Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Chapter 4

*****

 

Michael

Removing two dozen slates makes a gap comfortably big enough to take a man and incidentally exposes the timbers. There’s no question of how to anchor the rope this time.

“You realise we’re probably invalidating Finchby’s building insurance.”

Klempner whistles in. “What a shame.” We peer down into Stygian darkness. “How far down you think? Twenty-five… Thirty feet?”

“It can’t be more than that if the windows outside are anything to go by.”

This time on the rope, I'm much more in control.

It’s a straightforward climb down, the rope snagged by hand, thighs and crooked around one foot, and my body mass working for me rather than against, hand over hand, I descend into gloom. As my feet touch floor, the slight noise reverbs with the feel of a large empty space.

Blind-sighted in the darkness, the faint lines of external light seep through eaves.

Almost as I land, the rope shivers in my hand as Klempner also descends, coming at speed and I step smartly to one side as I realise he's all but on top of me.

He lands lightly. “Can't believe it's all going to be this easy.”

The air smells, not exactly stale, but unused. Revolving through three-sixty, the only light is the faintest of gleams, a fine line marking the eaves.

Also from above, a slight rustling…

Roosting birds?

From below, the floor vibrates to the bass thump of overloud music.

“Still got Beethoven’s Fifth Racket playing,” mutters Klempner from the gloom beside me.

“Useful for us though. He’ll not hear us coming with that going on.”

“Too right. I think we can risk a little light.”

With a click, the narrow beam of an LED flashlight cuts through the air, producing a startled flapping from above. To one side of us, the cracked plaster and paint of a wall, the beam painting threads and dots of light over webs and dust. But as the beam swings, it illuminates receding plaster then vanishes into darkness.

“A single open space?”

“It is a warehouse. Or was.”

Klempner gestures with the light. “That way is the front of the building, the main entrance and stairwell.” He swings the beam the opposite way. “So, let's follow the wall that way and see if we can find another stairwell. A place this size must have more than one.”

The torchlight aimed at the floor, we follow the line of the wall, stepping over the remains of ancient birds’ nests and small heaped cones of guano.

Almost immediately we come to a plain timber door; no lock, no complications beyond the weavings of the local spiders over the handle. On the wall beside it, a metal plaque in what might be brass under the patina. 'C-Bay'.

The handle resists turning, but only with the groan of long disuse. And the hinges complain as the door swings slowly open to reveal a small room beyond...

… then stepping through, stairs leading both up and down.

Klempner aims the torch upwards. “Presumably our roof access door is at the top. Wait here. I'll check. If we need to make a fast exit that way, it'll be nice to know what's there.”

He disappears up into shadow, the sound of his booted feet surprising quiet. For a tall man, he walks lightly. From downstairs, the bass thump is louder.

“It can be opened from the inside. Simple turn-key and

shoulder, takes out his weapon, a machine gun. “Keep that

did you ask me to bring the axe? It's not exactly a common

you are with a gun. But I've seen you handle that axe…” His voice turns dry…

sent them after Charlotte. It was December. We had to escape into the snow. I was fucking naked

I didn’t know that.” He slides

be

come a

And here we are, you and I, fighting on

irony for you. Let's head

*****

a landing; stairs up, stairs down, and a corridor

lips… “Listen.” He cups an ear, head turning, first one way then

sound… Voices speaking from some distance away, just audible over the thumping of the music,

a long forefinger along the corridor, then moving quietly, he follows the

pad along behind, axe in hand, ready to swing.

murmur, “I think we’re heading

there’s likely to

Normally I’d have entered from the front,

got

back, I think. I was never in there, but he’d send someone through that way

are growing louder. As we turn into a door, abruptly, we

small kitchen area. The scent of garbage competes with stale tobacco. Flies hum over an overflowing trash can, crawling over a slick brown stain on the lid. The steel of

biscuits lies open, spilt crumbs being investigated by bottle-green buzzers. A half-empty jar of coffee is

eyes the trash, his Adam’s apple working as he recoils from a

the City authorities would shut him

or two of the great and good in your pocket to get

“As you would know.”

is unabashed. “Yes. As I

entered. The voices are

“You've done well, Lena…”

question on my face and

voice whines. “You are going to

am, Lena. We had an

to the door, inching around to see. After a second, he motions me to join

empty tumbler. An open laptop casts a glow brighter than the

offers one to the pregnant woman sitting opposite. She accepts

on the video footage,

counting out from a wad of notes. “Here you are, Lena. Five thousand, like we

both Klempner and I jerk

face: Baxter. We met when he was driving for Klempner when

Ben…

cheeks then morphs to a chill

have brought myself to kill my brother. Klempner did what he

he’s doing it

for a nice place. Get yourself some decent furniture,

chin lifts.

yellow teeth. “What

in a flower shop.

the background, Baxter raises a brow. Finchby notices but

all going your way now. And all because you did

leans forward. “You got him?

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