Chapter Eight
Jimmy and Nigel had been in high spirits driving through the dark night. They’d joked about picking up the painting and how easy it had been, and shared stories about the various ways they’d spend their windfall. But as Jimmy had slowed to follow a sharp bend, his headlights had lit up a line of barricades across the road.
“What the hell?” he’d grunted, coming to a stop as a man dressed in a reflective jacket marched towards him.
“Sorry, sir, there’s been a major collision up ahead,” the man had declared as Jimmy lowered his window. “You can’t get through.”
“I have to get to London.”
“You still can, Sir. Just turn down that dirt track leading through the trees. It bends around and will bring you back up.”
“Great, thanks.”
“Drive slowly, there are animals.”
“I will.”
Though annoyed but relieved, Jimmy had followed the man’s directions, but as he’d ventured further into the woods the vegetation grew thicker. He’d started to worry when bright lights suddenly burst to life directly in front of him. As he’d hit the brakes armed men surrounded the van, the doors were jerked open, and he and Nigel were dragged from their seats.
Now on his knees with Nigel facing him a few feet away, Jimmy’s heart hammered with fear he’d never before experienced.
“We meet again, Jimmy.”
The lights shining in his face made it impossible to see the face of the tall man walking towards him, but Jimmy recognized his voice. It was Craig.
“What’s going on? Why are you—?”
“Shut up. I’m taking your van and you’re going back to Hawthorne Hall.”
“Going back? Why?”
“I said, shut the fuck up,” Craig snarled, slapping him hard across the face. “We want more. That place is filled with valuable shit, and you’re going to fetch it for us.”
That’s impossible. There are cameras and alarms.”
“Hey, you’ll convince Hawthorne’s daughter to take care of those things. She helped you with the painting and she’ll help you again. Tell me, Jimmy, do you consider yourself lucky?”
“I—uh—” he stammered, utterly terrified and not sure what he should say.
“Cuff them,” Craig abruptly barked. “We’ll see if luck is on their side tonight.”
As muscled thugs appeared from behind the trees Jimmy began to tremble, but it dawned on him there was a way out of the horrendous situation. It was a slim hope, but slim was better than none. He’d return to the manor, somehow slip away from whoever was with him, then find Lord Hawthorne, confess everything and beg for mercy.
“Look at this revolver!” Craig ordered, holding his gun close to Jimmy’s face. “It only has one bullet in the chamber. Let’s see how lucky the two of you dumbbells are,” he sneered, then ambling over to Nigel he placed it against his temple.
“Noooo,” Nigel wailed. “Please…I was just helping out.”
“Yeah, and now you’ll help out some more.”
Holding his breath and praying for a miracle, Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut.
Barely a second later he heard the telltale click.
For a moment he thought he might pass out.
But suddenly the barrel was pressing against his temple.
“Wake up! It’s your turn.”
“Why are you d-doing this?” he stammered, opening his eyes but afraid to stare up at the ogre looming over him.
“I’ll count to three,” Craig replied, ignoring the question. “One—two—or…can you follow my orders without any more bullshit?”
“Yes, p-please,” Jimmy begged, amazed he could even talk.
“Wise choice. You and Oleg over there will be going back to Hawthorne Hall together. I don’t care how you do it, but you’ll take out a shitload of stuff. Got it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oleg!”
A powerfully built, bald thug marched towards them.
Jimmy held his breath.
But the hulk moved behind him, and suddenly Jimmy felt a gun being placed in his right hand then quickly pulled away.
“Done, boss,” the brute grunted.
“Listen carefully, Jimmy,” Craig began, leaning down and placing his face disgustingly close to his. “If you don’t come back with some decent stuff, or if I get a call from Oleg that you’ve done something stupid, your friend over there will be shot with a gun that has your fingerprints all over it. He’ll be dead, and you’ll be the killer. And don’t even think about trying to run from Oleg. No-one escapes us and you’ll be a dead man walking. Trust me, we have friends everywhere, and the police will be on your trail as well. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“On the other hand, if you’re a good boy and pull this off I might just take you on. You’ll have money, girls, even live in a decent flat in the city instead of that hovel you’re living in. You’ll be a junior recruit in a major organization. Does that appeal to you, Jimmy?”
“God, yes. It does, it really does,” he replied urgently, scarcely believing his luck. “I won’t let you down.”
“You get one shot. Don’t fuck it up. Okay, Oleg, time for you to go. Let’s see if the kid has what it takes.”
* * *
Crouched behind rocks and brush, Donovan and Phoebe had watched the scene play out. Now the heavily muscled gangster had removed Jimmy’s cuffs, jerked him to his feet, and was leading him out of sight.
“What should we do?” Phoebe whispered.
“First we need to warn Peter.”
Moving quickly and quietly they retraced their steps to the SUV and hastily climbed in.
“Call him from my phone and put it on speaker,” Donovan ordered as he started up the powerful engine and sped off.
“Hello?”
“Peter, it’s Donovan. I have bad news. Jimmy was ambushed and he’s on his way to Hawthorne Hall with a gorilla for company. They plan to steal as much as they can.”
“Oh, dear Lord. What should I do? Clear the house or—?”
“Take a deep breath and listen carefully. First, can you secure the gates?”
“Yes, that won’t be difficult. They already have heavy chains and padlocks around them, they’re just not used much.”
“Good. Then light up the house and lawns. Turn night into day.”
“I can do that too. We have floodlights through out the grounds for events.”
“Excellent. That will stop them in their tracks.”
“Thank you, Donovan!”
“Watch for them, and when they show put your shotgun through a window and start shooting. If you want me to come back I will, but the van is being driven into London and—”
“No, please continue to follow it. I can handle this.”
“If you run into any issues let me know right away, and if the local police show up tell them you’re on edge because of the stolen portrait and you thought you heard prowlers. Don’t tell them anything else.”
“Ah, yes, I understand.’
“Good luck, Peter. Let me know when it’s over.”
“Now what?” Phoebe asked as the call ended.
“I’m looking for a side lane or driveway…ah…there,” he exclaimed, abruptly slowing down and pulling off the road. “While we wait here for the van I’ll try to rescue that poor kid in the woods, then call Sam and let him know what’s going on.”
“How can you rescue him?”
“Just pass me that briefcase on the back seat,” he ordered, interrupting her. “You’re about to find out.”