Chapter 6

Dodging from one hidden corner to another, Mitch rounds the building, heading back for the front entrance.

The door still stands just ajar. The car is still there.

Staying out of view until the last moment, but finally faced with no other choice, she makes the dash to the car, keeping it between herself and the door.

Let it be unlocked…

Please, let it be unlocked…

Crouching with the body of the vehicle shielding her from viewers, tentatively she tries the door handle.

With a snick, it opens.

Mouthing a soundless prayer, she scrabbles forward to reach the foot-well on the driver's side, feeling blindly for what must be there…

Hopes must be there…

… the opening lever for the trunk. Frantically pawing at the sides of the footwell; left, right, then under the dash, fingers probing in for…

It’s there.

A flick. A click. The trunk unlocks.

Closing her eyes, Mitch takes a long breath. There's no other option. To open the trunk, she must be in full view of the door. If anyone comes out...

Crouching, eyes scanning over, she creeps to the rear, reaching around, trying to lift without revealing herself.

Hinges screech for oil. Her heart plummets.

But all else remains silent.

She scrabbles inside, searching…

Lengths of chain…

Padlocks and carabiners…

A roll of canvas…

Duct tape…

Yes!

Crowbar…

Chain-cutters…

Wild triumph ripples through her. Firmly she suppresses it.

It's not done yet...

She snatches out the tools; heavy, slick with grease, she struggles with the weight but drops the door of the trunk.

There's a whine of complaining hinges...

… Mitch ducks…

… and the steel building door swings out and wide.

It's Bech, his back turned to her, talking to someone inside. “Muller, you’re with me.”

Dropping to a crouch again Mitch runs directly away into the dark until, out of sight of the door, she loops back to the rear entrance.

She doesn’t see Bech carrying the small red-haired figure, taped at hands, feet and mouth, sobbing behind the tape for her mother, weeping for her Daddy. Bech dumps the toddler on the back seat and tugs a cover over her.

Klempner follows him out. “I’ll see you at the bridge later?”

“Sure.” Bech raises a finger. “I need to make a call.” He jerks his chin to the front of the car. “D’you mind?”

“Help yourself.”

Bech reaches in, takes something from the dash. Tapping at buttons, he comments, “At least when they call these things ‘mobile’, it’s getting so it’s true.”

Klempner Hmmms agreement. “Yes. The last one I had was like a fucking brick to carry around. Ruined the line of my suits.”

Bech waits, listening, then, “Helga? It’s Bech, I need you to pick out one of the women for Mr Klempner… No... Not for that…”

He rolls eyes to Klempner whose face doesn’t even twitch. “Choose someone… matronly. It’s to look after a kid… Dunno, a year, maybe eighteen months… How should I know? You think I’m an expert in nurse-maiding? Just pick out someone suitable. Have her ready and waiting. You can let her know it’s likely to be her best option for a while. She’ll get extra rations…” He rolls eyes to Klempner again, who nods permission… “Milk, juice and what-have-you… Okay? Fine. I’ll leave you with it.”

He taps off. “Should be waiting for you, sir.”

*****

Klempner, legs akimbo, arms folded, regards his prisoner. “I’m going to enjoy this. Haven’t had such a good sideshow in a while.” He nods to McCullen. “Get him down and bag him. He can spend a while thinking about what’s coming.”

“Yes, sir. You want him weighted?”

“Of course. We don’t want him floating, do we?” In a pleasant tone, “It’s straight to the bottom of the river for you, Frankie.”

The dangling man quivers, breathing fast, air whistling through his single unblocked nostril. Klempner smiles a thin smile, pats him on the cheek. “I’ll see you in a while, Frankie Boy, but you won’t see me.”

As Klempner stands back, watching, McCullen reaches up, unclips the carabiner from the meat hook, Frank collapses, landing heavily on the hard floor. What can be seen of his face is scarlet, running with sweat. His eyes roll up to Klempner’s face, showing blood-shot whites. Klempner leans comfortably against the wall.

The kid…

Get her out…

… locked up…

Safe…

“I’ll be a couple of hours. See that our guest is uncomfortable until my return.” One-handedly tossing car keys, he exits.

McCullen takes a roll of the canvas sacking from the side, unrolling it. “Hey, Andrech, come and help.”

The guard appears at the door. “What with?”

“Help me shift him. He’s heavy. And get the chains.”

Andrech laughs and points. “Hey look, he’s pissed himself.”

“Great, now it’s going to stink.”

“Okay, so we’ll bag him then have a beer,” says McCullen. “Calm down why don’t you.” He nods to the sweat-drenched, eye-rolling Frank. “After all, what do you have to worry about?”

“Keep him cuffed?”

“Yup, but behind his back.”

“He’s hardly likely to get out.”

“You want to risk Bech or Klempner taking a dislike to what you did?”

“Fair point.”

He rolls the trembling man. “Alright, Frankie, over you go.”

*****