Little Men - The E Book (11 page)

Sean lay face-down in the long grass at the side of the road. It was a chill winter’s night and large drops of rain were falling from the sky. It intensified, and the cold water hammering down stirred him awake. He blinked with complete disorientation, until the sudden realisation of what had happened hit him along with an extreme pain to the back of the head. He tried to move but it was impossible, he was bound tightly. His hands were tied behind his back and his feet were fastened together. His mouth was also taped, which meant he could only breathe through his nose.

He managed to roll sideways towards the road. He made it as far as the van, which was parked at an angle in front of the level crossing, its door still gaping open. The road surface was covered in broken glass which cut into Sean’s legs as he attempted to kneel up. He tried to move his arms and realised he was only bound with gaffer-tape, not rope or wire. The binding should be relatively easy to cut if he could find a decent-sized shard of glass.

Sean felt for fragments behind him with his fingers as he sat upright on the tarmac, rain soaking him and blurring his vision. He cursed his predicament aloud with the frustration of trying to get free. Eventually, he found a piece of glass large enough which felt like it should be sufficiently sharp to saw the plastic and fibre of the gaffer-tape. It was difficult work. The rain was pelting down now and Sean had severe pain in his head, chest and limbs. After what seemed like hours he managed to cut the tape enough to wrench his hands free. He then ripped the tape from his face and unbound his legs.

Sean surveyed the wreckage of the van. It couldn’t be salvaged. He thought quickly, trying not to let the hopelessness of the situation overwhelm him. His head spun. The blow to the skull and the speed he’d taken less than half an hour ago was having a weird effect on his thought-processes.
It felt like a very weird and surreal dream.

He couldn’t stay with the van, it was completely immobile. Any second another road-user could appear and would undoubtedly call the police. Sean grabbed a few personal items from the vehicle (luckily he still had his wallet) and set off as fast as his painful legs would let him. He began walking alongside the main road, but well into the grass verge so as not to be noticeable. If he could just get to one of the roadside hotels he had seen earlier he could reassess his options.

Sean cut a very dishevelled figure as he fought his way through the long grass and scrub. Bruised and bleeding, he was soaked through as the rain continued to pour down. He was angry with himself for letting it happen. He
knew
the red van was trouble the moment he saw it in the filling station. He should have trusted his gut-instinct and done something about it then. But Sean was made of strong stuff. He was a born survivor. He could get through this.

After approximately half an hour of walking he reached the car park of one of the inviting-looking hotels he’d passed earlier. It still looked very warm and appealing but there was no way Sean could venture inside in his state. It would surely arouse suspicion, and the police may get involved. They would ask all sorts of questions about why Sean was travelling through Holland alone at night, and what could have possibly been in his vehicle to make a gang of renegade thieves ambush him in the middle of the road.

There were plenty of vehicles in the car park, and Sean was an accomplished car-thief with plenty of experience gained before he took up the far more lucrative occupation of drug-dealing. He looked around for a suitable vehicle. It needed to be something fast, but nothing too flash as it would have a sophisticated security system and would undoubtedly draw attention.

He settled on a medium-sized Ford, a make he was well-practised in gaining entry to. It took him less than thirty seconds to enter the car and get it started. He revved the engine then roared out of the car park as he tried to adjust his driving position to account for the fact that the steering wheel was on the left-side and the gear-stick now on his right. He accelerated hard down the road. Getting as far away from the hotel as possible was his first priority.

Sean came to a lay-by. He stopped the car and reached for his mobile phone. Luckily his attackers had not thought to take it. He dialled Tony’s number.

“Fashanu, hello.” There was a note of concern in Tony’s voice. The fact that Sean was calling him late on the Wednesday evening of the pickup was bound to spell trouble.

“I’ve been fucking robbed! They done me!” Sean was wired on speed, in pain and exhausted. His panicked voice was difficult for Tony to comprehend.

“What? Who done you? What d’you mean you’ve been robbed?”

“I had the fucking pills in me van. I was driving back and some cunts whacked me over the head, took the pills and drove off! I need you to fucking sort it out!” Sean was too embarrassed to use the word ‘help,’ even in the terrible state he found himself in.

“Wait, just slow down.” Tony had been in the drug business a long time. He had witnessed murders, kneecappings, beatings and violence too horrible to describe. What had happened to Sean was fairly commonplace, but a problem nonetheless.

There was little etiquette in the drugs world, but both Tony and Sean understood the unwritten rule that says if the courier or go-between somehow loses a batch, it’s then down to him to retrieve it or compensate his co-conspirators. Tony considered this for a moment and decided he would sort it out with Sean when was calmer. He realised that if he were to stand any chance in recouping his investment he would have to co-operate with Sean by utilising his considerable wherewithal.