The Alleyway

For audio click here.

Mr Whitefoot was so adamant that someone was trying to kidnap him, that I was beginning to think that he was in on the plot. Maybe it was some insurance scam, or an elaborate way to leave his wife, or maybe it was just pompous paranoia; yes he was a rich business man but was he really in the kidnap and ransom league?

He was an old, young man, prematurely balding, awkward looking. If someone told me he was still a virgin, I’d believe them.  He didn’t seem to have the gravitas of a powerful capitalist. He was shy, nervous, tentative; he spoke so quietly, I had to lean in to hear him.

‘They are going to snatch me tonight, Mr Stanley,’ he whispered, touching his mouth with his hand.

‘How do you know,’ I spoke loudly trying to encourage him to speak up.

‘Don’t ask,’ he said.

‘It’s my job to ask,’ I replied, but I knew he wasn’t going to tell me.

‘I have to go to a charity fundraiser tonight’ he said. ‘I want you to come with me and then follow me home, okay?’

‘I can do that, ‘ I said. ‘But what if something happens?’

‘It won’t if you are close to me,’ he said.

I wasn’t so sure, surely if they had plans to kidnap him a solitary private detective wouldn’t deter them, but he was paying the bill; so I’d do what I was told.

The event was a black tie affair. Molly smiled at me as I was getting dressed.

‘You scrub up well, Archer Stanley,’ she said, as I checked the bowtie in the mirror and slipped my dinner jacket on. I kissed her on the cheek and headed out, wondering what I’d done to deserve such a wonderful woman.

I spent the night wishing Molly was with me, I might have been wearing my tux so I didn’t look out of place but that didn’t stop me from feeling out of place. This wasn’t my scene and without booze and tobacco it was never going to be. I watched Whitefoot all evening. He looked ill at ease as he worked the room. His hand touching his much almost hiding his words as he spoke. I watched the rest of the crowd but no one seemed to be acting strangely or watching Mr Whitefoot in any way.

After about 2 hours he nodded at me, signalling he was about to leave. I went to the cloakroom and got my coat and waited at the entrance. Whitefoot finished his goodbyes and headed for the door pulling his coat around him and his hat down over his eyes.

If I was him, I would have got a taxi, but he claimed that would make him a sitting duck so said  it would be safer to walk, with me as his escort. I took up his tail, just 10, 15 yards behind, keeping a close eye on the rich man as he went. it was a cold night, autumn was upon us, a chill damp in the air. Whitefoot turned left into a narrow alley; again a daft decision from a man who thought he was in danger, The wind rushed through the dark street like it was running for a train; hurrying along, no time to stop to say hello. The alley curved around meaning Whitefoot momentarily disappeared from my sight. I quickened my pace so that he wouldn’t be out of sight for long but once I’d rounded the bend he was gone. No sign of the man anywhere, no sign of anyone at all.

It was then I realised this had been a trap, I was alone in a dark alley. Vulnerable. A man stepped out of the doorway ahead. It wasn’t Whitefoot, or was it? He raised a gun. There was no bang, just a pttt.

I felt it, a sting in my arm, then a rush of blood to the head. My knees felt heavy and my ankles weak.  I took one or two more steps before collapsing into a heap on the cobbled road. And that was the last thing I remembered.

For Part 2 click here