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Chapter 16
Chapter 16
Michael
Mitch drives home. I’m exhausted. James and Klempner don’t look much different. From the back, it sounds as though Finchby has woken up. If he were still out, I don’t think he’d be squealing like a stuck pig.
After a while, Klempner speaks. “I need a little chat with Finchby there. Where would you like me to conduct his interview?”
There’s a thump from the trunk and he looks back then to Mitch. “It needs to be somewhere the women won’t hear. Is there one of your outbuildings I can use perhaps?”
Mitch glances sidelong. “Don’t worry about upsetting me. I’ll hold your coat.”
James, his expression savage, breaks in before I can reply. “We can do better than that.”
“Where?”
“Downstairs.”
It takes a moment for James’ meaning to sink in. “Downstairs? You mean…?”
“Yes. That’s what I mean.”
As we crunch onto the drive, Klempner produces another of the phial and syringe sets, pursing his lips as he draws the drug into the chamber, then tapping it. “James, Michael. Open the trunk and I’ll get him quiet again before we take him through your home.”
The trunk clicks open and the needle plunges into Finchby’s arm. The tape-masked shriek dies in his throat and…
“Give me a second,” I say. “Richard hinted he’d been up to something last night. Let me go see what’s happening.”
It’s as well I did. A blue-uniformed nurse is in the hall, discussing something on a clipboard with Richard. As he sees me, he steps smartly forward… “Ah… Michael…” He cups my elbow, easing me out of the door again. “Is everyone…?”
The question dies on his lips. “James. Klempner. I’m pleased to see you.” His gaze lingers on James damaged eyes, the slash, leaking red, on Klempner’s chest, then moves to the bound and unconscious Finchby. “Is that one of them?”
“Yes…” James heaves breath, then. “He was planning on prostituting Charlotte and selling Cara for organs. We need to ask him about where to find the other one. We’re taking him downstairs.”
Richard inhales. “You’d better bring him in around the back. We have a houseful here.”
Klempner reacts. “Police?”
“No. Medics. Doctors. Nurses. For both Charlotte and Elizabeth…. I… I had an eventful night too.”
“Is everything alright? Charlotte?”
“Yes, she’s fine. I’ll tell you later. Right now, she’s sleeping and I’d say likely to stay that way for some while yet. I have a nurse watching her and Cara while she sleeps herself out.” He glances back to the door, holding up a palm. “Give me two minutes to clear the hall, then come in through the back. Go straight down.”
He goes inside. “Ah, Doctor Polinski. Could I have a word, please. You too, nurse. Now, about my wife…”
Mitch brushes past. “I’m going to go see Jenny and the baby.” And she follows him in.
The door closes behind him and we heft Finchby around the side of the house, in and down.
*****
Klempner
We tote him down the cellar steps and along a basement passageway, rooms off to either side. “I’d not realised it was such a large place you have here.”
“This is it.” James opens the door ahead of us.
Michael, supporting Finchby at the shoulders, says, “You sure about this, James?” Belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.
“I’m sure. Can you think of a better place?”
“No…” He exhales. “But fuck’s sake, don’t ever tell Charlotte.”
“I won’t. I don’t want her knowing about any of this.”
“Suits me.”
Between us, Michael and I heft the unconscious Finchby through the door and into…
Fuck me…
Don’t show surprise…
Michael meets my eye. So does James. His mouth quirks and he drops me a wink.
It’s a torture chamber.
At least at first sight.
Of course it isn’t…
The first impression is a blur of manacles, racks, whips and chains; stone walls, a vaulted roof, a cold flag floor.
The second impression takes in a hearth, the ashes cold; a glass-fronted cooler containing wine and beer, and a huge bed at the far end of the room.
It’s a playroom, but of a very particular kind.
I’d realised in a casual kind of way what kind of relationship my Jenny has with James, but I’d really not thought it through.
Until now.
Keep your cool…
Michael halts. “Where?”
James extends a finger. “That will do for a start. Take his waistcoat off. Leave the shirt.”
The indicated spot is a chain, suspended from the ceiling a kind of winch and pulley arrangement. While Michael and I manhandle the unconscious Finchby into position, James takes something from a shelf; a steel bar, extendable, with leather, fur-lined wrist-cuffs attached to either end.
“I’ll just be a moment,” he says, rummaging through a drawer, emerging with a second set of cuffs; these the real McCoy in steel. He fiddles with the bar for a moment, replacing play-cuffs with the genuine article.
Michael and I restrain Finchby while James snaps the cuffs around his wrists, then clips a carabiner between bar and chain. A few winds of the pulley draws the chain tight.
Stretched upright, arms over his head, Finchby’s going nowhere.
James inspects our catch. “That do for you, Klempner?”
“That’s quite satisfactory, James. I’ll admit, I’m looking forward to seeing his expression when he comes round.”
Grim humour creases his eyes. “I’d had the same thought myself. Excuse me a moment.” He makes for the door, pauses and turns. “Michael, set up a table where Finchby can see it. And another one behind him where he can’t.” He turns back and leaves the room, the sound of footsteps receding down the outer corridor.
Michael taps me on the arm. “Give me a hand with this.”
From a spot by the wall, between us, we carry a small table, placing it as James asked, squarely in front of Finchby. Then another behind him. Michael stalls, pondering, then shifts the front table off to the side a little and drags over a couple of chairs.
What the fuck?
I’d taken James and Michael to be fairly ‘everyday’ guys, even if they do have unusual family arrangements.
I’m seeing a different side to them now.
But then…
How would I have reacted had it been Mitch that was taken?
I position myself, standing where I can watch Finchby’s face.
How long before he wakes up?
And Michael is watching me, his face deadpan.
Waiting for comment?
“Can anyone hear us from down here?” I ask.
“No. That’s why we use this room. Charlotte can be as noisy as she wants without it carrying to the hotel.”
“She… enjoys this? The room is…” I wave a hand around bleak stone walls, dark corners and forbidding apparatus…
“It looks rather different with the fire blazing and the candles lit. A different effect entirely.” He glances at Finchby, hanging by his wrists. “I don’t think we’ll bother with that for this one.”
“What does James intend?”
“Intend?” His brows rise. “I think he intends to scare the shit out of Finchby. As you say, we need information. We need to know where Baxter is. Or at least where he’ll make for.”
“How far do you think he’ll go?”
He inhales. “For Charlotte? It’s anyone’s guess.” His head inclines. “Klempner, understand. James is a Dom. And a good one. And if there's one thing that any Dom worth his salt understands, it's the Mind- Fuck.”
“He's… skilled… at what he does?”
Humour quirks over his lips. “James is Charlotte’s Dom. What do you think it takes to be the Dominant to the daughter of Mitch Kimberley and Larry Klempner?”
What do I make of that?
I swallow, then swallow again, jerking my chin to the hanging Finchby. “He does that with Jenny?”
“Oh, yes. But she knows James won't harm her. What do you imagine Finchby will think when he wakes up and sees this?”
I turn, rotate, taking in my surroundings.
I’m not sure what I think myself.
*****