Who Kidnapped Billy Bumble? Page 6

  He was straddling a large tuft of grass, left foot on solid ground behind him and right foot under water in front of him.

  ‘Give me your hand,’ I said, frantically grabbing for a hold.

  But it was no good. He was losing his balance as his right foot continued to sink into the thick, gloopy mud beneath the water.

  ‘Urrgghhh! It’s like bloody quicksand,’ he cried, as the mud sucked at his foot threatening to draw his whole leg down into the water.

  At last, I managed to get hold of his hand and pulled him back. Now I understood what the smell was and why it was bit misty out here. We had walked into the middle of a bog.

  ‘Don’t panic,’ I hissed at him. ‘And keep your voice down. It’s not quicksand. We’re in the middle of a bog.’

  ‘Oh what fantastic news that is,’ said Pete at the top of his voice. ‘We’re in the middle of a bog. Fan-bloody-tastic.’

  Even in the dim light from the moon, I could see the thick, slimy mud was almost up to his knee.

  ‘Is your foot wet?’ I asked stupidly, without thinking.

  ‘Of course my friggin’ foot’s wet. It’s just been immersed in a bog. So yes, not surprisingly, it’s wet. And, as an added bonus, it’s also covered in bloody slime.’

  He began grasping handfuls of grass to try and wipe off the mud. That’s when the smell, which had been more of a suggestion up until now, began to really make its presence felt.

  ‘Geez, I stink now, too,’ he complained.

  I decided, after my last stupid comment, that it would be best to keep my mouth firmly shut until he calmed down a bit. He wasn’t a great one for using swear words, so their arrival was a good indication of his mood. The increasing use of them was a particularly good indicator of a coming storm. The more he used, the crappier his mood. Right now, it could go either way.

  Sometimes Pete was his own worst enemy. Having fallen in once, you’d think he would have realised it’s better to be the follower and not the leader,when you’re going across a bog. But now he insisted on continuing to lead, and sure enough it wasn’t long before he covered his other leg in thick mud too. After that, he insisted that I should lead.

  ‘You can get covered in this slimy shit,’ he snapped.

  But, much to his annoyance, I managed to get us across the rest of the bog with only one mishap, which did result in a wet foot, but no mud.

  Now we were across the bog, the next obstacle was the climb up the hill to the hedge. It was quite steep in places, but I figured if we skirted around a bit we could avoid the steepest bits and have a relatively smooth climb. At least we knew this bit wouldn’t be wet and muddy. It seemed to be mostly grass, some of which came about halfway up our calves. With any luck, it would take some more of the mud from Pete’s legs as we walked.

  ‘I’ll lead,’ said Pete, sounding thoroughly fed up.

  At this stage, it occurred to me that it might have been appropriate to change his nickname from Positive Pete to Pissed-off Pete, but I decided it would probably be best to keep that to myself. Taking the piss at this time might just be the equivalent of lighting the blue touchpaper, if you see what I mean.

  Not wanting to argue, I stepped out of his way.

  It turned out his chosen path was not the one I was intending to use. He chose route one – a straight line up the hill to the hedge. I didn’t think it was the best idea, but that was simply because it was quite steep.

  Pete thought the best way to get up the hill was to get up a bit of speed and then just keep going up and up. This was fine in theory. But it worked on the assumption the ground was solid and firm underfoot. What it didn’t allow for was the fact that cows grazed the grass on this particular piece of land.

  It’s a well-known fact that cows eat large amounts of grass. To their credit, they miraculously turn those large amounts of grass into large amounts of milk. Equally miraculous is their ability to produce even larger amounts of by-product, commonly known as cow shit, which they happily deposit wherever they happen to be standing.

  Here in England these deposits are known as cow pats. Dark green and slimy when fresh, these cow pats quickly form a crust on top which disguises their slippery, slidey contents. I expect you can guess what happened next.

  Pete began to stomp his way up the hill. I was quite impressed with his progress until he stepped on a recently crusted cow pat. His right foot mashed down, broke the crust and skidded away, leaving him flat on his face, sliding back down the hill. He scrabbled frantically for a handhold to stop himself but only succeeded in grasping a handful of the remnants of the dark green, slimy cow pat he’d just stepped in.

  Uh, oh, here we go.’

  Sure enough, I could hear the swearing before he reached our starting position back at the bottom of the hill. By amazing good fortune, he had managed to miss one or two cow pats on the way up before he found the offending one. But he made up for that now by collecting them on the way back down.

  When he finally reached the bottom of the slope and rolled over, I could see he was extensively smeared from head to toe in cow shit, but on the positive side (and I know Pete likes to find the positives in every situation) most of the original cow pat had been wiped from his hand by the time he reached me.

  Often, in stressful situations, I blurt out things that are, shall we say, unhelpful, and momentarily I was possessed with the desire to point out this particular ‘positive’ aspect of the current situation. Fortunately, I managed to suppress the impulse to say it out loud. I must have been on my best behaviour that night because I also managed to keep a straight face.

  Pete lay on his back with his eyes closed. To my great surprise, the expected vocal explosion didn’t happen. In fact, for a couple of minutes he didn’t say a thing, this time preferring to try and maintain some sort of dignity.

  At last, he stood up and glared at me.

  ‘Right. It’s your mission, you fuckin’ lead,’ was all he said.

  I chose silence as the best option and simply pointed out what I thought would be the best route to follow.

  ‘Whatever,’ was the curt response.

  And so we set off, following my more circuitous route, accompanied by a continuous, muttered monologue of swear words from the unfortunate Pete, who now carried the arresting, mixed aroma of stinking bog and cow pat.

  I just hoped they didn’t have a guard dog up at the house because, unless there was something seriously wrong with his sense of smell, he would know we were coming a long time before we got there.

  Twenty minutes later, without further mishap, we reached the top of the slope just ten yards from the huge conifer hedge, which looked even bigger from here. Quietly, we made our way to the hedge and crawled underneath. So far so good.

  Well, okay, Pete had fallen into a bog twice, been thoroughly smeared with cow shit, and he stank like a skunk, but otherwise it had been pretty uneventful.

  I just hoped it would stay that way.

  Chapter Fifteen

  We were within twenty yards of the house now, hiding underneath the huge hedge. It was dirty and dusty and itchy and, thanks to Pete, it was smelly too. I could sense the irritation coming from him in waves. It was testament to him and our friendship that he was still alongside me, but I figured his patience must be more or less exhausted by now and I guessed he was about ready to blow. And I was right.

  It came in the form of a short dialogue, delivered with heavy sarcasm, that I thought it best not to interrupt.

  ‘I’ve just walked, no, change that, I’ve just stumbled, squelched, and crawled more than a mile across mixed terrain including a bog, a cow-pat minefield, and thick undergrowth. I should mention this has been done in the dark.

  ‘My feet are soaking wet and like two blocks of ice. The rest of me is only slightly warmer. I’m covered in all sorts of assorted crap, lots of it from the arse end of a bloody cow, and now I’m hiding under a dirty, dusty, itchy hedge.

  ‘Oh, and I nearly forgot, I stink like a skunk. So,
please, remind me again. Why am I here?’

  I would have preferred not to get into an argument right at that time, but I was obviously expected to say something, so I did.

  ‘We’re here because I believe Allison Beatty’s husband, Billy Bumble, is here somewhere and he needs rescuing.’

  ‘No, you’re bloody wrong about that,’ he hissed. ‘That’s why you’re here. What I want to know is why am I here?’

  ‘You’re here because you’re my mate and mates support each other.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ He sighed. ‘I’m having so much fun I’d completely forgotten we’re supposed to be mates. Do me a favour can you? Next time you want some friggin’ help, ask someone else.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, right? I didn’t know it was a bloody bog, did I? According to the map, the farm and all that cow shit should be on the north side of the house. And, just for the record, you’re not the only one who’s cold and wet.’

  ‘But you’re not covered in cow shit, are you?’ he moaned. ‘And don’t forget dirty, dusty, and itchy.’

  ‘Look, I know I owe you big-time but when have I ever failed to repay a favour?’

  ‘You’re going to have to dig awful deep to repay this one.’

  ‘Anything. All you have to do is name it and I’ll do it. Just stop complaining, will you?’

  ‘Anything?’ he said. ‘You’ll really do anything?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll really, really, do anything if you’ll just stop complaining.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You can be my best man. Now let’s get out from under this bloody hedge.’

  With that, he began crawling through the assorted debris under the hedge towards the house. It took a few seconds for what he had said to register. He wanted me to be his best man. But that means he must be getting married…

  I started to scramble after him. ‘Pete,’ I hissed. ‘Wait. Come back here.’

  He stopped as he reached the outer fringes of the hedge. Any further and we’d be out in the open. I scrambled up alongside him.

  ‘What did you say?’ I asked, when I finally caught up with him.

  ‘I said you can be my best man.’

  ‘But you don’t need a best man unless you’re getting married.’

  In the half-light under the hedge he turned to face me. I could see he was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

  ‘No shit, Sherlock!’ he said. ‘Now I can see why you’re so good at solving these cases. Nothing gets past you, does it?’

  ‘But who? You mean you and Daphne?’

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised. Who else would I be thinking about asking to marry me?’

  ‘So you haven’t actually asked her yet?’

  ‘Not yet, no. But I’m going to – I just wanted to make sure you’re going to play your part when she says yes.’

  ‘Mate, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘You’d better make sure we get out of here in one piece then. And the sooner you do that, the sooner I can ask her.’

  Well. Who would have thought? We were going to have a wedding.

  For a moment I completely forgot where we were. Then I moved my head just a little too far and a dead twig poked me in the ear and snapped with a loud crack, bringing me sharply back to reality. We both froze for what seemed like an age, but nothing happened.

  Right. That’s enough messing around. Time to concentrate.

  The hedge ran alongside the house and a feeble light had been suspended above the door. It was enough to show there was a wide pathway that ran from front to back – it was wide enough to drive a car through.

  The ancient, ill-fitting door at the back of the house was almost exactly opposite us. Faint light could be seen around the frame and through the cracks in the old door. So there must be someone in there. The faint sound of what I assumed was a generator could just about be heard coming from the back of the house. That was the extent of our knowledge so far.

  It was now becoming very apparent just how ill-prepared we were for this whole exercise. Well, actually, that should read how ill-prepared I was. After all, this whole thing was my idea. The fact that we had no idea what we were going to do next was entirely down to me. Pete had just come along as support.

  I had the uncomfortable thought that perhaps Nugent had been right when he had suggested I thought I was some sort of hero, but really I was an idiot. I certainly hadn’t thought this through, had I?

  ‘So, what’s the plan, Batman?’ asked Pete.

  His mood had brightened considerably since he’d mentioned Daphne and getting married. She seemed to have that effect on him. It was great to see.

  ‘Well, Pete,’ I began, ‘I’ve got to be honest with you. I don’t actually have a plan.’

  We were lying next to each other under the hedge. I couldn’t see him very well, but I felt him turn to stare at me in the gloom.

  ‘I know, I know,’ I said. ‘Funny enough, Nugent told me the other day I was an idiot. Looks as though he was right.’

  ‘Why were you talking to that moron?’ asked Pete, completely failing to hide his dismay that I should have anything to do with the local gangster.

  ‘I asked him if he could find anything out about Nash and where he might be holding Billy Bumble.’

  ‘But I thought you had sussed it out on your own.’’

  ‘Yeah, I did, but I’d asked Nugent before that,’ I explained. ‘He was the only person I could think of who might have known anything.’

  ‘That bloke’s a bloody thug and a crook,’ said Pete, disapprovingly.

  ‘Which is exactly how he came to know Nash might have a gun,’ I said, keen to justify myself.

  As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realised my mistake.

  ‘He might have a gun?’ hissed the incredulous voice next to me. ‘What do you bloody mean he might have a gun?’

  It was pitch dark under the hedge but even so, I could clearly see Pete’s eyes widening as he started ranting at me.

  ‘You didn’t tell me he might have a fucking gun. You’ve dragged me all the way out here, through a knee-deep bog, across a field full of bloody cow shit, to rescue someone I don’t know from someone else I don’t know, who just might happen to be carrying a fucking gun.’

  His voice was getting louder and louder. I was sure someone would hear him.

  ‘Keep calm and keep your voice down,’ I pleaded.

  ‘Keep calm? Keep my bloody voice down? You-’

  ‘If you don’t keep your voice down, we’ll find out for sure if he’s got a gun when he starts firing the bloody thing. Do you want that?’

  It didn’t shut him up, but at least he lowered his voice. Now it was reduced to a hiss. He punched me hard on the arm.

  ‘You selfish bugger,’ he hissed. ‘You knew he might have a sodding gun and you didn’t even think to warn me?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I just got carried away. Anyway, we don’t know for sure if he has got a gun.’

  ‘We don’t know for sure?’ he echoed. ‘Well, you know what? I’m not gonna bloody well be here to find out. I’ve always said I don’t mind helping out and doing you a favour, but I don’t remember ever offering to get shot at by some homicidal maniac that you’ve pissed off. You can count me out. I’m going.’

  Just as he was about to turn and crawl away, the door opposite us burst open and an enormous figure stooped under the doorway and emerged into the night. He stood upright, yawned, and then stretched his enormous frame, revealing just how big he really was.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ whispered Pete in alarm, pointing to the huge figure. ‘Is that Nash? He’s a big bugger, isn’t he? You didn’t tell me he was a bloody giant.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s not Nash. That’s another giant.’

  ‘Who the bloody hell is it then? I thought it was just this Nash bloke we were up against.’

  ‘That,’ I said, with a big sigh, ‘is Gregov.’

  Pete’s eyes widened even more. I was sure
they would pop out any moment.

  ‘You mean you know him?’ he asked, incredulously. ‘What is this? Some sort of homicidal maniac’s reunion for you and your murky mates?’

  ‘First, they’re not my mates, murky or otherwise, right? And second, I didn’t know he was going to be here.’

  Technically this wasn’t actually a lie. I mean, I didn’t know for sure that Gregov was going to be here, although it was more or less a given. It was just something else I hadn’t mentioned to Pete,

  ‘Last time we met, I ended up in hospital,’ I explained.

  ‘Oh, great,’ he said with renewed sarcasm. ‘This just gets better and better.’

  ‘He didn’t put me in hospital. It was the night Nugent’s guys beat the crap out of me. Gregov is the guy who was after Jelena that night.’

  Pete heaved an exasperated sigh at yet another mention of Nugent’s name. He was never going to be Pete’s favourite person.

  ‘He’s not going to show up, is he? Bloody Nugent? That would really round the night off to have that arsehole turn up as well.’

  At that moment, Gregov looked directly at us and smiled broadly. He hadn’t seen us, had he? Surely not. We were still under the hedge and it was pitch dark under there. Of course, he could have heard us...

  We both held our breath and waited to see what was going to happen. He continued to stare at us for a few more seconds, then he turned back to the house and stooped back inside.

  We let our breath out together. Phew! That was close.

  Then, to my dismay, he backed out of the doorway. I wasn’t sure, but I thought this time he seemed to have something in his hand. As he turned towards us again I could see quite clearly what it was. A cold feeling sank into my guts. Oh crap! He was carrying a shotgun.

  He pointed the gun at us and began to walk over.

  ‘I think I’m going to shit myself,’ said Pete, very quietly.

  Silently, I empathised with his sentiment. I knew exactly how he felt.

  Gregov stopped a few yards short of the hedge. He held the shotgun casually at his side, but it was still pointed at us, and I didn’t doubt he knew exactly how to use it.