Post by ian on Jun 11, 2009 11:02:02 GMT
The first lucid - and somewhat disconcerting - thought that went through Dennis Anders' mind on the morning of January 21st was, Where did that come from?
The envelope, which lay neatly on the corner of the telephone table, had not been delivered by the postman - not unless the postman had suddenly become able to shoot letters through the box in such a way that they flew six feet down the hall in a curved trajectory. Even though it was seven thirty on a gloomy morning and Dennis could barely see out of his eyeballs yet, let alone think clearly, he was able to deduce this. And it frightened him.
As he shivered his way down the staircase, his bleary eyes fixed on the the black bordered scarlet envelope, Dennis groggily fudged together the existing evidence. He had not placed the envelope there himself; no one else had a door key and nobody had been in his house last night barring Tiger, his Staffordshire Bull Terrier (who would normally have alerted him to a postal delivery as he tried to force himself through the letter box to get at the postman) and it was extremely unlikely that Tiger had put the envelope there.
At the far end of the hall, Tiger was standing in the kitchen, watching him silently. Frowning, Dennis picked up the envelope. It was expensive stationery; maroon and bordered with a slender gold line. His name was typed upon it in neatly centred capitals. In the bottom right hand corner was what appeared to be a company logo (what his art & design teacher used to call a Corporate Identity Symbol). Normally Dennis would have smirked thinking about this pretentiousness but he was becoming more concerned as his senses sharpened.
And his senses were sharpening very quickly indeed.
The embossed Corporate Identity Symbol consisted of a grinning black skull and crossbones, beneath which was the name of the company, lettered in gold:
ASSASSINS LTD.
The envelope bore only his name - no address, no stamp - which meant that not only had it been hand delivered, but that someone had broken into his house in order to place it where he would see it the moment he got up. The question was, how had they got in and out again without being savaged by Tiger? The dog had extremely good hearing and was distinctly anti-social.
Dennis took the envelope to the kitchen, turned on the lights and the kettle, absently patted Tiger's muscular back, opened the letter and withdrew the gold-edged card from inside. The card was the same colour as the envelope and lettered in embossed gold copperplate. It looked like an invitation. It said: It is our legal duty to inform you that our client, the firm of solicitors, Arthur, Barry & Drew has contracted Assassins Ltd. to terrorize you for a short period and subsequently to terminate your life. This contract will commence and be fulfilled during the 24 hours commencing 07.33hrs Monday January 21st.
Please note: This contract cannot be rescinded, revoked or otherwise anulled.
Dennis read the card then checked his watch. It was 07.34. In spite of the fact that it was obviously a joke being played on him, he became extremely worried.
Worrying came easily to Dennis, a fact that whoever had sent the card must surely have known. They would have known this because Dennis was not the strong, silent type: everyone who knew him also knew about his difficulties with his relationships, the business problems with the sweet shop he owned, the details of his nervous breakdown in '85 and the duodenal ulcer his friend Martin had christened Krakatoa. Which made the card not just a bad joke, but a cruel one.
An icy finger of fear began to probe the imaginary crater of the ancient (and now extinct, he hoped) ulcer and Dennis began to feel guilt for some sin he might have unknowingly committed, some minor infringement of social code which had upset someone enough to do this.
It's just a joke in very bad taste, he told himself. But by whom? And why?
What was more frightening was the apparent ease with which his high security home had been invaded.
"Just how the hell did they get in here?" he asked Tiger angrily.
The dog merely stared up at him blankly and wagged its tail.
Barring the departed Jane Blake (Dennis' long term, now ex, girlfriend and cause of his nervous breakdown) and the Samuels next door, Tiger let no one in or out of the house without Dennis' say so. Jane was back in Perth, Western Australia and their separation had been fairly amicable so it couldn't be her, and the Samuels were both in their early eighties so they weren't likely to be up to playing tricks like this. There were only three other people who knew him well enough to play such a joke and he couldn't believe any of them would do it.
Dennis unlocked and unbolted the back door, let Tiger out into the garden and sat at the kitchen table, mechanically drinking sweet tea and chewing toast, his eyes fixed on the gold-edged card which he had propped up against the milk jug.
Eventually his mind asked the question the writer of the card had hoped to precipitate. Can it be true? Dennis wondered. Deep in his stomach, Krakatoa began to send up puffs of hot smoke. Dennis toured the house, inspecting possible points of entry.
He was pale when he sat down again. He knew this without having to check in the mirror; over the years he had become highly attuned to the messages his body sent him and understood them well. His pulse rate was up by at least fifteen and his blood pressure was rising. There would be worse to follow.
The evidence, such as it was, pointed to the fact that someone really did intend to terrorize and then kill him. Someone professional. None of the window locks had been forced or tampered with in any way. Neither had the front or back doors, both of which had safety chains anyway. The attic and the roofing tiles were undisturbed and there was no other way in except down the chimney which was too small to accommodate even a Victorian child chimney sweep. And to top it all, Tiger, who had been bought for protection and who gave it relentlessly, needed or not, hadn't been disturbed.
"So how did they get in?" he wondered aloud, considering for a moment the possibility that he might have placed the envelope there while sleepwalking, then dismissing it out of hand. If he'd done it, it meant he had also bought the materials and prepared them whilst sleepwalking which was ridiculous. Which left two possibilities. One was that he was suffering from a multiple personality disorder or that he was, for some unknown reason, being stalked by something supernatural. Even the most experienced cat-burglar couldn't have got in and out leaving no trace, let alone have crept past the dog.
2
He spotted the man watching him from the other side of the road the moment he opened the door. Dennis' heart notched up an extra 15 beats per minute, his testicles drew up tight and his scrotum prickled. Pain grew behind his left eye. He latched the front door behind him, checked it and went to his car, glancing at the watcher. The middle aged man was dressed as a city gent from his bowler right down to his shiny brown shoes. His face was blank but his glittering blue eyes gave him away.
Dennis reached for his keys and a burst of hot acid in his stomach made him double up. "Don't do this to me," he complained - at both his ulcer and Assassins Ltd. who he suddenly believed to be a real organisation. "I can't live like this!" The keys dropped from his fingers. When he bent to pick them up, he spotted the box under his car.
It looked like an ordinary cardboard box and it was attached to his car by nothing whatsoever, but Dennis immediately knew what it was. He stood up and his vision washed grey across his brain. The watcher was gone.
Dennis yelped when someone grabbed his arm. His heart squeezed tight and stalled in his chest. His breath was gone.
"Some small children slid it under there."
Dennis smelled garlic. His heart leapt and danced in his chest, looking for its rhythm. He looked up into the face of the watcher. "Just a moment ago," the man continued. "It looked heavy. I was waiting to see if they came back. I'm sorry, are you okay?"
"Yes," Dennis gasped.
"I'll pull it out for you," the man said, dropping to his knees and reaching under the car.
"No!" Dennis shouted. "Don't touch it!"
"It's okay, I've got it now," the man replied. "It's heavy!" He brought out the box and stood up. There were wet patches on his knees. He handed the carton to Dennis, grinning. "I think it's for you," he said.
The box was soggy at the bottom. Dennis placed it on the pavement and was suddenly compelled to open the lid and have done with it. If he was blown to smithereens, at least it would be over quickly.
There was no plastique in the box however. What was inside it was worse. It was two thirds full of fresh bloody offal. Steam rose from it in the cold air. Amongst the convoluted strings of intestine, there was a large liver and a kidney that looked half eaten. In one corner of the box was a maroon scallop-edged card. The gold print on it read: ARE THESE SOME OF YOURS, GUTLESS?
Much as he wished to, Dennis did not faint or throw up. He staggered into the side of his car and clung on as Krakatoa erupted. When Dennis' eyes cleared of tears, both the businessman and the box were gone. He checked the ground beneath the car once more and got in. It was some time before he was able to drive away.
3
Mondays were always quiet at Anders' Sweet Shop and Tobacconists. Dennis could not make himself open for business until well after ten, and each time a customer came in, suffered a further eruption of Krakatoa and an increase in his pulse rate and blood pressure. By lunchtime the pain behind his eye felt like an ice dagger. Dennis had phoned everyone he knew, including a disgruntled Jane in Perth W.A. who had been sleeping. At least it proved that she hadn't snuck back into the country to victimise him. Everyone claimed to know nothing of a joke death threat and happily asked him who his enemies were. But as far as Dennis knew, he had no enemies. He searched Yellow Pages for a firm of solicitors known as Arthur, Barry & Drew, then phoned Directory Enquiries who couldn't help him either.
By twelve thirty, he had given up grasping at straws and admitted to himself that he was in serious trouble and in danger of losing his life. He decided to take the card to the police. He had turned off the lights and was just about to lock up when the blind man threw the door open.
The crash struck him rigid and released boiling lava from his ulcer. Dennis thought he might die before the promised period of terrorism had elapsed. He tried to ask if he could help, but his mouth was beyond his control.
The blind man was ancient and wore a gabardine mackintosh that evidently equalled his years. He had a shock of white hair and a wispy white beard. His white stick was gold tipped and ivory handled and he walked upright, his head tipped back as if he was secretly looking out of his nostrils.
"Can I help you?" he asked, tapping up to the counter, hearing the chink of glass under the stick's gold ferrule and stopping. He turned his head to the spot where Dennis stood.
"Help m-me?" Dennis stammered.
"Charles Drew, Arthur, Barry & Drew. My card." He leaned forward, commanded, "Give me your hand," took Dennis' hand and pressed something into it.
Dennis looked at the card and yelped. It was a black spot, Treasure Island style. Then he felt sick. Blind Drew, his mind yammered. Not Blind Pew, Blind Drew! You've been had!
Charles Drew chuckled. "What are you frightened of?"
Dennis became volcanically angry. "You know!" he shouted. "You know all about it! Why are you doing this to me?"
Drew shook his head. "Not me! You are doing it to yourself? Why? Answer me that!"
"I didn't do anything..."
"Didn't do anything!" Drew interrupted. "Didn't do this, didn't do that! Why not? Why are you such a timid mouse, always running away? Scared of what people might think? Scared of your own shadow, more like. What difference will it make if you die? You're not alive now! You've got a house like a fortress, a big dog to protect it but there's nothing of value in it! You let your woman get away because you wouldn't tell her how you felt about her. Why? You were scared of rejection. You've given yourself ulcers and a nervous breakdown worrying about upsetting others. You've turned down everything ever offered to you because you were so scared of it! What have you got out of it all? What good had it done you?"
Dennis' anger had gone. All this was true. He wanted to fold up right here and vanish. "I've got security," he said in a small voice.
"Security? Even your beloved security is a myth. Your bullet-proof house is burning down, my friend. Right now. Why? Because you left the grill on and a tea towel too near it. Assassins Ltd. didn't play that little trick on you, you played it on yourself, just like you played all those other tricks on yourself. Wake up man, and live!"
Dennis shook his head. "What did I do to deserve this?" he asked miserably
"What did you do to deserve this? You did nothing, my friend. Nothing with a capital Zero! Think about it!"
3
Dennis drove home fast after the blind man had left. His house was not burning down, but the grill was on and the tea towel was alight. The kitchen was full of smoke and Tiger was howling. Dennis dashed down the hall to the kitchen, threw the towel into the sink and turned on the taps, realising that during the action Krakatoa had calmed. His mouth was dry and his heart was racing but he didn't feel as bad as he ought to have done.
"But you will," a voice warned him. "I've just torched the sweetie shop and I'm not going to let you put it out!"
The man from Assassins Ltd came out of the lounge. He was dressed in black and wore a full-face mask. A very large knife dangled from his hand. "In fact, I'm going to put you out of your misery. Contract's up. We'll get rid of you and then we'll lose the house. Every trace of you will be gone."
Dennis' heart jammed in his chest and his throat closed up. Tiger pressed against his legs growling deeply. "Tiger!" he heard his voice call from a great distance. "Sik 'im!"
The Bull Terrier didn't need asking twice. Tiger flung himself up the hall in three great bounds, leapt at the Assassin before he could dodge and hit him square in the chest.
And vanished.
The Assassin didn't even stagger.
"What happened?" Dennis wailed.
In reply, the Assassin opened his mouth and wailed in Tiger's voice.
"Oh my Christ," Dennis moaned.
The Assassin started to come down the hall towards him.
Dennis turned and fought with the bolt and lock on the back door.
"Don't want to fight me?" the Assassin asked from quite close behind.
Dennis' heart was encased in stone. His hands flew at the bolt and lock like birds.
He heard the knife whicker through the air behind him, felt its sharp tip slice through his shirt and skin. It left a cold line across his back.
Dennis' heart came to life and pumped hard, once, twice. The stone around it was shattered. He was hurt, the bastard had cut him. His boiling fear began to turn to rage.
Behind him the knife whispered again.
"I didn't do anything and I don't deserve this, you f*cking bastard!" he screamed, ducking low and pulling the door open with all the force he could muster. The knife caught his right shoulder as he slammed the door into the Assassin and he was surprised when the man - seemingly stunned - staggered into the worktop. Dennis brought the door back and slammed it into him again, then ran out into the garden. He scooped up a pair of shears, ran around the side of the house and shot past the front door just as the Assassin opened it.
There was another guarding the front gate.
"Get out of my way!" Dennis yelled, and no longer caring about the consequences of his actions, ran at the second Assassin, shears held out in front of him, points first.
The second Assassin leapt away from him, rolled and kicked out at his leg as he passed. Dennis went down, hacking behind him with the shears as the Assassin grabbed his foot. The man, or monster or ghost or whatever it was behind the mask squealed and let go. With a grunt of satisfaction Dennis leapt to his feet and threw himself into his car. Unlike every horror film he'd ever seen, the key found its own way into the ignition and the car started first time. He was fifty yards down the road before the first Assassin reached the second.
He reached the end of the road and glanced in the rear view mirror just in time to see his house become engulfed in flame.
Dennis drove another quarter of a mile then pulled in, leaned out of the car and threw up. He felt lighter and stronger afterwards. The ice dagger behind his eye began to melt and his stomach settled. The thing that surprised him most was that he didn't feel frightened anymore.
He was wondering whether to go to the police station or to the sweet shop when a large black car pulled up behind him. He swivelled round, identified the black masks, slammed his car into reverse, gunned the engine and dropped the clutch. The noise of the impact was horrendous, the tinkling of falling glass musical. Dennis felt a crazy kind of delight. Gritting his teeth and grinning, he pulled forward and let them have it again. "The worm's turned you bastards!" he shouted and drove away like a maniac.
They caught up with him again on the dual carriageway. Dennis' heart beat strong and fast. He could deal with this. He was capable.
The big black car pulled out and drew level with him. The Assassin in the passenger seat rolled down the window and aimed a gun at him. Dennis ducked. The side window imploded and glass raked his face. The next shot burst through the door and nicked his kneecap. The pain was excruciating. Dennis screamed and pulled the car hard to the right. The two cars locked together and Dennis fought to push the other over into the centre reservation. They serpentined down the road at more than sixty and Dennis realised that the dual carriageway was running out. He stood on the accelerator as the cars shot back on to single lane road. There was an articulated lorry coming in the other direction, flashing its lights and sounding its horn. "Either we do or we don't!" Dennis yelled. "I don't care which!"
And one of his car's tyres blew.
The car slewed through a half turn, caught the front of the black one, became entangled and both cars rolled off the road, through the fence and down into a playing field.
Dennis hurt all over. His vision was blurred, he had lost some teeth and he had almost certainly broken some ribs. But he was alive, kicking and angry. He crawled out through the windscreen and into the Assassins' inverted car, hitting, biting, kicking and screaming. One of the Assassins stabbed him in the calf and the other ground his fingers into a wound in Dennis' chest. He knocked the hand away, reached behind him to parry a second strike with the knife and his hand closed over the gun.
There were eight bullets in the magazine.
Four went into each Assassin.
4
Dennis woke up in hospital, where he would stay for the following twelve weeks. There were policemen waiting to talk to him about his burned down house and his burned down business and his suicide attempt. Early on in the conversation Dennis realised that there had only been one car involved in the "accident" and kept his mouth shut about the Assassins and the death threats. He told them he knew nothing about the fires and that the "accident" really was an accident. The police threatened to charge him with arson.
Dennis was not prosecuted. The fire in the shop was traced to an electrical fault and forensic believed the house fire had started in the kitchen where the oven had been left on. The insurance company investigated and refused to pay out.
Dennis didn't care. He had money in the bank and he knew what he was going to do with it.
5
Dennis boarded the Qantas plane for Australia on May 16th. It was a sunny day and he felt good. He was a changed man; he'd lost weight, he was fit, he was confident about a reconciliation with his ex and he'd stopped worrying about things. Permanently.
He had completely forgotten that the Assassins Ltd. contract could not be rescinded, revoked or otherwise anulled and he didn't see the man dressed in black board the plane behind him, or the face mask hanging from the man's belt.
And if he had, Dennis wouldn't have been frightened. He could deal with it.
The envelope, which lay neatly on the corner of the telephone table, had not been delivered by the postman - not unless the postman had suddenly become able to shoot letters through the box in such a way that they flew six feet down the hall in a curved trajectory. Even though it was seven thirty on a gloomy morning and Dennis could barely see out of his eyeballs yet, let alone think clearly, he was able to deduce this. And it frightened him.
As he shivered his way down the staircase, his bleary eyes fixed on the the black bordered scarlet envelope, Dennis groggily fudged together the existing evidence. He had not placed the envelope there himself; no one else had a door key and nobody had been in his house last night barring Tiger, his Staffordshire Bull Terrier (who would normally have alerted him to a postal delivery as he tried to force himself through the letter box to get at the postman) and it was extremely unlikely that Tiger had put the envelope there.
At the far end of the hall, Tiger was standing in the kitchen, watching him silently. Frowning, Dennis picked up the envelope. It was expensive stationery; maroon and bordered with a slender gold line. His name was typed upon it in neatly centred capitals. In the bottom right hand corner was what appeared to be a company logo (what his art & design teacher used to call a Corporate Identity Symbol). Normally Dennis would have smirked thinking about this pretentiousness but he was becoming more concerned as his senses sharpened.
And his senses were sharpening very quickly indeed.
The embossed Corporate Identity Symbol consisted of a grinning black skull and crossbones, beneath which was the name of the company, lettered in gold:
ASSASSINS LTD.
The envelope bore only his name - no address, no stamp - which meant that not only had it been hand delivered, but that someone had broken into his house in order to place it where he would see it the moment he got up. The question was, how had they got in and out again without being savaged by Tiger? The dog had extremely good hearing and was distinctly anti-social.
Dennis took the envelope to the kitchen, turned on the lights and the kettle, absently patted Tiger's muscular back, opened the letter and withdrew the gold-edged card from inside. The card was the same colour as the envelope and lettered in embossed gold copperplate. It looked like an invitation. It said: It is our legal duty to inform you that our client, the firm of solicitors, Arthur, Barry & Drew has contracted Assassins Ltd. to terrorize you for a short period and subsequently to terminate your life. This contract will commence and be fulfilled during the 24 hours commencing 07.33hrs Monday January 21st.
Please note: This contract cannot be rescinded, revoked or otherwise anulled.
Dennis read the card then checked his watch. It was 07.34. In spite of the fact that it was obviously a joke being played on him, he became extremely worried.
Worrying came easily to Dennis, a fact that whoever had sent the card must surely have known. They would have known this because Dennis was not the strong, silent type: everyone who knew him also knew about his difficulties with his relationships, the business problems with the sweet shop he owned, the details of his nervous breakdown in '85 and the duodenal ulcer his friend Martin had christened Krakatoa. Which made the card not just a bad joke, but a cruel one.
An icy finger of fear began to probe the imaginary crater of the ancient (and now extinct, he hoped) ulcer and Dennis began to feel guilt for some sin he might have unknowingly committed, some minor infringement of social code which had upset someone enough to do this.
It's just a joke in very bad taste, he told himself. But by whom? And why?
What was more frightening was the apparent ease with which his high security home had been invaded.
"Just how the hell did they get in here?" he asked Tiger angrily.
The dog merely stared up at him blankly and wagged its tail.
Barring the departed Jane Blake (Dennis' long term, now ex, girlfriend and cause of his nervous breakdown) and the Samuels next door, Tiger let no one in or out of the house without Dennis' say so. Jane was back in Perth, Western Australia and their separation had been fairly amicable so it couldn't be her, and the Samuels were both in their early eighties so they weren't likely to be up to playing tricks like this. There were only three other people who knew him well enough to play such a joke and he couldn't believe any of them would do it.
Dennis unlocked and unbolted the back door, let Tiger out into the garden and sat at the kitchen table, mechanically drinking sweet tea and chewing toast, his eyes fixed on the gold-edged card which he had propped up against the milk jug.
Eventually his mind asked the question the writer of the card had hoped to precipitate. Can it be true? Dennis wondered. Deep in his stomach, Krakatoa began to send up puffs of hot smoke. Dennis toured the house, inspecting possible points of entry.
He was pale when he sat down again. He knew this without having to check in the mirror; over the years he had become highly attuned to the messages his body sent him and understood them well. His pulse rate was up by at least fifteen and his blood pressure was rising. There would be worse to follow.
The evidence, such as it was, pointed to the fact that someone really did intend to terrorize and then kill him. Someone professional. None of the window locks had been forced or tampered with in any way. Neither had the front or back doors, both of which had safety chains anyway. The attic and the roofing tiles were undisturbed and there was no other way in except down the chimney which was too small to accommodate even a Victorian child chimney sweep. And to top it all, Tiger, who had been bought for protection and who gave it relentlessly, needed or not, hadn't been disturbed.
"So how did they get in?" he wondered aloud, considering for a moment the possibility that he might have placed the envelope there while sleepwalking, then dismissing it out of hand. If he'd done it, it meant he had also bought the materials and prepared them whilst sleepwalking which was ridiculous. Which left two possibilities. One was that he was suffering from a multiple personality disorder or that he was, for some unknown reason, being stalked by something supernatural. Even the most experienced cat-burglar couldn't have got in and out leaving no trace, let alone have crept past the dog.
2
He spotted the man watching him from the other side of the road the moment he opened the door. Dennis' heart notched up an extra 15 beats per minute, his testicles drew up tight and his scrotum prickled. Pain grew behind his left eye. He latched the front door behind him, checked it and went to his car, glancing at the watcher. The middle aged man was dressed as a city gent from his bowler right down to his shiny brown shoes. His face was blank but his glittering blue eyes gave him away.
Dennis reached for his keys and a burst of hot acid in his stomach made him double up. "Don't do this to me," he complained - at both his ulcer and Assassins Ltd. who he suddenly believed to be a real organisation. "I can't live like this!" The keys dropped from his fingers. When he bent to pick them up, he spotted the box under his car.
It looked like an ordinary cardboard box and it was attached to his car by nothing whatsoever, but Dennis immediately knew what it was. He stood up and his vision washed grey across his brain. The watcher was gone.
Dennis yelped when someone grabbed his arm. His heart squeezed tight and stalled in his chest. His breath was gone.
"Some small children slid it under there."
Dennis smelled garlic. His heart leapt and danced in his chest, looking for its rhythm. He looked up into the face of the watcher. "Just a moment ago," the man continued. "It looked heavy. I was waiting to see if they came back. I'm sorry, are you okay?"
"Yes," Dennis gasped.
"I'll pull it out for you," the man said, dropping to his knees and reaching under the car.
"No!" Dennis shouted. "Don't touch it!"
"It's okay, I've got it now," the man replied. "It's heavy!" He brought out the box and stood up. There were wet patches on his knees. He handed the carton to Dennis, grinning. "I think it's for you," he said.
The box was soggy at the bottom. Dennis placed it on the pavement and was suddenly compelled to open the lid and have done with it. If he was blown to smithereens, at least it would be over quickly.
There was no plastique in the box however. What was inside it was worse. It was two thirds full of fresh bloody offal. Steam rose from it in the cold air. Amongst the convoluted strings of intestine, there was a large liver and a kidney that looked half eaten. In one corner of the box was a maroon scallop-edged card. The gold print on it read: ARE THESE SOME OF YOURS, GUTLESS?
Much as he wished to, Dennis did not faint or throw up. He staggered into the side of his car and clung on as Krakatoa erupted. When Dennis' eyes cleared of tears, both the businessman and the box were gone. He checked the ground beneath the car once more and got in. It was some time before he was able to drive away.
3
Mondays were always quiet at Anders' Sweet Shop and Tobacconists. Dennis could not make himself open for business until well after ten, and each time a customer came in, suffered a further eruption of Krakatoa and an increase in his pulse rate and blood pressure. By lunchtime the pain behind his eye felt like an ice dagger. Dennis had phoned everyone he knew, including a disgruntled Jane in Perth W.A. who had been sleeping. At least it proved that she hadn't snuck back into the country to victimise him. Everyone claimed to know nothing of a joke death threat and happily asked him who his enemies were. But as far as Dennis knew, he had no enemies. He searched Yellow Pages for a firm of solicitors known as Arthur, Barry & Drew, then phoned Directory Enquiries who couldn't help him either.
By twelve thirty, he had given up grasping at straws and admitted to himself that he was in serious trouble and in danger of losing his life. He decided to take the card to the police. He had turned off the lights and was just about to lock up when the blind man threw the door open.
The crash struck him rigid and released boiling lava from his ulcer. Dennis thought he might die before the promised period of terrorism had elapsed. He tried to ask if he could help, but his mouth was beyond his control.
The blind man was ancient and wore a gabardine mackintosh that evidently equalled his years. He had a shock of white hair and a wispy white beard. His white stick was gold tipped and ivory handled and he walked upright, his head tipped back as if he was secretly looking out of his nostrils.
"Can I help you?" he asked, tapping up to the counter, hearing the chink of glass under the stick's gold ferrule and stopping. He turned his head to the spot where Dennis stood.
"Help m-me?" Dennis stammered.
"Charles Drew, Arthur, Barry & Drew. My card." He leaned forward, commanded, "Give me your hand," took Dennis' hand and pressed something into it.
Dennis looked at the card and yelped. It was a black spot, Treasure Island style. Then he felt sick. Blind Drew, his mind yammered. Not Blind Pew, Blind Drew! You've been had!
Charles Drew chuckled. "What are you frightened of?"
Dennis became volcanically angry. "You know!" he shouted. "You know all about it! Why are you doing this to me?"
Drew shook his head. "Not me! You are doing it to yourself? Why? Answer me that!"
"I didn't do anything..."
"Didn't do anything!" Drew interrupted. "Didn't do this, didn't do that! Why not? Why are you such a timid mouse, always running away? Scared of what people might think? Scared of your own shadow, more like. What difference will it make if you die? You're not alive now! You've got a house like a fortress, a big dog to protect it but there's nothing of value in it! You let your woman get away because you wouldn't tell her how you felt about her. Why? You were scared of rejection. You've given yourself ulcers and a nervous breakdown worrying about upsetting others. You've turned down everything ever offered to you because you were so scared of it! What have you got out of it all? What good had it done you?"
Dennis' anger had gone. All this was true. He wanted to fold up right here and vanish. "I've got security," he said in a small voice.
"Security? Even your beloved security is a myth. Your bullet-proof house is burning down, my friend. Right now. Why? Because you left the grill on and a tea towel too near it. Assassins Ltd. didn't play that little trick on you, you played it on yourself, just like you played all those other tricks on yourself. Wake up man, and live!"
Dennis shook his head. "What did I do to deserve this?" he asked miserably
"What did you do to deserve this? You did nothing, my friend. Nothing with a capital Zero! Think about it!"
3
Dennis drove home fast after the blind man had left. His house was not burning down, but the grill was on and the tea towel was alight. The kitchen was full of smoke and Tiger was howling. Dennis dashed down the hall to the kitchen, threw the towel into the sink and turned on the taps, realising that during the action Krakatoa had calmed. His mouth was dry and his heart was racing but he didn't feel as bad as he ought to have done.
"But you will," a voice warned him. "I've just torched the sweetie shop and I'm not going to let you put it out!"
The man from Assassins Ltd came out of the lounge. He was dressed in black and wore a full-face mask. A very large knife dangled from his hand. "In fact, I'm going to put you out of your misery. Contract's up. We'll get rid of you and then we'll lose the house. Every trace of you will be gone."
Dennis' heart jammed in his chest and his throat closed up. Tiger pressed against his legs growling deeply. "Tiger!" he heard his voice call from a great distance. "Sik 'im!"
The Bull Terrier didn't need asking twice. Tiger flung himself up the hall in three great bounds, leapt at the Assassin before he could dodge and hit him square in the chest.
And vanished.
The Assassin didn't even stagger.
"What happened?" Dennis wailed.
In reply, the Assassin opened his mouth and wailed in Tiger's voice.
"Oh my Christ," Dennis moaned.
The Assassin started to come down the hall towards him.
Dennis turned and fought with the bolt and lock on the back door.
"Don't want to fight me?" the Assassin asked from quite close behind.
Dennis' heart was encased in stone. His hands flew at the bolt and lock like birds.
He heard the knife whicker through the air behind him, felt its sharp tip slice through his shirt and skin. It left a cold line across his back.
Dennis' heart came to life and pumped hard, once, twice. The stone around it was shattered. He was hurt, the bastard had cut him. His boiling fear began to turn to rage.
Behind him the knife whispered again.
"I didn't do anything and I don't deserve this, you f*cking bastard!" he screamed, ducking low and pulling the door open with all the force he could muster. The knife caught his right shoulder as he slammed the door into the Assassin and he was surprised when the man - seemingly stunned - staggered into the worktop. Dennis brought the door back and slammed it into him again, then ran out into the garden. He scooped up a pair of shears, ran around the side of the house and shot past the front door just as the Assassin opened it.
There was another guarding the front gate.
"Get out of my way!" Dennis yelled, and no longer caring about the consequences of his actions, ran at the second Assassin, shears held out in front of him, points first.
The second Assassin leapt away from him, rolled and kicked out at his leg as he passed. Dennis went down, hacking behind him with the shears as the Assassin grabbed his foot. The man, or monster or ghost or whatever it was behind the mask squealed and let go. With a grunt of satisfaction Dennis leapt to his feet and threw himself into his car. Unlike every horror film he'd ever seen, the key found its own way into the ignition and the car started first time. He was fifty yards down the road before the first Assassin reached the second.
He reached the end of the road and glanced in the rear view mirror just in time to see his house become engulfed in flame.
Dennis drove another quarter of a mile then pulled in, leaned out of the car and threw up. He felt lighter and stronger afterwards. The ice dagger behind his eye began to melt and his stomach settled. The thing that surprised him most was that he didn't feel frightened anymore.
He was wondering whether to go to the police station or to the sweet shop when a large black car pulled up behind him. He swivelled round, identified the black masks, slammed his car into reverse, gunned the engine and dropped the clutch. The noise of the impact was horrendous, the tinkling of falling glass musical. Dennis felt a crazy kind of delight. Gritting his teeth and grinning, he pulled forward and let them have it again. "The worm's turned you bastards!" he shouted and drove away like a maniac.
They caught up with him again on the dual carriageway. Dennis' heart beat strong and fast. He could deal with this. He was capable.
The big black car pulled out and drew level with him. The Assassin in the passenger seat rolled down the window and aimed a gun at him. Dennis ducked. The side window imploded and glass raked his face. The next shot burst through the door and nicked his kneecap. The pain was excruciating. Dennis screamed and pulled the car hard to the right. The two cars locked together and Dennis fought to push the other over into the centre reservation. They serpentined down the road at more than sixty and Dennis realised that the dual carriageway was running out. He stood on the accelerator as the cars shot back on to single lane road. There was an articulated lorry coming in the other direction, flashing its lights and sounding its horn. "Either we do or we don't!" Dennis yelled. "I don't care which!"
And one of his car's tyres blew.
The car slewed through a half turn, caught the front of the black one, became entangled and both cars rolled off the road, through the fence and down into a playing field.
Dennis hurt all over. His vision was blurred, he had lost some teeth and he had almost certainly broken some ribs. But he was alive, kicking and angry. He crawled out through the windscreen and into the Assassins' inverted car, hitting, biting, kicking and screaming. One of the Assassins stabbed him in the calf and the other ground his fingers into a wound in Dennis' chest. He knocked the hand away, reached behind him to parry a second strike with the knife and his hand closed over the gun.
There were eight bullets in the magazine.
Four went into each Assassin.
4
Dennis woke up in hospital, where he would stay for the following twelve weeks. There were policemen waiting to talk to him about his burned down house and his burned down business and his suicide attempt. Early on in the conversation Dennis realised that there had only been one car involved in the "accident" and kept his mouth shut about the Assassins and the death threats. He told them he knew nothing about the fires and that the "accident" really was an accident. The police threatened to charge him with arson.
Dennis was not prosecuted. The fire in the shop was traced to an electrical fault and forensic believed the house fire had started in the kitchen where the oven had been left on. The insurance company investigated and refused to pay out.
Dennis didn't care. He had money in the bank and he knew what he was going to do with it.
5
Dennis boarded the Qantas plane for Australia on May 16th. It was a sunny day and he felt good. He was a changed man; he'd lost weight, he was fit, he was confident about a reconciliation with his ex and he'd stopped worrying about things. Permanently.
He had completely forgotten that the Assassins Ltd. contract could not be rescinded, revoked or otherwise anulled and he didn't see the man dressed in black board the plane behind him, or the face mask hanging from the man's belt.
And if he had, Dennis wouldn't have been frightened. He could deal with it.