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.

opened from

out his weapon, a machine gun. “Keep that

to bring the axe?

not sure how good you are with a gun. But I've seen you handle that axe…” His voice turns dry… “… and I know what you did to two

Charlotte. It was December. We had to escape into the snow. I was fucking naked barring

I didn’t know that.” He slides to a half-smile, looking

be a

you’ve come

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

irony for you. Let's head down.

*****

two flights then reach a landing; stairs up, stairs down, and a corridor off

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

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

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

pad along behind, axe in hand, ready

low murmur, “I think we’re heading for Finchby’s

there’s likely to

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

got a

to the back, I think. I was never in there, but he’d send

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

can, crawling over a slick brown stain on the

spilt crumbs being investigated by bottle-green buzzers. A half-empty jar of coffee is about the cleanest thing in

the trash, his Adam’s apple working as

I mutter. “You'd think the City authorities would shut him down for something. Poisoning his clients with the

only need one or two of the

“As you would know.”

unabashed. “Yes. As I

from where we entered. The voices are just on

“You've done well, Lena…”

question on

whines. “You are going to pay me, aren't

Lena. We had

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

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 struggles through a barred window and glass

into an overflowing ashtray, extracts a cigarette from a packet then offers one to the pregnant woman sitting opposite. She accepts both cigarette

spotted on the video footage, watching James and Charlotte at the

“Here you are, Lena. Five thousand, like we agreed. You can start again, just as you wanted.

Klempner and I jerk

when he was driving for Klempner when we were rescuing Mitch

Ben…

then morphs to a

brought myself to kill my brother.

he’s doing it

for a nice place. Get yourself some decent furniture, decorate. Maybe even a

lifts. “Got

He displays yellow teeth. “What

shop. Nice work.

a brow. Finchby notices but

going your way now. And all because you did me one

leans forward. “You

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