Twice Shy

'Well, yes,' Mort said. 'Genotti's still shaping up well for the Leger.' He flicked his fingers six times rapidly. 'Can you come back to the house for breakfast? The Bungay filly is still not eating well, and I thought we might discuss what we could do. You sometimes have ideas. And there's Luke's bill. I want to explain one or two items before you query them.'

'Mort,' I interrupted him regretfully, 'could we postpone it for a day or two? Something's come up that I'll have to deal with first.'

'Oh? Oh,' he sounded put out, because I'd never refused him before. 'Are you sure?'

'Really sorry,' I said.

'I might see you this afternoon,' he said, fidgetting badly.

'Um, yes. Of course.'

He nodded with satisfaction and let me go with good grace, and I doubted whether I would in fact turn up on Newmarket racecourse for that day's programme, even though three of Luke's horses were running.

On my way back through the town I stopped at a few shops which were open early and did some errands on my prisoner's account, buying food and one or two small comforts. Then I rocketed the six miles to the village and stopped first at the pub.

Bananas, looking entirely his usual self, had done his dishes, cleaned the bar, and put Betty's back up by saying she was too old to start learning to ride.

'The old cow's refusing to make the celery mousse for lunch. Working to her stupid rules.' He disgustedly assembled his breakfast, adding chopped ginger as a topping to the ice cream and pouring brandy lavishly over the lot. I went down to the cottage again. Not a peep from our friend.' He stirred his mixture with anticipation. 'You can't hear him from outside, however loud he yells. I found that out last night. You'll be all right if you keep any callers in the garden.'

Thanks.'

'When I've finished this, I'll come and help you.'

'Great.'

I hadn't wanted to ask him, but I was most thankful for his offer. I drove on down to the cottage and unloaded all the shopping into the kitchen, and Bananas appeared in his tennis shoes while I was packing food into a carrier. He looked at the small heap of things I'd put ready by the door.

'Let's get it over,' he said. 'I'll carry this lot.'

I nodded. 'He'll be blinded at first by the light, so even if he's got himself free we should have the advantage.'

We began to remove the barricade from against the door, and when it would open satisfactorily I took the knife out of the latch, picked up the carrier, switched on the cellar light and went into the cage.

Angelo was lying face down in the middle of the floor, still trussed the way we'd left him: arms behind his back, white clothes line leading slackly between tied wrists and tied ankles.

'It's morning,' I said cheerfully.

Angelo barely moved. He said a few low words of which 'turd' was the only one distinguishable.

'I've brought you some food.' I dumped in one corner the carrier bag which in fact contained two sliced loaves, several cartons of milk, some water in a plastic bottle, two large cooked chickens, some apples and a lot of various candy bars and chocolate. Bananas silently dumped his own load which consisted of a blanket, a cheap cushion, some paperback books and two disposal polystyrene chamber pots with lids.

'I'm not letting you out,' I said to Angelo, 'but I'll untie you.'

'Fuck you,' he said.

'Here's your watch.' I had slipped it off his wrist the evening before to make the tying easier. I took it out of my pocket and put it on the floor near his head. 'Lights out tonight at eleven,' I said.

It seemed prudent at that point to search Angelo's pockets, but all he was carrying was money. No knives, no matches, no keys: nothing to help him escape.

I nodded to Bananas and we both began to untie the knots, I the wrists, Bananas the ankles, but Angelo's struggles had so tightened our original work that it took time and effort to remove it. Once Angelo was free we coiled the line and retreated up the stairs, from where I watched him move stiffly into a kneeling position with his arms loose and not yet working properly.

The air in the cellar had seemed quite fresh. I closed the door and fixed the latch and Bananas restacked the barricade with methodical thoroughness.

'How much food did you give him?' he asked.

'Enough for two to four days. Depends on how fast he eats it.'

'He's used to being locked up, there's that about it.'

Bananas, I thought, was busy stifling remaining doubts. He shoved the four planks into place between the cellar door and the refrigerator, casually remarking that during the night he'd sawn the wood to fit.

'More secure that way,' he said. 'He'll not get out.'

'Hope you're right.'

Bananas stood back, hands on hips, to contemplate his handiwork, and indeed I was as sure as one could be that Angelo couldn't kick his way out, particularly as he would have to try it while standing on the stairs.

'His car must be here somewhere,' I said. 'I'll look for it after I've phoned the hospital.'

'You phone, I'll look,' Bananas said, and went on the errand.