Pawn (6 page)

Chapter Five.

“Inspector Barns.” Far from being surprised that the inspector had come Rufus was only taken aback by the fact that it had taken him so long to get there. The other officers had been there for nearly a couple of hours, taking photos and fingerprinting everything in sight. Somehow Rufus was sure that they’d find nothing. These people had worn gloves. After all, while it might look like the work of kids, he was certain that the person or persons who had done this were professionals. Kids stole things, cash, electronics and anything they could sell. They hit and ran. Whoever had done this had very thoroughly searched the place, though what they thought they would find he couldn’t begin to guess.

“Should you be sitting there?” The inspector had a point, maybe even a good one. Sitting down in the middle of his house, a place that had now become a crime scene, sipping at a cup of coffee, was probably not that professional. But he was sore and he couldn’t stand forever, and the other officers had cleared this particular section of the lounge for him. He told the inspector as much and wasn’t that surprised when he turned to glare at the other officers. Allowing the suspect into his own crime scene. It just wasn’t done. Not on his watch. But at least he didn’t protest too loudly. He had other fish to fry. The accusations were coming. Of that much Rufus was sure.

“So want to tell me about it?” Of course what he really wanted was for Rufus to confess to something. Rufus knew it, the other officers knew it, and in all likelihood the little blue biro he was chewing on knew it.

“I went down to the station to collect my stuff from the car. I came back to this.” It was a simple story. Another chapter in an ongoing tragedy. In the end there wasn’t a lot else to say.

The inspector stared at him strangely, possibly wondering if he was being insolent. Police didn’t like that. But he stuck to his questions instead of getting upset.

“Anyone else staying in the house? Any special friends? Family?” It was the way that he added the last so carefully that told Rufus that the inspector had been doing some checking. But then he’d expected that. And what he’d find when he did.

“I live alone inspector. No one else has a key, not that these people used one.” He indicated the broken doorframe with his free hand. “And as for my family, I haven’t seen them in years.” And he never wanted to see them again considering the way their last encounter had gone. There was a reason he had lived with nightmares all his life. There was a reason his phone was unlisted and his home was registered as belonging to his own private company.

“Really? Because this looks very much like your older brother’s handiwork.” Maybe it did in a way. Daryl was a dedicated smash and grab thief and he loved making a mess. But he didn’t do houses. Not because of any noble concern for the people who might be at home, but simply because there usually wasn’t a lot of money in them. Stores, especially those with good sales and big glass windows he could break, were more his scene, and if he could find someone to beat up in the process, so much the better. Daryl liked hurting people. He had violence in his soul. But greed too.

“There’s not enough here for Daryl to give a toss about. He’s a violent thug but he doesn’t risk getting caught lightly. He wouldn’t do this. Not without a cause. Not without some serious money he could make. Though he’d be happy enough wrecking the place.” Actually if he knew where Rufus lived, he’d have done it just for fun, and then smashed his face in as well and maybe killed him. The two of them had never really been brothers. Their relationship was always one of bully and victim. But then they didn’t see each other, so that worked out well for both of them.

“And your father, what’s he been up to lately?” Rufus sighed as he realised the inspector had been right through his family history, and he wasn’t going to stop asking annoying questions until he’d asked about each and every one of them.

“I don’t know inspector. I haven’t seen my father in more than a decade. Or for that matter, my mother or my older sister. No doubt they’re all up to no good, robbing, extorting, killing, but none of that has anything to do with me.” That was an understatement and then some. He and his family had parted on less than amicable terms, actually his brother had tried to pummel him to a pulp with an axe. He’d never wanted to see them again after that, and they he assumed held the same opinion about him.

“Not even a little art theft? You weren’t tempted?”

“My old man’s been stealing art again has he?” It wasn’t really a question, just another accusation. But at least he now had some idea of why the people in the speeding truck had started shooting at him. Apparently it was an art theft, though whether his family were involved was another matter. “No he wouldn’t ask me. After all the last time we had that conversation it ended badly for both of us.

“Ahh the incident in the park.”

“If by incident you mean attempted murder as Daryl tried to chop me up into tiny pieces with an axe and the rest of my loving family cheered him on”. If he laid the sarcasm on a little more thick than he should have, it was only because he still remembered that day with terrible clarity. It wasn’t something easily forgotten. But at least he had survived it, as he had somehow survived the rest of his childhood. The inspector didn’t get it though. Maybe he hadn’t read the reports.

“Brothers fight all the time.”

“How many of them use an axe?” He could have shown him the scars, but there was no point. It was a matter of record and he could read about it or not as he chose. But Rufus was getting tired by then. Too many shocks in too few days. He couldn’t take much more.

“Look inspector. My father beat me from when I was a young baby. My older brother helped him, my older sister laughed throughout, and my darling mother told me I was a mistake that should never have been born. I was probably the only child you’ll ever hear of who ran away from home, to go to school. I got myself scholarships and went into boarding school at the age of twelve, and barely ever went home after that.” He would never have gone back at all if he could have avoided it. But a twelve year old child, no matter how capable, couldn’t stay away forever. Still it was funny how easily the words came out of his mouth, almost as though it wasn’t him that had suffered all those beatings, that had spent so many weeks and months in the hospitals. Time as they said, healed all wounds. Maybe even his.

“I didn’t miss them, they certainly didn’t miss me.”

“The last time I saw them, I was nineteen, a student in London, and I hadn’t seen them in years. But Daryl came out of nowhere and tried to kill me. My sister had apparently told him that I stole some money or something. She was lying of course, I hadn’t even been near their place in years. I don’t actually know how they found me.” Though he could guess. His mother was always one to spy on people. She kept tabs on everyone she could, mostly so she could blackmail them later. That was her calling, her passion. Blackmail, extortion, and sometimes just for the hell of it, a little manipulation and domestic theatre as she called it.

She loved to destroy people. She loved to watch their lives fall apart, and it didn’t take much. A few lurid photos, even if she had to edit them, the odd call in the middle of the night, some incriminating documents. With just those things she could destroy marriages, end careers, shatter dreams and sometimes, engineer a suicide. And that was her recreation. When there was the chance to get a little money out of it, she was a hundred times worse.

His sister might have been the one to make the accusation, but he was sure it was his mother that had found him that day and stage-managed the entire event. Her evil it had always seemed to him, was far more cunning than the brute violence of his father and brother. Far more dangerous.

“I spent months in the hospital after the attack, suffered loads more reconstructive surgery after that, and then still more months of plastic surgery to hide the surgical scars. It wasn’t the first time they’d beaten me half to death. It wasn’t even the first time they’d put me in hospital, or even on life support.” And though he didn’t say it, it wasn’t the first time he’d been in the emergency room with doctors panicking all around him. But they were always good, and they had saved his life. Of course the doctors could only repair the physical scars, and he knew that the psychological ones would never heal. He knew that, and though he knew he was odd and would never really fit in anywhere in life, he didn’t care that much any more. It was enough that he was safe. In the end that was the only thing that mattered.

“If my family are involved in this mess somehow, the one thing I can promise you inspector is that I have nothing to do with it.” Except that of course he did. If they were involved, then he was apparently high on their hit list. The only question was why? He hadn’t seen them in a decade. He hadn’t heard from them. He hadn’t even heard of them which was unusual. It seemed that Daryl had gotten smarter. Smart enough to stay off the police radar. Before then he had been in the court sections of the papers, on a monthly basis, always for burglary and violence. Only the family barristers had stopped him being sent down for life, several times.

And his father, he was a capable enough robber, and cleverer than Daryl by a good half. But even if the police never seemed to have enough evidence to touch him, they had spent years simply following him around while the reporters seemed to have a never ending source of crimes to write about. Until they met with unfortunate accidents one by one. That seemed to stop them writing, at least about his family. They usually found someone else less dangerous to hound.

So his family had become smarter, or at least more circumspect. That was good. Good for the people they were hopefully no longer hurting as they went about their business. Good for Rufus too. If they were staying down, they didn’t need an errant brother being hospitalised or killed to make the papers.

The question was, was this them? Had they been the ones in the van? And had they found him again? And why? What could he possibly have that they might want?

Rufus had no answers, something that didn’t please the inspector one little bit. But still he answered all his questions as openly and honestly as he could, and if that wasn’t enough, he could do no more.

Except maybe find a new place to live. If it was his family, and if they were coming for him, that would be his only choice. New home, new country probably and a new name. Little else would keep him safe from them.

Of course before then he’d have to find a place to spend the night. When his entire house was beginning to be filled up by people in white paper overalls carrying lots of expensive looking equipment, and more were coming, he guessed he wouldn’t be allowed to stay there. Not tonight anyway, and maybe not for a few more.

One thing was certain, for a domestic burglary the police were taking it very seriously. Which could only mean that they thought it was linked to his attempted murder as well.

Rufus sighed quietly when the inspector left, before reaching for his phone. He hated motels and hotels. But he hated people trying to kill him even more. And there was a decent hotel in town, The Fiddlers. Good safe food, security on the doors, cameras in the halls, a twenty four hour desk. He’d read the security reports when the company had taken on their insurance policy.

He went outside to make the call, not wanting the officers to hear him. It wasn’t that he particularly distrusted them. They were probably good officers. But when his mother was hunting, there was no such thing as a completely trustworthy person.

*******************

Chapter Six.

The room was good, the meal room service had provided was excellent, and the shower, the glorious high pressure shower with its endless nozzles was a marvel. Just the thing for a badly bruised body. Stepping out of it and drying himself off, Rufus felt almost normal for the first time in days. Something about the heat of that water soaking in to his aching flesh, had washed away more then just the pain of his injuries. He liked that. Maybe even enough to let himself enjoy a little telly instead of worrying the night away.

He pulled his jeans back on, they were all the clothes he had left for the moment, and headed out into the main room and the waiting coffee jug.

“What the -.” At least that was what he tried to say as he stepped out of the bathroom and into the hotel suite’s main room. But he couldn’t get the words out. Not when someone had somehow looped something around his neck and was squeezing it tight, cutting off his air as well as his voice. Try as he might he couldn’t get his fingers under it. All he could do was gasp and struggle desperately against the choker. But even that was futile. The chain, if that was what it was, wouldn’t let go, and the harder he struggled the more it seemed to cut into him.

The man, whoever he was, had clearly done this before, and no matter which way Rufus tried to launch himself against him, he was always ready, and the chain never loosened. Instead he just kept choking and gurgling, unable to help himself, warm blood running down his front, and in time as things began to go a little dark, wondering if this was it.

It wasn’t though. He discovered that as he felt his knees starting to go a little weak, and the man loosened his hold, just a fraction of an inch, but enough to let him breath again. Rufus took that chance, dragging in the delicious air in huge gulps, amazed at how wonderful it felt.

“Feels good doesn’t it? Breathing.” The man was whispering in his ear for some reason, a disturbingly intimate conversation that Rufus hated with every fibre and sinew of his being. But there was nothing he could do about it except try to breath.

“Want to keep doing it don’t you?” It wasn’t really a question, just a statement of where things were at. Of course he wanted to keep breathing, the man was just pointing out that he had the power to stop him. Permanently. He had all the power, and worse, the dark heart of someone who would be happy to kill him. Rufus could feel his breath against his face and it sickened him. The man stank from garlic and far too much mouthwash, while the feel of his cheek against his neck was disgusting. It was almost like being sexually assaulted, and somehow he didn’t doubt that the man was enjoying it.

“What?” He gasped it out, all he could really manage just then, and it seemed to be enough. Probably because his attacker had expected the question.

“What do I want? Why am I here?” Rufus couldn’t see his face, but he was sure that the man was smiling, enjoying his game, rather like a cat playing with a mouse. “You know that.”

“No.” It was the wrong thing to say of course, and he felt the chain tighten again, terrifying him. But it was only for a moment. Just long enough for the man to remind him that he had complete control of his breathing. He owned him.

“Come now Mr. Hennassy. You know better than that.” God how he hated the man and his mocking tone. But he already knew that he couldn’t fight him. He just had to bear up under the strain until he could find a way out of his hold. And then he could beat him to death.

“But I’ll play.” Play being the operative word. The man was really enjoying himself. Rufus could hear it in his voice. He got his jollies from torturing people.

“My employer has asked for your help. Not a lot of help, just a little bit. In fact all he really wants is a little information. The knowledge you have that you could give me in a couple of seconds. And for that information he’s willing to be very generous.” With a shove he turned Rufus around until he was facing the bed, and there on top of it he could see an open briefcase, and in it money. Lots and lots of money.

“Half a million, not bad for a few seconds work. But of course he can also become upset very quickly.” And just to emphasise it that man gave him another quick lesson in breathing as he tightened his grip for a second. Just enough to remind him that he didn’t really have a choice. Carrot and stick.

“Now where is it?”

“What?” It was a stupid thing to say, and Rufus wasn’t surprised when the choke chain tightened again momentarily. Yet even if he’d had time to think about it Rufus wasn’t sure that there was anything else he could say. He had no idea at all what he was speaking about.

“Don’t be like that Mr. Hennassy. The painting. Where is the painting?” For once he didn’t tighten his grip. He didn’t have to. Rufus was scared enough. But there was still nothing he could say.

“What painting? I don’t have a painting.” Knowing what was coming he launched himself as hard as he could backwards into his attacker, hoping against hope that it would work, that he would smash him into a wall and the man would lose his grip. It didn’t work naturally enough. The man knew what he was doing, he was ready for it. But it did give Rufus a chance to let off a small, strangled scream, that maybe the neighbours heard. If he even had neighbours. He had no idea if the hotel was fully booked or not.

“Oh, a hero. I like that. I like heroes.” Rufus was certain the man was grinning broadly as he said it. And worse, that he actually meant what he said. He liked his victims to struggle, just like a cat liked his prey to try and run so he could enjoy the chase. “But not too much.”

“Now tell me what I want to know and you can live. And in fact not just live but be handsomely rewarded for your help.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Or your life can end here and now, in my hands.”

Rufus didn’t answer him. He didn’t know how. And he had no idea at all what painting the man was talking about. Desperately he weighed his options and found them few. Lying wasn’t going to get him out of this, but the truth was probably going to get him killed faster.

“Let me go and I’ll tell you.” In the end it was the only thing he could say, and he knew it wasn’t going to work. The man had probably seen those same B movies he was trying to remember. For an answer he just laughed quietly.

“Think again Mr. Hennassy. I have you right where I want you, and you will tell me everything. One way or another.” He chuckled quietly. “You’d be surprised how free a man’s tongue gets when his air is running out.” Actually he wouldn’t. Rufus already had a very real idea of how desperate he was becoming, and what he was prepared to tell the man if it could get him out of this nightmare. He just had nothing he could tell him.

“I can’t tell you anything if I’m dead.” Desperate he tried another backwards lunge, and this time was pleased when he felt the man flinch as he was driven into something solid. The wall maybe. But it didn’t hurt him much and he didn’t even bother to tighten the chain.

“Ahh but there’s a world of difference between life and death. An eternity of pain. And you will tell me. Soon. Or you’ll discover just how slow and torturous dying can be.”

“Now, take the money and live. After all, who are you trying to protect? Your family? They wouldn’t thank you for your silence.” They wouldn’t thank him for anything was Rufus’s thought. They’d kill him if they got the chance. They’d probably already tried according to the police.

“I haven’t seen my family in over a decade.” It was the truth of course. But he doubted the man would believe him. After all, the inspector hadn’t. And he’d had the case reports in his hands. But at least he was starting to understand what was happening. His family, probably his father had stolen a painting, and someone wanted it back. Just as the inspector had suggested earlier that day.

“Oh come now -.” The man was about to tell him something completely useless when he was interrupted by a huge crashing sound as someone large hurled himself against the door to his room. Probably the same person who’d broken down the door to his home that morning Rufus realised. The crashing sound was titanic and the door had only held on by a few splinters. It wouldn’t take a second hit.

“The police!”

But it wasn’t the police. Rufus discovered that as his attacker spun him around to face the door just in time to see it almost explode as someone truly huge burst through it in a shower of splinters. A heartbeat later the living mountain was in the room with him, staring at him from a distance of maybe six feet, with the largest handgun he’d ever seen pointed straight at him.

“Let him go.” The man had an accent, Russian maybe though Rufus wasn’t really concentrating on it as he stared at the gun and realised he was being used as a human shield.

“Now -.” His first assailant was about to negotiate. It was a mistake.

There was a huge explosion as the cannon in the man’s hand went off, ending the conversation before it began, and Rufus feared, his life as well. But he didn’t feel shot. In fact as he tried to think of something to do, he actually felt free, or at least the collar wasn’t quite as tight as before. Had the big man shot his first attacker? Lord he hoped so. If there was someone who needed to be shot it was him.

If he had though, it obviously wasn’t a deadly shot. Rufus knew that when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and watched as a knife flew out of nowhere to bury itself in the big man’s shoulder. But that just made him mad, and suddenly the room was filled with the sound of thunder as he let off three or four more shots.

His first attacker suddenly dragged him backwards, away from the big man with the gun, back towards the bathroom, and Rufus suddenly understood that he didn’t want to go with him. The big man was undoubtedly there to harm him as well, but for the moment he was his ally.

Inspiration finally came out of nowhere and Rufus suddenly knew what to do. He went weak at the knees, letting all his weight sag, and unready for it his first attacker was dragged downwards on top of him. And just like that he was exposed. That was enough for the big man to start shooting again, and this time he didn’t stop until he’d emptied the clip. But from the fact that he was shooting wildly in all directions and the fact that his collar had gone completely limp, Rufus guessed the first attacker was simply ducking and dodging. He wasn’t dead unfortunately.

Still that gave him the chance to stagger to his feet, leap over the bed to hide on the other side, rip the chain off and hurl it away with absolute hatred, and then try to run away. The only problem was that the big man was standing between him and the doorway, and as Rufus tried to sprint past him, he caught him and threw him back. One handed he simply grabbed Rufus around his middle and threw him back against the far wall, which broke around him.

“Where are you going little man?” The big man laughed, a huge belly rumble of not very good humour, even as he slotted another clip into his gun, while Rufus wondered if the lack of air hadn’t affected his mind. No one could do that. But even so the big man had wasted too much time, and the first man was on him, knife drawn before he could raise his weapon.

After that things became very confused. There was gunfire and screaming from both the men as they danced around the room, trading blows and curses. Rufus could see the strangler striking the big man repeatedly with his knife, but it didn’t seem to bother him, and in turn he was landing huge punches on him, trying to smash him away far enough that he could get a good shot off at him. The air was filled with smoke and plaster from the walls, which were taking a hammering, and feathers from the goose down pillows and money were flying everywhere. But Rufus didn’t care about any of that as he suddenly saw his chance and took it. He bolted past the two grappling men, unnoticed, and finally made the door and the hallway beyond. From there it was just a mad dash to safety, and he sprinted as he had never sprinted before. Tearing down the hallway with every ounce of speed he could muster.

He wasn’t alone. Other people, other guests were running as well, terrified of what was happening and the sounds of gunfire coming from behind him. Someone had triggered the hotel’s fire alarm and it was ringing, deafening them all and adding to the panic. But none of that mattered when he reached the top of the stairs and knew his safety was just down three flights of them.

Unfortunately it wasn’t.

Another huge man was coming up the stairs he was about to sprint down, and as soon as he saw Rufus he raised another massive handgun and fired at him, missing him by inches. Instead of trying to run down the stairs past him, Rufus dived desperately to the side, and then discovered in a moment of horror, that the hallway had ended at the top of the stairs. So instead of finding more room to run, he found a glass window and sailed out through it, screaming.