BLINDFOLD (12 page)

Curly?

`Sorry, mate,' the mechanic muttered, moving to one side, but Gideon caught hold of his arm to detain him.

`That man,' he said. `The one you were talking to. Does he live round here?'

`Nah, Chilminster. What's it to you, anyway?'

`Oh, I ... er ... owe him some money,' Gideon improvised hastily. `But I've lost his address.'

The mechanic laughed shortly. `If you owe Curly money, he'll find you, believe me.'

`Well, to be honest, it's Joey I wanted to see,' Gideon admitted, roughening his voice a degree or two, and adding, `We used to be mates.' He thanked providence that he was wearing his jeans and leather biker's jacket.

The mechanic looked him up and down doubtfully a time or two but Gideon could see that his mentioning Joey had tipped the scales in his favour.

`If you're Joey's mate, how come you don't know where he lives?'

`Christ! What are you, his bloody minder? I used to know him in Liverpool, if you must know, but forget it, I'll find him myself.' He turned and started to walk away.

`They've got a bodyshop. Big Ellie's, it's called, just off Church Road in Chilminster,' the mechanic called after him.

Gideon smiled to himself and, without turning, raised a hand in thanks.

Chilminster wasn't more than fourteen miles away, and in view of his earlier reception, Gideon decided to verify this latest information himself, before running to the police with it. Rachel should be safely on her way home by now, so he thought he might just as well go right away. Another argument for going immediately was that if Curly and the Blandford mechanic were mates then Gideon might well come up in conversation over a pint, and he had far rather that Joey and Co. were not warned of a possible visit.

Arriving in Chilminster some twenty minutes later, Gideon propped the Norton on its stand just outside the Post Office at the end of Church Road, went in and bought some stamps to justify its being there, and then went in search of Big Ellie's, helmet in hand.

The bodyshop was, as the mechanic had said, just off Church Road. It stood at the end of a short alley, behind a row of dilapidated red-brick houses that were due for demolition, according to a graffiti-covered sign.

Gideon edged cautiously along the alley, pausing at the point where it opened on to the forecourt of the garage. He didn't have to worry about being heard. On the other side of the high wall to his left, what sounded like a JCB was working industriously. He could have approached on the footplate of a steam engine and nobody in the building ahead would have been any the wiser.

There were a few cars parked on the forty feet or so of tarmac in front of the aircraft hangar-like structure but little other cover. The idea of marching openly up to the building and asking if Curly was there didn't appeal greatly to Gideon, but equally unattractive was the thought of being caught sneaking up for a closer look. His initial plan had been to watch from an unseen vantage point in the hope of seeing either Joey or Curly moving about the place. Unfortunately, the way the garage was situated, this wasn't going to be possible.

He could, of course, retreat to the end of the alley and wait to see who left at the end of the day, but the prospect of kicking his heels for what might be the best part of two hours didn't exactly fill him with joy either. And quite apart from the fact that it was bitterly cold and beginning to rain, it would also by that time be dark and almost impossible to make out faces.

Gideon was just considering the possibility of withdrawing and approaching the building from another side altogether, when the decision was taken out of his hands.

`Lost our motorbike, have we?' a rough voice hissed in his ear, and before he could respond, hands grasped his collar and the back of his jacket, pulling him away from the wall and then slamming him back into it with sickening force.

The impact drove every ounce of breath from Gideon's body and when the unseen hands released him he dropped to his knees, gasping and leaning against the rough brickwork for support. Damn that JCB! he thought sourly. A few feet away his helmet rolled in a slow arc and came to a halt against the wall.

Showing a marked lack of human kindness, his assailant followed up his initial assault with a kick which flattened Gideon against the wall once more, before turning him and hauling him roughly to his feet by the front of his jacket. A little air found its way painfully into his lungs.

`We knew you was coming, see,' the voice informed him triumphantly, and he didn't need the evidence of his eyes to tell him that it was Curly who had jumped him. `I bin watching you all the way down the road.'

`Well, bully for you,' Gideon said a little thickly. The side of his head had connected, rather too firmly for comfort, with the brickwork and he was having trouble thinking straight. As before, flippancy cut in first, and as before, it wasn't appreciated. This time though, there was no Joey to keep a rein on Curly's temper. `Still got the smart mouth on yer, haven't cha?' he snarled, his breath foul in Gideon's face. `Well, I can shut that for yer!' Gideon saw coming the backhanded blow that accompanied the words but could do little to avoid it. It rattled his teeth and made his ears ring but because of the restraining hand on his jacket, he stayed on his feet. He blinked a time or two to restore focus and returned Curly's gloating look with a more or less steady one of his own. He was rewarded by a glimmer of disappointment in the pale eyes.

`What now?' he asked, running his tongue over a split lip and chalking up a mental IOU to Curly's account. Breathing was becoming easier and with the return of strength came confidence. Behind the wall, and aeons too late, the racket from the machinery rattled away into silence. Voices sounded briefly then moved off. A coffee break perhaps, or maybe even packing up for the day.

`Well?' Gideon persisted.

`Shut up!' Curly seemed to sense that the advantage he'd gained through surprise was ebbing away. Gideon had the edge over him in both height and reach. He put his hand into the pocket of his boiler suit and withdrew a hefty spanner in an attempt to redress the balance.

Gideon smiled faintly. `That should do it,' he observed approvingly. In fact, the presence of a weapon, especially so clumsy a one, made his task that much easier. He'd done a little karate at university and one of the first things he'd learned about self-defence was that if your assailant picks up a weapon you can be ninety-nine percent sure that he's intending to use it, and can then concentrate your defence in that one area. A man with open hands is a far trickier proposition, with the possibility of attack from hands, feet, or both.

The hand on his jacket front tightened convulsively. `You're comet' with me. Joey wants to talk to you.'

`Well, tell him to make an appointment like everyone else,' Gideon said mildly. He was almost enjoying himself now, confident of his ability to handle Curly.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

`I'd say you've got a tiger by the tail there, Curly,' a soft voice remarked. `I'd tread carefully, if I were you.'

Telltale relief showed momentarily on Curly's face but gave way to resentment as he realised Joey had observed his dilemma. `I can manage,' he asserted, but in reality put up little resistance as Gideon disengaged his grasp with a twisting movement of his own arm.

`Sure you can, pal,' Joey said, not troubling to disguise the scorn in his voice.

Gideon turned to him. `You wanted to see me?'

With the big man's arrival the odds had turned against him in a decisive way but if he no longer had the upper hand, he could at least retain the semblance of control.

`Not here,' Joey replied shortly, turning away towards the hangar-like building.

He seemed confident that Gideon would follow, as indeed, after picking up his helmet, he did. For one thing, he felt that having come so far looking for information without any luck, he was unlikely to get a better opportunity to shed some light on things; and for another, he probably had little choice.

They trailed across the tarmac past a number of parked cars to a small door in the side of the structure, Joey leading, Gideon following, mopping his lip with his neckerchief, and Curly bringing up the rear, grumbling under his breath.

The room they entered was square and spartan, with whitepainted breeze-block walls, a coffee table of sorts and an assortment of chairs offering varying degrees of comfort. It appeared to be the workers' restroom-cum-canteen, with a cupboard in the corner, on top of which stood a microwave and a kettle, and half a dozen mugs on a tray.

In one of the least uncomfortable-looking chairs a boiler-suited

youth reclined. He looked round, eyes widening as he caught sight of Gideon's battered features.

`Out,' Joey said with a jerk of his head. The lad didn't argue. As the door shut behind him, Joey turned to Gideon. `Coffee?' Surprised, he shook his head. `No, thanks.'

Curly made a noise that was something between a snort and a cough, and was chock-full of stifled indignation.

Joey glanced at him with disfavour. `You keep out of this. You tried the bull-in-the-china-shop approach and it gained you sodall. I warned you it wouldn't work, so now we'll try it my way. Sit down and shut up.'

Curly retreated to the side of the room where he stood looking out of the window, visibly seething. His refusal to sit down presumably salved his wounded pride, Gideon thought, but it bothered Joey not at all. He was by far the more dangerous opponent.

The big man seemed in no hurry. He ht a cigarette and drew in a lungful of pollution with an air of enjoyment.

Gideon propped a hip against the back of one of the PVCcovered armchairs and waited. Under the jacket and the thick, white fisherman's jumper he wore, his heart was doing doubletime but he was determined Joey shouldn't know it.

Joey began to pace the room, passing Gideon twice. Gideon didn't so much as look at him.

On the third circuit he stopped and blew smoke into Gideon's face. Their eyes met.

`The thing is, pal,' Joey said finally, `this whole business has nothing to do with us - with Curly and me. We were just extra muscle, hired on the night. Even if you tell the police about us, it won't get you anywhere. We'll deny everything. We'll say it was just a lads' night out that got out of hand. We can find witnesses that'll say we were all drinking. You and me had an argument and things got a bit rough. You took it the wrong way. The police won't be interested, you know. They've got better things to do and not enough men to do them, as it is.'

Gideon watched him steadily. He knew Joey was right. Presented in that way it would just confirm what the police were already more than halfway to believing.

`And the horse?'

Joey shrugged, lifting his hands expressively. `A horse, officer? What would I want with a horse? Cars are my thing, cars and bikes. Anything you can't mend with a spanner and I don't want to know.'

`All right, I take your point. So what's the deal? If I lay off the police, will you tell me what it was all about?' It was a forlorn hope but worth a try.

Joey laughed shortly. `I think not, pal. No, this is the deal: you stay away from the police and I don't tell the Guv'nor you've been poking your nose in where it's not wanted. That way we don't get no grief and you get to keep your kneecaps. Right?'

Put like that, it was quite reasonable, Gideon thought, but one part of him just wouldn't let it go. As Joey started to turn away, taking his silence for assent, he said, `Who flies the helicopter?' `What helicopter?' He paused, frowning over his shoulder. `At the Grange.'

`That's got nothing to do with this.' `Is it Renson or Slade?'

Joey whirled back incredulously. `You just don't get it, do you? They'll take you apart if they find you snooping. You mess with them and you'd better make sure your affairs are in order!' His ice blue eyes flashed not six inches from Gideon's own.

`Thank you,' he said quietly. `For what?'

`Now I know they're up to something. Before, I wasn't sure.' Joey looked at him long and hard, shaking his head slightly. `Why do you care?' he asked finally.

Gideon hesitated. He'd been about to mention his sister but instinct held him back. Apparently Jez hadn't said anything so he wouldn't either. It was better if the relationship wasn't known.

He shrugged but before he could formulate an answer they were interrupted by the reopening of the door by which the mechanic had left. They all looked round and Joey backed off a step.

`So. What's going on here, boys?' The busty blonde who stood in the doorway wore a red boiler suit, pulled in above curvy hips with a white, elasticated belt, and managed to look both tough and sexy at the same time. She spoke in the same northern accent that the `boys' did.

`Terry told me we had company, and he said he thought there might be trouble.' Her large, mascara'd blue eyes narrowed as she looked the visitor up and down, and Gideon was sure she hadn't missed Joey's hasty retreat. `You been in an accident?'

`He fell off his bike, Ma,' Joey lied easily, and Gideon did a double take. Ma? Good Lord, she couldn't be his mother, surely? She wasn't much more than five foot four!

`He fell? Or he was pushed?' the blonde asked dryly, coming into the room and closing the door behind her. `I don't suppose Curly had anything to do with it.'

Curly scowled from across the room and Joey retreated a step or two more. Neither of them answered.

As the silence lengthened, the woman shrugged her shoulders. `All right. Whatever I may feel about what you get up to on your own time, it's obviously none of my business. But that being so, I'll thank you to keep it off my premises. Ellie Fletcher,' she announced, advancing upon her visitor and holding out a somewhat oily hand.

Gideon shook the hand, feeling a degree or two happier about his situation. He surveyed her with interest. Her age was difficult to gauge. At first sight she could be taken for mid-thirties but closer scrutiny revealed lines around the eyes and mouth, and knowing her for Joey's mother, Gideon guessed she must be nearer fifty.