Where There’s A Will

An armed robbery, a kidnapping, and an enemy that’s closer than anyone realises.

Inspector Stone has to put aside problems at home and an ambitious underling when the daughter of a local businessman is kidnapped, and a multi-million Euro ransom demanded for her return.
Can he find her and return her safely to her parents when the kidnappers are dangerously close to home?

Nominated for an Ethereal Award on Wattpad

Side by side, as though joined at the hip, Ben and Jerry stepped through the flaps and into the pavilion. They blinked in unison as they went from the darkness of outside so the brightness of the pavilion’s interior, which was lit by a number of portable lights that hung overhead.

They had been working together for so long that they knew what to do without talking; while Ben made for the young man who was busily gathering up the plastic glasses that littered the tables, Jerry threaded his way through the tables to the bar.

“On your knees.” Ben’s voice was a whisper, but he didn’t need volume to make it clear that his order should be obeyed, the sawn-off shotgun in his hand did that for him. He was pleased, but unsurprised, to see the young man drop the cups he had gathered and almost hit his head on the table he was cleaning in his haste to do as he had been told.

“What do you want?” Fear filled the cleaner’s voice, making it tremble, as he addressed his question, not to the man standing over him but to the gun being pointed at him – he couldn’t force his eyes any higher than the twin holes of the muzzle at the end of the barrel.

“The money,” Ben admitted candidly before slamming the butt of his gun down on the man’s head, making him slump to the ground, unconscious. He stepped over the immobile form and crossed to where Jerry was waiting for him by the partition that led into the rear section of the pavilion.

Like his partner, Jerry was holding a sawn-off shotgun, which he clutched tightly while his finger twitched on the trigger, ready to squeeze it at the slightest provocation. “Three,” he told Ben quietly, having risked a look through the partition to see how many people they had to worry about; his eyes shone greedily at the thought of the money he had seen.

“Let’s do this,” Ben whispered. He stepped past his partner and through the partition. “All of you on the ground,” he ordered loudly, swinging his shotgun from side to side so that the muzzle was pointed in turn at the two men and one woman who were in the process of counting the money collected by the three beer tents run by the owner of The Stag Inn at the Rock Radio music festival.

“Do as he says,” Jerry commanded, standing shoulder to shoulder with his partner. “Get on the ground, hands behind your backs.” The moment the three of them had done as they were wold Jerry lowered his shotgun and slid the bag he was carrying from his shoulder. He took several lengths of rope from the bag and used them to bind the hands of those now on the ground, he then blindfolded them, and finally, just to be sure they weren’t going to cause any trouble, he knocked them out using the button of his shotgun. “Let’s get this done,” he said to Ben once he was finished.

As quickly as they could, the pair grabbed up the bundles of cash that covered the tables like the obscene cloth of a rich person and stuffed them into the bag. It took longer than they had anticipated to empty the tables, and there nearly wasn’t enough space in the bag for all of it – there was more money than they had expected, not that either of them thought that that was a bad thing, there could never be such a thing as too much money. By the time they were finished, the bag was full to bursting, leaving them both to wonder how much it was they had stolen.

A little over five minutes after entering the temporary drinking hall, Ben and Jerry left it. If they were not now rich men, they were certainly far better off than before, and they were both feeling full of themselves.

“Didn’t I tell you it’d be easy?” Jerry said exultantly, pulling off his balaclava to reveal shaggy brown hair that had clearly not seen a comb, or shampoo, for several days at the least, and stubble of an age with the dirt and grease in his hair. “We’re loaded, fuckin’ loaded.” He let out a short, sharp whoop of glee, heedless of the fact that there were still others around, clearing up after the festival. “How much you think we got?”

“More’n you said we’d get,” Ben said as he slid into the passenger seat of the car they had parked as close to the pavilion as they could. While he did that his partner tossed the bag into the back seat before taking the driver’s seat. “Forty grand, at least, mebbe more. We’ll find out when we get home.”

Jerry gunned the engine and raced away from the pavilion, narrowly missing one of the festival staff who was nearby. He paid no attention to the man, who was forced to dive out of the way of the racing car to avoid being hit, as he sped across the field towards the makeshift exit from the festival grounds.

A/N This is the second draft of this chapter, I’ve made a few tweaks, cut some of the excess words and generally tightened things up. I hope it’s better, though there might still be a mistake or two to be picked up in editing

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