Retribution - A Dish served Cold

Chapter Twenty-Eight

John sat at his kitchen table with a sketch of the pig farm buildings in front of him. He was frustrated with his thoughts. His mind would not move out of the box and suggested useless solutions. Stealth would work, but why bother? The two morons holding Angela didn't have a brain between them. He lit a cigarette and walked around the table, smoking until something clicked. "Simple," he muttered. "Don't try to be clever use bog-standard tactics that require little imagination."

Relaxed, he made a coffee and went to his workshop. Time passed as he gathered bits and pieces together on his workbench. He constructed two identical devices with a craftsman's skill, checked them thoroughly, and placed them in a cupboard. He returned to the kitchen with a glance at the time, made a corned beef and tomato sandwich, and studied the yellow pages. Finding the shop he wanted, he wrote the address and telephoned.

In a hurry, John took a direct route to the church, hoping to find the gravedigger. At the rear of the graveyard, John approached the ancient single-story building. It could have been a hundred years old, but a closer inspection revealed time had taken its toll. The slate tiled roof was in dire need of repair, and the windows fitted with wired reinforced glass. He always found it hard to believe Richard lived here. Still, as far as John knew, he had no family. If any existed, he never mentioned them.

The door opened, and a tall, bearded hulk of a man wearing overalls and wellington boots smiled when he saw John.

"Business or pleasure?"

"Business and I need it in a hurry."

"Fancy a coffee?"

"Why not," said John, "but not too heavy on the whiskey, or it's a long walk home."

Richard laughed. "Park your bum. I'll put the kettle on the stove."

In the one-room, a coal fire burned in the fireplace. "Do you like living here?" asked John.

Richard smiled. "It's warm in the winter and cool in the summer. My neighbours never make a sound, and the vicar's wife washes and irons my clothes. I get paid, and it's rent-free. What more could a man like me want?"

"A good woman," said John.

Richard chuckled. "You'd be surprised how many good women knock on my door with cakes and cooked meals. All I'll say is quite a few are smiling when they leave."

Steam issued from the kettle, and the whistle spluttered. "Special coffee on its way. I buy the beans from that deli on the high street. I think the woman behind the counter fancies me."

"Why would you think that?"

"She always gives me more than I ask for."

Richard placed the steaming cup on the window sill next to John. "What are you after this time?"

From his inside pocket, John removed the yellow page. "One of those with telescopic sights and a good range. I need to be able to hit the target at fifty yards.

Richard pursed his lips. "We used these in Korea max killing range unless your lucky is forty yards. I get the best they have. Will that be okay?"

John shrugged. "Beggars can't be choosers, and I need it like yesterday."

"How many bolts?"

"Five should be sufficient."

"Give me a hundred, and I'll do my best. Come back tomorrow night. Out of interest, what are you going to do with it after you have used it?"

"Dump it in a skip."

Richard furrowed his brow. "When you have done whatever it is, may I suggest you bring it back to me, and I'll have it buried."

John drank the remnants of his coffee, smiled and removed an envelope from his jacket. "Whatever you don't spend is your bonus. I'll pop over tomorrow evening before it gets dark. Thanks."

"Don't tell me graveyards bother you at night."

"It not that. You have a nasty habit of digging holes where I least expect them."

Richard laughed as John walked away.

***

Angela's eyes studied the bed before she removed the thin mattress and bedding. The frame consisted of strips of bent steel with a myriad of springs attached. She thought if she could remove one piece of steel. It would give her a weapon and a means of escape.

With determination, she pulled on the strips, then stood on them and, in desperation, jumped on the unyielding metal, they bent but remained secure. Despondent, she tossed the bedding back on the frame.

Seated, she examined the table lamp. It was small, but if she could get close, it might be helpful. She was scarcely aware of the passage of time, but as she lay on the bed in the dark, the knot in her stomach eased.

Half asleep, she listened to the door bolts sliding back. She grabbed the lamp, stood and tensed her muscles. She charged like a wild animal the second a sliver of light entered the room. The door slammed, striking her face.

"Go and lay on your bed," said the deep voice from outside.

Angela crawled to the bed and pulled her body on top. "I'm on the bed."

The door opened, and she saw the man smiling. "Do that again, and I'll not open this door ever. Let me make you a sensible proposition. You agree or starve. Your decision because I don't fucking care one way or the other."

She turned her head and scowled at him.

His face remained expressionless as he walked towards her. He lifted his hand and struck her hard across the face.

Angela shivered, knowing he could do whatever he wanted.

He placed his right hand on her breasts. The heat of her body made him smile. He dropped on top of her pinning her to the bed. She did not move as his weight and strength made it impossible.

Spat into his face. "If you're going to fuck me, or is it going to be a dry hump? Get on with it as I feel sick and your breath smells."

"Don't flatter yourself." He rolled off in a quick movement but not before he slapped her face hard. "I have my instructions. You're safe now, but my boss might change his mind."

She curled up into a ball and closed her eyes, and listened to the bolts on the door slide into place. She reached for the lamp, but it was no longer there. In the dark, she felt so alone and helpless.