No Help For The Dying

Chapter 33

The condition of the door was worse than it looked. Palmer’s kick demolished one half, which fell away, dragging the rest like old cardboard, showering him with fragments of damp and rotted wood.

Two men were standing in the centre of what had once been a workshop, their backs to the entrance. The walls were rough brick, covered in a thin screed of plaster that did little to hide the dilapidated structure. A single neon tube hung from the ceiling by two thin chains, throwing a sickly yellow light over the squalid interior.

Some attempts had been made to add a degree of comfort by the addition of a couple of greasy armchairs, two camp beds and a small, battered table covered with tea and coffee-making paraphernalia. A gas heater hissed nearby, casting a ghostly light up to the curved brick ceiling and adding to the depressing atmosphere soured by the smell of damp, dust and petroleum waste.

The two men were solidly built, with dark hair curling out from under woollen caps. Both were dressed in nondescript ski jackets, jeans and boots. Outside, nobody would have given them a second look. Towards the rear of the workshop, stretched out on one of the camp beds, lay the slim figure of a young girl, her head thrown back on a stained pillow. She looked fragile and wan in the yellow light, but still seemed to be breathing. Angelina.

The two men spun round, their faces registering shock at the noise and suddenness of the intrusion. Neither man looked unduly alarmed when they saw Riley and Palmer, but the one on the left instantly reached inside his jacket and produced a large hunting knife.

Palmer moved towards him without hesitation. The directness of his approach caught the other by surprise. He slashed wildly with the knife, displaying more aggression than skill, his breathing harsh and animal-like in the enclosed space. Palmer stayed carefully out of reach, but moved forward relentlessly, crowding the other man back. When he reversed into one of the workbenches with a grunt of surprise, Palmer flicked the baton across his face. The man’s head went back with a grunt, the knife falling from his hand and clattering to the concrete floor. Palmer gave him no time to recover. Taking a long step past his opponent, he swept the baton across and down, aiming at the side of the man’s knee. His opponent crashed to the floor with a cry of agony, his leg useless.

The second man was even less technical. Ignoring Riley as any kind of threat, he grabbed the kettle from the table and made to throw it at Palmer. The move left him wide open and gave Riley all the opportunity she needed. Grasping the post like a short lance, she lunged forward and jabbed him hard in the centre of his body. He gave an agonised squeal as the point sank into the soft part of his stomach, and dropped the kettle. Turning the post in her hands like a windmill, Riley followed up with a side-swipe which sat him back in one of the armchairs, his eyes wide open as he gasped for air, no longer able to put up any fight.

Palmer walked across and inspected Angelina. She groaned faintly and turned as he touched her shoulder. But it was soon apparent that she couldn’t move, as her hands had been tied to the bed frame with nylon rope.

‘It’s all right,’ he said soothingly, as the girl struggled to pull away from him, eyes flaring in terror. ‘We’ve come to take you home.’ He signalled to Riley, who scooped up the hunting knife and brought it over to him. While he began to saw at the ropes, she knelt down so the terrified girl could see her face. Seconds later the girl was free and Palmer was able to slide his hands beneath her, lifting her without effort. ‘Time to go, kiddo,’ he said easily, and looked at Riley. ‘They were definitely expecting company.’

Riley nodded and led the way past the two men, who were still groaning in pain, and peered through the open door. Satisfied the way was clear, she jogged down the street with Palmer padding along behind her, carrying Angelina.

Minutes later, they were on a broader street and spotted a taxi dropping off passengers outside a pub. Riley whistled and seconds later they were in the back and on their way, explaining to the driver that the girl had food poisoning. As they turned onto a main road leading towards the river, a white van going the other way drove past at speed, the street lights reflected in its darkened windows.

‘Surprise, surprise,’ murmured Palmer, looking back. ‘Are they going to be pissed.’

The van skidded to a halt just as one of the men staggered from the arches, angrily kicking aside the remains of the door. He stared left and right, then swore viciously at the night sky.

Quine stepped down and faced the man, head cocked to one side. ‘Please don’t tell me we have a problem.’ His voice was unnaturally calm, and the other man seemed to shrink in reply.

‘They took her away!’ he said defensively, gesturing into the dark. ‘You must have been followed here. Yeah, that’s it — how else would they have got here? We want our money.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Quine’s voice was coldly emphatic. ‘You paraded her around, didn’t you? Allowed her to be seen.’ He loomed over the other man like a menacing shadow. ‘You should be the one paying. Know what I mean?’