James

Despite the cold, my heated face streams sweat which soaks down my neck and into my clothes.

Slow down, Man…

You can’t sprint for a mile…

I drop to a trot and my heartbeat decelerates to something more sustainable. The banging behind my ears subsides.

Don’t panic…

The kidnappers may say Don’t be late, but their priority is the money.

Irony slaps me around the cheeks. Here I am, in an area I wouldn’t normally consider walking at night, certainly not alone. And I’m running through it, toting a bag containing a cool million in cash.

The steady rhythm of my jogging sets a metronome ticking in my head, clearing my thoughts.

How fast is a jog?

Six miles an hour?

So, I should cover my mile in the ten minutes I have.

Calm down…

Nonetheless, I find myself counting paces; eating up distance with each one…

They must be watching me…

Where are they watching from?

A parked car?

pass, where they can

Could be anywhere.

Moorings… A series of berths alongside the river. Once an attractive place for pleasure boats and day-trippers; now derelict,

an attractive name for the edge of the more reputable parts of town. As the name suggests, it consists of four blocks of

in grassy lawns. The fountain, also floodlit, dances and sparkles by the central Christmas

can think of one or two

on knees as I regain my breath, then,

For what?

scanning my

in the

“James?”

but I

the

“Corner of Birch Square by

Moorings extend right along behind the western side of the square.

Stupid… Stupid…

right. I’ll

James. Keep your thinking

right, but I don’t need reminding

houses; handsome red-bricks built on three stories ending

Still nothing.

breathing tightens again as I look for

Doorways…

Store windows…

A mailbox…

Nothing…

make it hard to

My watch tells me I’m two

be

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