Free A Man Alone by David Siddall

rechecking the locks on the door and pulling down the metal shutters of the tire bay. Whatever Doyle was doing, it was none of his business.
    The conversation between Doyle and Wood had been basic: be at the Stanley dock at six and April could go free. Him for her, it was that simple. Doyle spat out the window. He doubted it would be that simple.
    He checked his watch again. It was 5:40.
    Doyle lit a cigarette. He knew how these things went, had been present at plenty in the past and knew the rituals, the pretense of honor, the ultimate self-sacrifice, and the clean, unfussy execution of the victim. That’s the way it was when both sides knew the rules. Whether Barry Wood knew them too was another matter.
    5:45. Doyle flicked the cigarette stub out of the window. The idea of driving away had crossed his mind, but April’s desperate cry as Wood held the phone to her mouth before making his demands was imprinted in his head. He could as much abandon her as he could fly to the moon. Anger coursed through him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not now, not after so many years. Doyle closed his eyes and let his anger slide. He mustn’t lose it—not when he was so close.
    Doyle checked the glove compartment. The .38 was there. He was tempted, but slammed the door shut. No heroics. There was one chance. It relied on Barry Wood being there and doing as he promised.
    5:50. It was time. Wondering if he would get the chance to use them again, he placed the Fiesta’s keys behind the sunshade and got out of the car. He walked to the T junction and turned right. On his side of the road were a string of storehouses, tired pubs, and cafés offering all-day breakfasts. On the other, gated yards of pallets and machinery. Above a gray stone wall, the arms of a giant wind turbine turned lazy circles.
    The gates to the dock were locked. Doyle eased himself through a gap in the wire mesh. The outside world disappeared. His life, his being, the whole sum of his years had led to this one place and time. He looked at the water—black, viscous, seeming to pull him into its depths. The effect was disorientating and he looked away afraid of plunging into that unholy foulness never to emerge. He took a deep breath and took in his surroundings. The warehouse was longer than a football pitch and high as the water was deep. Once, ships from the empire came with their cargoes of tobacco to berth at its side. Now it was only the pigeons and rats that made use of the gray brick fortress. Doyle shivered. Above his head he saw a sign: TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. Doyle’s lip curled into a half smile. ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE would have been more appropriate. It was that kind of place.
    Steeling himself, he set off along a colonnaded walkway. It came as no surprise when, before he reached the halfway mark, they stepped from the building’s shadow. Barry Wood, Jay, and Stonehead Duggan. No one moved. Doyle stared at Wood, held his gaze and searched for a semblance of humanity behind his obsidian eyes. There was nothing there.
    “Where’s April?”
    Wood came alive. His body seemed to swell and he jabbed a finger. “Don’t you say nothing.” His eyes shone with glee as he appraised Doyle, a fly caught in his web. “This is my game and I make the rules.” He glanced at his watch and raised his brows as if he were surprised at Doyle showing. “At least you’re punctual.”
    Doyle clasped his hands before him like a man at prayer. It was best to say nothing. Wood paused, savoring the moment, eager to turn the screw and have his fun. But it could wait. He turned to his nephew and jerked his head in Doyle’s direction. Jay pulled a semi-automatic from his jacket pocket, darted forward.
    Jay trained the gun on him, pausing until Doyle held his arms out like a scarecrow. He patted him down and went through his pockets. Jay looked back at his Uncle and held up Doyle’s phone.
    “That it?”
    Jay nodded.
    Wood jerked a thumb over his