Where Blood Runs Deep by Edmund Glasby

Author:Edmund Glasby [Glasby, Edmund]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Like Lambs To The Slaughter

In the shadowy gloom of the cellar, Haskell watched as first D’arcy and then Brennan climbed up the ladder and exited via the trapdoor. He felt sick and confused, not knowing if he was now living out the last remaining minutes of his life. In this nightmarish situation, it was all too easy to imagine the three of them being forced outside and then summarily executed; shot like mad dogs or prisoners of war. Or, in light of D’arcy’s earlier query — chopped up and eaten.

Oake’s angry face appeared at the hatch. “Are you planning on staying down there?”

“Why are you doing this?” Haskell asked. “We’ve done nothing to you.”

“You killed Creek.”

“It was an accident. And anyway, that was after you tried to —”

“Don’t matter. Now get up this bloody ladder!”

Reluctantly, Haskell walked over and stared up, directly into Oake’s face. “You’ll never get away with this. People know I’m —”

“Shut up and get your sorry arse up here!”

Haskell knew he had no real alternative but to obey. If he were to refuse, Oake and his accomplices would no doubt come down and beat him up before dragging him upstairs or else they would leave him to rot down here. Neither option looked good but at least if he were to go up he would be with his fellow prisoners and, if they were lucky, a means of turning the tables and ultimately of escaping might present itself. Clinging to that hope, he started up the ladder.

“Nice and easy,” Oake cautioned. “Wouldn’t want you to slip and break your neck now would we?”

Reaching the top, the private investigator pulled himself through the trapdoor. He found himself in an untidy storeroom, in which he could see shelves of tinned foodstuffs, sacks of mouldy vegetables, spilled bags of flour and half a dozen wooden crates filled with dusty glass bottles.

D’arcy and Brennan had already been taken outside.

Oake stood near the door. There was a large knife in his hand and a mad look in his eyes. He stank of beer. Smiling wickedly, he waved Haskell forward. “Try anything and I’ll gut you like a pig.”

Haskell knew this was not the time for heroics. With a nod of understanding, he walked forward. Once outside the storeroom, he was forced along a short corridor and taken out into the filthy courtyard. From the dying light in the sky, he reckoned it to be about five o’clock — in which case he must have been out cold for over twelve hours.

D’arcy and Brennan were nearby, their hands being bound by Moresby and Boggs. Higgins stood guard over them with his shotgun.

“You’re crazy! You’re all crazy!” Brennan screamed.

“You bet we’re crazy!” Leering hideously, Boggs leaned in close, his slavering, ghoul-like face mere inches from that of his captive. “It’s the drink what does it.” Having now secured his prisoner, he reached into a pocket of his scruffy coat and removed a bottle of hooch. “Care for some?”

“Go to Hell!” Brennan spat.

“Your loss.

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