my lap, ‘let me tell you something about the man your daughter is with right now.’

  I notice Amanda’s hands are much less relaxed than mine, still gripping the edge of the table tightly, and that sight comforts me. She is angry. She is afraid. I continue.

  ‘James and I shared a cell together in prison, and we became quite close. That’s why we decided we would work together on the outside. We complement each other, you see. I provide the brains, and he provides the brawn. I came up with this whole plan when he told me he knew of a safe full of money at a flat in Brighton. In turn, he will be the one who hurts your daughter should you not give us access to that safe.’

  Then I sit forward to really emphasise my next point.

  ‘Trust me. You do not want him to do that. I saw what he was capable of in that prison. I saw him fight for his life on more than one occasion, and I saw him come out on top every time. He’s a strong man, and he isn’t afraid to get blood on his hands. So if I were you, I would give your daughter the gift of life and let me call him off right now, before it’s too late.’

  I’ve been exaggerating in my little speech, but that’s only because I’m trying to frighten Amanda. I never saw James fight for his life in prison. Generally, the two of us were able to avoid most of the trouble that broke out on our wing during our stretch because we kept ourselves to ourselves and spent most of our time playing poker in our cell. The truth is that you don’t survive in prison by fighting; you survive by going unnoticed. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make for a very intimidating story, so I’ve allowed myself to be a little creative. But that doesn’t mean James doesn’t possess the ability to carry out violence. Far from it. It’s just that I have gotten him to a place where he won’t do it until I tell him to.

  ‘You two must be so proud of yourselves. Threatening violence against a woman. I bet it makes you feel like real men, doesn’t it?’

  Amanda’s response shows she is still not in the mood to give me what I want, and I wonder if I am going to have to call James and get him to actually start hurting Louise after all. It wouldn’t be anything big to start with. Maybe just break a finger or two. We could move on to the bigger bones if necessary.

  ‘Twenty-four minutes,’ I say after checking my watch again.

  I decide that silence might be a little more unnerving between us for the next few minutes instead of simple threats, so I allow the time to pass by looking out of the window and letting Amanda stew. But then my eyes are drawn back to the table by the arrival of a notification on my mobile phone screen.

  It’s another message from James.

  “What the hell is taking you so long? How hard can it be?”

  I shake my head because he’s clearly struggling to exercise as much patience as I am. This was what I was worried about. He’s nine years younger than me but still likes to make out like he is as good at this as I am. But he’ll see how good I am soon enough. He’ll see it when I take all the money in that safe for myself and leave him just as defeated as Amanda and Louise.

  Just like in the poker games we played inside, I’m thinking several steps ahead and plan to screw James before he has the chance to screw me somewhere down the line. But I can’t do that until he has the money in his possession.

  “It’s coming.”

  I press Send on my optimistic reply and sit back in my seat. I notice that Amanda has been watching me every time I have used my phone—no doubt worrying about what might be happening—so I might as well tell her.

  ‘I’ve just told James to be on standby to hurt your daughter. He’s more than willing to do it,’ I say with a shrug.

  Then I place my phone back on the table and fold my arms.

  I stare at Amanda until she gets self-conscious and looks away. I like that I have this control over her, but I don’t like the fact that I don’t know what she is thinking. I don’t like it because I know that a person can come up with all sorts of schemes when they are given the time to think.

  If this carriage were quieter, then I could be more forceful with her and get the code much quicker, but I’m still betting she will give it up any minute now. I have all the power here while she is the one with everything to lose.

  It just remains to be seen what she will lose.

  Her money.

  Or her child.

  21

  AMANDA

  I’m racking my brains for any way out of this situation that doesn’t end in my daughter getting hurt and my safe being emptied. So far, I’m struggling, but I have got one idea, and it might be my only shot.

  My tormentor’s mobile phone is currently sitting on the table in front of him, and his arms are folded. Maybe if I could grab it and get away down the carriage, I could use the phone to text James and tell him that the plan is off. If James believes it, he might leave my flat, and Louise will be safe. Then all I will have to do is get away from this man on the train. I almost managed it earlier, so I believe I could do it again.

  I do my best to appear casual as I sit forward in my seat a little, closing the gap slightly between me and the phone. I’m tempted to just go for it now, but then he shifts in his seat and uncrosses his arms before his left hand comes to rest on top of the phone.

  Damn.

  ‘Twenty-three minutes,’ he says.

  I make sure to not let my eyes linger on the phone in case he puts it away in his pocket again. I’ll just have to stay ready for when he removes his hand. But until then, I need to figure out a way to keep him distracted enough so that he doesn’t text his partner and tell him to start hurting Louise.

  ‘The closer we get to Brighton, the more nervous you are going to make my partner, so just do the sensible thing and tell me the code and this will all be over with,’ he tries again. ‘What do you say?’

  I take a moment to think about it, or at least pretend like I’m thinking a
bout it. Of course I’m worried about Louise, but they haven’t harmed her yet. That means I still have time. They haven’t completely forced my hand, so there’s no need for me to show it yet.

  There’s no need for me to expose myself to the risk of opening that safe for them.

  ‘You think you know everything about me, don’t you?’ I say, shaking my head. ‘You think you’re so slick and so clever. But you don’t have the slightest idea who I am and what I am capable of.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Not the slightest idea.’

  ‘Do you have an example, or are you just trying to chew the fat?’

  I pause for a moment. I have to be careful what I do reveal, but I also know I need to keep stalling until he removes his hand from that phone again and I get my chance to steal it.

  ‘How do you think I saved up so much money?’

  ‘That’s easy. You have a job.’

  I laugh. ‘You really think it pays me well enough to save £20,000? Ha. I wish.’

  He looks a little perturbed for a moment, and I like that.

  ‘Try again,’ I say.

  ‘You inherited it?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe you got a paper round.’

  I roll my eyes, and that causes him to give up.

  ‘Okay, I have no idea.’

  ‘Exactly. You have no idea. So what makes you think that you can threaten me and my family? You think following me for a couple of weeks shows you who I really am?’

  I can tell that he isn’t enjoying this topic of conversation quite so much as the one where he got to enforce his power over me, and he sits forward again in his seat, which he only does when he is trying to wrestle that power back.

  ‘May I remind you that you are the mark here? You’re the one getting screwed, so what does it matter if there’s some things we don’t know about you? We know the only things that matter, and that is that you have £20,000 in your safe and a daughter who desperately needs you to give up that money to save her life.’

  Refusing to back down, I sit forward myself now, and our faces are only inches apart across the table. Half an hour ago, I would have thought being this close to the man would have meant we were about to kiss. But now I’m doing it to show him that I’m not afraid of him.

  ‘I’ve dealt with much scarier men than you in my time, and here I am still standing. But good luck with your little plan,’ I say, and now it’s my turn to give him a wink.

  The man studies my face for any sign of weakness, but I show none. I am nowhere near as calm on the inside, but externally I am making sure to give off nothing but strength and confidence. It’s a confidence that I hope will continue to make this man doubt the success of his plan if he goes ahead.

  After a tense beat, he sits back in his seat, and I glance down at his phone, but his hand is still resting on top of it.

  ‘Twenty-one minutes,’ he says, checking his watch again.

  He’s staying cool and collected, and that’s what I must do too. I know time is running out, but that’s nothing compared to the time I put into amassing that fortune in my safe.

  I know I’m going to have to work hard to keep it in there, but so be it.

  I sure as hell worked hard enough to get it in there in the first place.

  22

  AMANDA

  SIX MONTHS EARLIER

  I walk into the wine bar right on time. Not early because that wouldn’t help my nerves, and not fashionably late because that would be rude. On time. But I’m not the only one. Greg, my date, is entering the bar at the same moment from an adjacent door, and it doesn’t take much for us to spot each other across the sea of candlelit tables.

  He offers me a nervous wave, and I reply in kind.

  This is awkward. This is uncomfortable.

  This is exactly how I expected it to be.

  After a brief greeting in which he gives me a small kiss on my cheek, we smile at the pretty waitress as she shows us to our table. We follow the uniformed woman past the other candlelit tables, all of which are already occupied with couples enjoying each other’s company.

  Our table is the one in the corner, and Greg is a true gentleman, making sure to pull out my seat for me before taking his own. Now we are sitting, and the waitress leaves us alone for a few minutes to make our choice from the menu, and there is nothing else we can do to put this off any longer.

  It’s time to talk.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m a little nervous,’ Greg confesses to me after an awkward moment where the only sounds at our table came from me fiddling with one of the empty wine glasses.

  ‘Me too,’ I admit, and we share a nervous laugh.

  ‘It’s not my first time,’ he quickly adds, and I wish I could say the same.

  We both keep ourselves preoccupied by burying our heads in our respective menus until the waitress returns to take our order.

  ‘Are you happy with the Merlot?’ Greg asks me, and I confirm that I am because this is his date, not mine.

  As the waitress rushes away to fetch us the bottle, I smile at him and decide to get the conversation going, if only to reduce the awkwardness between us right now.

  ‘So, what do you do for work?’

  ‘I’m an architect.’

  ‘Oh, wow,’ I reply, genuinely impressed. ‘That must be fun.’

  ‘Not really. I have my own business. It’s good money, but it’s long hours. It doesn’t leave me much time for a social life.’

  ‘I see. Would you think about changing careers?’

  ‘I’d love to, but it’s tough. You know, going outside your comfort zone and everything.’

  Tell me about it.

  ‘But you shouldn’t let that put you off,’ I say. ‘If you have something else you’d rather do, then you should do it.’

  He smiles at me when I finish speaking, which at least makes me feel reassured that I’m doing a good job.

  ‘What is it you do?’ he asks me, seemingly relaxing a little. ‘Besides this, obviously.’

  I laugh self-consciously, but it catches in my throat and ends up coming out more like a dry noise. I desperately need some lubrication.

  Where is that wine?

  ‘I work in an office,’ I say, keeping my answer purposefully vague because that’s what I’ve been told to do by the people who hired me.

  ‘I see,’ Greg replies. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Office work? Yeah, it’s all right, I suppose.’

  Another awkward silence descends on the table, and I notice Greg shift in his seat a little. I feel bad for him and do my best to think of something to say, but my mind has gone blank. This was a bad idea. I can’t believe I thought I could pull this off. This poor guy is paying me good money to be here, and I can’t even hold a conversation with him.

  Fortunately, the waitress arrives a few seconds later and breaks the ice a little, pouring us each a glass of red wine before leaving what’s left in the bottle to sit between us as a reminder that there is more alcohol on standby if needed.

  It definitely will be.

  ‘Do you have any children?’ Greg asks me rather randomly, and I take a moment to finish my sip of wine before answering him.

  ‘No,’ I reply with a shake of the head. ‘No children.’

  Being vague about my profession is one thing, but I most certainly am not going to tell him about my daughter.

  ‘You?’

  ‘I have two girls. Ten and eight. With my ex-wife.’

  I nod my head, remembering that he mentioned his ex-wife in his profile, or rather, he mentioned the fact that he was divorced. I wondered at the time why his marriage had broken up, and I’m still wondering now as I sit here across from him. Did he cheat? Did she? Did they just get sick of the sight of each other like some couples do? Or maybe it’s just as simple as him having worked crazy hours in his business and neglecting her. Who knows? It’s hardly a question I can ask. But it’s a shame for him, whatever happened. He’s o
nly thirty-five, and he’s a good-looking guy with what sounds like a lucrative job and two young children. He clearly lacks a little confidence, which might suggest why he is paying for a date instead of going on a more natural one, but in reality, a guy like him should have the world at his feet. Instead, he’s sitting here in this wine bar with me, sipping nervously from his glass and fumbling around for the next topic of conversation.

  I guess I’m not the only one struggling to get my life in order.

  As he places his drink back on the table, I take the opportunity to glance at my mobile phone resting on my thigh. I removed it from my handbag as I sat down and strategically placed it on my leg where it is out of sight from Greg but where I am able to keep an eye on it. It’s important that I do because I am supposed to stick to a strict timetable. This date is to last two hours and not a minute less. That is the amount of time that Greg has paid the agency for, so that is the time I am obligated to be here for. It’s at my discretion if I wish for the date to continue for longer than that, but I can’t end it any sooner. That is unless Greg becomes physically threatening towards me, which I deem to be highly unlikely based on how he has been with me so far. He looks like he wouldn’t hurt a fly, never mind another human being, and his nervousness at this situation is endearing, if a little sad. I doubt he ever expected to be in this kind of situation and especially not after he got married. Yet here he is, back on the scrapheap of life, desperately seeking company and willing to pay just to have it.

  I’m not sure exactly how much he is paying the agency for this two-hour date tonight, but I know that I am making £200 out of it, so they must be getting more. It’s crazy to think that Greg and many other men like him are willing to pay hundreds of pounds just for a date with a pretty woman, but from what I’ve read about online, there are men who are paying in the thousands to do the same thing. Of course, most of the people paying that much for an escort are expecting a little more than some polite conversation over a glass of wine. They want sex, either in their own home or in a hotel room. But I have made it clear with the agency that I am not willing to go down that route. A date in a bar, restaurant or theatre is all the clients will be getting out of me, and I’m told many men on the agency’s books are happy for that to be the case.