The Bach Manuscript

Chapter 15

Ben was on him in three fast strides and knocked him unconscious with a hard blow to the side of the neck. The crusty went as limp as a scarecrow cut loose from its post. Ben caught him under the arms as he fell, and dragged him back down the alley towards the patch of wasteground.

It wasn’t a killer blow, by any means. Ben hadn’t intended it to be. You could never judge these things perfectly, but he expected the guy to wake up in about five minutes. It took seven, by which time Ben had already started on the fresh pack of Gauloises he’d bought from Havana House that morning. He was using the illegal flick knife he’d found in the crusty’s pockets to clean under his fingernails.

Lying on his back against the inside of the derelict old shed, the crusty stirred, then his eyes fluttered half open one after the other and he croaked, ‘Where am I?’

‘Somewhere none of your pals are going to come and help you,’ Ben told him. ‘It’s just the two of us. Your lucky day.’

The crusty’s eyes focused, and sudden recognition forced them open wide. ‘Oh, fuck. It’s you.’

‘Scared? You should be.’

The crusty started to struggle in his panic, trying to get up. Ben pushed him back down with his foot. ‘I see you got yourself a new blade. You really shouldn’t go about armed like that. Someone might get hurt.’ He folded the blade shut and slipped the weapon into his own pocket.

‘What do you want from me, man?’

‘I think you know exactly what I want from you,’ Ben said.

The crusty gave up trying to struggle. He lay on the filthy, rotted shed floor, breathing hard. ‘Look. Okay. Take my money. Tell Gluebrush I’ll have the rest by Saturday. That’s a fuckin’ promise. Tell’m!’

Ben shook his head. ‘Do I look like I’m collecting for some loan shark?’

The crusty’s eyes filled with confusion. ‘You a cop?’

‘Wrong again,’ Ben said. ‘You’re going to wish I was a cop. If I’m right about you, you’re cat meat.’

‘What the fuck, man?’

‘Here’s what we’re going to do,’ Ben said. ‘I’m going to ask you questions. Each time, I’ll start counting, one, two, three. If I haven’t had an answer when I get to three, I’ll break something. Fingers, wrists, ankles, nose, teeth, you get the picture. You’re a big guy. Plenty to break. And I’m a very violent person. Once I get started, I can’t stop. We could be here all day. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’

The crusty nodded up and down as far as his head could move.

‘Here we go, then. First question. What’s your name? One. Two—’

‘P-Paul. Paul M-Midworth.’

‘Where d’you live, Paul?’

‘Rose Hill.’

Ben took out the grubby, much-thumbed document he’d removed from the crusty’s pocket, the Job Seeker’s Allowance booklet that he used to sign on for his dole money, with his full name and address and social security number written at the top. Paul Midworth, aged thirty-one, did indeed reside in Rose Hill. ‘You passed the first test, Paul. Let’s keep the truth coming. Ready?’

‘Yes! What the fuck, man—’

‘The guy who was with me on the bus yesterday. Know him?’ Ben started counting. ‘One… Two…’

‘What guy?’

Ben sighed. Then reached down, grabbed Midworth’s wrist and twisted it almost to the point of breaking. Midworth let out a shriek.

Ben didn’t let go. ‘It’s going to hurt a lot worse when the bones come ripping right through the flesh. Did you sell him gear?’

‘Yeah!’

‘How often? When’s the last time?’

The crusty rolled his eyes in agony up at Ben. ‘I don’t know! Now and then. Not for months. It was just a few fuckin’ seeds, man.’

‘Why’d you go after him? Did he owe you money? Flash a little too much cash under your nose, enough to tempt you to go and look for more?’

‘I never done anything!’

‘And all I have to do is believe you. Who are your friends that you took along? Did you pay them, or did they do it just for kicks?’

‘I swear, whatever you think I done, man, you’re getting it wrong.’

‘Think carefully, Paul. I’m going to rip this arm right out of its joint.’

‘Aagh! What’s your problem? I said I didn’t do anything! I SWEAR!’

‘Where were you last night, between three-thirty and four in the morning?’

‘Home!’

‘Alone? Got a girlfriend who can vouch for you?’

‘I was alone, man. But I fuckin’ promise you…’ Midworth was crying now. His words trailed off into a pitiful mutter.

Ben let go of him. ‘Get up. I said get up.’

Midworth got shakily to his feet. The shed was small and cramped, and there wasn’t much room for two people, especially when one of them was built like an ox. The rotted floor sagged under his weight.

‘Here’s your knife,’ Ben said, taking it out. He thumbed the release catch on the handle to pop the blade out with a sharp click, then handed it to Midworth.

Midworth took the knife, peered at it in his hand and then peered uncertainly back at Ben with pink teary eyes.

‘That’s twice I’ve humiliated you,’ Ben said to him. ‘First yesterday on the bus, and again just now. Made you look like the pathetic, snivelling, weak coward that you are. I’ll bet you’d love to get even with me. Teach me that lesson you said I needed. Carve me up good and proper. So here’s your chance. Stick that switchblade in me.’ He touched his chest. ‘Right here.’

‘Don’t fuck with me.’

‘Seriously,’ Ben said. ‘Stick it right in there and give it a good twist. Make me bleed. Cut my heart out. What are you waiting for?’

‘You’ll break my arm.’

‘No,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll take you apart slowly, piece by piece. But only if you fail. Come on. I know you can do it. A tough guy like you, who carries a knife to show how big he is, likes to shove people around? If you can beat a defenceless guy to a pulp and throw him out of a window, you won’t have a problem.’

‘I didn’t hurt anyone.’

‘I’ll make it easy for you. Hands behind my back. Eyes closed.’

Shaking his head, Midworth backed away as far as the confines of the shed would let him. He dropped the knife. ‘This is a fuckin’ terrible mistake, man.’

‘You made it.’

‘Let me go. Please.’

Ben had spent most of his adult life around dangerous men. He’d worked with them, and against them, all over the world, for a lot of years. He’d met few who were as dangerous as he was himself, but many who had come close, and he’d learned to understand exactly what qualities and mindset were needed in that kind of individual. Whether they used their skills for bad, or whether they used them for good as Ben had, what they shared was the ability to cross a line that ordinary people could not cross. It is a hard, hard thing to actively, wilfully, hurt or maim or kill another living human being. That was why murdering psychopaths were mercifully rare, and why brave men who could do whatever it took to serve and protect the innocent were in such short supply and great demand.

Ben Hope was one of those men. And he could see that Paul Midworth was not one of them. He just didn’t have the makings of a killer.

Which was good news for the world. But bad news for Ben. Because it meant his theory had been totally, completely wrong, and that now he was going to go right back to the beginning and work this thing out.

‘I didn’t do nothing,’ Midworth sobbed. ‘I didn’t hurt nobody. Please, man. You’ve got to believe me.’

‘I do believe you.’

Midworth fell to his knees on the dingy shed floor, bent over with his head in his hands, and wept like a little boy.

‘No more carrying knives,’ Ben said. ‘No more taking money from people. No more dealing drugs. That life is over for you now, Paul. Clean yourself up and get a job. I know where you live and I’ll be watching you.’

Ben picked up the switchblade, folded it shut and slipped it into his pocket, then left Midworth cringing there in a heap and walked away.

He walked all the way back to the college, thinking hard. By the time he arrived there, he knew where he had to go next.