Thompson’s Lost Plimsole

Part Thirteen

Ghosts Revisited

Mr McQueen tipped the rubbish out of a few old crates and piled them on top of each other in order to reach the delivery chute. The lid seemed to be stuck fast. He tried to shift the lid with an old coal shovel, but like the rotten chair, it also snapped. Mr McQueen stopped banging on the lid and wondered how he was ever going to get himself out of this predicament when he heard the sound of a car drawing up outside of the shop and the car doors slamming shut. Above him he could hear the shop door opening and the distinctive tinkling sound of the shop doorbell. He had to think quickly. Pulling the crates over to the hanging light bulb, he removed the lamp and plunged the cellar into darkness. He sensed that there were at least two individuals in the shop above him and they seemed to be taking their time checking up on him. This gave Mr McQueen a few moments to set a few traps. Whilst previously searching for something to aid his escape, he had noticed that there were a few gardening tools propped against the wall and some empty bottles, plus he had his rope binding which might come in handy. As expected, the door to the cellar opened and as the shop lights had not been put on in order to not draw any attention from passers-by, then the cellar would remain in darkness which would give Mr McQueen an advantage over his captors. Pressed into a small alcove behind some shelving, he could hear someone trying to operate the light switch. “The light’s not working, have you got your matches?”.  He recognised the voice; it was the monk with the broken nose. The second monk replied, “No, I’ve left them in the back room, anyway you can check on him while I fetch them”. Mr McQueen had placed empty bottles on a couple of the cellar steps, unluckily for Broken Nose, he found the first one! It acted like a roller skate and set him on his backside. “Ooh, my flaming back!” and on rising to his feet, he found the second bottle. Regaining his composure, he gingerly stepped forward in the dark and placed his foot on an upturned garden rake, the handle of which planted itself firmly onto his previously broken nose. Mr McQueen, having had a very genteel upbringing had never heard the sort of profanities that were now emanating from this supposed monk’s mouth. 

“What would the Abbot say if he could hear your disgusting language?”. “I’ll give you bloody Abbot when I get my hands on you!”.   Like a game of Blind Man’s Bluff, the monk flailed his arms around in the dark. “Over here, ya big lump”, teased Mr McQueen. The monk punched in the direction of the voice and smashed his fist into the brick wall. “Here I am”. The monk punched again in the direction of the voice, but this time his fist made contact with the sharp edge of the broken coal shovel. The monk screamed in pain. A twice broken nose, broken fingers on one hand, a minor back injury and now a huge gash on the other hand. Mr McQueen dropped to the floor and aimed the sole of his shoe straight at the monk’s ankle. There was a sickening snap, like a bunch of celery being pulled apart. The monk fell to the floor writhing in agony. At that moment the second monk appeared at the top of the stairs. “What’s all the racket, are you giving him a good thrashing?”. He struck a match. In the half-light he could make out the prostrate form of his companion. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the match burned out. He fumbled for another match to strike but as the match touched the sandpaper striker, the box was deftly kicked from his hand, sending the matches flying everywhere.

What happened next wasn’t something that Mr McQueen had prepared for. A gunshot rang out, the blast from which momentarily illuminated the cellar. Mr McQueen quickly dodged to one side as another bullet was discharged from the gun. A third shot caused our hero to cry out as the bullet skimmed his ear. This really was a life and death situation. “I’ve got a pocket full of bullets and all the time in the world. The only way that you’ll be leaving this cellar is as a corpse”. Mr McQueen took a deep breath and moved as stealthily as possible towards the stairs. His toe moved one of the bottles slightly and another shot was aimed in his direction. “It’ll soon be daylight and the others will be here”. Another movement and another shot. “Stop shooting you idiot, you’ve shot me in the arse!”. This wasn’t Broken Nose’s lucky day.

Frustrated, the second monk shouted out, “When I get my hands on you, you’ll wish you’d never been born, I’ll take my time with you, your family won’t recognise you”.  Mr McQueen could sense that the second monk was close to him, he reached out slowly and placed his hand on the free-standing storage unit. He took another deep breath and heaved the unit forward. The unit along with its loose contents fell heavily onto the gun toting monk, who in turn, fell heavily onto the bruised, broken and battered prostrated monk. Mr McQueen took this opportunity to relieve the pistol packing monk of his gun. He bound the monk’s wrists and relieved him of the door key. Before locking the cellar door behind him, he called out, “I’ll get you an ambulance”.  The reply from Broken Nose was unprintable.

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