Retribution - A Dish served Cold

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Angela sat on the edge of the bed and studied her surroundings. Her prison was a room of four solid concrete walls, no windows, one door, nothing except the bed and the single light. It was by design disorientating. Her isolation from the world was total. Why am I here? she asked herself. For the umpteenth time, she examined every inch for something to give her hope.

With fear, she listened as the bolts slid back and the door opened.

"Stand next to the bed," said the man.

"And what if I don't."

The man stepped back, raised his left arm towards the exterior wall. I'm not giving you choices, and I can always decide for you. The single light went out. "I'm sure you'll enjoy being in the dark." He went to close the door.

Angela screamed. "Why am I here? What do you want from me."

The door opened wide. "My orders are to detain you."

"Why?"

"I have no idea." The light operated. "Now stand by the side of your bed."

Angela shakily rose to her feet. "What happens now?"

"I have to take a photo to show you are unharmed." From outside, he retrieved a camera. "These new cameras are fantastic. Point, press the button, and it spits out a colour print before your eyes."

She heard the camera operate four times. "Who wants a fucking picture of me?"

"You don't have choices, lady, so don't get shirty with me. My boss pays good money. What he wants, he gets, and I don't ask questions. It's more than my life's worth. This one should do." He placed a photo on the floor with a biro. "I'm going to step back. You will write a few words on the back to convince your pal John Daniels that you are okay."

Her hands trembled with both rage and fear." We always have a choice." Her eyes pleaded with him. Why should I believe you? You're strong and could rape and or kill me. Who would ever know?"

Those are not my orders. I admit you're fit, but you're not my type. I prefer my women to put up a fight, but something tells me I'd be better off fucking one of my pigs. Now shift your arse and sign the back of the photo."

She scowled at him as she walked across and retrieved the pen and picture. Angry desperation showed on her face, but for the moment, the advantage lay with her keeper. Her mind raced. John was the detective; how could she give him a clue. With broad strokes, she wrote. Hi, Perky Please do not worry. I'm fine. Pinkie. She tossed it across the gap between them.

"You call him Perky is that because he's got a large pecker?"

"If it were a wort on your nose, you'd worry."

He laughed as he shut the door.

Angela collapsed on the bed. Her keeper had dropped his guard. If there is a God, John will figure out her clue.

***

Relaxed, John Daniels sat smoking his first cigarette of the day. As he sat there, his mind wandered to the coming Friday. Then the storm mentioned by every weather forecaster arrived. The thunder rattled the windows, and lightning crisscrossed the dark sky.

His thoughts turned to those on holiday in the town. "What a wonderful English summer," he muttered. "it's easy to see why Spain is so popular."

Alone he listened to the beat of the rain on the windows. The shrill of his telephone ringing annoyed him. He snatched up the handset. "John Daniels."

"Good morning John, it's David."

"I would never have guessed, and it's a terrible morning. What do you want?"

"Have you spoken to your lady friend lately?"

"She's away on holiday. Don't know where or when she'll be back. Why do you ask?"

"Go to your front door where you will find an envelope. Inside are a few pictures you may find interesting." The line went dead.

He stood, stretched his arms, and strolled towards the front door. On the mat lay a brown envelope. On lifting it, a chill ran through him as he ripped it open. Two photographs fell face up to the floor. John shook his head as he picked them up. He gazed at her face, and a surge of wanting to hurt someone swept through him. The thought of Angela anywhere near those men made him feel sick as he read her words. David had made the ultimate mistake. Check but never checkmate, and it was his move.

                                                                                               ***

John knew Angela's survival was as close to zero as you could get. He smiled at the names Pinkie and Perky. With one thought in his mind, the Little Brothers pig farm, he gathered a few items together.

Wearing a waterproof cape, he looked at the sky and cycled away.

Finding the farm was easy, and the weather favoured his actions. Discarding his cycle, he walked towards the main building until the main door opened.

John didn't move, hidden behind a vast rhododendron bush as two men wearing waterproofs passed him. As they disappeared into a barn, John continued towards the side of the house. Here he stopped and peered through a grubby window into the kitchen. Two men and three plates were unwashed in the sink. "At least they are feeding her." He continued his external tour of the building ducking behind an overflowing water butt, when he heard the two men returning.

"When do we dump the bitch?" asked one.

"When David Little tells us. Don't you ever forget he pays the rent on this place."

"You treat him as if he's God."

"I've known him since he was a brat. He's as mad as a hatter, and if we were no longer useful, you'd wake up dead."

"I don't like him."

"Do as your told. When the time is right, we can do a runner. Now let's get out of this fucking rain."

Satisfied Angela was safe. John scrambled back on his feet and returned to his cycle. Returning to the main road, he studied it both ways. Thinking of the next move, he smiled and mouthed. Can't stand amateurs."