Rider by Peter J Merrigan Page B

He didn’t know what he was talking about. He thought—and then immediately discarded the idea—that Dawson had the wrong man. But it was Ryan—he was the reason Kane was tied up in a warehouse with endless possibilities of torture and death. He knew it even before he had seen Dawson . He knew it even as he was being strangled in his flat. He knew it all along.
    What had Ryan done? It was bad enough thinking he had been murdered because of drugs, but what else could he have been involved in?
    Kane thought back over the last couple of months, searching for any behaviour that placed Ryan at odds with normality.
    His mind flashed on the night he died, his limp body in Kane’s arms, the apology he breathed before death took him.
    Do you know—
    Kane rolled down onto his side, Ryan Cassidy shooting hoops with his emotions. He was dead and yet, somehow, he was more alive in Kane’s head than ever before.
    —where my package is?
    He pulled his knees up to his chest. Ryan had stolen something from Dawson . That much was obvious. But why?
    Do you know where my package is?
    The pain in his heart outweighed the physical pain he was feeling, his wrists torn and bleeding behind his back. No one would miss him.
    If it was still night, the night after Ryan’s funeral, Margaret Bernhard would be out of the country with David. There was no one else to care about him, no one else to even remember he existed. Ryan’s friends were exactly that: Ryan’s friends. He was the outgoing one. He was the sociable one. Kane knew some of them, sure, but he wouldn’t consider any of them friends. And none of them would come looking for him.
    The sound of the men’s voices in the next room was loud, their laughter defiant. For some time Kane listened to what they were saying, unable to make it out or take it in.
    And just before he drifted off into a fitful sleep, a mouse scurried across the floor in front of him and he didn’t even care.
    * * *
     
    He flinched against the light that spilled across his face as the door opened. A silhouette stood in the doorway, a broad man, a cigarette burning in one hand. Dawson . He took a step inside and was immediately followed by his two cronies, guns drawn and at the ready. Kane didn’t move.
    Dawson turned and flicked a switch on the wall. Rank after rank of overhead lights buzzed on. Kane saw a mouse scurry into a dark corner and disappear. As he had already suspected, the warehouse was practically empty, except for a stack of old wooden pallets along the far wall. It was perfect killing ground, he thought. God only knew how far from the rest of the world they actually were.
    The ground he was lying on was uneven and green with mould in patches. He tried to sit up. Pea-sized rodent droppings were inches from his head.
    ‘No need to get up on my account,’ Dawson said.
    Kane stayed where he was, his back arched inward, his chin on his chest. ‘I don’t know anything,’ he said, his voice fractured, throat dry.
    Dawson nodded and sucked from his cigarette. He came and crouched beside him, his men remaining by the door, eyes ever vigilant, alert to possible threats. It was unnecessary—Kane was completely at their mercy and they all knew it.
    Kane blinked.
    ‘Ryan Cassidy,’ Dawson began. ‘You loved him?’
    Kane looked away from him.
    ‘He was a good man, yes?’ he continued. ‘Very resourceful. Except he didn’t know when to quit. So I made him quit. I have this…special power, you see. People tend to do the things I tell them to.’
    Kane turned back to him and glared straight in his eyes. ‘He can’t do anything now.’
    Dawson shrugged. ‘An unfortunate turn of events for you, I’d imagine. But, you see, I’m not concerned with the smaller things in life.’ He paused. Kane looked away again. Dawson inhaled deeply from his cigarette and flicked some ash on the concrete floor. He breathed the smoke out through his nose before he spoke again. ‘I asked you a question a short time