Page 8 of Deader than Dead

“Thanks,” I said.

He smiled, and it made him look even more handsome. Perhaps I could kill two birds with one stone: give myself somewhere to go that wasn’t home, and take my mind off certain other things. He took a sip of his drink, the man left-handed. The movement brought the ring on his finger into stark profile. Married. That figured. Abandoning the rest of my vodka, I slid off the stool. “I’ve got to go.”

He frowned. “I thought we could have a drink together. Get to know each other a bit.”

I bet he did. And whoever was waiting for him at home, be it a husband or a wife, would be none the wiser. I’d met his type before. And there was no amount of good looks or prowess in bed that made up for it. In the fuzziness of being pleasantly tipsy, I congratulated myself on my moralistic stance. See. I had morals aplenty. Wouldn’t help a man cheat, and wouldn’t deal in artifacts that enabled supervillains to take over the world. Someone should give me an award. The chuckle died in my throat as before I’d even gotten halfway down the street a large black sedan slowed next to me.

Praying I was being paranoid, I kept walking with no destination in mind. Any hope of it being a coincidence died as it kept pace with me. Fuck! How had they found me so quickly? Pulling out my other phone, the one that hadn’t been ringing all day, I made a quick call. If she didn’t answer, I’d leave a voicemail. She picked up on the third ring, though, Vicki not waiting for my greeting. “I’m still not talking to you, Bellamy.”

“I know,” I said quickly before she hung up. “And I understand why. Really, I do. And I’m sorry. If I could have met you last night, I would have done.” Vicki’s snort said she wasn’t convinced. “Listen… I haven’t got long.”

“Why?”

“I just haven’t.” The car stopped, four heavyset men piling out of it and coming my way. There was no point in running. Even if I got away, they’d find me again, so it would only delay the inevitable. I spoke fast. “I love you, Vic. I just wanted you to know that. I know I haven’t always been the best big brother to you, but I do love you. And tell Mum and Dad that I love them, too.”

“Bellamy? What’s going on? Since when have you ever told me you loved me?” There was fear in Vicki’s voice now.

The men came to a stop in front of me, forming an impenetrable wall of muscle. “Mr. Farrell, I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to come with us. O’Reilly would like a word with you. I’m sure you know what that’s about.”

“Who’s that?” Vicki’s voice asked in my ear.

“It’s…” The phone was already being plucked from my hand, though, and the call ended. My phone wasn’t returned as they escorted me to the car. Two of the men got in the front while I found myself sandwiched between two more in the back. It was certainly cozy. “I don’t have it,” I said.

“Save it for O’Reilly,” the man on my right said, seconds before the blow to my head came and I slid into darkness.

Consciousness returned to me in gradual drips, the odd sound, the odd sensation breaking through before darkness took over once more. Snatches of conversation. The brush of a pillow beneath my cheek. Laughter. When I finally came to properly and pulled myself upright to look around, it was to find the room bathed in long shadows, dusk not too far away.

A bedroom. Given it had a bed in, I’d hold off on putting myself forward as detective of the year. The décor was old and shabby, the wallpaper peeling off in several places, and the patterned carpet and curtains looking like something from a bygone era. Not the Hilton, then.

I was alone in the room, which was good. What wasn’t so good was that my jacket and watch were both missing, the latter leaving me with no way of telling the time. I eased myself off the bed as silently as I could and went over to the window, pulling the curtain back so I could see out.

The scene that met me wasn’t one I recognized. I was high up, very high up, which presumably meant I was in a tower block of some description. A deserted one if the dated appearance of the bedroom was anything to go by. I didn’t bother to test whether the window would open. As I wasn’t Spiderman and I couldn’t scale the sides of tall buildings, it would do me no good, even if it did.

With the window not proving helpful, that left my only exit point as the door. I tiptoed across to it, common sense dictating that not letting whoever lay outside the door know I’d regained consciousness was in my best interests. Once I got close, I could hear voices on the other side of it. Men’s voices. Presumably the same ones who’d hijacked me off the street. Either that or they’d passed me off to someone else. I pressed my ear against the door.

“…didn’t have to hit him so hard. O’Reilly’s pissed that he’s been out cold for so long.”

“Didn’t know he was delicate, did I?”

I rolled my eyes. Right. Like most people took a fist to the head and sprang up five minutes later. He’d been watching too many cartoons if he thought that was the case.

“I still say pour a bucket of freezing cold water over his head.”

“O’Reilly’s not back yet, anyway, so we may as well wait.”

“True.”

There were at least three different voices that had spoken so far. Just as I thought that, a fourth chimed in. “Well, he didn’t have it on him, and it’s not in his house.”

“Are you sure?”

“They ripped it to pieces, searched it from top to bottom.” I grimaced at the thought of my poor house being subjected to such rough treatment, even if a messy house was the least of my problems.

“How does O’Reilly want us to play this?”

“Question him, and then if he doesn’t fess up to what he’s done with it, do whatever’s necessary to get the information out of him.”

Icy fear pooled in my gut. There was no question in my mind that they were talking about torture. One man laughed, the noise deep and throaty. “Sounds like fun. I volunteer to start the ball rolling. We should run a book on how long it’ll take him before he’s begging to tell us what he’s done with it.”

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