From The Shadows (Blaze series Book 1)

by David Carter

  “He won’t last two minutes if you do that! They’ll kill him for sure.”

  “Exactly,” said Archer, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. “It’s a fool-proof plan. He has no choice but to accept. I look forward to the outcome either way.” He chuckled sadistically.

  Franks felt his anxiety levels rising as perspiration saturated his armpits, realising Archer was going to spoil Blaze’s plan. He needed Danny alive. Franks wasn’t sure if Blaze would still help him escape his living nightmare if Danny’s freedom wasn’t part of the package.

  Franks left Archer’s office. He made his way down the main corridor and into the unoccupied men’s locker room and started hyperventilating. It’s all getting to much for me, he thought.

  He sat down on the wooden bench seat that lined the perimeter of the room, leaning back against the stack of dark blue lockers that covered the walls, and slowly calmed down. Once he’d pulled himself together, he reached for his smartphone from his trouser pocket and Google-searched the number for the Glendale Police Station, before dialling it.

  Karl O’Brian’s and Luke Turner’s deaths had left the Glendale Police Station short-staffed. Ryan had ordered a temporary officer from the city, but figured it was best to have him keeping watch over Elizabeth and Trinity at the hospital instead of enduring a boring night babysitting Blaze at the station.

  Blaze lay on his bunk, dead to the world, as was Ryan, leaning back in a swivel chair with his feet up on the reception desk.

  The phone rang. Ryan stirred briefly, but fell back into his deep sleep.

  The phone kept ringing.

  No one picked up.

  “Shit!” cursed Franks. He was running short on time for a solution to his predicament. He leaned forward, cradling his forehead in the palms of his hands, considering his options. After a few moments, the answer struck him like a bolt of lightning. He dialled a number from the contacts list on his phone. He spoke for a few minutes before hanging up, and headed to The Wolves’ Den.

  He marched inside, straight to Danny’s cell, then commanded, “Get off your ass and come with me, now.”

  Danny obliged without any fuss, detecting the urgency in Franks’ voice.

  Franks had told Danny about Blaze’s plan to break into Archer’s house the day before, right after Ryan had unexpectedly taken custody of Blaze, crushing Danny’s hopes of ever leaving Winterhill.

  Franks pretend to roughly manhandle Danny out of the den and continued to do so all the way to the infirmary. Once locked safely inside, Danny asked, “What’s happening? You heard from Blaze yet?”

  Franks exhaled heavily through his nose. “It’s bad, Danny, real bad,” he said.

  He went on to explain Archer’s sordid plan in detail, before Danny said, “Fuck that! I ain’t gonna become his new punching bag. I’ll jump to my death off the walls of this prison before I bow to that sicko!”

  “That’s what I thought you would say.” He looked at Danny with a smile. “Chin up. It’s not all doom and gloom, but you need to trust me, starting right now.”

  “Why?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “I need to know that you trust me first.”

  Danny hesitated. “Blaze trusted you, that’s good enough for me,” he answered.

  “I’m glad to hear that, because what I want you to do is risky but possible.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Just be ready to do exactly as I say when I come for you.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Early tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay, I’ll be ready.”

  “Wait. I need to ask you two questions.”

  “Okay...”

  “Are you claustrophobic?”

  “No.”

  “Got a warm jersey?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Franks grinned. “Because it’ll make the journey far more comfortable after I bust you out of this shithole.”

  Chapter 47

  “Time to roll out,” Ryan commanded Blaze, after clicking off a call from Hampton.

  “He had better be there this time,” he replied from his bunk groggily. “What time is it?”

  Ryan checked his watch. “Almost six a.m,” he yawned.

  “Fuck, I hate mornings,” grumbled Blaze.

  They had been to Arnold Spencer’s house the previous afternoon. He hadn’t been home. They decided it best not to ransack his house and spook him if he returned before they did. Instead, they left Hampton on lookout, watching the house from down the street in his car all night while Ryan manned the station.

  “Steve said he just pulled into his driveway,” said Ryan.

  “Bit of an unusual time to come home, don’t you think?” said Blaze.

  “Most unusual...”

  They climbed into Ryan’s car and sped off to Arnold’s house.

  Ryan flashed his headlights at Hampton as he turned into the street. Hampton pulled out from the kerb and pulled up behind Ryan and Blaze outside Arnold’s house.

  Ryan sternly said to Blaze, “No funny business until I give you the green light. Arnold is presumed innocent until proved guilty. Are we quite clear on this?”

  Blaze tensed his features. “No,” he said curtly.

  “No?” said Ryan, dumbstruck.

  “How the fuck am I meant to kill him if he’s in a jail cell? That was the deal; I help you get Trinity back and help you find the Watcher, then I get to have my nasty way with him.”

  “Blaze,” Ryan said calmly, “you have my word that you’ll get some one on one time with him, if and I stress if he is guilty.”

  “Fine, whatever,” he sulked.

  They got out of the car. Ryan said to Hampton, “You go round the back. I’ll stay out front with Blaze.”

  “You got it, boss.” Hampton winked. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

  Blaze didn’t waste any time. He marched up the creaky wooden steps to the porch and thumped hard on the door, nearly putting a crack in the thin window pane.

  No answer.

  Blaze thumped again.

  Still no answer.

  “Can I kick the door in?” Blaze asked Ryan.

  “No, you can’t,” he answered sternly.

  “This is fucking bullshit!” shouted Blaze. “I thought you said you liked to ‘break the rules’.”

  “Just be patient,” snapped Ryan. “We will get him, I promise,” he said in a calmer tone.

  Before Blaze could answer, they heard Hampton shout, “He’s doing a runner! Get him!”

  Blaze ran down the side of the house in time to see Arnold climbing out of a window and heading straight towards him. Arnold looked up to see Blaze zeroing in on his position. He panicked as he realised who it was; no longer the child he could once restrain, but a man; an angry, rabid beast tearing towards him.

  Arnold abandoned all hope of heading to the front yard, and with Hampton closing in from the rear, he turned to his only possible exit, scaling the rickety wooden fence that separated his property from the neighbours’.

  He made it over, and ran for his life.

  Blaze made light work of the fence and tore off after him. Ryan and Hampton sprinted back to the front of the house and along the street after Arnold and Blaze.

  Arnold heard the lightening-quick strides of Blaze rapidly gaining on him. His aging legs gave up. He came to a stop, surrendering with his hands in the air.

  Blaze sprinted even harder.

  Ryan and Hampton heard the impact. Blaze poleaxed Arnold, ignoring every warning that Ryan had given him not to cause bodily harm, driving him into the concrete sidewalk with incredible velocity. He was knocked unconscious as the back of his skull cracked against the pavement; his hip and ribcage destroyed on one side where Blaze drove his shoulder through him.

  Blaze straddled him, kneeling over his hapless victim, his hate for Arnold taking o
ver his rationality.

  “Stop!” cried Ryan.

  Too late.

  Blaze unleashed the most violent head butt he could muster, destroying Arnold’s face.

  Ryan tackled Blaze off Arnold. They wrestled on the ground until Ryan had Blaze in a headlock with his arm bent behind his back, ready to snap it like a twig. “Are you done playing cowboy?” strained Ryan.

  “Not until I put him in the ground!” seethed Blaze, his voice an equal combination of pain and determination.

  Ryan tightened his grip on Blaze’s arm. “I don’t want to hurt you, Blaze, but I will if I have to.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you do!”

  Hampton intervened. “Break it up, you two! We’re supposed to be on the same damn team!”

  Ryan released his hold on Blaze. “You just used up your one and only free pass. Any more blatant disregard for my authority and I’ll drive you back to Winterhill personally!”

  Blaze scowled and said nothing, his pride in tatters.

  “Do I need to cuff him, boss?” asked Hampton.

  Ryan eyeballed Blaze. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Steve. I think we’ve finally come to an understanding, haven’t we?”

  Blaze’s scowl didn’t budge.

  “I’m waiting...” said Ryan.

  “Yeah, whatever.” He forced out the words.

  Hampton dialled an ambulance. Arnold was unconscious but stable, and still under arrest. He was driven to a secure facility in Milton City to repair his disintegrated nose and broken ribs, and rest up until he was ready to go to trial.

  Ryan left Blaze in the car while he and Hampton searched Arnold’s house. Only a few minutes later they returned with less than optimistic expressions.

  The tension between Ryan and Blaze was thicker than a truckload of hot tar as they drove back to the station. Blaze stared out the passenger window, while Ryan struggled to concentrate on the road as the early morning sunrise beamed directly into his eyes. “I’m pretty pissed off at you,” said Ryan, breaking the silence. “I thought we had a deal.”

  “You don’t understand,” replied Blaze.

  “I bloody well do! I understand that now I have to wait for Arnold to recover from his injuries before I can do anything with him!”

  Blaze paused before he replied. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I had every intention of holding back while you made the arrest. But when he tried to run, well, let’s just say twenty-three years of built up anger took over. I couldn’t have stopped myself even if I’d wanted to.”

  “I can appreciate that,” said Ryan, who calmed down considerably after his apology. “But it doesn’t change the fact that the case will be held up for weeks now.”

  Blaze grinned. “You should be glad you pulled me off him when you did.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because there wouldn’t be the need for an interrogation if you didn’t.”

  “I see. But what if he’s innocent?”

  “He isn’t.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because he ran.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

  “Only a guilty man runs.”

  “Maybe, but we won’t know for sure until he’s made a full recovery.”

  They remained silent, until Blaze asked, “Where did you learn how to wrestle? You had me balled up like a fucking pretzel.”

  Ryan couldn’t help laughing. “It’s really bugging you, isn’t it?”

  “More than you could imagine...”

  “I was the regional wrestling champion back in high school. Gave it up when I decided to become a detective.”

  “That explains a lot. But don’t get too pleased with yourself, I’ll be ready for you next time.”

  “There isn’t going to be a next time, is there.”

  “So, we’re good then?”

  “You gonna play by my rules now?”

  “Like I said, you’re not bad for a bloody cop.”

  “Then we’re good.” Ryan grinned.

  They pulled up outside the police station. Just as they were about to get out of the car, Blaze said to Ryan, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you and Steve find anything incriminating at the house?”

  “We found his collection of daggers in the basement. I’ve got a team arriving to run an analysis on them for blood and fibres. But to be honest, they don’t look as if they’ve been moved in a very long time.”

  “What about the basement? Trinity mentioned something about it, didn’t she?”

  “We couldn’t find anything to suggest a secret hideaway. No secret doorways, trapdoors; nothing.”

  Blaze was confused. “So, if Arnold isn’t the Watcher, why did he run?

  Ryan frowned as he said, “That, my friend, is the sixty-four-million-dollar question.”

  Chapter 48

  “It’s time,” whispered Franks as he woke and unlocked Danny from his cell, then hastily walked him across the main compound. He ushered Danny through the electronic security gate set in the fence that surrounded the entire loading zone of Winterhill’s kitchen; one way in, one way out.

  A medium-sized refrigerator truck had arrived minutes before, and was parked in the loading zone waiting for Franks to arrive. The driver noticed him walking up to his door in the wing mirror. He clambered his rake-thin body out of the truck, greeting him with a street style handshake and pulled him in close, right shoulder to right shoulder, embracing each other.

  The driver’s name was Jamal Johnston, and he was Franks’ cousin on his mother’s side. He had dark brown skin, the same tone as Franks’, and fat, uneven dreadlocks that dangled from his head all the way down to his lower back.

  “Are you still okay with this?” Franks said to Jamal quietly.

  “Hell yeah. As long as the price is still what you said it was on the phone.”

  “It is.”

  “Then I’m all in.” He smiled, flashing his cigarette stained teeth.

  Jamal casually walked up to the kitchen and pressed a buzzer on the windowless concrete wall, next to an aluminium roller door, and spoke to the guard on duty in the kitchen through the intercom. Moments later, the roller door was raised from the inside, and out walked the guard and two inmates being rewarded with kitchen duties for good behaviour. They shook hands with Jamal, knowing him as he delivered Winterhill’s weekly produce order.

  The wholesale produce company Jamal worked for was based in Woodridge. The refrigerator truck he drove had the company name, Market Fresh Produce, written on the side of it. The rear wall of the chiller unit could be fully opened on its hinges from the outside so pallets and bins of potatoes and pumpkins could be loaded on the back with a forklift. Both the roof and side walls were solid stainless steel all the way through to the front.

  Franks told the guard supervising the unloading of the truck to go have an early coffee break. The guard had worked for over twenty years at Winterhill, and welcomed the opportunity for a sneaky coffee and cigarette.

  “Thanks, Frankie, I owe you one,” he said as he strolled off happily to the smokers’ hut on the other side of the compound outside the administration block.

  Franks ordered Danny and the two inmates on kitchen duties to help Jamal unload the truck while he supervised. By the time they had finished, the guard was back from his break, and ordered the two inmates back inside the kitchen. He said to Franks, “How come you brought an extra guy to help unload? I don’t recall ever seeing him before. Is he new?”

  This caught Franks off-guard. “Er yes, he’s new. He’s a harmless pup, though. Thought I’d be kind and show him round a bit,” he replied.

  “You’re getting soft in your old age, Frankie,” the guard joked.

  “We’ll see about that,” he replied. He turned to Danny, and said, “Go fetch a broom from the storeroom and sweep the whole goddamn yard. I don’t wanna see a speck on the ground when you think you’ve finished.�
�

  The guard laughed. “Maybe I was wrong,” he said, still chuckling as he went back inside the kitchen, shutting and locking the roller door behind him when Danny had returned with the broom.

  Jamal climbed into the small red forklift parked in the loading zone so he could load the empty crates, pallets, and pumpkin bins onto his truck to take them back to his depot. There were eight wooden bins in total: 1.1m x 1.2m square and 80cm deep. Franks cautiously surveyed the entire compound. The coast seems to be clear, he thought.

  “Now, Danny!” he said.

  Danny jumped into one of the bins and curled up into the foetal position, seconds before Jamal placed another bin perfectly square on top of the one he was hiding in, making him invisible when glanced upon.

  Jamal loaded the stack of bins into the rear of the truck. He climbed up into the chiller unit, and using a pallet jack, pushed the stack of bins to the front of the unit flush against the headboard. He repeated this process until everything was loaded, packed in nice and tight behind Danny’s hideaway.

  When Jamal had finished up and climbed into the cab of his truck, Franks ushered him through the kitchen’s security gate, and over to the giant steel door on the inner wall of the prison. On Franks’ command, the two guards on security detail inside raised the door to let the truck through and into the security checkpoint. Nearly home, Danny boy, he thought.

  When the door closed behind them, Franks opened the rear doors of the truck for inspection while Jamal climbed out of the truck to let the guards pat him down with a metal detector and search the cab for any contraband.

  Nothing.

  So far so good.

  Both the security guards lumbered towards the rear of the truck. Franks casually said, “Have a rest, lads; I’ve got this. I ain’t got nothin’ better to do.”

  The guards looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Finally, one of them said, “Sorry, Frankie, you know the rules: it’s our responsibility to search all in and outbound vehicles.”

  “Just trying to do you a favour,” said Franks casually. “Been a long time since I had a decent game of hide and seek,” he joked.