The Stealers by Charles Hall

nearby open fields; it coincided with the local bird-life beginning their dawn chorus. A noise from behind made him turn around. It was Ryan fidgeting and regaining consciousness. A draught swept lazily around the room; a draught that Crane had not previously been aware of. A harsh voice snapped from the shadows in a corner of the room, ‘Drop the iron bar.’
    Crane turned towards the voice to find a Glock semi-automatic handgun pointing at his chest. He let the iron bar drop to the floor. Bradley’s face was still in the shadows as he motioned Crane to a chair by the table. ‘Sit down.’
    Crane sat on a chair and rested his arm on an old oak dining table. Gun in one hand and without taking his eyes off of Crane, Bradley put his other hand in his pocket, produced a switchblade and cut through Ryan’s bonds before prodding him with his left foot and saying irritably, ‘You awake?’ Ryan responded with a weary groan.
    Ryan scrambled out of the armchair, staggered out of the room and headed for the bathroom. He walked towards the sink, stuck his head under the tap and turned it on.
    Bradley was quiet for a moment, looking hard at Crane. It was their first direct meeting. Crane stared back defiantly at the lithe sinewy man. They were of a similar height, but Crane was broader. He guessed Bradley was no weakling. His hollow cheeks emphasised a mean character; even when he smiled, and Crane guessed he was dealing with a very cruel man. Bradley continued smiling and broke the silence with, ‘You could have claimed on the insurance.’
    â€˜That car has sentimental value,’ Crane replied.
    â€˜That kind of sentiment can get you killed.’
    Crane, adept at thinking on his feet, became motivated when his eye caught a slight movement by the door that led to the hall and looking at Bradley said, ‘I’d put that gun down if I were you.’
    As Bradley scoffed, Crane quickly added, ‘I didn’t come alone; my old friend, Tony, by the door, has you covered.’
    The confident Bradley sneered, ‘You think I’d fall for that one?’
    The door creaked as it was pushed open wider and Crane, looking over Bradley’s shoulder said, ‘It’s about time you got here.’
    Bradley spun round and came face-to-face with the old lady. She mumbled irritably, ‘What time is it?’
    Crane was ready. In a flash, he sprung from the chair and lunged at the gun; knocking it from Bradley’s hand; sending it slithering across the hard surface of the lino. In the brief time it took Bradley to recover, Crane had scrabbled across the floor and scooped up the Glock. In a panic, Bradley quickly pushed the old lady out of the way, causing her to lose her balance. He made for the open door and into the hall and exited the way he had entered; by vaulting through an open sash window in an adjacent room. The old woman had inadvertently barred Crane’s pursuit. By the time he had gently set her to one side, Bradley had managed to sprint down the drive and speed off in the newly-acquired Ferrari; its high-pitched exhaust note resounded into the distance.
    Ryan was totally oblivious to everything that was happening. He turned off the tap in the cloakroom and began groping around for a towel.
    Crane walked back into the house and came face to face with the old lady. He quickly tucked the handgun out of sight into the waistband at the back of his trousers. She squinted and peered into his face. ‘Where’s Stanley?’ she demanded.
    Crane shrugged his shoulders.
    â€˜He’s always bringing people here and they stay for months,’ she moaned. ‘And they fills the barn up wiv their motors. Then he buggers off abroad somewhere for a few days. He should be taking care of the farm, he should. Ever since his dad died he hasn’t lifted a finger on the land. When you find him, tell him to keep the noise down, I needs me sleep.’
    The old woman