Captive Reaction

by Dawn Marsanne

  ‘Look, I’m doing my best, I can’t take any chances, not with my record.’

  RB grabbed Wayne by the jacket and threateningly brought his face right up to Wayne’s so that their noses were almost touching. Wayne shrank back trying not to breathe in RB’s foul breath.

  ‘Don’t get stroppy with me, Wayne my son. I need to make a crust as well. Think of it as career development. There must be loads of students who need a bit of a boost. Try to recruit some more, just a suggestion.’ RB relaxed his grip and Wayne staggered back. He desperately needed to empty his bladder as his nerves were now making him anxious about wetting himself.

  ‘See you soon, Wayne,’ said RB, jogging away and pulling out his phone to make a call.

  Wayne could wait no longer. He looked around anxiously and stepped behind a large hopper style bin to relieve himself. He was starting to get worried about his well-being. Hopefully his customers would feel sufficiently solvent this week to make some purchases.

  Chapter 5

  Ron Radford Esquire as he liked to think of himself had just taken his morning dip in his heated indoor swimming pool which was part of Brensford Manor, a large opulent seven-bedroom mansion on the outskirts of Persford. He was now relaxing in a lounger by the pool enjoying a coffee and a croissant. He would take a ten minute break before cycling a couple of miles on his exercise bike. Although he was in no measure as fit and strong as he had been in his younger years he was still in good shape for a man in his late fifties.

  The Brensford Manor complex was set in approximately twenty acres of land which were maintained by two full-time gardeners, part of the extensive support team employed by Ron and his wife Shirley. The green spaces nearest to the house were landscaped in a formal style and moving outwards towards the perimeter there was a woodland and some fields left to pasture. The swimming pool was a single storey extension to the main house and in addition there were several outbuildings comprising sheds, garages, Ron’s office and a summerhouse in the grounds. The house was set back from the road and was accessed by a long driveway protected by electrically operated wrought iron gates with security cameras covering the entrance and some of the more vulnerable areas of the perimeter wall away from the main road. Security was tight at all times of the day and night, Ron wasn’t a man who took chances, not where the personal welfare of his family was concerned. Having spent many years acquiring his wealth through various means he was determined to ensure that nobody was going to take it away from him.

  Ron had been born into a very poor family, made even poorer by a drunken feckless father who contributed little to the family finances. In some ways, it was a relief when he decided to leave them as it meant that what little money they had could be used to buy food and clothing rather than being squandered on drink and the horses. These straightened circumstances meant that he and his brother, Albert, had to resort to petty crime in order to supplement their mother’s wage from a cleaning job. Ron, in particular, felt he had a flair for business and by stealing his fellow classmates food and possessions he was able to sell them on to his friends thus making a small profit.

  He left school at sixteen, securing a job in a local shop which found its profits severely reduced due to some losses of stock which were attributed to a colleague of Ron’s. Realising that although these supplementary bonuses helped to enhance his income he soon found that they weren’t enough to satisfy his desires for the luxury things in life. So he gave up the nine to five job and began as an assistant to a well-known criminal. This was the springboard he needed and he’d never looked back. His empire was varied and extensive. He owned a chain of used car dealerships, two hotels, several nightclubs and a restaurant. Those were the respectable businesses. The less respectable business was a chain of lap dancing clubs and below this his domain encompassed drugs, stolen goods and a prostitution racket.

  Nowadays he was master rather than servant and in recent years his wealth had mushroomed. Despite having a sizeable team to perform the less pleasant duties, from time to time he still liked to get his hands dirty mainly to prove he still had the ability to stay one step ahead of the law. Sometimes he had dealt with new disciples personally, in a legitimate business this would be thought of as coaching or mentoring. This was how he’d considered his interaction with the late Zac Milburn, a manufacturer of a potent street drug. In reality, Ron had dealt directly with him as at the time he’d suspected some of his employees of trying to siphon off some of the drugs for their own enterprises. He had soon unmasked the rogue employee and he no longer worked for the Radford empire, nor for anyone in fact as his accident meant he was consigned to a life on benefits.

  Despite these occasional forays into the world of work he had plenty of time to be a gentleman of leisure. He did, however, have one hobby which doubled as work, after all it could be very lucrative. His network was always on the lookout to spot influential people who had committed some indiscretion, many moments of unrestraint taking place in one of the back rooms at the lap dancing club. Those acquaintances often proved to be very useful and after a quick chat at the Radford estate they soon offered their services free of charge.

  Looking back on his humble beginnings and hard upbringing, one good thing had come out of it, in Ron’s opinion. His parents had bestowed on him the prestigious initials RR shared by the well-known luxury car brand. Fifty-five or so years ago when they chose his name they had no idea that eventually he would own a car with the same initials. It was his pride and joy and he made sure that it was kept in pristine condition, not personally of course but courtesy of one of his employees. He rarely used this car and it was kept garaged separately from the rest of his fleet on his estate. Ron also had a middle name, Cole, which had been his father’s first name. He was Ron to his family and in the field of his legitimate businesses and Cole for his underworld activities. Somehow dividing his life like this helped him to justify the two sides of his personality.

  Shirley, his second wife of twelve years, was nineteen years younger and looked like the classic trophy bride. Her appearance was immaculate thanks to the skills of a talented plastic surgeon. She paid weekly trips to the best salon in Persford for hairdressing and manicures. Ron had married Shirley following the death of his wife in a car accident. Sadly she was the innocent victim of a boy racer who had shot out of a side road at high speed and broadsided the car into the path of a lorry. She died instantly. The boy racer stood trial but died whilst awaiting sentencing for dangerous driving. He did not die instantly but extremely slowly and painfully. It had been assumed that he had taken his own life, unable to cope with what he’d done when the police found him over-dosed on heroin with the syringe still in a vein in his arm. They assumed that before he died he’d been beaten up by a disgruntled drug dealer. Ron was more than happy for the police to believe this, what they didn’t know couldn’t harm them as far as he was concerned.

  His only daughter Natasha from his first marriage was the image of his first wife Julie. Tall, slim and blonde with dark blue eyes and a winning smile. Sadly in the last twelve months, some of her radiance had been washed away due to her illness. Sometimes when he looked at her he had to pinch himself to remind himself that Julie hadn’t suddenly returned to him. For the last few years, they had formed a perfect family unit, his second wife becoming a doting mother to Natasha and she likewise learning to accept that though her step-mother could never replace her birth mother, she was very loving and protecting.

  Natasha had been a bright child and ahead of her year all through her private prep school. The teachers told them that she showed extreme promise to excel with her GCSE qualifications and her subsequent A levels. Natasha gained eight grade A subjects and two grade B subjects at GCSE, they could not have hoped for better. At times during her preparation for her exams, she suffered some severe headaches which were at times disabling. After a good night’s sleep, she was often better but it was during the long summer holiday when she still seemed to be suffering with bouts of sickne
ss that they began to become concerned. The GP suggested it could be migraines but painkillers seemed to be ineffective. They took her for an eye test and it was then that the optician suspected that she might have a brain tumour. She was referred for an immediate consultation with a cancer specialist and the shocking news was broken to them. Natasha was found to be suffering from brain cancer, namely glioblastoma multiforme, and the diagnosis was truly devastating for the whole family.

  Initially, it was incomprehensible, she was young and assumed to have her whole life ahead of her. How could it possibly have happened that such a cruel fate was being visited on an innocent young girl? These were the questions which circulated through Ron’s mind in the dark depressing small hours. Was this a punishment being sent down to him for the way he himself had behaved during his life? Ron felt he was cursed, people he loved were taken away from him in the cruellest of fashions. He felt powerless and that was not the way he normally felt.

  Natasha underwent an operation to remove a tumour and received firstly radiation therapy to kill of any remaining cancerous cells and then a course of chemotherapy using temozolomide which caused her remaining hair to fall out. This was so upsetting to witness as she’d had such a beautiful mane of long blonde hair. For about a year things looked encouraging. Her hair started to grow back and she opted for a cute urchin style which made her look younger and even more vulnerable. Apart from a slight loss in her coordination, she was able to lead a largely normal life although she tired easily. Then her headaches returned with increasing severity, she was violently sick each morning and she felt dizzy and uncoordinated. She was rushed back to hospital and underwent a further operation to remove one tumour but this time there was an additional tumour very near to the brain stem. This was deemed impossible to remove, any attempt would result in a high chance of fatality and therefore the ethical approach was to prepare for palliative care. She was prescribed steroids to try to halt the growth of the tumour and pain relief to control the debilitating headaches. Some days were better than others though and sometimes she had a few weeks of remission when she was able to meet up with her friends and enjoy a relatively normal life, albeit at a reduced pace. But when the disease reared its ugly head with all its force she was laid low, having to spend much of her time in bed.

  For Ron in particular, being told by the specialist that Natasha’s operation would have to be her last made him feel like his heart was being ripped out. He had railed and become hysterical in the consulting room to such an extent that Shirley had taken her step-daughter out so she wouldn’t have to witness the full horror of her father losing control of his emotions. They had tried to enrol her on clinical trials for new therapies but she was deemed either too ill or the tumour too advanced for her to be accepted. For months Ron had struggled to accept the looming destiny and he had just begun to come to terms with it when fate intervened and he glimpsed a faint pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel. He was determined that this pinprick of light would turn into a blinding beacon which would lead them out of this dreadful existence. A combination of a recent press release on a local news website and a recent phone call from someone had provided further encouragement that soon things would start to move along more quickly. There were some details to plan and his wife Shirley had been opposed at the outset but he had managed to persuade her. As soon as he made it clear that he might start to get bored with her and she was very much secondary to his beautiful daughter she had no hesitation in backing him to the hilt. Ron could be very persuasive and there were many in the area who would testify to that, some of whom were still alive. Once Ron had decided there was an opportunity to be seized, nothing would stand in his way.

  Chapter 6

  Dan was waiting nervously in The Wheelbarrow pub. It was in one of the less smart areas of Persford and wasn’t somewhere he would frequent with his friends or his girlfriend Jessica. Dan took the bus part of the way and then walked the rest, he would never leave his car parked in the vicinity. This was an area he only visited when he was meeting up with his drug supplier who went by the name of Wayne. Dan had no idea whether it was his real name although the guy seemed too slow witted to have thought to use an alias.

  As usual Wayne was running late and Dan was feeling increasingly agitated. He had completely used up his coke supply and was now craving a little help from his trusty white powdery friend. He’d nearly finished his pint of lager and hoped that he wouldn’t have to buy another one, he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. He didn’t want to be out when Jessica returned from her evening out otherwise she would be grilling him about where he’d been. To his great relief he saw the door open and Wayne shuffled in looking as dubious as ever.

  He went to buy a drink and took it over to watch the TV in the corner of the room. Dan was willing Wayne to drink up so that they could conduct their business and Dan could escape the depressing environment. Eventually Wayne finished his drink and went to the Gents’ toilets. Dan waited for a minute then left the bar to join him in the unsanitary conveniences. There were no other men using the toilets but they moved towards the end away from the door.

  ‘Two large,’ said Dan handing over eighty pounds.

  ‘Ah, well, I’m afraid that’s not quite enough,’ said Wayne, ‘there’s been a slight price increase.’

  ‘What? How much?’

  ‘I need an extra ten.’

  ‘Jeez, you little scrote, you’re trying to fleece me.’

  ‘It’s up to you, plenty more customers, I’ll be on my way then. Good luck with finding another supplier. It looks like you’ll need one at short notice.’

  ‘No! Come back,’ said Dan and he reached inside his pocket for another ten pounds. As he pulled out his money his fingers caught on the lanyard on his security pass from the university and it fell to the floor.

  Wayne picked it up and examined it. Although his reading skills were poor he could recognise a few words and letters. He could see that the name started with Dan and he knew the name Daniel so that must be his customer’s name.

  Dan snatched at the security pass and stuffed it back into his pocket. ‘If you keep increasing your prices I might start making my own in my lab at uni.’

  ‘Oh, reckon you can do that, do you?’ said Wayne as he watched Dan immediately take some of the coke and snort it.

  ‘I might just do that. Save myself some money.’ said Dan inhaling deeply and letting the material work its magic.

  ‘Well, if you’re at the uni perhaps you can spread the word, get me some more customers and then I might be able to offer you a special deal?’

  ‘Ha, nice try. But I think I might be out on my ear. I’m not going to start this recommend a friend like some companies do.’ He grabbed Wayne and thrust him up against the wall. ‘You need me more than I need you, so stop trying to lay down the law.’

  Dan held him in position, tightening his hand round Wayne’s throat. Once satisfied that Wayne’s face had reddened enough he released him. Wayne relaxed and exhaled. No further words were exchanged as Dan stomped out of the toilets watched by a worried looking Wayne. The door swung back on its hinges crashing back against the already cracked tiles. Wayne rubbed his neck and straightened his clothes. He checked in the mirror and pulled his collar up to cover the red patches. Although he could ill afford it he headed back to the bar to order a whisky to steady his nerves.

  **

  A few streets away from The Wheelbarrow pub in a small one-bedroom flat above a Kebab shop, Scott Briggs and Erin Jones had just finished having sex. Scott desperately wanted to light up a cigarette but Erin’s asthma prevented him smoking indoors in her presence. He would have preferred the smell of smoke to the smell of fried food which occasionally drifted up into the flat. It seemed to depend on the wind direction and tonight the extractor fan from the shop, aided by the strong gusts was spewing its stale odours right in through the vent serving the gas boiler in the kitchen.

  Erin had turned away from him and had now
dozed off to sleep. Scott lay on his back and surveyed the room. The dim light from the bedside lamp covered up some of the room’s shabbiness but it was still a dump. They were paying nearly seven hundred pounds a month with bills on top for this excuse for a flat. Some landlords were complete shysters he thought. If the winter was really cold this year they would struggle to keep warm as the windows let in all the draughts.

  He hoped that if he could get on to Cole’s payroll they might be able to afford something better. Being acquainted with Erin had clearly boosted his credentials. He just hoped that she’d not taken too many risks accessing confidential information at the university. He looked over at Erin and began to feel resentful. If only she could control her spending habits they might have a chance of saving up some money for a deposit for better accommodation. There was no chance of buying a property but at least somewhere a bit smarter should be possible. She couldn’t resist buying clothes and seemed to think she was a size ten so everything looked too tight on her. No matter how expensive her outfits, she would always look like a common tart. Her heavy makeup and bleached blonde hair didn’t help either. Luckily she was very accommodating in bed and willing to try anything he suggested however outrageous. Thinking about this he felt himself harden but he couldn’t stay any longer, he was meeting up with Lee Percival. He just hoped that Lee might be able to get him into Cole’s favoured circle of assistants. His size and stature should help if they were looking for some muscle. He was an intimidating sight with a tattoo of a spider’s web reaching up his neck from his shoulder. He got out of bed and headed to the mould-encrusted bathroom to take a lukewarm shower.

  Chapter 7

  A week after their business presentation at Persford University, Matt Pearson and Brett Chandler were invited back to discuss their proposal in more detail and to agree on the terms of their contract. This time Matt was waiting for Brett in the coffee bar as the rain was teeming down outside, once again Brett was cutting it fine. Matt looked up from his phone to see Polly Thomas, Nick’s wife walking swiftly up to the counter to get herself a drink.