Masters And Lovers 1-4

Chapter 29

James

In the back seat of the 4x4, beside me, Klempner sits with his own phone balanced on one knee, mine

on the other. In the front, Kirch sits by the driver who I assume is ‘Baxter’.

Is this where I disappear?

“Where are you taking me?”

“Nowhere for you to worry about. Just somewhere the police aren’t likely to turn up.” Klempner sounds

frustrated. “James, I ask you to believe me. I intend you no harm. I intend them no harm. All I want is to

talk to Mitch.”

“Oh, that’s all you want is it?”

“Yes. That’s all.”

“And to achieve that you broke out of prison, murdering two guards in the process. So far as I could

hear on my way out, you damn near ram-raided the house front to get in the door. You’ve taken me

prisoner and sent men looking for Charlotte and her mother. You spent twenty years hating Charlotte

for something in which she was a complete innocent. You abused her and damn near raped her at one

point. And I’m supposed to believe…”

“It was different then. I didn’t know.”

“What makes you think Mitch wants to talk to you? She’s hidden herself from you for over twenty years.

She’s terrified of you. And I don’t blame her.”

“I don’t want to hurt her. I just want to talk.”

“So you keep saying. But you’ve lain in wait in prison at your convenience, using the girl who turned out

to be your daughter as a cat’s-paw to track her down. Oh, and not forgetting, you’ve kidnapped me.

You don’t think all this might worry Mitch at all?”

Klempner’s forehead knits, as though it were a new idea.

I’m having trouble believing what I’m seeing. “You hadn’t thought of that had you? You seriously hadn’t

thought of it. Klempner, you’re such a mixed-up bag of crazy that no-one knows what the fuck to make

of you, least of all me.”

He simply looks confused.

*****

Michael From NôvelDrama.Org.

Whatever they’re queuing for, it looks like the movie’s a hit. I make my way along the line of people, but

it seems an unlikely place to find Charlotte. Teenage boys, some wearing geek costumes, chatter

excitedly about the latest superhero. Plunging through the crowd, I ignore the shouts and insults of the

offended.

In the foyer, crowds heave. It’s Friday night and, just like the previous two cinemas, it’s packed.

I push to the front, ignoring outraged catcalls and insults. “Have you seen a group of three women?

Two red-heads, one brunette.”

A pair of thick-rimmed spectacles backed by a blue-rinse fixes on me and a long finger points behind

me. “Get to the back of the queue, Bud,” she growls.

“I’m serious. It’s important. An emergency.”

My tone penetrates. The spectacles come off to reveal watery blue eyes and a frown. “No, I’m sorry, sir.

I haven’t. One moment.” She leans to one side, “Hey, Sheila, Gale; you seen three women together?

Two brunettes and a red-head.”

“No. Two red-heads and a brunette.”

A voice rattles across the counter. “No, not seen anyone like that.”

“Me neither.”

“Thanks.” Working my way past the ticket points I scan the movies, looking for something likely to have

caught the interest of three women on girl-time.

Most of the crowd is in line for some blood-gore-axe-wielding horror flick. Not Charlotte’s cup of tea.

There’s a French noir offering which she might watch if she were alone, but it’s not a likely choice for a

girls’ outing. A Rom-Com looks promising, so I work through the short queue then squeeze past an

incensed usherette with a brief “‘Scuse me,” before striding to the front and standing in front of the

screen where they would be bound to see me.

No joy.

The usherette scowls at me as I exit again. “Sorry, wrong screen,” I say.

Anything else?

I work my way through the rest of the posters…

End-of-the-world-apocalyptic-dystopia… Nope.

Spy-action movie… Nope.

Sci-fi thriller…

There’s nothing else there that seems likely to draw them in. I march out and, once more, set off at a

sprint for the next cinema.

*****

Blinking back the spots behind my eyes I exit my fifth, and final, cinema. And there’s been no sign of

the women.

Ben?

Not heard from him…

I check my mobile…

No call. No message.

I tap in…. Wait… Listen to the ring tone…

No reply either.

So I send him a message.

U found anything?

Still nothing…

What to do?

Clutching my sides, wheezing, I make my way back to Francesca’s store.

*****

By the time I get there, the store is closed. The shop-front is bright with expensive signage in green and

gold, the windows full of designer fashions where if you have to ask the price, you can’t afford them.

But the interior is dimly lit and the doors are barred.

Fuck!

Wondering what the hell to do next, I try Ben once more: still no reply. Nothing from James either, and

under the circumstances, I’m not about to call him.

So, I walk around the side, looking for perhaps a back-door or a security office…

… and I find the entrance to the parking lot, with only a bar across the ramp to prevent entry.

With half an eye on the security camera and stepping carefully over patches of oil, I duck under the bar,

heading down the ramp into the more or less deserted car park

Footsteps echoing, I make my way past concrete columns towards the door, following signs… This way

to the store…

What am I looking for?

Would Charlotte have come down here?

She might…

If she scented trouble…

Then I see it: Kirstie’s car. Charlotte no longer has a car of her own, having written off the last one in a

previous adventure. And neither James nor I was inclined to replace it for her. With two vehicles

already in the family, it’s not as though she has real need of it.

Kirstie’s car is large and comfortable, with room for dogs, camping out and trekking to the wilder places

I know she likes to go. Certainly, there’s plenty of space for three women and their shopping.

But it’s here…

What does that mean?

They were meeting Kirstie. Girls’ day out. Shopping and high tea. So, they met here? Or met

somewhere else and Kirstie brought them here?

Did Charlotte get warning of trouble?

Richard? He’d keep trying…

What would she do?

This is Charlotte…

Inexorably, my gaze is drawn to the steel rectangle of a manhole cover.

Gone to ground?

She did it before…

She’ll probably still have the maps on her phone…

Charlotte knows her way through the underground City like no-one else. Even the City authorities use

the maps and schematics she produced.

Sewers…

Drains…

Subways…

Service tunnels…

Carefully, I circle the hatch, looking for signs of disturbance; scratches in muck and grease, the marks

of a crowbar or a tyre iron. I don’t see anything.

The light is poor, typical basement illumination, so I scan the cover again using my phone flashlight, but

there’s still nothing.

Where else?

Looking with new eyes, I quarter the area; section by section.

“Hey, you!” A torch swings a beam across me, and then as I turn, blindingly into my eyes. “What d’you

think you’re doing?” A silhouette with bad attitude marches toward me.

A hand raised against the light, “I’m looking for someone.”

“Down there?” A man in blue uniform drips sarcasm. “Or were you looking for a way in?”

“I’m not fucking casing the joint, if that’s what you mean. I’m trying to find three women: two red-heads

and a brunette. They’re all lookers. You wouldn’t miss them. You seen a group like that?”

The derision fades. “No. No, I haven’t.” He drops a sceptical eye at the hatch. “You think they might…?”

“It’s possible, yes, with the kind of trouble that’s chasing them. Have you done a round of the store yet?

Had a look around?”

“I’m just taking my first turn now.” The guard eyes me. “You want to come with me? See if there’s any

sign of them?”

“I would, yes.”

He jerks his head back to the door. “You think they were actually here? Any idea what department?”

“The tearoom.”

“We’ll try there first then. “Watcha called?”

“Michael.”

“I’m Jack.”

I check my mobile again, but there’s no signal.

*****