Ring ring – Bentley 24

 

[For back story go here: Story so far at 17 Sept 2020 and more recent Bentley posts.]

[Relevant back story also in embedded links.]

The address wasn’t the shop. That was the first problem. The second problem was that the address didn’t seem to exist. As far as wild goose chases went this really was pretty livid, thought Bentley as he looked over the ring box and the address again, stared back at the maps app on his phone and finally at the range of shops that lay in front of him. The ring claimed to have come from 116D. There was a 116 and a 117 but no additional space in between and certainly no other building to which it could be attributed. He could of course, go back into the shop he’d first thought of and ask the woman who was still behind the counter, but he was pretty much certain that would get him precisely nowhere.

He sauntered back along the lane cursing his luck and wondering why he had ever thought this was a good idea. So he might know where the ring came from – so what? He might be able to tie it to a few people from the past – to what purpose? His main objective had been to try and find out what Lawrence was doing and to maybe make in roads with his grand-daughter, but all he'd done was get more confused and tangled up with some kind of gang warfare that might have begun at a crazy golf course many years ago.

And then he saw the alleyway. It could have been easy to miss. There was a full height iron gate across it but Bentley found that it was unlocked. He walked down the passageway, trying to ignore the slight smell of sewage, and found himself by a door. Not just any door, but the door to 116D. Bobbled and frosted windowed, and with light behind it. Someone was in.

Bentley assessed his options and did the only thing he really could. He rang the doorbell. There was a voice shouting inside indicating he should wait. 

Bentley did so for three minutes before ringing the doorbell again. The voice came again, closer and with patience this time and finally someone came to the door.

There was no waiting this time – as soon as the latch went Bentley barged in irrespective of who or what he would find. What he actually found was a kitchen. There was a young woman holding a pair of scissors, a chair in the middle of the floor and evidence of a haircut taking place. Behind him, there was a young man, a cape around for his shoulders, evidently midway through the haircut and now knocked over by the force of Bentley’s door opening.

"I didn't think you'd be here so soon," said the man. "I was just..."

"Who are you?" shouted Bentley, "What am I doing here and what's going on?"

"If you can just wait a minute, I'll get finished up and..."

Bentley lunged forward with all his might. He grabbed the man by the throat and effectively pinned him to the nearest wall. He felt a twinge across his battered hip as he did so but he was more than able to ignore the pain for the satisfaction of seeing this lop-sided haired man squirm.

"Please – I just wanted to help you," said the man. "I heard you were in town, thought you might like some inside knowledge – or maybe not inside but a few tips from someone who knows something. From me."

"What did you want to tell me?" snarled Bentley, tightening his grip, "What do you know?"

“It’s a ring ring,” whispered the man.

“A what?” exploded Bentley.

“Shhh!” said the man, "Keep your voice down. Walls have ears.”

“And you do too but that can change remarkably quickly,” hissed Bentley.

“Do you want to get your ring back?” asked the man. “Do you want to understand what’s going on or do you want to carry on being led by the nose up the garden path? What do you really want, Bentley, because this is when you have to decide.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can believe me and do as I say or you can just walk away and continue in your blissful ignorance. Find out what’s really going on, do something about it – change the world maybe. Or at least your world. Or you go home, go back to the cat, sit in your armchair and wait until you can spot trains again.”

“I can spot trains right now if I want,” observed Bentley. “No law against it – unless there’s more than six of us watching while standing less than two metres apart. I know my rights!"

“That’s not the point," said the man, exasperated.

“I know it isn't,” said Bentley. “But I’m stalling for time because I don’t know what to do.”

Whatever it was he would do he started by letting go of the man's throat.