The Caretaker's Son. Part 2

Chapter 10

Night settled over the Village. The streetlights buzzed, throwing long amber shadows across the pavement. James, Leo, Nina and Agent Winter were sitting having coffee when Leo paused, head tilting slightly.

“You hear that?” James said. Engines. More than one.

A blacked‑out people carrier stopped outside the caretaker's cottage, followed by two scooters. They were announcing themselves.

Leo muttered, “Marsh.”

  Doors opened in a smooth, Marsh stepped out first, flanked by four men, all muscle and baseball bats.

James, Leo and Agent Winter were now standing at the gate to the cottage.

“Evening, lads.” Marsh was the first to speak.

James didn’t move. “A bit far from the canal, aren’t you?”

Marsh spread his hands. “Thought I’d return the courtesy. You came to my place. I’m coming to yours.”

Leo shifted his weight. “You shouldn’t have.”

Marsh’s eyes glittered. “See, that’s the thing. You embarrassed me. In front of my own boys. And that… that needs correcting.”

James stepped forward just enough to show he wasn’t intimidated. “You’re in the centre of our Village. Cameras. Witnesses.” He moved his hands around to emphasise the fact.  “You sure this is where you want to make your point?”

Marsh’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his jaw tightened.

“Oh, I’m not here to start anything,” he said lightly. “I’m here to finish something.” He raised his baseball bat, slapping it into his other hand.

It was then that Agent Winter stepped forward. He coughed into his hand, “Excuse me, I would like to introduce myself.”

Marsh laughed. He turned to his entourage, “Who wants to knock the old man out?” A burst of laughter came from them.

“Before you do anything silly, I would like to.” Agent Winter flicked his fingers. A red dot appeared on the chest of one of Marsh’s men, then another, and within seconds, all seven men had red dots on their chests. Agent Winter did a circular movement on his own chest, then pointed at Marsh.  “You see,” He was now cleaning his glasses. “Do you remember at school when you had a bit of a scuffle with someone, and the words came out, my dad’s bigger than your dad, well, I’m the other dad,” He looked at Marsh directly, “You get my drift.”

Marsh looked at the red dot on his chest, put his hand in the air, “Come on, lads, time to go home.” They all got back in the van and, on the bikes, drove out of the Village the way they came in.  

As the engines disappeared into the night, James, Leo, and Agent Winter stood beneath streetlights as Villagers cheered. An SUV with eight black ops operatives trailed behind.

Chapter 11

The next morning, Leo woke up with a hangover. “Never again,” were his only words.

The door opened, and Agent Winter walked in looking immaculate as ever. “Morning, Leo, what time did you call it a night?”

Opening a cupboard looking for pain relief, he grunted. “I think I’ll ring in sick today.”

Agent Winter set the Samsung tablet on the counter. Next to a Passport and some Rupees. “You have until midday to sort your head out. After that, you'll be leaving for India—specifically, New Delhi.” Leo stood in stunned silence.

“But I...,” he started.

His father entered the room, appearing equally fatigued. “New Delhi, what is this regarding?”

“I’m leaving this afternoon,” Leo replied.

James asked, “Is this related to the case reported on the news last week?”

Agent Winter nodded and explained, “Yes. In brief, the situation involves a woman and a man from Bradford who had a child together. The woman was unwilling to raise the child within the man's religion, so he took the child to his family's home in New Delhi.”

“So, what is wanted of me?”

“All you have to do is find the child and bring her home.”

Agent Winter’s words hung in the air like a sentence. Leo felt the room tilt, not from fear, but from the sudden weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders.

James stepped closer, putting his hand on his son's shoulder. “Leo… this is international and potentially dangerous.”

Winter interjected, “Which is precisely why we need someone who can move quietly. Someone who isn’t on anyone’s radar.”

Leo swallowed hard. “And you think that’s me.”

“We know it’s you,” Winter replied. “You have language skills, cultural familiarity, and frankly, the temperament. You can adapt.”

James looked at his son with a mixture of pride and worry. “You don’t have to accept this.”

He looked at his dad, “Do you reckon he’s only asking me coz my mum was Indian?”

Agent Winter gave him a stern look, “As your dad says, you don’t have to do it.”

But Leo already knew he would. Something in him ticked, and he refused to let a child remain lost in a foreign city, caught between two families.

He exhaled slowly. “Tell me what you know.”

Winter tapped on the tablet. “Everything we have is on there. The child’s name is Asha. She’s five. Her father’s family is influential, well-connected, and extremely private.

They won’t hand her over willingly.”

Leo’s pulse quickened. “So, I’m walking into a fortress.”

“Not a fortress,” Winter corrected. “A family compound. Which is worse? Walls can be climbed. Families… not so easily.”

James rubbed his temples. “What about the mother?”

Winter hesitated. “She’s safe for now. We have an asset over there; he believes the father intends to take Asha out of India permanently. If that happens, we may never find her again.”

Leo picked up the tablet and studied the pictures of Asha. “When do I leave?”

Winter checked his watch. “Your flight is at sixteen hundred. A contact will meet you at Indira Gandhi International Airport. From there, you’ll be on your own.”

James stepped forward, gripping Leo’s shoulder. “Listen to me. You go in, you find the girl, and you come home. No heroics.”

Leo managed a faint smile. “I’ve never been the heroic type.”

Winter raised an eyebrow. “Let’s hope you’re wrong.”

Nine hours later, as the aeroplane began its descent above New Delhi’s vast expanse of twinkling lights, Leo sensed the city’s immense size, chaotic, lively, historic, and pulsating with energy. Hidden within that labyrinth was a scared child, confused about why her life had suddenly changed so drastically.

He tightened his seatbelt, staring out at the glowing horizon.

“Alright, Asha,” he murmured to himself. “Let’s bring you home.”

Leo spent his first twenty‑four hours in New Delhi moving like a shadow, quiet, deliberate, and invisible. Just another Backpacker, the smells, the constant noise from the hundreds, maybe thousands of brightly colored Tuk tuk’s. It didn’t take long for him to switch into the local language. Buying himself a Kurta set and some different trainers.

Winter’s contact, a wiry man named Rafi, had booked him into a cheap hotel near and gave him a single lead: the father’s family owned several properties across the city, but only one matched the information received.

A private residence in South Delhi. High walls. Minimal staff. No public records of visitors.

A perfect place to hide a child.

By dusk the following day, Leo found himself standing across the street from the address, having swapped his European clothes for Indian attire to better blend in with the crowds of pedestrians and street vendors. The scene triggered memories of when his family travelled to Jaipur after one of his mother's relatives had passed away. They stayed for three weeks. Leo hadn't joined the others at the River Ganges—his mum thought it would be too distressing for him, so he stayed at the family home with cousins he’d never met before. During that period, they went fishing and climbing. Leo was fascinated by Amber Fort—the lively colours, elephants, and countless monkeys. A rickshaw sped by, bringing him back to the reality of watching the house where Asha was kept.

After buying a Chi from a local vendor, he watched the house. It did not resemble a fortress; there were no security personnel or surveillance cameras present. Nevertheless, something about the property seemed amiss. The atmosphere was unusually quiet, especially in contrast to the neighbouring residence, which was lively with laughter and children playing.

He pretended to check his phone while studying the building’s façade. The gate was old iron, recently repainted. The windows were shuttered despite the heat. A faint glow leaked from the second floor; no movement could be seen.

Rafi’s voice echoed in his mind: They keep the girl upstairs. A nanny brings her food. No one else goes in or out.

Leo crossed the street, keeping his pace casual, sipping the last of his Chi. He walked past the gate, noting a new lock. Not something a typical Delhi household would bother with. He circled the block once, then twice, mapping exits, blind spots, and the rhythm of the neighbourhood. He counted the steps between the trees planted on the pavement, exactly twenty-five; it had no relevance, but he thought of how someone possibly thirty to forty years ago had planted them,

On his third pass, he noticed something he’d missed before. A small figure at an upstairs window. A child.

She pressed her hands to the glass, as if searching for someone. Her hair was tied in a loose braid, and even from the street, Leo could see the tension in her posture. She wasn’t playing. She was scared.

Leo’s breath caught.

He didn’t wave. Didn’t risk drawing attention. Instead, he slowed just enough to meet her eyes. For a heartbeat, she stared back, wide, dark, and frightened.

Then a shadow moved behind her. Asha vanished from the window.

Leo kept walking, pulse hammering. Someone else was in the room. Someone who wasn’t supposed to be there.

He turned the corner and ducked into a narrow alley, pulling out his phone. He typed a quick message to Rafi: She’s here. But she’s not alone.

Before he could hit send, a voice behind him said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Leo froze. “Err, just,” He was now speaking with an Indian accent. Something he only ever did with his Maa. “Sorry, I was just waiting for a friend.”

“Well, go and wait over there,” he pointed to the other side of the road.

Leo forced a sheepish smile, lowering his gaze the way locals often did when trying to avoid trouble. “Ji, ji… of course,” he murmured, slipping fully into the accent. His heart thudded against his ribs, but his face stayed slack, harmless.

The man watched him for a beat too long, measuring him, weighing him, before turning away and walking back toward the house. Leo didn’t move until the man disappeared behind the gate.

Only then did he exhale. He crossed the road as instructed, but instead of waiting, he ducked behind a parked rickshaw and crouched low. His fingers trembled as he finally hit send on the message to Rafi.

"I saw her. She’s scared. Someone else is inside."

A pause. Then:

Rafi: That house wasn’t supposed to be occupied today.

Leo’s stomach tightened. Then who was the man?

He peeked around the rickshaw. The street looked normal, vendors shouting, scooters weaving, a cow lazily blocking half the lane.

He waited until a delivery truck rumbled past, using the noise as cover to slip into the narrow lane running behind the property. The back wall was lower here, topped with broken glass cemented into the concrete. Old-school security. Effective, but not impossible.

He scanned the wall.

A section near the corner has been patched recently. The cement was lighter; the glass was uneven. Someone had repaired it in a hurry.

Leo stepped closer.

Footprints. Small ones. Bare. “A child.” He thought. Asha has been here.”

He crouched, touching the dusty ground. The prints led toward the wall… then stopped abruptly. As if someone had lifted her.

A rustle behind him made him spin.

A woman stood there, thin, sari faded, eyes sharp with fear. She pressed a finger on her lips.

“Rafi sent me”, she whispered.

Leo straightened slowly. “OK, do you know the girl inside?”

The woman nodded once. “They brought her two nights ago. She cries for her mother.”

Leo’s pulse quickened. “Who brought her?”

The woman hesitated, glancing toward the house. “Not the father. Not the family. Men I have never seen. They come at night. They do not speak Hindi.”

Leo felt the ground shift beneath him. “What language?”

She swallowed. “From the south, Kerala I think.”

A cold weight settled in his chest.

This wasn’t a custody dispute anymore. This was a kidnapping inside a kidnapping.

“Where is she now?” Leo asked.

The woman pointed to a small, rusted service door built into the back wall. “They keep her upstairs. But the man who watches her… he is not there now. He left in a hurry.”

Leo’s breath caught. “Why?”

The woman stepped closer, voice trembling. “He had a phone call, and he drove off.”

“Ok, I will go inside and get the girl. Do you have transport?”

He turned to the woman. “Yes, a car,”

Leo pressed himself against the wall “Wait here,” Leo’s mind raced.

Asha was inside. Terrified. Alone.

And whatever was happening here… he was already in the middle of it.

He took one steady breath. Then he moved toward the service door. Because he wasn’t leaving without her.

Leo carefully opened the service door and entered the building. The atmosphere was dense with dust and the scent of aged timber. He went ahead quietly along the constricted hallway, staying alert for any sounds of footsteps or voices.

Nothing.

He climbed the back staircase, each step slow and deliberate. At the top, a thin strip of light glowed beneath the door. He pressed his ear to it. A child’s soft sob. “Asha.” He thought. He pushed the door open. She sat on a thin mattress, knees pulled to her chest, eyes red. When she saw him, she froze.

“It’s okay,” Leo whispered, switching to English. “Your mother sent me.”

Her breath hitched. “Maa?”

He nodded. “I’m taking you to her.”

She ran to him without hesitation, arms wrapping around his neck. He lifted her gently, but before he could turn.

A car screeched outside. Then another. The man had returned with others.

Leo’s pulse spiked. “We must go. Now.”

He carried Asha down the back stairs, slipping out through the service door. The woman was waiting beside an old white hatchback, on the side was the name of a Taxi business, with the engine running, her hands trembling on the wheel.

“Get in!” She hissed.

Leo climbed into the back seat with Asha, pulling her close. The woman slammed the accelerator, and the car lurched forward just as the first black SUV rounded the corner.

“They’ve seen us,” Leo muttered.

The woman didn’t answer; she was too focused on the road, weaving through traffic with surprising skill. Behind them, the SUV surged forward, engines roaring.

Asha buried her face in Leo’s chest. “Are they going to take me?”

“Not today,” he said, tightening his hold.

The chase tore through the narrow streets of South Delhi, rickshaws scattering, vendors shouting, horns blaring. The woman took a sharp left, then another, trying to lose them in the maze of lanes.

But the SUVs were faster.

“Head for the expressway!” Leo called. “Airport road!”

She nodded and swung onto a wider street. The car jolted as the SUV clipped on their rear bumper.

Leo looked back. Three men inside. Hard faces.

“Faster!” he urged.

The woman pushed the car to its limit. The airport signs appeared ahead, blue, glowing, and a promise of escape.

But the SUV was closing in. Leo spotted a construction zone up ahead: barriers, cones, a narrow gap. “Go through there!”

“It’s too tight!” She screamed over her shoulder.

“You can make it!”

She gritted her teeth and aimed for the gap. The hatchback squeezed through with centimetres to spare. The SUV tried to follow and slammed into a concrete barrier, flipping onto its side.

They burst onto the airport approach road, the terminal rising like a silver fortress.

“Drop us at Departures!” Leo said. “Then go. Don’t look back.”

The woman nodded, tears in her eyes. “Take care of her.”

She screeched to a stop at the curb. Leo grabbed Asha’s hand and ran inside, blending into the crowd.

Leo ducked behind a column, heart pounding, not knowing if they were being followed. “Asha, listen to me. We’re going to walk calmly. Hold my hand tight.”

She nodded bravely.

They moved through the terminal, weaving between travellers. Leo spotted a security checkpoint and headed straight for it.

The SUV men burst through the doors, covered in dust.

Leo lifted Asha into his arms and back in Hindi he shouted, “Security! Help! They’re trying to take my daughter!”

The nearest guard reacted instantly, stepping between them and the approaching men. More guards converged, hands on batons.

The men hesitated, just long enough.

Leo slipped past the checkpoint with Asha, protected now by a wall of uniformed officers. The men were detained.

Asha clung to him, trembling. “Are we safe?”

He kissed the top of her head. “Yes. You’re safe now.” He sat her down while he took off his rucksack to retrieve the two Passports.

A voice behind him said, “Leo? He turned.

Agent Winter waited with the airport officials. “You barely made it,” he said, his face relaxing.

Leo finally breathed out. “Let’s take her home.”

Asha looked up at him, her small fingers gripping his hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Leo smiled. “Anytime.”

And together, they walked toward the gate. Agent Winter pointed his head left, “I’ve bumped us up, we go home in style.”

Leo, Asha and Agent Winter flew home in style. Leo slept most of it while Asha watched movies and played on TV games.

At Manchester Airport, a car was waiting on the runway to take Asha to her mother. Leo sat in the passenger seat of Winter’s Defender. He passed Leo a newspaper, the headline read “TEN FOUND DEAD AT A INDUSTRIAL UNIT” The story went into how the bodies were found, a drug farm and a  Meth lab. “Anything to do with you?” Leo asked.

Agent Winter pressed the volume button on the radio, and Nina Simone started to sing.

Chapter 11

Three hours later, the Defender stopped outside the School Cottage. “So, what next?” Leo asked.

“I’m stopping in a hotel tonight, and I need to see your father in the morning, so I'll see you tomorrow,"

Nina had been staying with her mum while Leo was away. James was tidying up after breakfast, and Leo remained asleep when Agent Winter entered the kitchen. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Winter addressed James and inquired, "Has Leo informed you about the assignment?"

“Just that he got the girl back, and you were coming round this morning to see me. What is it, something wrong, something with a Cold case?”

“No, I have a contract for you.”

“Don’t you mean me?” Leo insisted, standing in the doorway.

 “No, this is for James; you can have a rest.” Agent Winter didn’t look at Leo.

“Excuse me,” Leo said.

“I need a,” the Agent did the inverted commas with his fingers, “Handy Man for a few days.”

“Ok, the school is on Holiday for two weeks, what do you need?”

Agent Winter clapped his hands. “That will be fine.” Passing over a duffle bag he brought in with him, “Here, uniform, swipe card, with you being a handyman, it gives you access to all areas. Which will be needed for this case? I’m sure you can supply your own belt with some tools in?”

“Of course I can,” this piqued James’s interest, “Uniform? What's the Job?”

The Agent sat down at the dining room table, “This is not your usual case, but as you know, sometimes we take the jobs as they come in. Three weeks ago, the Royal Mail Sorting Office took on three new people, and since then, the complaints of missing packages and parcels have risen. So, it's either someone trying to point suspicion on the newbies or one of the newbies.” I need you to go in and find out.”

“Is this not for the Police to sort out,

Agent Winter shook his head before James even finished the sentence.

“If it were that simple, they’d already be involved,” he said, lowering his voice. “But we think the missing parcels aren’t random. They’re targeted.

James frowned. “So, you think it’s organised.”

“We don’t know it is.” Winter tapped the duffel bag. “And whoever’s behind it is smart enough to avoid CCTV. Royal Mail’s own security has asked us to look into it; they suspect something bigger, something they can’t handle quietly. So, they came to us.”

James leaned back, absorbing the weight of the assignment.

Winter continued, “Your cover as a maintenance contractor gets you everywhere—sorting bays, loading docks, staff rooms, even the restricted cages. You’ll blend in. No one questions a man with a toolbox.”

James nodded slowly. “And what exactly am I looking for?”

“Patterns. Behavior. Access routes. Anything that doesn’t fit.” Winter slid a small envelope across the table. “And if you find the leak, whether it’s one of the new hires or someone framing them, you shut it down. Cleanly.”

James exhaled, steady and controlled. “When do I start?”

“Tonight, Oh, I forgot to say you're working the night shift.”

Agent Winter got up and patted Leo on the shoulder, “Take this rest as a good thing, you didn’t stop over in New Delhi.”

Leo smiled, “Yeah, it was a bit full-on.”

The Agent left them to their day, James read the brief he was left, and Leo and Nina decided to go to the market.

Nine-thirty that evening, James was standing in the doorway with his Royal Mail maintenance uniform on, “See you in the morning” he said to Nina and Leo.

Reaching the Staff entrance, James swiped his card on the card reader, an audible sound could be heard, and his name appeared on the screen. “James,” an unrecognisable voice said.

He turned around to greet a balding man in his fifties wearing a faded jacket with leather pads on the elbows. And years of stress were showing on his face.

“Hi,” they shook hands.

“Hi, Dave France, Night Manager, everyone calls me Frenchy, I’ll show you to the maintenance storeroom.”

As they walked, James kept his eyes open, taking it all in.

“Make yourself a brew,” he pointed to a kettle plugged in, sitting on top of a fridge. “I’ll come and take you on a tour. Give me twenty minutes.”

“No Probs, James shut the door, looked around the room, then flicked on the Kettle. Sitting on a beat-up old sofa, he took out the paperwork Winters gave him. He read out loud, “Parcels and packets being reported missing, not from one section of the village but all over.” He noticed a map on the wall, so with a highlighter pen, he marked off all the addresses of the missing Items that Winter had supplied. Then he went on to read about the three new staff, one was a postman starting at five, one a sorter who worked the night shift, and the last was a cleaner whose shifts were alternating from earlies to afternoons.  

The door opened, and Frenchy walked in. “Are you ready for a tour?”

Putting his now-empty cup down, he answered, “Sure, lead the way.”

Frenchy passed him a Two-way radio, “Here, clip this on your belt; sometimes the phone signal in here is nonexistent.”  

James clipped in and followed him.

“This is where all the mail comes in. From the post boxes, post offices and firms, it gets sorted into districts. It’s Outward Primary Sorting. It is bagged off and then shipped out to Leeds main sorting office. They walked into another room, this is where in-ward mail is sorted” Frenchy turned to James, “You know the stuff that will be delivered tomorrow.”

“OK,” James noticed Bernie from number two, two six. And smiled. She returned the smile, then she went back to sorting mail.

Walking past Bernie to another room, she asked softly, “What are you doing here?”

James slowed down, “Covering for the chap who is on the sick, only here for a week, and it fits in as the school is closed for the holiday.”

She smiled again, “I have a break at four thirty if you want to get a coffee?”

Shaking his head and thinking, well, I have nothing else to do her answered, “Sure, sounds like a plan.”

Bernie carried on sorting the mail, and James hurried up to catch Frenchy, who was now in another room. This had three bi-folding doors that led to the delivery yard. “This is where the vans reverse in; they drop the mail on the right and the parcels on the left. The mail sacks get put into the small troughs and the parcels and packets into the large.”

“Seems like you have it sorted here,” James was trying to pull a joke, but it went over the manager's head. He then noticed a line of parcels up against a wall. “What’s happening over there?” he pointed to them.

“Oh, when the vans have unloaded, the drivers sort out their deliveries in here, placing the parcels down in delivery order. I’ll show you.” They walked over to the line. “How well do you know the village?”

“Lived here all my life, so quite well.”

“Look here, the driver will start at 12 Johnson St, 15 Newall Gardens, 9 the High St. Can you see a pattern in your head, to where he is going?”

James nodded. As they were walking back indoors, Frenchy's two-way radio beeped.  “Go for Frenchy,” he said.

“Hi, Boss, conveyor gone down on the OPS, do you have the new handyman with you?”

“That’s a Roger, I’ll bring him now.”

“OPS?” James asked.

“Outward Primary Sorting,”

James nodded, “Does this thing happen regularly?”

“Once a week, usually because they put too much through, trying to get an early break. It’ll be a fuse,”

James found the fuse box, flicked the trip switch back up, and he heard the machine's motor kick in. He went back to the OPS room and got a thumbs-up from one of the workers.

Now that Frenchy had gone to another part of the sorting office, he decided to have another look around unadded. He had noticed a few lightbulbs not working, so he grabbed a few from the store and a pair of step ladders and made himself busy while watching. Climbing down the ladder, he saw Berni walking towards him, “You ready for a brew?” She asked.

“Wow, is it that time already?”

“Time flies by when you're having fun,” she said with a smile.

Sitting at a table with Bernie but still watching, trying to read the people in the room, James asked, “How’s Danny?”

“He’s doing fine, he has a counsellor who comes to the house once a week, it’s expensive, but you will do anything for your children, won’t you?"

Taking a sip from his cup, “Yes, if anything happened to Leo, I wouldn't know what to do. Since his mother died, I...,”

Bernie put her hand on top of his, “It’s OK, I lost my husband, it’s been ten years now, and I still think he’s going to walk in.”

They sat in silence for a while. “So.” James said, “Would you like to go...,”

“Yes,” she said without letting him finish. “I’d like to go out with you at some point, maybe for a drink or just a walk along the canal.”

James was shocked. The radio on James’s belt beeped, “This is James, over”

“Hi James, the doors to the delivery yard are stuck. Can you bring a big hammer over?”

Berni smiled, “Sounds like a big job breaking out”

James stood up, “It's ok, I’ll wash your cup, see you later." Bernie took his cup and smiled.

“Thanks,” He walked to the storeroom, found a big hammer and walked to the bi-folding doors Frenchy had shown him earlier.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked the two men pulling on the doors.

“The wheel is knacked, it won't turn, we’ve reported it hundreds of times, but             Frenchy keeps saying he has no money in the budget, so we just hit it till it moves”

“How long are these gates left open?”

“Till tonight, about six.”

James glanced at the wheel—he figured it would be an easy fix, a ten-minute job. For now, though, he knocked the wheel out of its slot, and the gates swung open. Together, the three of them pushed the gates against the wall as two vans reversed inside. The men quickly unloaded sacks of parcels, tossing them across the floor. Once the vans moved to their parking spots, the workers began sorting the parcels into large troughs, each for one of four delivery areas. James knew he needed to keep a close eye on this part—these were the parcels that kept disappearing. He knelt with the broken wheel, removed the housing, and then took the wheel off.

Twenty minutes later, the floor was empty; the troughs were filled and divided into the four village areas, ready to be arranged for delivery.

Another van reversed into the yard. This was much larger; this held the mail that was going out today. As he was walking back indoors, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a cleaner sweeping the floor of the yard. It went from his mind as his radio beeped again.

Three more jobs came in; they were all small, the sort of thing the guys working on the machines could do, but he was there for a reason.

At seven a.m., his shift had ended, tapping his card on the reader. He walked out the door, into the sunlight, and took a deep breath. Bernie followed him out, “I love this time, the sun’s just coming up, most people are still in bed, it's just...,”

“Yes, I know, a lot different in the winter.” I’m an early bird.

They both smiled, waiting for the other to speak first, “About..., you know..., going for a drink or a meal or...” Bernie was now blushing.

“Friday ok for you?” James asked.

“Friday sounds great,” Bernie didn’t know whether to shake his hand, kiss him on the cheek, or just walk away. She kissed him on the cheek and said, “See you tonight.”

James’s mind flipped, “Tonight? Oh, yeah, tonight, we have to do it all again.”

At seven forty-five, James arrived home. The cottage was peaceful; he made coffee and toast, then sat in the garden listening to the birds chatting to each other as the sun crept over the village's rooftops.

A few hours later, Nina and Leo were up and out; they said they were going to Southport for the day, so James went to the school workshop and mended the wheel from the Royal Mail gate.  

After he had eaten lunch, James decided to take the fixed wheel and reattach it to the door. Tapping himself in, he met the day manager, explained who he was and what he had done. He was grateful and let James get on with replacing the wheel.

As he stood in the delivery yard, he spotted the cleaner once more. This time, he watched him more carefully, waited until the cleaner entered the office, and then inspected the bins. "Bingo," he murmured to himself in satisfaction.

With the wheel attached and the evidence in the bag, so to speak, he went home and telephoned Agent Winter.

Before James’s shift, Agent Winter stopped by the cottage. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Dead, sure. But we need to catch him in the act, and we need to search the house, Oh did you get that Camera I asked for?”

“Yes, here, the latest kit, it’s two centimetres by two, magnetic, built-in microphone, don’t forget to scan the QR code on the box to open up the APP on your phone, Oh, and I have a team on stand-by" Winter said, tapping on his phone.

That evening, James arrived early; he tapped his card against the reader to gain access to the sorting office, nodded to a few of the night staff, then went to the storeroom. After placing his sandwiches in the fridge, he made a brew and studied the map on the wall.  A knock on the door disturbed him. “Come in,” he shouted.

In walked Bernie, “Hi,”

“Hey, glad it's you, I was going to come looking for you. I need to tell you something, and I need your help.”

Bernie’s body language changed “Wooo, this sounds interesting.” She sat down on the battered sofa.

James sat beside her. She had been on his mind a lot during the day, he thought; if anything was going to happen romantically between him and Bernie, he had to be straight up with her from the start. He took a deep breath. “I'm here to catch a thief, for the last few weeks parcels and packets have gone missing, before that time period the amount was minimal, I have the how, and a when, I just need the Who.”

Looking shocked, “I can assure you it has nothing to do with me.”

“No...no, I’m not saying it has...,”

“Last week,” she cut him off, “I ordered a camera for Danny’s birthday, that never arrived, I had to put a claim in, and it's going to take weeks before I get the money back so I can afford to buy a new one.”

“Bernie, I never suspected you had anything to do with it. I need to know if there is a Rota anywhere, you know, so I can see who works what shifts and what days.”

“Yes, it's in the PHG’s cage.”

James shook his head, PHG?”

“Sorry, Post Man Higher Grade, supervisor. The cage next to the managers has a dry-wipe board on the wall, it has last week, and the next two-week shifts on.”

“Thank you. Is that door locked?”

“Yes, I have a key.” Putting her hand in her bag, she took out a key, “I stand in when needed.” She passed him the key. Then she moved some stray hair across her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. I need to get to work. See you later?”

Taking the key, he thanked her, saying, “Sure, Coffee in the canteen, it's a date.” Then he realised what he said.

Feeling uneasy, James stood up. Bernie followed and walked towards the door. They both smiled, Bernie walked off towards the Female changing rooms.

Retrieving the mini camera from his bag, fastening his utility belt around his middle, he walked to the PGH’s office. The sorting office was empty, apart from the presenter on Radio Two introducing the next track. Opening the door, he walked in, turned to the dry-wipe board and running his finger down the Job descriptions at the top, it started with Managers, then PGH’s, Post Man, Drivers, then at the bottom, Cleaners. Flicking back in his head to the brief from Agent Winter, he remembered the names. “Got Yer.”   

Closing the door, he walked off to the delivery yard, scanning the yard he found the bast place to put the mini-cam, placing the ladder in the right place and some ‘DO NOT ENTER’ tape around with the help of some bollards he found, he climbed up first he changed a bulb in the fitting, then he stuck the mini-cam to the wall. Taking out his phone, he tapped the mini-cam APP to see if the angle was right. It was.

At four‑thirty, he met Bernie in the canteen and, with a casual brush of his hand against hers, slipped the key back into her palm. She didn’t react, just gave the smallest nod, as if they’d rehearsed it.

“Everything okay?” She asked, stirring her tea.

“Perfect,” he said, though his stomach was tight with anticipation. “Tomorrow it will be all over.”

Bernie held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary. “Be careful.”

He wanted to say something reassuring, something charming, something that hinted at the way she’d been on his mind all day.

The next day.

An uneventful night soon passed. By six thirty, the yard was quiet again, the drivers had laid the parcels in delivery order, and now they were in the canteen having breakfast before loading their vans. James was in the storeroom watching the live feed from the mini‑cam.

And right on cue, the side door opened.

The cleaner shuffled out, hooded up, pushing the mop bucket with one hand and glancing around far too often for someone who was supposed to be invisible. James watched him on the mini‑cam feed as he moved straight to the parcels that had not been sorted into any delivery route. He took out a sticky label, peeled off the back and placed the new address over the original.  

James’s pulse doubled.

He watched him moving around the room, pushing his mop, as he did, he stuck stickers on four more parcels, James could see he was picking and choosing which parcels to re -address.

The door opened, and three drivers came into the delivery yard laughing and joking; one threw an empty paper cup into the bag hanging on the cleaner's mop bucket. In turn, they started to load their vans. The cleaner walked over to where the small packets were waiting to be taken inside. He picked two at random and tucked neatly into a canvas bag hidden beneath the mop cloths.

James whispered, “Got you.” Walking out of the storeroom, James called Agent Winter. He explained everything he saw and sent the footage to him.

James stepped out into the yard, keeping his pace steady, casual, as if he were just heading to the smoking shelter. Winter’s team appeared from the shadows at the same time, silent and coordinated.

The cleaner froze.

“Hi,” James said, voice calm but carrying authority he didn’t bother to hide anymore.

“Busy night?”

The cleaner bolted.

He didn’t get far. Two agents intercepted him before he reached the gate, pinning him gently but firmly against the wall. The canvas bag split open; several small packets tumbled across the concrete like guilty confessions.

Winter strode forward, hands in his coat pockets. “Well then,” he said, “looks like we’ve found our man.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think they belong to and Organized Crime gang, do you?”

Winter laughed, “No, but now we search the house.”

It was seven – thirty when James finally clocked out that morning. The adrenaline had faded, leaving him exhausted but buzzing with relief. Winter had promised to update him once the search team finished at the cleaner’s home. Apparently, the missing camera Bernie ordered was already confirmed among the recovered items.

As James stepped into the cool night air, he saw Bernie waiting by the staff entrance, arms folded, breath misting in the glow of the security lights.

“You did it,” she said softly.

“We did it,” he corrected.

She smiled, a real one this time, warm and unguarded. “Coffee tomorrow?”

He grinned. “It’s a date.”

This time, he didn’t regret saying it.

The next day, after a good sleep and a long shower, James walked down to Two, two, six. He knocked on the door and waited. “Ho, hi, wasn't expecting you,” Bernie said, drying her hands on a tea towel.

“Well, I, thought I would bring you this,” He passed over a cardboard box, with ‘CANON EOS – 2000 - SLR' printed on the side. “I think you can guess what’s inside?”

“Danny's camera, how did you…,”

“Don't worry about it,” He waved it off with his hand.

“I’ve just put the kettle on, would you like a drink?”

James smiled as he walked into number two, two, six.

Chapter 12

Agent Winter hadn’t set foot in the school cottage for over a week. With mid‑term over, James was back running the school; Leo had returned to the college, and Nina was once again opening the café each morning with her mother and grandmother. Life was sliding back into its familiar shape. Leo knew better than to get comfortable; his contract with the Agency was strictly when called, no questions asked.

Friday night was Chippy Night. The table was crowded with salt, vinegar, steam, and the easy rhythm of four people who’d earned a quiet evening. James, Bernie, Leo, and Nina were halfway through their food when the door burst open without warning.

Agent Winter walked in as the cottage belonged to him.

James didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “Do you ever knock?”

Winter ignored the question, reaching over and plucking a chip from Leo’s plate.

“This takes me back,” he said lightly. “Family around a table… talking, eating…”

“What do you want?” James snapped, cutting him off.

Winter’s smile vanished. “A job. For Leo. Sunday morning.” He pulled out his phone.

“Is the tablet on?”

Leo fetched it without a word.

Winter glanced at his screen, then gestured toward Bernie. “Am I clear to talk in front of her?”

“Yes,” James said, jaw tightening.

“I’ve sent a briefing. Short version: a car transporter will be parked in the lay‑by on the bypass. You’ll be dropping off a vehicle. While you’re there, I need you to place a tracker on each car on the transporter.” He set seven small discs on the table—cold metal, no bigger than a two‑pound coin.

Leo scanned the tablet, frowning. “How many cars?”

“Seven,” Winter said sharply. “The trackers are magnetic, already synced. It can be done, if you don’t panic.”

James leaned forward, his voice low. “And the other drivers?”

Winter hesitated—just long enough to confirm James’s worst instincts. “That’s not something you need to worry about.”

James stood, the chair legs scraping the floor. “If Leo’s involved, I do need to worry.”

Winter’s expressions hardened. “Fine. Rumour is that the cars are being moved for a private auction. High‑end. Rare. Some of them… may not have been obtained legally.”

Leo looked up slowly. “So, we’re tracking stolen cars.”

“Yes.”

“Can you trust the other drivers?”

Winter didn’t blink. “No.”

Leo received the coordinates for the vehicle pickup and asked his father to drop him off. They pulled outside McDonald’s on the roundabout just beyond the village. Following the instructions from the text message, Leo headed inside and ordered a decaf coffee with three sugars.

“Could you wait in your car in Bay Three, please, sir? I’ll be with you shortly,” the woman behind the counter said.

“Bay Three? I walked in,” he muttered, glancing back at her. She simply repeated the instructions with a pointed look.

“Oh—right. Bay Three.” He stepped outside.

Land Rover Defender 130 X occupied bay three. Leo entered the vehicle and, with time to spare, began researching the model's specifications.

“One hundred and twenty grand… bloody hell.”

A tap on the window made him jump. The same woman stood there. He opened the door, and she handed him a takeaway cup.

“Here’s the key. The address is already set in the Sat-nav. You have twenty minutes. Do not deviate.”

Inside the cup was the key fob. Leo started the engine, and the navigation system at once lit up with directions.

When he reached the lay-by, a transporter was already parked with one vehicle loaded. Waiting on the roadside were a Porsche, a Mercedes G-Class Woodland Edition, and a Mercedes AMG GT. Leo pulled up behind the AMG and approached the two men talking nearby.

“Alright,” he said.

“Who the hell are you?” the larger man demanded.

“Come on, Dozer,” the other replied. “He must be someone, or he wouldn’t be here. And look at that.” He nodded toward the Defender. “That’s got to be worth at least a hundred grand.”

“A hundred and twenty, actually,” Leo said. He offered his hand. “Danny.”

Dozer wandered off, leaving the slimmer man to step forward.

“Pavel this week,” he said. “Next week I might be Pablo. Or Pawel. Real name Paul—Paul Sims. I just like to mix it up. Don’t mind him; he can be a bit of a prick.”

“Dozer? Where’s that come from?” Leo asked.

“Because he’s the size of a bloody bulldozer,” Paul laughed. “Last job we did, he couldn’t fit into the car he was meant to take. Called me to drive across town and swap.”

“What was he trying to get into?”

“I had a Ford Ranger—five hundred miles on the clock. He had an Alfa Romeo Spider. I nearly wet myself. He couldn’t get his fat backside through the door.”

“Did he not think to drop the roof?”

Paul burst out laughing. “Hey, Dozer! You hear that?”

Two more cars arrived and parked, waiting for the transport driver. Their drivers joined Leo and Paul.

Danny wandered over to the Porsche. “911 GTE. Beautiful. Mind if I look inside?”

“Go ahead,” Paul said. “Just don’t touch anything unless you want your prints on it.”

Using his jacket sleeve, Leo opened the door, sat inside, and discreetly attached a tracker beneath the seat frame. He repeated the process on the other cars, placing trackers under wheel arches. The only one he couldn’t tag was the vehicle already loaded.

“How often do these jobs come up?” Leo asked. “You can probably guess this is your first time.”

Paul shrugged. “Depends. He pulled out an envelope. “Give me your phone.”

Leo handed over the burner Agent Winter had supplied.

Paul typed in his number. “One-bell me. I’ll add you to the group. And here—don’t spend it all at once.” He handed back the phone and the envelope.

“Thanks.”

“How are you getting back?” Paul asked.

“Was going to walk back to McDonald’s and call my girlfriend.”

“We’ll give you a lift.”

“You sure? Don’t want to put you out.”

“Pav, we don’t know him,” Dozer grumbled.

“He’s right,” Leo said. “You don’t know me. But someone trusted me with a hundred-and-twenty-grand car and a drop-off point..., I’ll walk.”

Before he could, a pink Range Rover Evoque slowed beside them.

“You ready, babe?” The driver called.

“That’s us,” Paul said. Dozer and Leo climbed into the back, Paul into the front. The ride to McDonald’s was quiet.

When Leo got out, Dozer flipped him off. “Laters.”

Inside, Leo ordered food and paid with one of the twenties from the envelope.

“Sorry, sir,” the teenage cashier said. “This is fake.”

“What?”

The lad held up the note and pointed to a photo on the wall. “Same serial number.”

“Oh… I… erm… must’ve got that from—” Leo gestured vaguely down the road. “Never mind.”

He paid with his own cash.

“Thanks. I’ll have to keep this one.”

“Sure.”

Outside, waiting for Nina, Leo checked the envelope. All ten £20 notes had identical serial numbers. The £10 notes were all different. He said nothing to Nina on the drive home.

            Agent Winter was waiting in the kitchen.

“How did it go?”

“The drop-off was fine. I only managed to tag six cars—one was already loaded. So, I hid a tracker in the Evoque belonging to Paul Sims’ girlfriend. Thought it might be useful.”

Winter punched the air. “This is why I picked you. Thinking on your feet.”

“One more thing.” Leo emptied the envelope onto the table. “All the twenties have the same serial number.”

Winter examined them. “This is good.”

“Not entirely. I tried to use one at McDonald’s. The cashier spotted it and kept it.”

“Which restaurant?”

“The roundabout on the A61.”

Winter dialled a number. “Tech Support, now.” He said without introducing himself. After a pause: “Winter here. I need all security footage from the last three hours at McDonald’s on the A61 wiped. Everything.”

He pocketed the notes. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. Paul sometimes goes by Pavel, Pablo, or Pawel. Six-foot, slim, shaved head, no visible tattoos. His girlfriend drives a pink Evoque. The other guy, Dozer—big, both arms covered in ink, Manc accent.”

“Good work, Leo. Using the money was a mistake, but the footage will be gone.”

“Why wipe it?”

“If the staff reports the fake note, the police will check the CCTV. Easier to remove it than deal with awkward questions later.”

“Oh—one more thing.” Leo handed over the burner phone. “Paul added me to a

WhatsApp group. Nine numbers, all with names.”

Winter studied the screen. “I’ll get Tech to dig into it. Anything else?”

Leo laughed. “No, that’s everything.”

Left alone in the kitchen, Leo played back the day’s events in his mind.

Chapter 13

Three days later, James was doing jobs around the school. Leo and Nina were sitting at the breakfast table, chilling. Agent Winter did, as usual, walk straight in as though he owned the place.

“Morning,”

Leo grunted, “Morning.” Nina pulled her dressing gown tight around her, stood up and walked back to the bedroom. “You could knock.”

The Agent made a ‘Pfft’ sound and waved Nina’s comment off with his hand, “I’ve had word back, we are going after the money.”

And when you mean we, you mean me?”

“Well, of course,” he did a mock look of surprise. Taking the tablet from the sideboard, he opened an app, “Here, this is what we have on your mate Pavel and Dozer, they work out of a backstreet hairdresser, his girlfriend Tracy runs the business. She’s not filed any tax returns for three years, claims she doesn’t earn enough.”

“What is it you want from me, if you already know the who and the where?”

Winter popped a coffee pod into the machine and placed a cup underneath. "I want you in, I want to find out where they are getting the notes from, if they are coming from abroad, or if they are making them. I want to know.”

“And how the hell do I do that without giving something up?”

Winter placed the money he took of him three days earlier on the table, “Here, WhatsApp him, tell him you found out they are fake and you want more, and your willing to work for it.” he took the cup and drank, “Ask him are there any more driving jobs, I don’t know, this is your job.”  

Leo took in a deep breath and thought. His mind ran through several scenarios, then he took the burner phone. Rather than ring, he sent a message. ‘Hey, Paul, Danny here, do you know of any work going, could do with a few quid?”  He pressed the send. “Now we wait.”

Winter emptied the cup and placed it in the sink. “Keep me informed.” He then walked out as quietly as he came in.

Two hours later, Leo’s phone pinged. The message read,

“Who’s this?”

Leo frowned. “Cheeky sod,” he muttered.

Nina reappeared from the bedroom, hair tied up, mug in hand. “What’s up?”

“Paul’s pretending he doesn’t know me.”

“Or he’s checking, you’re not the police,” she said, sitting opposite him. “Which, technically, you now are.”

Leo shot her a look. “Don’t.”

He typed back: “Danny. From the car job last week. You said you’d keep me in mind, and what’s with the monopoly Money?”

The reply came quicker this time. “Alright. Maybe. Come by the shop later. 4 pm. Don’t be late.”

Leo exhaled slowly, then typed. “Send me the address.”

Nina reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Be careful.”

Before he could answer, the front door opened again without warning.

Winter walked in. He didn’t even look at them, just strode to the kettle, flicked it on, and said, “Well?”

Leo held up the phone. “Four o’clock. At the hairdresser’s.”

Winter nodded, pleased with himself. “Good. You’ll go in wired.”

Leo replied, “Absolutely not. No wires—they’ll be looking. That’s exactly what I’d do in their shoes.”

Winter paused, considering. “Fine. Then you watch and listen. Don’t commit to anything unless you must. And whatever you do, don’t take anything from them. Not money, not packages, not a cup of tea. Nothing.”

Nina raised an eyebrow. “A cup of tea?”

“You’d be surprised what people hide in teabags,” Winter said, deadpan.

Leo rubbed his face. “So, what’s the plan after I go in?”

Winter shrugged. “Depends on what they offer you. But if they’re running fake notes, they’ll want drivers, couriers, and people who don’t ask questions. Someone who won't be missed if the shit hits the fan, you fit the bill.”

“Thanks,” Leo muttered.

Winter ignored sarcasm. “I’ll be nearby. You won’t see me, but I’ll see you.”

Nina folded her arms. “That’s supposed to be reassuring?”

Winter gave her a thin smile. “It’s the best you’re getting.”

He finished making his tea, took a sip, grimaced, and set the mug down. “Four o’clock. Dress normally, jeans and a hoodie. Act normally. And for God’s sake, don’t try to be clever.”

Winter walked out again, leaving the mug behind.

Leo stared at the door long after it closed. He checked the time. 1:17pm.

In less than three hours, he’d be walking into a hairdresser’s that didn’t cut hair.

And he had no idea who—or what—would be waiting for him.

  Outside the Hairdresser’s – 3:58 pm

The shop looked closed.

The blinds were half‑down, the neon OPEN sign flickering like it couldn’t make up its mind, and the window display was a sun‑bleached mannequin’s head wearing a wig that had seen better decades.

Leo – now acting as Danny paused outside, hands in his pockets, heart thudding harder than he wanted to admit. He pushed the door.

A sound chimed, a cheerful, utterly out‑of‑place sound; it reminded him of a television program of a man working in an old greengrocer's shop.

Inside, the place smelled of cheap hairspray and damp carpet. A single strip of light buzzed overhead. The place hadn’t had customers in a long time. Just rows of cracked leather chairs and mirrors that hadn’t been cleaned since the last recession.

Then a voice from the back. “Lock the door.”

Danny turned. Pavel stood in the doorway to the staff room, tall, wiry, shaved head, eyes like someone who’d forgotten how to blink. He wore a North Face gilet with a hood. For some reason, the hood was up over his head.

Danny flicked the lock.

Pavel jerked his chin. “Back here.”

Danny followed him through the narrow corridor into a cramped break room. A kettle, a microwave, and a table covered in takeaway containers. And sitting in front of an old television, hunching over a game console, was Dozer.

Dozer looked up.

He was huge. Not gym‑huge, built‑like-a-fridge huge. His neck was that thick, you couldn’t see where his shoulders ended, and his head started, and a face that suggested he’d lost more fights than he’d won but enjoyed every single one.

He grinned when he saw Danny.

“Danny boy. Thought you’d done a runner.”

Danny forced a shrug. “Need to work. Well, need more money, and I heard you might have some.”

Pavel closed the door behind them. “Maybe.”

Dozer leaned back, chair creaking under him. “Depends on whether you’re stupid or loyal.” He placed the controller on the table, and the shoot-em-up game paused on the TV.

Danny kept his expression neutral. “I’m broke. And I need to get out of my dad's place.”

Pavel approached. "You asked about the notes."

“Yeah. Found out, the twenties were fake.”

Pavel’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you they were fake?”

Danny’s stomach tightened. He expected this.

“The guy in Mackie Ds. Said the numbers were wrong. I played dumb.”

Dozer snorted. “You are dumb.”

Pavel ignored him. “You didn’t tell anyone else?”

“No.”

A long silence. “Not even that girl of yours?”

“Not even her.”

“Good.”

Chapter 14

Danny nodded slowly. “So, what’s the job?”

Pavel tossed over a burner phone. “Tomorrow morning. Here at Seven a.m. You take a package to the warehouse on Westinghouse Road in Trafford Park. No stops. No calls. No detours.”

Dozer added, “And if anyone follows you, you don’t go to the drop point. You come back here.”

Pavel’s voice dropped. “You understand?”

Danny nodded. “Understood.”

Pavel clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Then you’re hired.”

Dozer opened the back door. “Go on. And Danny?”

Danny turned.

Dozer smiled, a slow, unsettling stretch of lips. “Don’t screw us.”

Danny stepped out into the alley, the cold air hitting him like a slap.

He waited until he was around the corner before pulling out his real phone.

A message to Winter. “I’m in. I’m doing a drop tomorrow morning, 19B Westinghouse Road, Trafford Park.” He hit the send.

Three seconds later, Winter replied. “Good. See you at the cottage.”

Danny pocketed the phone.

He sat up waiting, but Winter never arrived. That night, Leo barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Pavel’s stare, Dozer’s grin. By the time dawn crept through the curtains, he felt more tired than last night.

At 6:45 a.m., he pulled outside the hairdressers' in his battered grey Astra. The engine ticked as it cooled.

The shop door opened Pavel stepped out, wearing a bomber jacket and latex gloves. He carried a cardboard box, the size of a shoebox.

Dozer followed, yawning, two sausage rolls in one hand and a crowbar in the other. Danny tried not to think about why.

Pavel opened the passenger door and placed the box on the seat.

“Straight to Trafford Park,” he said. “Warehouse 19B. Westinghouse Road. You’ll see a roller shutter half‑open. Drive in. Leave the box on the table inside. Don’t talk to anyone unless they talk to you.”

Danny nodded. “Got it.”

Dozer leaned in the window. “Good luck, Danny boy. Try not to crash. Or die.” He gave out a sinister laugh.

Before Danny drove off, Pavel halted him and informed him of a change in the drop-off location; it is now Warehouse 35.

Westinghouse Road, Trafford Park – Warehouse 35

The industrial estate was a maze of identical units, all steel shutters and faded signage. Forklifts beeped in the distance. A cold wind whipped through the empty lanes.

Leo found No 35 tucked between a tyre distributor and a multidrop business, vans were zipping in and out of loading bays, and Hi-Viz jackets ran around like worker bees. The shutter to warehouse 35 was half‑open. Just like Pavel said. He drove inside.

The interior was dim, lit by a few flickering strip lights. Dust hung in the air. A long metal table stood in the centre of the space, empty except for a clipboard and a single cup.

Apart from the sound of a radio station coming through distant speakers, and the hum of his Astra’s engine, the building felt empty.

He picked up the box, stepped out, and placed it on the table.

A door at the far end of the warehouse clicked open.

Danny tensed.

A man stepped out.

Tall. Clean‑shaven. Wearing a high‑vis vest and holding a clipboard. He looked like any warehouse supervisor in the world, except for the eyes. Sharp. And assessing. He looked calm.

“Morning,” the man said. “You’re Danny?”

Danny nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“Good. Leave the box. You can go.”

Danny hesitated; he then saw he was carrying a shotgun. His stomach dropped.

“Something wrong?” He asked.

Danny forced a smile. “No. Just tired.”

He got into the car, shut the door, and drove out of the warehouse as calmly as he could.

But as he turned onto the main road, his phone buzzed.

A message from Winter. "What happened? I'm outside 19B?”

Danny stared at the screen, blood turning to ice. “They changed location, I going back to the shop.”

Back at the Hairdresser’s

Leo parked outside the shop, his pulse thudding. He’d barely stepped out of the Astra before the door flew open.

Pavel stood there. Furious. “Inside,” he snapped.

Danny walked in. Dozer was there, arms folded, jaw working like he was chewing gravel. The blinds were down. The bell above the door didn’t even get a chance to chime before Pavel kicked it shut.

Pavel rounded him. “You went to the drop.”

Danny froze. “What, yes?”

Pavel jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t lie. What have you done with the box.”

Danny’s stomach was twisted. “I did what you told me to do.”

Pavel slammed his hand against the counter, making a stack of magazines jump. “Are you sure? I’ve just got off the phone with....” He nearly said someone's name, “And they tell me the box is not there, and three of his men are dead. So, where the fuck is it?”

Leo kept his voice steady. “I didn’t know I put it on the table, a man came from an office at the back, he had a shotgun, so I got in the car and came back here.”

Dozer stepped forward. “Shotgun, you right?”

Danny’s mind raced. “Yes, I thought he worked for you. What was I supposed to think?” Danny’s blood ran cold.

Pavel moved fast, grabbing Leo by the collar and slamming him against the wall. He felt the jolt but no pain, but it was enough to make the message clear.

Dozer cracked his knuckles.

Danny shoved Pavel off him, anger flaring. “You hired me for a job; I did the job. So, what is this, some sort of shake down? I take a box with nothing in it. You say it was holding money, now I have to pay it back or work it off, well Fuck you.”

Dozer stepped in, chest to chest with Leo. “Watch your tone.”

Danny stood his ground. "Or what?"

Dozer swung first; a heavy, clumsy punch meant to intimidate more than hurt.

Danny ducked, instinct taking over, and Dozer’s fist smashed into the wall instead.

Pavel lunged, grabbing Danny’s arm, but he twisted free, sending Pavel stumbling into a salon chair that spun wildly.

Dozer came again, faster this time.

Danny sidestepped and shoved him, sending the big man crashing into a trolley of hair products. Bottles clattered across the floor.

Pavel recovered, breathing hard, eyes blazing. “Enough!” His voice dropped to a dangerous calm.

“You didn’t recognise him. Is that what you're telling us?”

Danny’s chest tightened. “I don’t. I swear.”

Pavel studied for a long, tense moment.

Dozer wiped dust off his shirt, glaring.

Pavel stepped closer, lowering his voice to something almost gentle, far more frightening than shouting.

“Danny… the man you saw. Describe him.”

Danny swallowed. “Tall. Clean‑shaven. High‑vis vest. He looked like a supervisor type.”

Pavel’s jaw tightened. Dozer stopped cracking his knuckles.

“That wasn’t a supervisor,” Pavel said. “The men at the Wearhouse are all dead.”

Danny blinked. “What? But.”

Pavel shook his head slowly. “The man you saw, he took the box; he was a professional.”

Danny stopped breathing. “So—”

“Someone from another firm sent him there to get the box; the three men working there were just collateral damage.”

Dozer muttered, “Inside job.”

Pavel ignored him. “Danny, listen carefully. That box was full of money, a lot of money, and I need it back.”

Danny’s pulse hammered. “Sorry, but you're not putting this on me?”

Pavel hesitated—just long enough to confirm Danny’s worst fear.

Danny backed up until his shoulders hit the cold metal shelving. The Hairdressers suddenly felt too small; the air was too thin.

“Pavel,” he said, forcing the words out through a throat that wanted to close. “I didn’t take anything. I didn’t even look in the box.”

“The problem is,” Pavel replied. “You were there. He let you go. And now people think you’re a part of it.”

Danny’s stomach dropped. “Why would people think that?”

“Because” Pavel said, stepping close, “professionals don’t leave witnesses unless they want something. He let you live.”

Dozer shifted his weight, the floorboards creaking under him. “Means he’ll come looking.”

Danny’s breath hitched. “For me?”

“Yes, for you,” Pavel said. “And for anyone who might lead him to you.”

Danny shook his head, panicking. “I don’t know anything. I swear.”

Pavel studied Danny. “That’s why you’re still useful,” he said. “You’re the only person who saw his face. The only thread we’ve got.”

Danny felt the room tilt again. “No. No, no, no. I’m not getting dragged into this.”

“You are already,” Pavel said softly. You were in that warehouse. You saw him. That makes you part of it whether you want to be or not.”

Danny’s pulse thudded in his ears. “What do you want from me?” His mind ticking on double time, he wanted to speak to Agent Winter.

Pavel finally smiled. “I want you to help me find him.”

Dozer cracked his knuckles again, “And fast. Before he finds you.”

Danny closed his eyes for a moment, just long enough to realise there was no way out that didn’t involve running—or fighting. When he opened them, Pavel was still watching him, waiting.

“Start from the beginning,” Pavel said. “Tell me everything you remember.”

Danny forced himself to breathe, to rewind the moment in his mind without falling apart. “He… he didn’t rush,” Danny said. “That’s the first thing. He walked out like he belonged there. Clipboard in one hand, and a shotgun in the other. He just kept watching me.”

Pavel nodded once. “Go on.”

“He had these… calm eyes. Like he was checking stock, then he asked..., yeah, he asked if I was Danny, I said yes.”

“Then what?” Dozer asked.

Danny swallowed, “He asked if something was wrong, I said yes, just tired.”

Pavel’s expression didn’t change, but something sharpened behind his eyes.

“Height?” He asked.

“Six‑two, maybe six‑three. Fit. Not bulky. Moved with confidence.”

“Accent?”

“Apart from asking my name and asking if I'm alright, he said nothing else.”

Pavel exchanged a glance with Dozer.

“Anything else?” Pavel asked.

Danny blinked. “Now what—”

“We make him come to us.”

Danny felt the blood drain from his face. “No. No, no, no. I’m not bait.”

“You’re not bait,” Pavel said calmly. He then raised his hand. “Danny. Listen. He took the box because that’s what he was paid to do. But he left you alive for a reason. That was his mistake.”

Dozer grinned. “We make noise. The right kind. Word gets out that Danny boy here knows something he shouldn’t.”

Pavel nodded. “He’ll come to shut you up. And when he does… We’ll be waiting.”

Danny stared at them, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

“You’re insane,” he whispered.

“Maybe,” Pavel said. “But it’s the only way to get the money back and find out who paid him. Plus,” he stopped and thought. “This is the only way to keep you alive.”

Danny closed his eyes. He wasn’t trapped because of Pavel. He was trapped because the hit man already knew his face. And Pavel’s plan was the only thing standing between him and a professional killer who didn’t leave loose ends..., twice.

Pavel’s phone buzzed on the counter, a sharp, mechanical rattle that made Danny jump. Pavel glanced at the screen; his expression changed.

“He’s on his way,” Pavel murmured. He looked at Dozer. “Take him to a safe house. Use the back door.”

“Wait,” Danny blurted out, his hand instinctively reaching for the burner phone in his pocket. He needed to signal Agent Winter. If he went to a secondary location now, he’d be off the grid and likely dead. “The shop… my car is out front. If I vanish now, it looks like I’ve bolted. If someone’s watching, he’ll know you’re onto him.”

Pavel paused, weighing the logic. “He’s right,” Dozer grunted. “If we spook the bird, he won't land.”

“Fine,” Pavel said, his finger an inch from Danny’s nose. “You stay in the salon. Dozer will be in the basement. I’ll be across the street. You act normally. Sweep the floors and drink your coffee. Faf about with those magazines, just wait.”

As they moved to their positions, Danny found a frantic second of privacy behind a partition. He typed a three-word text: SALON. AMBUSH. NOW. He hit send as he heard Dozer’s heavy footsteps going down into the basement.

The next hour was a slow-motion nightmare. Danny went through the motions, the smell of shampoo and hairspray cloying in his throat. Every time a car slowed down outside, his heart hit his ribs like a hammer.

Then, the bell above the door chimed.

It was the man in the high-vis vest from the warehouse. He had hold of a woman's arm, dressed in clothes that my grandmother would wear on my dad's side. “Sit,” He pushed her to a chair with a crash helmet-style hair dryer fixed to the top of it.

She didn't look like a killer, but she didn’t look like a customer of a back street saloon either.

“Danny,” He took out a handgun and pointed it at my head.

“Yeah?” Danny’s voice cracked.

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your eyes, the way you walk, there's something about you.”

“How’s your father, still alive...”

The basement door slammed open. Dozer jumped out. I heard the click of the trigger, then a woosh past my right ear. Time stopped for a minute, then I heard Dozer fall back down the stairs.

“What the F....,” I shouted. “You could have killed me,”

“If I wanted you dead, you would have died in the warehouse, Leo.”

“What, what are you talking about, my name's Danny”

The woman on the seat crossed her legs. The Hit Man pointed his gun at her, “Don’t”

She held up her hands in submission.

In the distance, car lights could be seen coming up the hill, several coming at speed.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know your father, I know Agent Winter, I know a lot about you.”

“Why are you here?”

“Sorry, Leo, it’s not my story to tell”

Leo’s body stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

The woman on the chair said, “Enough, you have said enough.”

“The kid needs to know,” 

In a split second, she was standing with a revolver in her hand, “I said enough”

The hit man fired two shots, she was pushed backwards onto the chair, the force breaking the arm that held up the dryer, it fell, covering her head.

Four black SUVs screeched to a halt, boxing in his car and the salon entrance. Armed figures in tactical gear stood outside the salon.

“Police! Drop the weapon!” A voice boomed out.

The hitman froze, “I can’t go to prison, Leo, pick up that gun.”

“I’m not a killer, and I want to know what you know”

“Winter, ask Winter.” Just as the Police broke down the door. He placed the barrel of the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. I fell to my knees, emptying my stomach over the tiled floor.

The silence that followed the gunshot was deafening, broken only by the mechanical hum of the air-con unit and the frantic shouts of the tactical team breaching through the door and the glass window.

"Hands! Show me your hands!”

Danny / Leo, a name that now felt like a lead weight in his chest, didn't move. He stared at the high-vis vest, now stained a deep, visceral crimson. The man who held the keys to his past was gone, his secrets splattered across the salon’s cheap floral wallpaper.

A pair of heavy tactical boots crunched on the broken glass. A hand gripped his shoulder.

"Secure the perimeter! Check the woman!" Agent Winter’s voice barked over the chaos. He knelt in the mess, forcing Leo to look at him. Winter’s face was a mask of cold professionalism, but his eyes were twitching. "Leo. Look at me. Have you been hit?"

"He called me Leo," He whispered, his voice sounding like it was coming from underwater. "He said you knew about my mother. About the crash."

Winter’s jaw tightened. He didn't deny it. He didn't even look surprised. "We need to get you out of here. Pavel’s been detained across the street, and Dozer... Dozer didn't make it."

"You let this happen," Leo said. The shock finally curdled into a sharp, jagged rage. He stood up, shaking off Winter's hand. He looked at the woman in the chair. The medic was pulling the plastic dryer hood off her head. She was pale; her grandmother-style cardigan was soaked through the two chest wounds, but her eyes were open.

She looked at Leo, a bloody smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "The file..." she wheezed, "under the lining... of the trunk..."

Before she could finish, her head lolled back.

"Save her!" Winter shouted, but he stayed rooted to the spot, watching Leo.

"What file, Winter?" Danny demanded, stepping toward the Agent. Outside, the blue and red lights strobed against the salon mirrors, creating a nauseating loop of motion.

"Why did a hitman choose to die rather than talk to you? And why did my mother have to die?"

Winter sighed, a sound of immense exhaustion. He reached into his tactical vest and pulled out a small, encrypted mobile device. "Because your mother wasn't a civilian, Leo. And neither was the man who just blew his brains out. They were part of a deep-cover program that ended the night of that 'accident.' I've spent fifteen years trying to keep you off their radar."

He pointed toward the SUVs parked outside. "The radar's just gone off. If you want to know what's really happening, we need to leave now."

Leo glanced at the blood on the floor tiles.

"Let’s check the car first," Leo said, his voice cold and even. "After that, you tell me everything, or I'm not getting into that SUV."

Winter gave a slow nod. "That's reasonable."

As they crossed the broken doorway, Leo kept his eyes from the salon behind them. Instead, he stared up at the hill where city lights shimmered.

To be continued....