Phoenix and the Bag Man

Chapter 11 : The Interview

My body tensed. "But what I need to know is if anyone else knows what you know, Michael. I do hope you remembered what I said last time we met." He could never let me go, not now. "I drove past the old place you know. Such a nice home you have. I called in you know. I told her I did voluntary work for a charity in town that cares for the homeless. I just wanted to assure her we were keeping a look out for you. Such a nice lady, your mother. She offered me tea!" He laughed. She told me that you had not been in touch with her at all. Which is good, Michael, good."

As he spoke he tied a loop in one end of the flex and fed the other end through to create a noose. "Do not be alarmed. It is merely a lead. See. You are to be my pet."

He stepped forward and placed the noose over my head. I could not help but squeak out a "No!"

"It's OK Michael, OK." His face was inches from mine. I stared into his eyes, searching for a clue as to his intentions. They looked back. Pale, washed out blue. Artless. They did not look evil.

Again out of nowhere, without warning, came Phoenix's voice.

"Murderer!" she screamed, and I felt her anger. It was a cold, pitiless fury. It was so sudden, so intense I flinched and blinked and when I opened my eyes again I felt myself filled with a steely hatred for the creature in front of me. Bullimore furrowed his brow briefly as he looked at me.

"I hope you are not going to be trouble, Michael." He said stepping back again. He'd kept hold of the other end of the flex. "Now stand-up and turnaround." He had this thing where he would push his head forward on his neck so his chin jutted forwards aggressively. I got to my feet, swayed a little, I was feeling light-headed. Bullimore stepped up behind me. "Just to make sure you behave yourself." I made for the space in the doorway he had just vacated. "Don't," he said. He grabbed me by the hair. He pulled my head back and shook it. "Behave!" At the same time he took one arm twisted and it up behind my back. "We will behave won't we?" He pushed my arm up between my shoulder blades. "We will be good, won't we?"

"Yes!" He took my other arm, twisted that up behind my back also.

"Now keep still. Just to make sure you keep your word. He raised my wrists to the middle of my back and bound them tightly with the loose end of the flex. "Now," he said, "you must be careful. If you drop your hands too much," he pulled my wrists downward. The cord around my neck tightened. I felt the pressure in my head begin to build. He let go of my hands. I raised my wrists up again. The stiff flex around my neck did not loosen. "See," he said, "it is not a good idea to struggle when bound like this." He reached round and loosened the flex. I coughed and spluttered.

"I've not told anybody anything," I said.

"Well, that is very interesting, but we must continue our conversation elsewhere." He pushed me towards the open door. "Come along, time for our walk." Beyond the door of the little room was an office, three or four desks each with a computer on it. Papers piled up. Filing cabinets. Dirty mugs. House plant. It smelled damp in there. It had the feeling of a portacabin. Which was exactly what it was I found when we stepped outside. I wondered where Katyia might be, whether she was somewhere about. Bullimore hadn't mentioned her so I guessed she had not been discovered. But there was no one about. I think it must have been very early in the morning. The day had that feel about it, the light was raw.

"Come along, Michael. This way," he passed his arm through the crook of mine as if I were an elderly aunt to be kept from falling over on icy ground. I looked around. We were in some kind of yard, coarse concrete underfoot. Behind me the green-painted portacabin, to my left a massive shed, like a warehouse, to my right a range of old low brick-built sheds with tin roofs. In front of me a track ran along the open side of the yard, beyond it an obviously man-made steep bank of tussocky grass blocked my view and ran away either side. A small two-storey house with metal windows stood beyond the sheds beside the track, built of the same stuff but with a tile roof. It all looked unloved, utilitarian.