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.

again. “It can be opened from the inside.

out his weapon, a machine gun. “Keep that

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

you handle that axe…” His voice turns dry… “… and I know what you did to two

You’d 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

might be a

you’ve come

two years ago… Almost to the day? And here we are, you and I, fighting on

snorts. “There's irony for you.

*****

a landing; stairs up, stairs down,

halts in mid-stride, pressing a finger to his lips… “Listen.” He cups an ear, head turning,

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

a long forefinger along the corridor,

pad along behind, axe in hand, ready to swing. “Any idea

low murmur, “I think we’re heading for

there’s likely to be people

sure. We’re approaching from the rear. Normally I’d have entered from the front, via

office got a rear

I was never in there, but he’d send someone through

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

we’re in a small kitchen area. The scent of garbage competes with stale tobacco. Flies hum over an overflowing trash can, crawling over a slick brown stain

lies open, spilt crumbs being investigated by bottle-green buzzers. A

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

he keep this place open?” I mutter. “You'd think the City authorities would shut him

of the great and good in your

“As you would know.”

“Yes. As

ajar, across from where we entered. The voices

“You've done well, Lena…”

the words. I paint the question on my face and he mouths silently

voice whines. “You are going

I am, Lena. We had an

to see. After a second, he motions me to join

seated at a desk piled high with papers. A half-full bottle of cheap whiskey sits beside an empty tumbler. An open laptop casts a glow brighter than the daylight which

a cigarette from a packet then offers one to the pregnant woman sitting opposite. She accepts

the woman Beth spotted on the video footage, watching

Lena. Five thousand, like we agreed. You can start again, just as you

another figure moves into view and both Klempner and

We met when he was driving for Klempner when we were rescuing Mitch

Ben…

at my cheeks then morphs

my

now, he’s doing

the rent for a nice place. Get yourself some decent

lifts. “Got

yellow teeth.

shop.

raises a brow.

your way now. And all because you did me

“You

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