Masters And Lovers 1-4

Chapter 34

Charlotte

It was such a great day. I don’t normally enjoy shopping, but with my mother and Kirstie for company it

was completely different.

Book-shops. My mother loves books; not the same ones as me, but books about places, adventures,

exotic locations. It was such fun…

And Kirstie, with her smart mouth and shameless innuendo at every little thing….

In the tea room: crisp white linen, silver tongs to lift jam-and-cream scones and tiny cakes from a three-

layer stand, porcelain cups and saucers…

Then, Ben’s sudden appearance, striding across the floor to us, brushing past waitresses and

customers.

Stooping close to me to deliver his hastily muttered message… “Charlotte, Mike called me. You’ve got

trouble. That man, Klempner. He’s escaped from prison. He’s out…”

My mother: her whimper of fear…

Kirstie: her eyes widening…

“I’ve got the car downstairs in the parking lot. It’s right by the door at the bottom of the stairs.” Ben

wears a helpless expression. “Charlotte, this sort of thing is new to me. I don’t know… How dangerous

is this man?”

“Think of the worse you can imagine, then multiply it.”

He glances up. My mother’s face is white. Kirstie wraps a hand around her clenched knuckles.

“You’ve dealt with this kind of thing before? Right? I’ve seen you fight, boxing with Mike. I know you can

look after yourself.”

“Yes, I have. And I can.”

“Okay, for now, let’s just get out of here. How’s this sound? You come with me, down to the parking

level. Kirstie and your mother stay here for a few minutes; here, where everyone can see them.

Nothing can happen if they’re surrounded by people. You and I can look for each other’s back as we go

down. You get the engine running. When we know the way’s clear, I’ll come back, get Kirstie and Mitch

and we’ll come back to the car together. Then we go… Does that make sense?”

“Yes, it does. Ben…” I touch his hand. “Thanks for this. I know you’re not fond of me, but…”

His eyes narrow. “I’m fond of my brother, Charlotte. I don’t want him hurt.” He fishes keys from his

pocket. “You have these. Mitch, Kirstie, stay here but keep your eyes peeled. Look out for anything that

doesn’t seem right.”

I stand, turn for the escalator.

“No,” says Ben, “we can be seen if we go that way. I was riding it all the way up looking for you. Anyone

looking could spot us. If we use the back stairs, it’ll take us straight down to the parking lot…”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s marked as the fire escape. It has to be kept clear.”

The stairs are narrow, a basic concrete build. Foot-wide galvanized tubing runs overhead, cabling

knotted into sheaves with cable ties alongside. It smells of damp and stale cigarette smoke. It’s all very

much at odds with the plush public face of Francesca’s, but I’ve been along enough back-alleys and

side-streets to know that, no matter how glamorous the frontage, there’s always somewhere to run the

plumbing.

“I’ll go first, in case there’s anyone waiting.” says Ben. “You keep an eye behind us.”

The bare walls echo with our footsteps. Two floors we descend… Three… Four... We’re half-way down

the fifth, heading for the parking level when Ben stalls ahead of me. “Did you hear that?”

I freeze, listening. “What? I can't hear anything.”

He looks up, then down again. “No… I thought… Must be my imagination. Come on.” He turns again to

descend, then whips round once more. “There. Don’t you hear it? Footsteps.”

He pushes up past me, looking up the stairwell.

I listen. “No, I still don’t hear it.”

He laughs, looking sheepish. “Sorry, Charlotte. My imagination’s running wild. You’re used to this kind

of thing. I’m not. Let’s get you down to the car. It’s there, right by the door.” His arm outstretches, points

over my shoulder to the foot of the stairs.

I twist to look, but as I do so, as though accidentally, Ben’s arm catches my shoulder. I stumble, trying

to regain my balance, flailing out to jam my hands against the walls. But something plants itself

between my shoulder blades, shoving hard and a hand slaps my grip away from the solid concrete.

I fall, tumbling down on the concrete steps, curling in around myself, protecting my belly as I drop

before I crash down to the hard floor.

I have a bare moment to think before the world turns black.

Traitor.

*****

Michael

I leap from the car, bulleting up to them. Klempner’s in the driver’s seat, two more in the back that I

don’t recognise. James is getting out.

They must have a gun on him.

To Klempner’s startle-eyed gaze, I yank open the door, and grab him, hauling him bodily up and out of

the car. “What have you done, you bastard? Where are they?”

His goons jump out too, waving guns, but Klempner’s between me and them and I keep him that way,

using him as a shield against his own men.

“Get your fucking hands off me, pretty boy,” he hisses. Then to James, “D’you want to put your friend

right on a couple of points.”

“Put him down, Michael,” says James. “It’s not Klempner.”

“James…”

He holds up a hand, forestalling me. “I said, put him down. I’m not a prisoner and he doesn't have the

women. It’s Ben.”

“Oh, don’t talk…”

“Michael, I heard it from Kirstie herself. She’s in an ambulance on her way to hospital. Her condition’s

critical, but she told me herself. It’s Ben who took them.”

No…

“James, it’s a mistake. He wouldn’t, He just wouldn’t…”

"Michael, he has. And we don’t have time to argue about it. You found the blood on Charlotte’s purse."

He waves towards the swarm of emergency vehicles, flashing blue lights, day-glo cones and jackets

only a few hundred yards away. "Kirstie may die with the extent of her injuries. You have to choose. It’s

your brother or your wife. Which is it to be?"

Klempner hasn’t moved. His voice is desert-dry. “You going to put me down, Eye-Candy? Or do I have

to make you?”

I push him back but let go, and he drops, staggering slightly. As he shrugs his jacket back into place,

his two thugs come charging up, guns waving. “Put it away, Baxter. You too, Kirch. Mr Summerford

here is upset.”

I’m shaking, queasy inside. “James, are you sure it’s not some mistake?”

“Quite sure. We have to find them or figure out where he’s taken them.” He scans around. “There can’t

be too many possibilities. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Klempner sniffs. “It’s a god-forsaken spot. Why would he come here? Unless he meant literally to

murder them and dump them in a field. But if he was going to do that, why not the river in the City? Or

a derelict building? Much faster. Easier. Less chance of getting caught.”

“I’m not sure he’s thinking at that level,” says James. “There was never any chance he wouldn’t be

caught. How many security cameras has he driven past? The ones in the car park at Francesca’s for a

start. And that’s before the dozens and hundreds he must have passed driving through the City.”

The sun is properly over the horizon now. As I look around, I realise where I am. My nausea grows.

“James, I know where he’s taken them.”

“You do?” snaps Klempner. “How?”

“I know where we are. There’s a place… We used to play there as boys.”

His eyes narrow. “What kind of place?”

“It’s an old house. Big old country mansion. It’s mainly derelict, but it’s somewhere that…” My voice

chokes.

James pointedly fails to notice. “You can find it again…” He glances towards Klempner… “… without

having to drive through that mess of police and ambulances?”

“I think so, yes. There’s a back lane.”

“Good. Let’s get going.” James looks around me. “Whose car is that? Where’s yours?””

“Oh, er… my car got towed. I, um, I hot-wired the first one I came across I could get into.”

Klempner throws out a breath. “Are you telling me you’ve come here in a stolen car?”

“Well, yes. I had to leave mine…”

“You really are the brains of the operation, aren’t you.” He snaps backwards to one of the men lurking

in the background. “Kirch, get this car away from here. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. Just away.”

“But if it’s stolen, sir…”

"Then give the police something to chase. In fact..." He hovers… "Might as well make it work for us.

Make a meal of it. Take their attention off us."

“Sir, if I’m caught…”

“You’ve a clean sheet. They don’t know you. The worst you’ll get is a couple of months and a bonus in

your pay-packet. Now go…”

“Sir.”

He points a finger to the back seat of his own vehicle. “Baxter, you’re with us.”

“We don’t need gunmen. I can handle Ben.”

Klempner cocks a brow at me. “Baxter, back seat.”

“James…”

“Michael, if you could handle Ben, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Get in the front. You’re navigating.”

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