Pier Pressure – Bentley 18

[For back story go here: Story so far at 27 July 2020 and more recent Bentley posts.

See especially: https://sfcoviddiaries.blogspot.com/2020/08/hot-shoe-shuffle-bentley-17.html ]

“Can I sit up?” whispered Bentley to the woman he was hoping would turn out to be Natalie.

“Not yet,” she whispered back. She uncrossed her legs, which reassured Bentley that at least she still had two feet. 

“Where am I?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Oh please,” said Bentley. “I would.”

The woman laughed – a lot like Natalie.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” said Natalie.

“Why? How?”

“That would be telling.”

 “Yes. Yes it would so…. Look, why won’t anyone give me a straight damned answer?”

“Because there always someone about to…” but her answer was cut short as walking shoes man walked back into the room. 

There was some more whispering and trainer shoes person left. Hoped to be Natalie was also whispered at and she left too.

“Well?” asked Bentley. “Is Lawrence coming? Is he here?”

“He’s busy,” said walking shoes. “He’s on the phone. But you can come and wait.”

Bentley was a little outraged that his son was too busy on the phone to talk to him, especially since he’d apparently abducted him in the first place. However he said nothing and was happy just to be able to stand up without being told off. His head ached a little but he didn’t really care at this point. The promise of a change of scene was sufficient for him to get a little more excited. 

The right way up, he was able to focus properly on the man in front of him. He’d not seen him before, he was certainly not one of the heavies who’d escorted him from the Dog and Whistle. This was a youngish man, shaved head with a little grow back. 

“Walk in front of me and don’t try anything.”

“Try anything? Like what? Try anything on? Try anything different, anything…”

“…clever,” said the man definitively.

They walked through a door and into a corridor which stretched before Bentley. A wheelchair was placed to one side which Bentley regarded and wondered if he somehow remembered. An emergency exit was to the right, although from the general dinginess of the place he doubted if it would go straight out to street level. He could see maybe four metres of the corridor before a fire door intervened. Bentley was pretty certain they were in the basement of a hotel or something similar. The surroundings had that kind of vibe to it – fifteen year old carpet and wallpaper, continually smartened up sort of feel. 

They went through the fire door and found themselves at the foot of some stairs.

“Oh, stairs,” remarked Bentley. 

“What about them?” Asked the man.

“I don’t do them. I fell, you see and it didn’t really do me much good. Really painful and my hip…”

The man said nothing, but pushed Bentley towards a set of sliding doors. He pushed the button with a gloved hand and nudged Bentley gently inside. Bentley diligently touched nothing inside the lift, which made him feel a little at home. 

As the lift doors slid open several things happened in rapid succession. So rapidly that Bentley was certain it was all going off at once. 

First, there were people waiting for the lift. Not your usual people, three people, dressed in black, masked and holding what appeared to be iron bars. Second, one of these people, whose voice sounded a lot like Natalie’s yelled “Get Down!” Which Bentley duly did as an object, a lot like a posh silver rubbish bin, such as you might find in a slightly upmarket hotel, fizzed over him and clouted the man behind him round the head.

Third, Bentley, now crashed out on the floor, was unable to shift at any speed from his spread-eagled position. Fourth, this didn’t seem to matter as two of the three people in front of him picked him up under the shoulders and plonked him into the wheelchair the third person had produced (he did recognise it – he was waking up a bit when they used it to push him in!).

Fifth, he was spun round 180 degrees and, flagged by the other two, propelled at speed through what transpired to be the lobby of a hotel, down a ramp and out to the taxi rank where there was, waiting for him, none other than George’s beat up transit van.

The van had two planks of wood leading into the rear. Bentley was thrust up this makeshift ramp and crashed unceremoniously into the back. The ramp followed him in with help from the trio and then they all piled into the van, two in the front and one in the back.

“Go go go!” yelled someone and Bentley felt George floor the vehicle. Thankfully he was already lying on the floor so had no where to fall to as the vehicle moved off.

“You got the thing fixed then, George!” Shouted Bentley.

The person in the back of the van removed their mask. It was Natalie and she was smiling.

“What?” asked Bentley. “What’s going on?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Oh please,” said Bentley. “Not that again.”

“I’m taking you to see Lawrence.”

“What? What!? But..?”

“I said you wouldn’t believe me.”

“So who the hell was that?” Bentley nodded towards to receding hotel.

“Not sure yet,” said Natalie. “We’re working on it.”

“Not Lawrence?”

“Nope,” she said. “Lawrence next. He wants to talk to you.”

“Are you sure?” said Bentley. “What does he want to talk to me about?”

“Crazy golf,” said Natalie.

At this point Bentley gave up asking any more questions.