by J G Alva
Adrian had to let go of one of the knives in order to catch the wallet. He put the knife on the table. His hand was up in the air, ready to receive it. At the last moment he knew Sutton was coming for him, he sensed the movement, this time from a predator…
But by then it was too late.
Sutton made sure to grab the hand holding the remaining knife but put his shoulder – and most of his weight – into Adrian Dunbar’s middle.
But Adrian did something unexpected: he turned his body, as Sutton met it, and rolled, so that Sutton was forced to roll on the floor with him. He lost his hold on the hand holding the knife, and hit the wall on the far side of the room.
He got to his feet as quickly as he could. He was now between Adrian and Lucia. He could protect her. And the younger man had lost his only leverage.
Adrian made a split second decision, and then bolted for the door in the corner of the room; the interior door that led further into the warehouse. He banged through it, and then was gone.
Sutton went to Lucia.
“Sutton,” she said miserably, with relief.
She was bound at wrist and ankle, and in the end he had to get the knife left on the table to cut through them.
“Are you okay?” He asked, as he helped her to her feet. “Are you hurt?”
“Okay,” she said, touching him as if she didn’t believe he was real. “Okay. Okay.”
He examined the mark on the underside of her chin. It wasn’t bleeding. Just a pinprick.
“Listen,” he said, cupping her elbows. “I want you to go outside and wait in the car. Here’s the keys.” He fished them out of his pocket and laid them in her palm. “Lock the doors. Wait for me.”
“But where –“
“If I’m not back in twenty minutes, drive away. Just go. Go to the police. Okay? Do you understand?”
“You are not coming?”
He shook his head.
“Anyone else comes out and I’m not with them, drive away. Now go.”
He gave her a push towards the door.
She hesitated, looking back at him, confusion on her face.
“I have to stop him,” he said, by way of an explanation. He found his wallet on the floor and picked it up. When he looked back, she was still standing there. He pointed to the door at the other end of the office. “Go.”
Finally, she went.
◆◆◆
Vicky and Steve had been right about Adrian Dunbar, as it turned out.
He was insane.
The office into which Adrian had escaped was cluttered with furniture: a desk, three office chairs, bookcases, filing cabinets, fridge, coffee machine, and another smaller desk for an assistant.
An outside window let in a modicum of moonlight, so Sutton was able to see all these items…and also see that Dunbar wasn’t present. He could also make out his means of escape: another door in the corner of the room, that stood half open.
Sutton went to it and pushed it open cautiously.
It led to iron stairs that went down to the warehouse floor.
The warehouse was silent. The bulky shapes of pallets and stacked boxes on shelves could be picked out in the soft emergency lighting, but Sutton couldn’t see much beyond that. He certainly couldn’t see Adrian. He could be anywhere: at the far end of the racking…or around the next corner.
If he was sensible he’d have used the first fire exit he came to.
Sutton didn’t think he was sensible.
A noise to his left made him turn.
It had sounded like someone kicking a pallet.
Kicking it…or falling over it.
He was still inside.
Sutton went down the steps, his footsteps tapping lightly on the metal grillwork. There was a pool of illumination further along the wall, to his right, so he stepped left. Hiding in the shadows. Less likely to be seen.
Sutton knew why Adrian hadn’t left.
Besides the fact that he blamed him for his father’s incarceration, Adrian wanted the photographs. He wanted to know what evidence Sutton had on him. So he couldn’t leave.
The game was still on.
In the near distance, a metallic clatter.
A knife accidentally hitting the metal racking perhaps?
Or was he purposely trying to lure Sutton into a trap?
Either way, Sutton had no choice but to move toward the sound.
It was very difficult to make out much of anything in the dark interior of the warehouse. The emergency lighting was an oasis in all that blackness, but only provided very localised detail; beyond a ten foot radius, there was simply a lack of everything: a uniform blackness, with only the merest glimmer of detail, from a refracted stray beam of light touching a reflective surface. Therefore, all Sutton glimpsed was an occasional glint of light from a racking support, or blocky black shapes defined by the distant globe of another emergency light in the background. Sounds were queer too, echoing loudly in the vast space up toward the roof, but curiously dampened by the tall racks and their boxed payloads…so it was almost impossible to determine where any sound came from. Not that he heard much of anything: the scuff of a shoe; an amorphous tap; a creak; a groan. He couldn’t decide if he was hearing Adrian, or the curious inherent sound of a warehouse settling for the night. As Sutton ventured deeper amongst the racking, he started to get disorientated. He only had the location of the emergency lighting by which to gauge his position, and he had gotten turned around more than once, and they all looked the same, and sometimes he couldn’t see them at all. Was he nearer the far wall, or the loading bay? Was he veering toward the offices at the back, or wandering in circles? It was almost impossible to tell, and he had a few moments of almost vertiginous panic until, almost by accident, he found himself at the end of an aisle between the racking that led to the loading bay.
Vans were parked against the wall to the Store Manager’s Office (if indeed that was what it was). A forklift had been left in front of one of the loading bay doors. There were lockers in the recess behind the small side entrance which he had not seen before. Someone had left a pair of work boots in front of them.
He couldn’t do this forever, he thought. He’d get lost. It was a maze. And he suspected that Adrian might know this warehouse like the back of his hand. So it wouldn’t be long before the younger man would gain the upper hand.
But maybe he didn’t have to go blundering around in the dark.
A stroke of luck: the key was still in the forklift. It was gas powered. He turned the valve on and climbed up on to the seat.
He’d have to be quick. He’d only have on shot, before Adrian guessed what he was doing.
Sutton turned the ignition. The forklift started first time. There were lights on top of the protective frame over his head, and they came on, punching a hard beam of bright white light into the darkness. He spun the wheel, full lock, and the back wheels turned, and he revolved in a tight circle. He straightened out and then drove directly toward the first line of racking, the closest to the offices. He turned the forklift again, and now he was in between the wall and the racking. He drove the forklift forward at speed, the forks themselves lowered and scraping the concrete floor. Briefly, there were sparks. He hit the line of racking with a dangerous clang of metal on metal. The racking shook slightly, but that was all. He had wondered what it would be like, if the racking fell; now he was going to find out. What better way to shake Adrian out of his hiding place…or bury him in it. Sutton found the controls for the forks and then raised them up. A creak of bending metal, and then the racking began to tip forward. Slowly at first, but then the pallets and boxes stored on the uppermost levels began to slide, the weight pulling the racking even further forward…
Until it went.
He kept raising the forks anyway, but he knew it had already started. The first domino had passed that critical tipping point, and now it could only fall. The pallets and boxes near the top – which must have had some considerable weight to them – slid fro
m where they had been resting peacefully and crashed back against the next rack over. This destabilised it enough so that when the first toppling rack hit it, it could offer no resistance.
And then they all began to fall, huge toppling dominoes, each as tall as a building, each longer than a double decker bus. There was a series of crashes, of protesting metal…and then all subsequent destruction was lost under a deafening cacophony as boxes, wood and metal all fell and tangled together.
Sitting atop the rumbling forklift, Sutton wondered if he imagined the scream.
It took less than a minute for the noise to stop, by which time he had turned off the forklift and climbed down from it.
He was thinking how best to investigate the wreckage when Adrian appeared suddenly from around the corner of the Store Manager’s Office.
He was covered in dust and cut in a dozen places, but he was okay. He stared at Sutton in shock, fear and anger…
And then he came for him.
He still had the knife. Sutton saw light flick along its edge briefly.
He thrust it into Sutton’s face a couple of times, but Sutton was easily able to stay out of reach.
They circled each other. Adrian’s eyes flicked to the door in the Store Manager’s Office. He was angling toward it. He would push Sutton back with the knife and make a run for it; Sutton could see the plan forming in his eyes. And if he escaped? He would come back again, in some other way. He believed Sutton was responsible for what had happened to his father, and when he found out there really weren’t any photographs…there would be no stopping him. Sutton waited for the thrust, the distraction. He knew it was coming.
When Adrian was almost lined up with the door, he stepped forward with the knife, a half-hearted jab at Sutton’s eyes. Such carelessness needed to be paid for. Sutton was ready for it, and caught his wrist in both hands, twisted it, and then pulled down on it. He felt the vibration as the shoulder popped out of its socket. Adrian screamed. He dropped the knife immediately. Stilling holding on to the dislocated arm, Sutton put a foot into the side of Adrian’s knee. He heard the sound as the knee popped out: like sitting on a small balloon. Adrian screamed again, and then collapsed on to his side. Sutton circled around him, and then took hold of his good arm. Adrian struggled against him, but the effort was weak, and compromised. Sutton pulled the good arm out straight, lay it on the floor, and then stamped on the elbow. He felt – more than heard – the joint go. Adrian screamed once more.
“Fuck! Fuuuuuuuuck!”
Sutton grabbed a handful of Adrian’s hair and held his head up.
“You come for me again, and you’ll get worse than this next time,” he said. “You come near me – or anyone I care about – and I’ll paralyse you from the neck down. Then I’ll pop your eyeballs like a couple of grapes. Then I’ll cut out your tongue. So you can’t tell anybody who was responsible for maiming you. Do you understand?”
Adrian was crying miserably, making nonsensical noises at the back of his throat.
“Do you fucking understand?!” Sutton shouted into his face.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes…”
As a final measure, Sutton punched Adrian in the nose.
He heard it break. Like a small twig broken over a kneecap.
Blood immediately poured out of it.
“Now you understand,” Sutton said.
But Adrian was passed hearing.
Sutton released the sweaty hair, and then went around behind him and grabbed the collar of his top.
He began dragging him.
Dazed, Adrian started to protest.
There was a narrow cavern, one rack leaning against another to form a triangular shaped structure. Sutton dragged him partway in, and then pushed him the rest of the way. Once he was gone, he’d call the police, but at least this way when they found him, despite what Adrian told them, they’d conclude he was wounded in the terrible disaster that had befallen the warehouse.
He stood a moment, staring down at the miserable form of Adrian curled in a foetal position amongst the dust, broken boxes and twisted metalwork, and then turned and left the warehouse.
◆◆◆
Lucia was waiting in the car.
She scooted over the seats to unlock the driver’s side door for him.
Wearily, he got in.
She had been crying, but she did not make a sound.
He touched her cheek.
“Keys?” He said.
Silently, she handed them to him.
He started the car.
“Is he dead?” She asked. She didn’t sound like she’d be worried if he was.
“No,” Sutton said. “But he won’t be hurting anyone for a while.” He paused, and then added, “maybe not ever.”
He put the car in gear and drove away from the large, silent block of the Elemental Distribution warehouse.
She was silent for most of the journey back to his flat.
As they crossed the river, she said, “that…man.”
“What about him?”
“He wanted to hurt me. So you would be hurt.”
Sutton nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s complicated, Lucia.”
“Sutton, you tell me why.”
He looked over at her in the passenger seat. Her beautiful brown eyes blazed with Italian fury.
Sutton pulled into his estate.
He said, “because he thought I sent his father to prison.”
She thought.
“You did this?”
“Yes.”
He parked in his allotted parking space and turned off the engine.
“Why?”
Sutton shrugged.
“It’s what I do. I help people. I look into things.”
Lucia thought about that for a moment, staring out of the windscreen. A line of bushes ringed this small section of parking. They moved fitfully in a light wind.
“It is scary,” she said, looking at him aslant. “What it is you are doing scares me. First the people hitting you when you are running, and now this man…”
“It scares me too sometimes,” Sutton admitted, with a hard smile.
“Then why you do it?”
He sighed. How to explain it to her? How to explain it to anyone, and make it make sense?
Finally, he said, “because it’s what I’m meant to do.”
She frowned at him.
“I’m sorry he hurt you, Lucia.” He touched her cheek again, and she turned her face toward his hand. “Maybe call me next time you come over. Okay?”
She reached up and pulled his hand away.
“I go back to Italy soon,” she said, avoiding his eye.
Her year at the university was almost up. He had known it was coming, and yet there was still a small stab somewhere near his heart. He could never be in love with Lucia, but there had been something there. More than there should have been, given their differences in age and circumstance.
“Okay,” he said eventually.
“I will miss you,” she said.
He turned her face to look at him.
He wanted to see her, to really see her, in a way that can only be highlighted by the end of something, its value measured by its finite availability. She had changed somehow. Some delicious flavour of innocence had been lost. Some irreplaceable gaiety had been squeezed out of her, once and for all. It saddened him to see it. It was inevitable, but knowing he was even partly responsible made him feel shitty.
“I’ll miss you too,” he said.
“I must go home now. Please, can you take me home?”
“Come inside. So I can take a look at that cut. And maybe we can say goodbye properly.”
She stared at him for a long time.
“Okay,” she relented.
◆◆◆
CHAPTER 24
Friday, 10th June
Fin looked lost, even though he stood in his own kitchen.
He wore an old T-shirt torn at
the bottom, and jeans a size too big for him. No shoes. There was a hole in his left sock; the big toe was visible.
“What?” He said, trying to focus on Sutton.
“I said, how did you get on?”
Fin took a deep breath, and then sat at the round kitchen table. Computer magazines were scattered across it, and he idly sorted them into a pile.
“It was easy,” he said eventually.
“No problems?”
“None. Do I look like him? I didn’t think I did but nobody said anything…”
“Not really.” Sutton paused, trying to pull Mackenzie’s face out of his memory to match it to the one he was currently staring at. “A little, maybe. A younger version of him perhaps.”
Fin shivered, as if he was cold.
“God. I hope not.”
“You are defined by the things you do. And the people closest to you. Not by what you look like.”
Fin nodded as if he already knew it.
“The charity was with Triodos,” he said. “He’d called it the Bristol Corresponding Society – God knows what that meant. I took two utility bills and the false driving license – you know, the one my friend made up for me. I filled out a lot of forms. I must have been there an hour, signing one form after another. Good job I’d practised his signature.”
“And where is it now?”
“Did the Dunbar Group cheque clear in the end?”
Sutton smiled.
“No.”
“Bastards.”
“They must have cancelled it. They made it a priority. Frugal to the bitter end.”
“Bastards,” Fin repeated.
“Where did you put it, Fin?”
“In an offshore account. A dummy company I set up a billion years ago. It’ll be safe there for a while.”
Sutton nodded.
“Good.”
He sighed, and then joined Fin at the round table.
He patted his shoulder.
“You did good,” Sutton said.
Fin said, “I half hoped the police had already frozen his account.”
Sutton smiled.
“They’re not as efficient as you.”
Fin gave him a wan smile in return.
