Read Online The dark side of my soul by keith lawson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: keith lawson
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amazing how the human mind clutches at the faintest ray of hope. Maybe they weren’t coming. Perhaps this was some hideous and nasty prank. I imagined waiting here until eight o’clock and then when no one showed up returning home with all the money still intact and a big smile on my face. I could visualise Sandra’s smiling face and us both laughing at how stupid we had been.
That hope was soon dashed as I heard the sound of another vehicle coming along the road. This one was noisier, the engine rougher and it appeared to be slowing down. A few seconds later a large truck turned off the road and onto the track. It stopped at the far end with its front facing me, an ominous grey shape in the mist, its headlights shining through the fog like the eyes of an animal waiting to pounce and straightaway I knew that I had made the wrong decision, my way out was blocked, I was cut off. How stupid could I be? I wasn’t used to this kind of clandestine operation.
A deeper, denser mist descended on the forest making it difficult to pick out any detail of the vehicle. This was it, the time had come, the confrontation that I had been waiting for was about to unfold. My heartrate was increasing again and my mouth was dry but I tried to stay calm. The truck sat immobile, engine throbbing. No doors opened, no one got out. What were they waiting for? Perhaps it wasn’t the blackmailers, perhaps it was someone come to work in the woods and they were wondering what I was doing here. Then I realised that if it were the criminals they were probably checking, making sure I was alone.
A full minute went by without movement, a minute that seemed like an eternity. Did they want me to approach them? If so, they were going to be unlucky, I had formed a vague plan, not a very good plan it was true, but one that I had to stick with. They were going to have to come to me.
Another age passed and I never moved, determined to stand my ground. The long slow seconds dragged by until eventually the truck started rolling towards me. It came forward sluggishly through the mist, the headlights like watery eyes, its engine gurgling throatily, an old dirty grey pick-up, the kind I imagined travellers would use, which confirmed in my mind that it was the gypsies that I was about to face. They weren’t going to be young kids who I might have a chance of scaring off or someone I could easily intimidate.
As the truck drew closer I could make out the two people inside. They were both looking around, watching warily in case I was not alone. Thirty yards away they stopped, the engine still ticking over noisily. The occupants made no attempt to get out. Both studied the surrounding woodland, making certain we really were alone.
I waited, my heart thumping uncontrollably. More long excruciating seconds passed until at last the passenger opened his door and stepped down onto the gravelled surface. At that distance I could not make out any details of the face but he was tall and slim with an athletic physique. He wore blue jeans with a thick multi-coloured long sleeved shirt and no coat or hat. The cold conditions didn’t seem to bother him, as though he was used to working outside and once more I thought he might be a forest worker. He stood by the truck, cautious, looking around then he turned his gaze towards me and I knew this was no worker. This was one of the blackmailers.
A few seconds later the driver opened his door and got out, leaving the engine running. They were clearly expecting this not to take long, or perhaps the engine was left idling on purpose to cover the sound of my yells or screams when they attacked me.
The driver was shorter and stockier than his passenger and from this distance looked a little older. He was also wearing blue jeans but the top half of his torso was encased in a black leather bomber jacket, the type the world war two fighter pilots used to wear. He had no hat and was totally bald.
They came around from either side of the
That hope was soon dashed as I heard the sound of another vehicle coming along the road. This one was noisier, the engine rougher and it appeared to be slowing down. A few seconds later a large truck turned off the road and onto the track. It stopped at the far end with its front facing me, an ominous grey shape in the mist, its headlights shining through the fog like the eyes of an animal waiting to pounce and straightaway I knew that I had made the wrong decision, my way out was blocked, I was cut off. How stupid could I be? I wasn’t used to this kind of clandestine operation.
A deeper, denser mist descended on the forest making it difficult to pick out any detail of the vehicle. This was it, the time had come, the confrontation that I had been waiting for was about to unfold. My heartrate was increasing again and my mouth was dry but I tried to stay calm. The truck sat immobile, engine throbbing. No doors opened, no one got out. What were they waiting for? Perhaps it wasn’t the blackmailers, perhaps it was someone come to work in the woods and they were wondering what I was doing here. Then I realised that if it were the criminals they were probably checking, making sure I was alone.
A full minute went by without movement, a minute that seemed like an eternity. Did they want me to approach them? If so, they were going to be unlucky, I had formed a vague plan, not a very good plan it was true, but one that I had to stick with. They were going to have to come to me.
Another age passed and I never moved, determined to stand my ground. The long slow seconds dragged by until eventually the truck started rolling towards me. It came forward sluggishly through the mist, the headlights like watery eyes, its engine gurgling throatily, an old dirty grey pick-up, the kind I imagined travellers would use, which confirmed in my mind that it was the gypsies that I was about to face. They weren’t going to be young kids who I might have a chance of scaring off or someone I could easily intimidate.
As the truck drew closer I could make out the two people inside. They were both looking around, watching warily in case I was not alone. Thirty yards away they stopped, the engine still ticking over noisily. The occupants made no attempt to get out. Both studied the surrounding woodland, making certain we really were alone.
I waited, my heart thumping uncontrollably. More long excruciating seconds passed until at last the passenger opened his door and stepped down onto the gravelled surface. At that distance I could not make out any details of the face but he was tall and slim with an athletic physique. He wore blue jeans with a thick multi-coloured long sleeved shirt and no coat or hat. The cold conditions didn’t seem to bother him, as though he was used to working outside and once more I thought he might be a forest worker. He stood by the truck, cautious, looking around then he turned his gaze towards me and I knew this was no worker. This was one of the blackmailers.
A few seconds later the driver opened his door and got out, leaving the engine running. They were clearly expecting this not to take long, or perhaps the engine was left idling on purpose to cover the sound of my yells or screams when they attacked me.
The driver was shorter and stockier than his passenger and from this distance looked a little older. He was also wearing blue jeans but the top half of his torso was encased in a black leather bomber jacket, the type the world war two fighter pilots used to wear. He had no hat and was totally bald.
They came around from either side of the
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