Toby Whitfield awoke in agony. His
head throbbed and he was sure he could feel blood trickling down the side of
his face, dripping off his chin on to the floor. The smell of metal was so strong;
he swore he could almost taste it. There was another smell in there, like
something rotten. He felt dazed and couldn’t muster up the energy to open his
eyes. He went to reach for them with his hands before realising he couldn’t
move his hands, a thin rope tying them together behind his back. He struggled
against the rope, trying to free his hands or at least fray the rope, but to no
avail. His eyes jerked open and he realised what was happening. The last he
remembered was chasing someone in to an alley. From then on, Toby could only
see a blur. Now he was tied up in the middle of a dimly-lit warehouse, full of
cardboard boxes, and from what he could see the only way out was through a
small (probably locked) door in the corner of the building behind him. Metal
pipes and bits of wood, as well as dead rats, littered the grimy concrete floor.
‘At least that explains the
smell.’ He thought. He looked down and saw his feet had also been tied together
and that he had been tied to a small wooden chair with the same type of hope
holding his hands together. His mind was racing, thinking up strategies to get
him out of here, wherever here was.
‘If I lean forward, I can land on
my feet and jump to the door.’ He began muttering to himself. ‘Or I could try
jumping to the door whilst seated.’ He attempted to jump but couldn’t get the chair
off the ground. It was a lot heavier than he’d first thought. He tried to lean
forward but misjudged and his foot twisted, his trainers losing their grip on
the ground. He collapsed to the floor in a heap, the chair still attached to
him. He laid still and had a half attempt at rolling over but then he heard a
noise. He turned and looked at the door only to notice it slightly ajar and two
rather large men walking towards him.
‘Crap.’ He whispered under his
breath. How the hell would he get out of this, whatever this is? The two men
reached him and hoisted him and the chair up to where he’d woken up, except now
he was facing the door. A smaller man, although still relatively big, emerged
from the shadows. He was bald and had sinister eyes, both of them staring at
Toby as if he could kill him by looking at him. He wore a suit, possibly a
designer one; some kind of businessman perhaps. The thought passed quickly; why
would a businessman have him tied up? He had a familiar look about him and Toby
was sure he had the same build of the man he had been chasing in to the alley.
‘Good evening Mr Whitfield.’ He
said, his raspy voice echoed slightly throughout the building. At least Toby
knew the time of day. ‘You’re probably wondering where you are and why you’re here.’
‘Basically, yeah.’ Toby managed to
project his voice confidently enough, making a louder echo than the other guy.
‘And also who brought me here and why there’s no air freshener, it stinks in
here.’
‘Oh so you think you’re a funny
man, eh?’ The man slowly started to circle around him and out of the corner of
is eye, Toby saw a blur. The fist made contact with Toby’s jaw, with enough
force to knock him and the chair to the ground again. ‘I hate funny men.’
‘I gathered.’ Toby struggled to
speak; blood was oozing from his mouth and down his face. He spat a large
globule of blood towards the man, just missing his shoes. He started to think
back to the case he’d been working on. A woman had been found dead, the victim
of a forced overdose. He’d worked out who the killer was and the police had
arrested her. They’d stopped investigating but Toby had carried on, determined to
find out who’d dealt the killer the drugs in the first place.
He was brought back to the current
time when another punch landed in his stomach and he heard a faint crack,
probably a broken rib. He would’ve doubled over in pain if he could move his
body to that position. He continually struggled with the rope but it wouldn’t
loosen. He was just able to open his eyes and he saw exactly what he needed to.
The man’s jacket pocket had something poking out the top of it, in a small
plastic bag and then, everything clicked.
‘You’re the drug dealer.’ He said.
‘That night….’
‘Yesterday’ the man interjected
‘It was you I was chasing. Let me
guess it was one of your bodyguards who knocked me out.’
One of the large men stood forward
‘It was a lead pipe.’
‘Do you think I care what you hit me with?’ The man took a
step back. ‘This is the warehouse where you store your drugs.’ He pointed his
head at the boxes. ‘And next time, not that there’ll be a next time, don’t put
some of the drugs in your own jacket.’ The guy looked at his pocket and pushed
the bag back down so that it was no longer visible. Although I should, at
least, say thanks for not killing me.’
‘Don’t thank me.’ The man reached
into another pocket and pulled out a thin knife, about the length of pen. He
stood above Toby brandishing the knife high in the air, ready to bring it down
in to Toby’s stomach. Toby remained motionless, thinking desperately of any way
to escape. Time seemed to slow down; the knife moving down towards him at half
the speed it should. Instinctively, Toby attempted to roll the chair over and
closed his eyes waiting for the blade to penetrate his stomach. It didn’t.
Toby opened his eyes and observed
the man now pulling on the knife which had become embedded in the side of the
chair. Not only that, but it had also cut one the rope tying his arms together.
He pulled his arms away from the back of the chair and as he began untying his
legs he noticed the bodyguards pacing their way towards him. The rope around
his legs loosened and Toby stood up, holding his sore wrists. He kicked at the man,
still struggling with the knife, catching his chin sending him sprawling on to
his back. The bodyguards ran at Toby but he rolled to the side causing them
both to overshoot him. He grabbed the chair and swung. The first bodyguard (the
one who’d hit him with the pipe) staggered as the chair collided with his face,
splintering the wood.
‘You can call that revenge for the
pipe thing’. He took a breath and turned to face his other adversary. Toby
threw the chair and the second bodyguard caught it, giving Toby just enough
time to ram his foot into his opponent’s unmentionables. The guy tumbled to the
floor with a thud, landing next to the chair which began to fall apart. Toby
staggered over to the corner, a spot he couldn’t see originally due to his
positioning. He saw a small carrier bag with a few items in it including his
phone which he turned on. His wallet surprisingly had all the stuff it
originally had it in. Underneath it was his BB gun. In England, firearms were
banned, but, being a private detective, Toby realised he needed something to
defend himself with and found that BB guns could be quite powerful. He put it
in his pocket along with his phone and wallet and turned round, only to notice
the drug dealer two feet away from him, holding the knife in front of him.
Toby ran for the exit and had reached the door but felt a
clammy hand grip the back of his neck and before he could fight back, he was
lying on the floor looking up at the man, pointing the knife. Toby closed his
eyes, heard the sound of the door opening and a thump. He opened his eyes and
saw the man slumped on the floor next to him and the chief of police, Nigel
Cooper, standing over him, his hand outstretched towards Toby, who took it. Two
other men had also entered the room and started handcuffing the bodyguards but
Toby didn’t recognise either of them.
‘How the hell did you find me?’ Toby asked as he was helped
to his feet.
‘We tracked your mobile number; we noticed it had been
turned on a few minutes ago.’ Nigel responded.
‘How did you get here so quickly?’
‘Well we were watching you last night and saw you chasing
Joe here,’ he pointed at the bald guy on the floor who had also been handcuffed.
‘You disappeared and your phone was off and we saw him coming out of the alley
so we followed his car but lost him just down the road from this warehouse.
We’d been waiting about sixteen ours but then we noticed your phone being
turned on so we rushed here to save you, and it looks like we got here just in
time.’
‘I could’ve handled him.’ He slapped Joe awake and hoisted
him up by the front of his shirt. ‘Look at what I did to those two.’ He pointed
at the bodyguards, both groaning from their injuries, as they were led away.
Nigel chuckled. ‘Well we’ll take these guys; you get home
and have some rest. You’ve been through a lot, looking at your face.’
‘It was two punches.’ Toby replied. ‘I’ll be fine.’ He
patted Nigel on the back and silently left the warehouse.
-
Two bus rides and a short walk later, Toby had reached home.
He’d gone straight for the alcohol as soon as he’d got there and now he was
lounging on his sofa, drinking and half watching some documentary about
forensics, specifically blood. Image after image of splatter and pools of blood
gave Toby the feeling it was time to turn in for the night. He flicked the TV
off and had begun walking to his room when he heard something, his home phone
ringing. He walked through the lounge in to the kitchen and picked it up.
‘Hello.’ He said
‘Is this Toby Whitfield, the private detective?’ the voice
said back to him. It was definitely a man and Toby could sense panic in his
tone. The guy’s breathing was loud and sharp, like he’d been sprinting.
‘Yeah, who’s asking?’
‘I’ve found a body.’
‘What did you say?’
‘There’s a dead person here.’
‘Where are you?’
‘At the side of the road, somewhere along the A14 near
Claydon.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘I can’t tell you. I’ll be gone by the time you’re here.
Bye.’
The hang-up tone started and Toby put his phone back on the
receiver. Great, a body, just what he needed. He yawned and thought to himself
‘a body’s not going anywhere’ and decided it could wait until morning.
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