My Heart Belongs To You: A Psycho Thriller (19 page)

‘
What the hell you doing to that dog
,
Jumbo
?’
came a lone voice from the darkness near the house.

Hanson skirted the dog that was now spinning and yanking at the chain in
frenzy
, his jaws dripping saliva as it attempted to reach him.  The voice from the darkness was getting nearer
,
the footfalls telling him it was just one man.  Hanson melted back into the darkness
as the man approached
,
and
then
st
epped up silently behind him
as he
materialis
ed from the darkness
.  Placing a powerful arm around his
neck,
he held him easily in a
chokehold,
the shorter man’s feet skidding across the loose soil
and
his hands scrabbling behind him as he spluttered noisily.  As he fell into
unconsciousness,
Hanson let him slip to the grou
nd.  He quickly removed two
nylon ties and secured the man’s hands
and ankles so that the ties intertwined
,
making walking difficult when he came around. He would like to have tied the youth attached to the dog
,
but that was an option not open to him.
  Listening for a few seconds
,
he judged there was
no further immediate threat
,
so
he
moved
swiftly towards
the main house.  He knew there were more men from his earlier observation and he knew he would probably have to neutralise them before he could get to Boyce.  In
total,
he had counted six
,
including the overweight dog walker
,
and the guard now sleeping peacefully behind a tree.  All he had to do was find the other four while he still had the element of surprise.

The stone built main
farmhouse
was an impressive
two-stor
e
y
structure
,
topped with slate grey tiles and sporting new windows
,
which while in keeping with their Georgian appearance
,
were clearly UPVC replacements.  Surrounding it were five other smaller buildings
that
Hanson had studied earlier.  The largest of the group was clearly a stable
,
blocking
the wind
,
giving confirmation as it gusted occasionally to lift and deliver the soft snorting of horses within.  It seemed Boyce liked to play the country squire in between peddling drugs and pros
titution
,
thought Hanson.  He
discounted this building along with three others that had no windows or signs of light. 
A pair of timber garage doors giving its purpose away fronted one of the three
.  Two others looked like storage sheds
,
w
hich left the last one
holding Hanson’s
interest.  It was slightly smaller than the stable block
,
but bigger than the garage
.
Its
two large windows facing the main house
,
spilling light
onto the gravel driveway
backed
the theory
that at least one
,
or more
,
of the remaining four guards were inside.

Sliding quietly up to the building
,
he placed his back to the hard
stone
wall
and listened.  From within
,
he could hear a television set clearly tuned to a quiz show where questions were being asked
.
Several
male voices were offering answers from within, one or two were correct.  A quick snap glance through one of the windows flooded his brain with information that he correlated within a second or two.  Four men were seated at a square table in the centre of what looked like a
living
room.  A flat screen was fixed to the wall opposite the door.  The four men multi-tasked as they played cards and threw in the odd suggestions as the
quizmaster
churned out questions for cash to a hopeful contestant.

The door was slightly recessed into the thick
stone
walls,
so by stepping up close to it
,
he was hidden from view
of
anyone looking through either of the windows
,
even if they pressed their face up against the glass.  Closing his eyes
,
he breathed deeply two, three,
and four times.
His
brain gave him a brief flicker
, a
show of the sequence he was about to initiate by knocking on the retro style UPVC door.  One man would probably rise to answer his knock
,
the other three
,
he hoped
,
would take partial interest
,
their attention split between the door, the TV and the card game.  Hanson lifted a large hand
.
The
man answering the door would receive a fierce jab with the heel of his hand to the point of the nose.  It wou
ld almost certainly break,
drop
ping
the man to the floor
,
putting him beyond the need for Hanson’s attention for several seconds.  This would be all the time he would need to deal with the other three men.

He rapped
on
the door with three quick taps.

‘
Doors open
,
you pra
t
t
,
’
came an impatient voice from beyond.

‘
Yeah and leave that frigging dog outside
.
Damn
thing keeps farting
,
’
came another.  The resulting laughter faded as Hanson banged the door again.

‘
If that’s you pissing about Jumbo
,
I’m gonna insert my foot up your backside
,
’
warned a growling
accented voice
,
shaped
by a lifetime spent on the seedier streets of London.  The door o
pened
,
allowing
Hanson to
match the voice to a face
,
which
presently
held an ex
pression of
wide-eyed
shock.  Hanson
then stepped quickly forward
,
matching
the heel of his hand to that same face.  The muffled crack was the result
that
Hanson had planned.  A broken nose would bleed
freely;
eyes would water to the point of blurring vision
.
Man
one was out of commission for the time frame he needed to deal with the three gorillas that were slow in assimilating what had just taken place.

The man stumbling back with the smashed nose was broad
,
a little over six feet tall with a battle
-
scarred face that was like a road map of a life chosen on the dark side.  The blow took him over onto his backside and eventually ignited the three remaining men to jump to their feet
,
each chair skidding back over onto the parquet floor.  All three were in
shirtsleeves
, their jackets draped over the chair backs, which had allowed Hanson to confirm that they were not wearing guns.  First man to get enough brain cells to work in sync and operate his feet
,
lumbered towards him
,
a huge haymaking swing with a fist like a sledge hammer arcing down towards Hanson’s head.  Hanson timed it to perfection as he stepped in to the closing man
,
easily blocking the blow with a powerful forearm and snapping in a rock hard fist into the man’s open solar plexus.  The man let out an exaggerated gasp as he dropped to his knees grasping his chest as he tried to
get his lungs to
take a breath.

Man three was now coming around the table
,
screaming to give himself courage.  Hanson pulled the telescopic baton from his pocket, flicke
d it open and delivered four vi
c
i
ous swiping blows to the man who stopped in his tracks at the first strike that immediately opened a
six-inch
laceration to the left side of the man’s temple and cheek.  The final strike to the man’s right knee sent him to the floor writhing in agony.

The whole sequence from the moment he entered the room had taken less than seven seconds.  Man four, the smallest of the group, simply stared in wide
-
eyed disbelief at the carnage that had just taken place.  These were men he had seen tackle three or four opponents each
.
One
was an ex
-
cage fighter
.
They
were seasoned fighters
,
yet one man had just taken them out as if they were
schoolboys
.

Hanson pointed the baton at the man, ‘
Where’s
Boyce?’

‘
Main house
,
’
he snapped immediately
,
his arm
jerking
up to point towards the large stone building.

Hanson pointed to a chair, ‘
Sit
!’

The man complied instantly.  ‘
Pl
ease don’t hit me
.’

Hanson pulled the man’s hands behind the chair and tied them with a nylon tie.  He then quickly and expertly tied the still writhing men at
their
wrist and ankles.  Moving to the door
,
he turned and gave the stunned group a rock hard stare as he brought a finger to his lips, then he was gone.  They had only met John Hanson two minutes before,
and
none of them wanted to renew the acquaintance.

Hanson was not surprised to find the large double doors of the main house open.  Boyce clearly felt safe her
e
inside the razor
-
topped boundary wall.  Stepping quickly through
,
he found himself in a large hall that smelt of wood and polish
.
To
the left
,
a broad timber stairway wound around giving access to the upper floor.  There were two closed doors to the right of the hall
.
Both
seemed to b
e original, battle scarred with shiny
brass knob handles, both
in harmony
with the
original
timber
panels that covered the walls,
panels
that had looked down on generations of
honest, decent
men and women
who had worked this farm
.
Now
they looked down on scum, low lives,
and filth
. Pushing random thoughts
aside,
he focused on the door
at the far end of the hallway
that held his interest. Slightly
ajar,
it allowed a fan shape of ligh
t to splash across the floor
.
It
also allowed
a muffled smattering of voices that Hanson quickly filtered down to two people, both men.  He moved quietly up to the door taking in the
heartbeat
of the house, listening for any other sounds that would indicate any other people in the house.  There was none.

The sounds within pointed to an office, the
whirr of a computer,
a printer.  His view through the crack of the door confirmed his thought, two men.  Both were away from the desk
,
so Hanson could not be sure which one was Boyce
.
He
had to know this as this was the ma
n who would need to be
coherent;
the other was going to take a nap.
  One of the men was a little taller than Hanson
was
,
and a lot broader.  Short sleeves indicated powerful arms that Hanson did not particularly want to feel around him.  The other man was a good four inches shorter than
he was,
with a physique that looked as if at one time
,
it might have been toned and muscular.  Now it spoke of a liking for fo
od and lack of exercise.  He
suspected this was Boyce
,
but he needed to be certain.  He stepped through the door into the room
with
a disarming smile on his face.  ‘Mr. Boyce?’ he asked
,
looking between the two men.