Hit and Run

'Aw, hell! I don't want it that bad,'the other said.

The car drove on.

I found myself suddenly short of breath, but I didn't have the time to wonder what they meant, for the car suddenly slowed down and finally stopped.

'This is it,' the dark one said.

'Okay, let's get him out,' Lew said.

I remained limp, my eyes closed, my heart slamming against my ribs.

I felt the dark one leave the car, then I heard the off-side door open. Hands laid hold of me and pulled me out of the car.

As I slid on to the ground, Lew said: 'You didn't hit him too hard, did you, Nick? He should have come to the surface by now.'

'I hit him right,' Nick, the dark one, said. 'He'll snap out of it in a few minutes.'

Between the two of them they half carried me, half dragged me up the path and dumped me on the front step.

'Got his keys?' Nick asked.

'Yeah. This is the one.'

I heard the lock on the front door snap back, then I was dragged across the hall and into my lounge and dumped on the settee.

'You sure he's all right?' Lew asked.

A hand moved on to my neck: expert fingers touched my pulse.

'He's fine. He should be up and coming in another five minutes.'

'He'd better be.' There was an uneasy note in Lew's voice. 'Galgano will be mad if this punk croaks before he can talk to him.'

'Relax, big head. He's all right. When I tap 'em, I tap 'em right. In five minutes, he'll be dancing the can-can.'

I gave a low groan and moved a little.

'You see? He's coming out of it already. Gimme the rope.'

I felt a cord tighten around my chest, pinning me to the settee. I opened my eyes as Lew was fastening the cord to the legs of the settee. He stared at me, his face expressionless, then he stepped away.

'That fixes it,' he said and leaning over me, he patted my face. 'Relax, buster. The boss wants to talk to you. He'll be along in a little while.'

'Come on,' Nick said impatiently. 'Let's get out of here. Have you forgotten we've got to walk?'

Lew cursed.

'Why couldn't that punk Claude have sent a car?'

'You ask him,' Nick said.

He came over to me and examined the rope across my chest critically, then checked the tapes around my wrists. He grunted, stepped back, and stared at me and a tight, meaningless smile hovered on his thin lips.

'So long, sucker,' he said.

They went across the lounge and out into the hall, pulling the lounge door half shut. I heard them open the front door, then close it behind them.

After a second or so a silence settled over the bungalow that made the ticking of the clock on the overmantel sound unnaturally loud.

I exerted a useless effort for a minute or so against the tape around my wrists and found there was no way of breaking free so I lay still, panting a little from my exertions.

It was then that I remembered Lucille who I had left tied on my bed. Maybe she had managed to get free. Maybe she would set me free.

'Lucille!' I called. 'Lucille! Can you hear me?'

I listened, but there was no sound except the ticking of the clock and the gentle flapping of a curtain against a window as the breeze disturbed it.

'Lucille!' I raised my voice to a shout. 'Are you all right?'

Again silence, and I suddenly felt cold sweat on my face. Had something happened to her? Or had she got free and left the bungalow?

'Lucille!'

Then I did hear something. A soft movement of a door opening: a door somewhere down the passage, possibly my bedroom door.

I lifted my head to listen.

The door squeaked a little and that told me it was my bedroom door. I had been meaning to oil the hinges for weeks and had been too lazy to do it.

'Is that you, Lucille?' I said sharply.

I heard someone move out into the passage: a slow, heavy step, and I was suddenly more frightened than I had ever been before in my life.

Lucille couldn't have moved like that. The slow, stealthy footfalls I was listening to were too heavy for a woman's. It was a man coming down the passage: a man who had come out of my bedroom where I had left Lucille trussed and helpless on the bed,

'Who's that?' I said, my voice off-key, my heart hammering.

The slow, heavy footsteps came down the passage and stopped outside the lounge door. Then there was silence.

I lay there, listening, sweat on my face, hearing gentle, unhurried breathing from the other side of the door.

'Come on in, damn you!' I exclaimed, my nerves crawling. 'What are you skulking out there for? Come on in and show yourself!'

The door began to open slowly.

The man out there intended to frighten me, and he succeeded.

I was practically ready to hit the ceiling as the door swung fully open.

The man who stood in the doorway was massive and tall. He had on a dark blue sports jacket, grey flannel trousers and reserve calf brown shoes. He stood there, his hands in his pockets, his thumbs outside and pointing at me.

I lay staring at him, scarcely believing my eyes, a sudden chill gripping my heart.

The man in the doorway was Roger Aitken.

II

Heavy footed, slow and deliberate, an expression on his face that really put the fear of God into me, Aitken came in to the room.