NAUGHTY BUT NICE?: an éclair to die for - Chapter 4

The day had started badly and seemed to be getting worse. It was early February and Lathom was in his shop. Business was quiet and he had been trying to fill in the empty hours by doing some research on an item he had just bought.
People often brought in items for identification or valuation. The sign above the door proclaimed him as an antique dealer specialising in antiquarian books, silver and militaria, and the item before him now was of the latter category. It was a short sword.

First thing that morning one of his fellow traders, Tony, who did house clearances had brought it in to see if he was interested. He wasn’t quite sure what it was but he made him an offer which had been rather too readily accepted. Leaving Lathom feeling that he had over paid.
It had obviously had a hard life, the end of the scabbard was missing, the blade slightly rusty, not particularily sharp, and long ago someone had painted the unusual guard black. Initially he thought it was a modified weapon, probably shortened from a larger one when the blade was broken. But the more he examined it the more he was convinced that it was original. What was it? Who used a short stubby sword? So far his best guest was that it was a naval cutlass. But which navy and how old was it?

The weather had been dreadful for the last week and the river in full flood. Now the forecast was for snow and high winds. He had been listening to the local news on his portable radio, while looking through his reference books with a torch, as the power had gone off unexpectedly. A call to the electricity help-line told him it was due to the snow and that they thought it would be off for a least three hours. Just as he was about to complain that there wasn’t any snow, he saw the first few flakes falling. He had already eaten lunch and as he hadn’t seen a customer all day decided to cut his losses and go home before the predicted heavy snow arrived.

Home promised a roaring log fire, some cold cuts of meat, cheese and a good port. Also electricity and internet access to continue his research. Later, he could continue writing his history of the light infantry or even open that special bottle of single malt the Philips’ had given him. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.
He stuck the closed sign in the shop window, picked up his reference books and cutlass.

The car was only parked a short way away, but by the time he reached it the snow was already falling heavily. Making his way out of town he followed the road west toward the welsh border. His cottage was just over it. He had owned it for a few years now, and had made some improvements, including re-wiring it himself, but it was still substantially as he had bought it, a small isolated cottage. Not so much a home, rather somewhere to house his collections.

He carried on driving along the A-road following a gritting lorry, the snow was falling heavily now and he was glad he had decided to come home early. Then turned right onto the B-road that led to his cottage, this had still not been gritted and the lack of many tyre tracks showed how quiet it was before the commuter headed back to their homes.
Lathom was thinking about the cutlass. It could never be considered beautiful, too short and functional. It wasn’t an elegant officer's sabre or a duelling rapier, it was a hacking weapon one step up from a hatchet or machete. Wherever it came from, however old it was, it had been used for close quarters fighting on board ship, where a long blade was a liability. No doubt it had an interesting and bloody history, a trait it shared with it’s new owner.

His thoughts turned to his cottage, or more importantly whether to open the malt first or wait until later. He had been quite touched when the Philips’ had given it to him. He wasn’t one for giving or receiving gifts as he had few friends.

They lived in the other small cottage on the main road a few hundred yards passed the entrance to his track. Although he had lived here a few years they hadn’t got to know him until recently, they like Lathom liked their privacy. He respected that. Then out of the blue they had asked his advice. They had inherited some furniture from an aunt in north wales, which was too large for their cottage. A local dealer had offered them little for it, as he said it had some damage to the french polish from damp and that there was little call for old dark furniture. Furniture wasn’t really his field, but he knew enough to know it was seriously under-valued. So, he put them in touch with a colleague, who had given them considerably more. From then on relations had been considerably more cordial. So much so that when they had brought the bottle over yesterday as a thank-you, he had volunteered to keep an eye on their cottage while they visited relatives this weekend.

He had been deep in thought and was about to drive passed the entrance to his track on his way to check the Philips’ cottage, when he saw the headlight of a car coming down the track. It was much to late for the post-man, and the track was a dead-end finishing at his cottage. Lathom slowed down and as he passed the entranced watched the car pull out onto the road behind him in his rear view mirror.

It was a large black 4x4, he recognised the number plate and the driver. How had they found him? He was sure it wasn’t a social call. Lathom indicated and pulled into the Philips’ drive. The car carried on , then pulled over and stopped in the lay-by a few hundred yards further on.

He sat in his car for a few moments. What could he do now? As far as he could see he had two options. Either drive off and lay low until they left. It would definitely be they, otherwise why was the driver waiting. But no doubt they would work out their frustrations by destroying his home. He couldn’t bear the thought of scum like that touching his things.But then he would have to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder awaiting their return. The next time he might not be so lucky. On the other hand, he could use the advantage of surprise to finish it now, tonight. He couldn’t let any of them leave alive.

He could assume that they would have come mob-handed as the younger brother wouldn’t risk it alone, after what had happened to his brother. He was sure it must be him, he would want revenge. How had they found him? He thought he had been so careful. Well, he would worry about that later, if he had a later .

There were probably four of them then, could be five, the car would hold five. But they were big men, wouldn’t want to crease their designer suits. He was sure they would think four was more than enough to deal with him. They would probably want it look like a burglary that went wrong. It wouldn’t be a straight execution. Probably want to beat him up or torture him to get their kicks. Then kill him , ransack or even burn down the cottage and his collections.

One in the car, so three left. The brother must have taken over the gang otherwise why risk this for revenge there was no profit in it. No doubt he wouldn’t be sitting outside in the snow, too important now. They would have broken in, and he was probably drinking his whiskey now. That left two, they’d need a look out to tell them when he turned into the track, so that the driver could follow him down the track and close the trap. Then the last one would either be in the cottage with his boss or hiding in his garage.He had recently fitted it with an electric door as part of his re-wiring, and the control was on the dashboard in front of him. Before he could plan he needed to see what he had with him that he could use. Lathom got out of the car, the snow was still falling heavily. If he had been a few minutes later arriving home he wouldn’t have seen the cars tracks and walked straight into their ambush.

In the boot he found a tool kit, spanners , black insulation tape,tow-rope and a tyre lever. Also a yellow reflective waistcoat (as recommended by the R.A.C. for road side emergencies)and a rather oily bobble hat.He had learned the hard way that a bald head gave little protection when working under his car.

He also had the cutlass.

People always thought that in a fight between a man with a gun and one with a knife or sword, the gun had the advantage. While this was true in most cases, the range or element of surprise could level the odds or even make the knife superior. However, he could hardly walk up to the driver with a sword without arousing suspicion.
It was the driver he needed to deal with first. Reducing the odds and cutting off their escape route.

Lathom left the cutlass in the car and toyed with the tyre-lever, it was about twelve inches long, (He didn’t do metric) with a tyre lever on one end and a large socket on the other, perfect. He put on the bobble hat and the reflective coat. The way to be invisible is to be very visible he thought. Who’d be alarmed by a fat man in a bobble hat, especially on a night like this.

Slipping the tyre lever up the right sleeve of his coat so that he cradled the socket in the palm of his gloved hand. He strode along the road to the stationary 4x4.