Finders Keepers

by Kris Lillyman

Arthur was a little out of shape these days, but still fitter than most men in their forties and the short jog across the fields was easy to cope with. Just enough to get his heart rate going and his adrenaline pumping. He was in full commando gear with his face covered by a balaclava, his eyes the only visible feature. He felt good, exhilarated. Excited.

  All in black, he had a skinning knife strapped to his ankle, a machete in his belt and his lovingly polished Desert Eagle .357 in the hand-tooled shoulder holster that was the duplicate of his dead brother’s. Very apt as this mission was for Charles.

  He also wore a lightweight backpack which contained certain tools which may be of use as the night wore on.

  The outfit Arthur was wearing used to be his standard attire in Africa. In the Congo and in Mozambique and Somalia and all the other places Arthur and his brother had fought. But tonight he was in Northamptonshire alone, there would be no more battles fought together. But, if he didn’t get the answers he wanted tonight, there would be blood spilled in Charles’ name.

  Arthur felt alive, completely in his element, his years of training instinctively kicking in. This was what he did. What he had done for more years than he cared to remember. And he was good at it.

  The air was still and cool and the night smelt of dew and grass and blossom. It was the end of April now, over two months since Charles’ passing and there had been very little word from Sumpter. Nothing whatsoever on the diamonds. Just one lead on someone who might know something. But he was missing and his family claimed not to know where he had gone. Arthur would see. Tonight he would find out for himself if they knew anything or not. If they had information, he would get it out of them.

  For a big man he ran in near silence and he vaulted the fence almost as if it wasn’t there. He landed on the other side with just the slightest thud. Then froze, listening, his breathing only a little more laboured than usual. Waiting and watching for any signs of life.

  He checked his watch. Sixteen minutes after four. The house was in darkness, the inhabitants all tucked up in bed, unaware of what was about to unfold.

  He was inside the house in less than a minute, again making no sound, the inadequate lock no problem for a man of his skills. They may as well have left the door open for him.

  Once inside, he pulled a small torch from his backpack and shone it around to make sure there was no one downstairs. Then, after making certain it was clear, he made a leisurely inspection of the large, spacious lower level. He wandered through the lounge and dining room, pausing to look at photographs and paintings and even spent several minutes flicking through Maddox’s CD collection; Elton John, Lionel Ritchie, George Michael, a bit of Queen. Nothing to his taste.

  Eventually he found his way into the farm house style kitchen, completely at home in the darkness. By torchlight he admired the bespoke cabinets and the African slate floor. He opened the big American-style fridge and casually took a swig from a carton of fresh orange juice, quenching the slight thirst he had from his jog across the fields.

  Leading off from the kitchen he noticed a bolted door. Immediately curious, Arthur went over to it, silently slipped the bolt and turned the handle. Behind the door he found a flight of concrete steps which fell away into blackness. Arthur tugged on the pull-cord light just beyond the door to illuminate the staircase then, being careful to mind his footing on the narrow treads, slowly eased down the steps. At the bottom he found a large, brick built cellar with low wooden roof beams. The space was empty except for an enormous chest freezer, an old settee, a couple of dusty dining chairs and a child’s snooker table. An old threadbare rug had been thrown down on the cold concrete floor to make the room more cosy.

  Arthur smiled. This would be ideal for his needs.

  * * *

  Minutes later, Arthur was climbing up the main staircase, his big, highly polished combat boots as quiet as an old man’s slippers.

  All the members of the household were up these stairs, right where he expected them to be.

  The first room he came to belonged to the little boy, Zack. He was fast asleep. Nine years old and with the face of an angel. Just like many Arthur remembered. Children, just like this one, with equally angelic faces in circumstances that only the hardest hearted men could not be affected by. But in Africa, Arthur had been hardened. Atrocities were rife; torture, mutilation, rape, murder, they were all everyday occurrences. In many cases, he himself had given the order and, sometimes, he had performed the act. Out there, it was the way things were done. It was a job and Africa, well, it was a different world, a hell that he’d had to become immune to in order to survive. After years of witnessing and taking part in horror, it eventually became as nothing. And so it would be tonight, if needs be. But only as a very last resort. He had no desire to hurt a child unless absolutely necessary.

  He quietly closed the door and moved onwards along the landing.

  Next was the little girl’s room. Poppy’s room. She was seven. All wrapped up in a Barbie duvet and as cute as a button. Again he quietly closed the door and moved on.

  At last, Arthur arrived at the master bedroom and carefully he slipped inside.

  Angie Sawyer and her lover, Richard Maddox were spooning. It was sweet, really, but Arthur couldn’t help but think how irritated he would be by it. Why did women always insist on cuddling in bed, why couldn’t they just stay on their own side and sleep in their own designated space. But Maddox was still probably trying to impress, trying to make a good show of it. He’d even fallen asleep with his arms draped around her waist, still in mid-cuddle. Give him a year, Arthur thought, I bet things would be different then.

  The woman was snoring slightly. Her breathing heavy and contented. But she was a looker. A stunner, Arthur imagined, with her hair done and make-up on. Good figure too from what he could see at least. Maddox wasn’t up to much though. Balding, skinny. A safety net, Arthur surmised, probably with a bit of money and no financial worries, unlike the missing husband.

  Thinking of whom, it was time to wake the happy couple to find out exactly where the errant Mr. Sawyer was.

  Arthur silently withdrew the skinning knife from its sheath, the wide stainless steel blade shining murderously in the moonlight, the edge sharp enough to slice through a hair at the merest touch. Then he bent over the bed. It was time to get started.

  Chapter 21

  Arthur pushed the point of the skinning knife firmly under Maddox’s chin, drawing blood, and simultaneously clamped a hand over Angie Sawyer’s mouth causing both to wake with a tremendous shock. Their eyes wide, Maddox clearly in pain, as they each stared into the masked face of Arthur Khan as he lent closely in over them.

  “Make a sound, either of you and you die,” Khan hissed.

  Angie made to scream but Arthur pushed the knife a little harder into Maddox’s chin, causing him to whimper, his head forced backwards in a futile attempt to escape the pain.

  “Ah, ah, ah.” Arthur cautioned Angie, gesturing with his head to Richard. “Think about him. Think about your kids.”

  Angie’s eyes filled with tears and nodded her compliance.

  “I’m going to take my hand away,” he said. “Now no sudden moves, no screaming and you’ll both make it through the rest of this night alive. Understand?”

  Angie nodded again. Richard tried to but the point of the knife prevented it. “Good,” said Khan, releasing his grip on Angie and pulling the knife away from Maddox. “Now get up. We’re going down to the cellar - but quietly does it, you don’t want to wake up those two beautiful children of yours.”

  Angie was weeping and shaking like a leaf but slowly got out of bed. She tried to cover her nakedness with one hand whilst reaching for her robe which lay on a chair beside the bed.

  Arthur pulled the Magnum from its holster and pointed it at her. “No clothes,” he said. “Let’s have you just as God intended.”

  He gestured to Madd
ox, “You, too, lover boy. Quickly now, we haven’t got all night.” Khan then smiled. “Well, actually we have, but no sense in wasting time, eh?”

  Richard Maddox looked terrified. Tears running down his face and a smear of blood on his chin where the knife had been. He climbed out of the bed, also naked, and Khan glanced at his shrivelled manhood. “You know, what, Angela?” he said, “He might have money but he hasn’t got a whole lot else, has he? I think you’ve sold yourself a little short, my darling.”

  “Please, please don’t hurt us,” Angie pleaded, her voice a whisper. “Please don’t hurt my children - I’ll give you anything but please, don’t hurt them.”

  “Oh, you’ll give me what I need, alright,” Arthur replied, casting an eye over her full breasts and very shapely figure, lingering over the thick black curls between her legs. She certainly didn’t disappoint. “But I’ve got no interest in hurting children,” Arthur replied, “Although I will if you don’t get moving. So move. Get down to that cellar and not another sound.”

  Quickly but quietly, Angie and Richard led the way to the cellar, their white bodies almost glowing in the moonlight as they crossed the landing and hurried down the stairs. Khan was right behind them, his skinning knife in one hand his Magnum in the other. He felt powerful and masculine. He was also surprisingly aroused by the site of Angie Sawyer’s nude helplessness. He had not expected her to be so attractive.

  Moments later, Angie and Richard were rushing down the cellar stairs, their bare feet slapping on the cold concrete steps. Arthur, following, closed the door behind them to block any sound that may shortly emanate from the basement room, no sense in waking the whole household unless absolutely necessary.

  In the cellar, Arthur slipped off his backpack and told Maddox to sit in one of the dining chairs. He then told Angie to open the backpack and take out a thick roll of duct tape. “Tape him to the chair,” he said to her, “and make a good job of it because I’ll be watching.”

  “Please, don’t hurt us.” She said again.

  “Look, I’ve got money - you can have it,” Maddox begged, “All of it - I promise - but please, please don’t–”

  “Shut up!” Khan snapped. “I don’t want your money. I don’t care about it. Now tape him up,” he said again to Angie, “before I kill him.”

  Angie hurried to Richard and did as she was told. Both of them were crying. Maddox seemed to have aged dramatically in just a few minutes, the terror etched on his face as Angie wound the tape around his wrists and ankles.

  “Silence him, too.” Khan instructed. “I don’t want to hear another word out of him.”

  Angie looked apologetically into Richard’s eyes as she fastened a thick sheet of tape over her lover’s mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  When she had finished, she turned to face Khan, standing awkwardly as she tried in vain to conceal her nakedness, her hands covering her breasts and womanhood.

  “Move your arms and come over here,” Arthur beckoned. Tentatively, Angie let her arms drop, unwillingly showing him her shapely body. She had goose bumps and was acutely aware that her nipples were erect and hard with cold. For a second she did not move, paralysed with fear. “Come here, now.” Khan said sharply and she forced herself forward. “Put your hands behind your back and turn round,” he said when she reached him. She did as instructed and Arthur admired her firm backside as he took the tape from her and bound her wrists.

  Khan put his mouth next to her ear and whispered, “Where’s your husband?”

  “What?” Angie said with surprise.

  “Where’s your husband?” he asked again.

  “I don’t have a husband,” she said, “I mean we’re separated, not together. Richard and me are–”

  “I know all that,” Khan growled. “I know you’re separated. But I want to know where your husband is - understand?”

  “Yes, yes - I understand,” said Angie, “But he’s not here - he doesn’t live here. This is Richard’s house.”

  Arthur holstered his gun then grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back, his lips, through the balaclava now on her ear as he spoke, “Stop being stupid and listen to me. Now where, in the world, is your husband?”

  Suddenly the penny dropped and Angie at last realised what this was all about. “I don’t know where Jake is - I already told the police–”

  “Don’t lie to me, Angela. So far, no one’s been hurt - I can soon change that!” Arthur could feel the swell in his loins as her naked bottom brushed the front of his fatigues. This was not what he had intended for tonight. In Africa he had tortured and raped women but never a white woman. Never a woman such as this. But now he was here and she was in front of him, nude, desirable and helpless. He could feel a demon taking him over, just as it had many times before in the heat of battle and in the spoils of victory.

  “I’m not lying. I promise,” Angie cried.

  “No?” Arthur sneered, “Well we’ll soon see.” With that, he dragged her backwards, behind the settee and forced her to bend over it, so her head was almost touching the seat cushion and her round backside was mooning up at him. With her wrists taped behind her she was powerless to resist him. “Will you tell me now?” He asked, kicking her legs apart.

  “Please,” Angie was sobbing, “I don’t know. I don’t. Please don’t do this. Please let me go.”

  Richard Maddox was grunting madly with the tape over his mouth, writhing about in the chair trying desperately to free himself and stop what he knew was about to happen, unable to avert his eyes from the horror unfolding before him.

  “Oh, I think you know, Angela. I think you know only too well and you will tell me,” Khan said. Then, without another word, he tugged down his flies and unleashed himself, his penis thick and hard as he fumbled around between her legs before forcing her open and thrusting himself deeply into her.

  Angie screamed, tears running in rivers from her eyes, “Stop, please - please don’t do this.”

  Khan ignored her pleas as he rammed violently into her again and again, one hand fastened on her hair the other still gripping the knife.

  “You will tell me what you know, woman - by the end of this night you’ll be begging to tell me. I promise.”

  By now the red mist had descended over Arthur’s eyes and he could no longer hear Angie’s cries or the sound of Maddox weeping as he watched, helplessly from just a few feet away.

  * * *

  Angie blacked out shortly after that and only came round again after Khan had finished. She was now sitting on the dining chair next to Richard’s and Arthur was busily taping her ankles together. Maddox had slumped forward in his chair in utter despair and was crying softly. Mucus dripping from his nose onto the threadbare rug beneath his feet. Angie felt like she had been through hell. Her body ached, her intimate areas were sore and bleeding and she was shivering violently from the coldness of the cellar.

  Arthur looked up at her to see that she had awoken. “Ah good, you’re awake. You slipped away before you could tell me anything.”

  “But I don’t know anything,” Angie croaked, hoarse from all her screaming and feeling totally defeated. “I haven’t seen Jake in weeks - I promise. I don’t know what trouble he’s got himself into but it’s nothing to do with me or Richard, I swear.”

  “But of course it is, my darling,” Khan said. “You are Sawyer’s wife, those two children upstairs are his children. And you will tell me where he is.”

  “But I don’t know. Please, believe me–”

  “How can I believe you, my darling, when I know for a fact you are receiving money from him. Money that by rights belongs to me.”

  “What money?”

  “Please, Angela. Don’t insult my intelligence. I know very well that you have received two large payments into your bank account in the last two months and I know as well as you do who paid them. So I
’ll ask you again. Where is your husband? Tell me and this will all become a lot less painful.”

  “Look,” Angie was exasperated, not knowing what more she could say, “I’ve already told you. I don’t know anything. I don’t know where Jake is, I don’t know where the money came from - I can’t help you - if I could, I promise I would.”

  “Fine,” Arthur said, rising to his feet. “I sense you’re bored and that you are determined not to tell me anything. Admirable. Very admirable indeed. So maybe it’s time I tried a different approach.”

  Without any warning, Arthur lifted Richard Maddox’s head up by his hair and stabbed him in the shoulder, burying the knife right up to the hilt before pulling it out again. Maddox squealed in muffled agony, his lips still fasted shut by tape as tears streamed from his eyes.

  “Oh my God!” Angie cried, “No, stop it, stop!”

  “Tell me, Angie. Tell me where Jake is,” Khan said calmly.

  “Please, I swear - I don’t know–”

  Khan stabbed the knife into Richard’s other shoulder, again burying it to its full length. Richard writhed in agony, crying hysterically.

  “Stop, please stop!” Angie yelled, seeing blood pumping from the gaping wounds in her lover’s shoulders and flowing freely down his arms and chest.

  “Tell me, Angie.” Khan said again.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!” Angie roared, her teeth gritted her face contorted with anguish and rage.

  Khan shrugged, unaffected by her anger, then casually withdrew the machete from its sheath. Briefly he admired the shine of the polished stainless steel before placing it between Richard’s legs, lifting up the sack of his testicles with the long flat blade. Maddox, already in an enormous amount of pain let out a muted wail; his mouth clamped shut.

  “No!” Angie cried, “Please, no!”

  “Tell me, then.” Khan shrugged impassively.

  “You monster! You fucking sick, deranged monster - can’t you understand? Can’t you get it through your thick fucking skull?” Angie yelled, “I don’t fucking know!”