Way On Down – Bentley 36

 

[For back story go here: Story so far at 30 Nov 2020 and definitely this one.]

[Relevant back story also in embedded links.]

It wasn’t the pain that was getting to Bentley, so much as the lights. As he lay there on the floor he realised that if someone had called an ambulance and if there were flashing lights associated with that vehicle he’d still not be able to discern them from the thousands of lights which played around his house. Thousands, minus one string of rope lights which was now blinking its last, threading out of his living room, on to the balcony and then down, down, down. He could see his dark glasses, but he couldn’t reach them, so precisely what had happened would remain a mystery for a while longer. But at least everything was quiet now, aside from that tinny version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town, which he assumed was coming from one of the larger light displays, but who knew which?

The day had started remarkably well, all things considered. True, there was still no cat and no ring, but one of Bentley’s aliases had received a rather concerned email from a certain Fred Thimble, requesting more details of the misdemeanour he was supposed to have carried out so that he could do the right thing. Bentley smiled as he played out his game of cat and mouse, or cat and budgerigar. Only a matter of time, he thought.

There was an abrupt knock at the door. Bentley grabbed a mask and went to answer.

He should have known better, but the second he pulled the latch back whoever was on the other side put their shoulder to the door and were in. The first man was well built, wearing a warm three quarter length coat, the arm of which grabbed at Bentley and propelled him into the living room as it passed. Bentley vaguely recognised the man and started to protest that it was too early for Christmas bubbling and they had no right… but there again it was the season of good will and no one was listening anyway.

Once in the living room Bentley was able to focus on the second person now entering his home. Trench coat, dyed black hair, Jaggers dominated the doorway and smiled. One of his teeth was gold, a new addition, thought Bentley, but perhaps he shouldn’t ask about that now.

“So, Bentley,” said Jaggers. “Where is it? You know what I’m here for. Cough it up.”

“I’m working on it,” said Bentley. “Don’t know why you need that one anyway,” he added. “Plenty of rings out there. Better than that one.”

“Depends on your definition,” said Jaggers. “Better, but not the same. And a unique ring is priceless, whatever it looks like.”

“So it’s one of a kind,” said Bentley, “so what? Live without it – I’m sure you can do that.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” sneered Jaggers.

“Should I?” spat back Bentley.

“You’ve been in touch with Lawrence, with Norman, you’ve been sniffing around my place and you’ve been in touch with the Birdman,” said Jaggers. “You’ve got the ring and you know what it stands for. You know why I want it.”

“That’s just it,” said Bentley. “In all this I don’t know why you want it. I just wanted it for my girlfriend, for Sheila, that was all. There was some kind of mistake, some kind of…”

“You expect me to swallow this?” roared Jaggers. “Bentley and his clansmen? Contacts up and down the country? Transport, finance – loads of finance – finger on the pulse. And you say it’s some kind of mistake?”

“Whatever it is I can’t help you,” said Bentley.

“You’ll help me alright,” said Jaggers. “You’ll help me right now. Hold him!”

Jaggers ran at Bentley, a blaze of anger. The other man also lunged at Bentley, but Bentley bent double, at once getting out of Jagger’s way, while also becoming an obstacle which Jaggers had no time to avoid. The heavy grabbed hold of the old man, but in the scuffle Jaggers was knocked off balance.

Staggering backwards now, crashing through the door of the balcony – left ajar for the electricity cables to run out – a brilliantly realised Rudolph in LEDs and red bulbs flashed aggressively at him and he shot out his arms to grab at something, anything. His flailing resulted in him becoming entangled a with a length of rope lighting and finally he pitched straight over the balcony rail and down, down, down until the rope lighting went tight, flickered and blinked out.

Flint had found being a ‘heavy’ to be a varied job over the past three years. Different tasks were set for you, some easy, some hard, some legal and some… not so. This one had ended in a rather disastrous way.

“Happy Christmas,” he said, worriedly, as he lowered Bentley to the floor and scarpered.