Dead if You Don’t

21

Saturday 12 August

17.00–18.00

No one took any notice of the two men, wearing high-viz jackets over dungarees, pushing a wheelie bin across car park A. Out of immediate sight of the entrance gate, they halted beside a dark-green BMW and opened the rear door. Tipping the bin on its side, the lid opened and they pulled out a young man, roughly, bashing his head on the edge of the door.

He cried out in pain.

They clambered in either side of him, and the waiting driver accelerated away as fast as he dared without drawing attention.

One of them grabbed the boy’s phone and tossed it out of the window.

‘Hey!’ he yelled.

‘We don’t want to be tracked, asshole!’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ the other man in the rear growled, putting his hand on Mungo’s head and pushing him down, roughly, out of sight.

Scared of these aggressive strangers, Mungo did what he was told. He shut the fuck up.