The Merchant's Coin PART 9 “Stewart, sit down before they see you!” Mrs. T tugged on his jacket. The policeman handed the dirty cloth over to the military man and placed the police drivers hat squarely on his head. Mrs. T yanked him down into the seat. “Sit down before you get us killed!” she snapped. Exchanging a glance with Mrs. T the large shadowy man in the military attire climbed into the driver’s seat of the blacked out Sedan. “You people will never learn,” he said. Wrapping his bowling ball like fist over the automatic gear stick and shifting it into drive. The journey was spent in silence as the man concentrated on the road. Occasionally taking a moment to make eye contact with Stewart from the rear-view mirror. He seemed to know exactly where he was heading; yet, he never broke the rules of the road to get there. “Where are you taking us?” asked Mrs. T. The man never answered. Glasgow’s city landscape disappeared from view after half an hour. It was replaced with green fields as far as the eye could see on one side and the occasional building on the other. Another hour passed the car turned off the main road. It seemed to be heading toward a large hanger building in the middle of a concrete square that curled into a long runway. On the other side, directly opposite the hanger Stewart made out a small office building with a single billboard sized window on one side and a set of double doors on the other. A man in similar military fatigues appeared outside the building as they approached from across the redundant airfield. Coming to a stop, the man outside opened the back passenger door for Mrs. T and Stewart. “Inside.” He pointed through the doors of the building. Mrs. T rested her arm around Stewart as they walked inside. The room was dusty with nothing more than two chairs and a desk. On the other side of the desk sat a man in a grey suit, with neatly cropped hair that grew greyer at the sides. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top. He stood up as Stewart and Mrs. Turnbell entered the room and offered a half smile. “Please, take a seat. My name is Mr. Moyer,” he said, sitting back down with a fountain pen in one hand. “What is going on? We don’t understand why we are-” Mrs. T was suddenly cut off. “Shhh!” the man behind the desk spat, sending them both against the back of their seats. Hitting the palm of his hand against the desk Moyer’s face grew redder. Stewart swallowed trying not to catch the man’s spit that flew across the desk. Moyer then paused and took a breath running a hand through his hair. His frown then changing into a practiced smile as he sat back in the wooden chair, “You must understand that I am here to ask the questions. Not you, so please,” he paused “let me do my job,” another pause. Moyer stared, waiting in anticipation that either might say something, “Ok, lets begin.” He said, leaning forward and pulling a pad of paper toward him. “Where is the coin?” Silence. Stewart felt his mouth drying up. “What coin?” he asked, cautiously. Moyer let out a long, exasperated sigh, “Don’t play silly with me. We know you intend to use it.” Mrs. T began to laugh. Stewart’s eyes grew wide. He shook his head and reached for her arm. Was she crazy? These guys are dangerous. Moyer tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “And what is so funny, my dear?” he asked. Mrs. T hung her head back, chuckling nervously. “This is so ridiculous! We have no idea what you’re talking about!” Moyer began to laugh with her and shook his index finger. “You are playing silly again. We witnessed you conspiring with him in the Square.” “With who?” Stewart said. Moyer gave Stewart one of those looks before answering. A look that said, don’t lie. “The Merchant man.” “Merchant? If you are referring to the man in the trench coat, he took my father hostage! He was after a blueprint my father found in a bloody art gallery. We don’t know him.” The man looked to Stewart and Mrs. T as if viewing a rally in a tennis match. “A blueprint? Hmm, maybe you are telling the truth,” he shrugged, “but I cannot risk it. I need to process someone for this mess. We do not tolerate those who flip or intend too flip” he said, scribbling something down with his fountain pen as he waved his other hand. The two military men standing outside appeared in the doorway to escort both the student and teacher outside.

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The Merchant's Coin PART 8 Stewart could hear the muffled voices of the police outside and wondered how he would explain his story. After all, the Art Director and the attacker needed a motive. Which was to get the blueprint and find the location of a painting, Stewart guessed. “I can’t believe your father just left us here,” said Mrs. T, bumping her head slightly as the van jolted to a start. “Well,” said Stewart, trying to think of something to say. “You don’t want the bad guys to get their hands on it.” “I don’t want to go to jail for the rest of my #life either, Stewart.” “Once Dad explains his side of the story, everything will be fine. It’s three words against one, they’re never going to believe the Director… whow!” The police van slammed on the breaks sending Stewart and Mrs. T sailing into wall of the driver’s compartment. “What the hell..." “Watch where you’re going out there!” Mrs. T yelled, banging her fist against the wall of the driver’s compartment. Four suppressed noises went off in quick succession, fwip fwip… fwip fwip. They resembled a cat sneezing. Putting his ear to the cold metal Stewart could hear the driver’s side door opening. “Something’s wrong.” Stewart whispered. His heart started beating hard as he followed the sounds of footsteps until they stopped at the back of the van. Both Stewart and Mrs. T pressed their backs against the cold metal. Bracing themselves for whatever was on the other side of the door. A metallic click came from the door lock and they were flung open. Light from outside flooded into the blackness of the van. Stewart narrowed his dark accustomed eyes trying to focus. A large figure climbed inside and grabbed Mrs. T by the hair. “Let her go!” Stewart shouted, trying to pull the man off but he was too strong. The man’s vice like grip crushed Stewart’s bicep muscle against the bone as he was dragged out kicking. The figure walked them both over to a blacked out Sedan that blocked the road in front of the police van. Pushing them urgently into the back seats. Stewart looked around to get his bearings; but all he could see was the side of two buildings. They must be up a side road just off George Square. A route the police regularly used for short cuts to the station. Twisting around in the cream leather seats, Stewart looked out the rear window. The shadowy figure was a man with a muscular build. Clad in black, with military webbing and a silenced pistol strapped to his right hip. The man wore a small yellow circle with a black line straight through the centre on his left cuff. “What are they doing?” Mrs. T said, her voice shaking as she glanced over her shoulder. The man was pulling the limp body of the police driver from the van. Dragging him across the pavement before throwing him in the trunk. Stewart could only stare as he felt the back suspension go down slightly from the weight of the body. “Stewart,” Mrs. T said, trying to encourage him to sit back down in the car seat, when a second man appeared. A policeman! Stewart’s shoulders sank with relief. Then he noticed it. The policeman was an exact lookalike of the dead police driver in the trunk. Same features, same lanky build, same birthmark. Stewarts jaw dropped. He couldn’t look away as the policeman climbed into the van and began wiping up traces of blood from the dashboard.

The Merchant's Coin PART 7 “Dad!” Stewart yelled catching up with Mrs. T and his father. “We’re all over the news. The police think we attacked the Director and stole the painting.” “What painting?” said David. “Yeah… your son stole a painting. It’s in the SUV. There was scribble on the bottom of the Blueprint. Your son thought it might be important,” said Mrs. T. “So you stole it?!” David peered at him. “We couldn’t let the Art Director have it, could we?” Stewart said, looking over his shoulder for the policeman. All Stewart noticed was the luminous yellow jacket and the black and white band around the policeman’s hat in the crowd, which was heading right in their direction “We need to go now!” Mrs. Turnbell turned away from the SUV and spotted the policeman. Propping her hands on her hips she shook her head, “No way, this ends here. We will turn ourselves in and just explain what happened. Right David?” She glanced to her left but he wasn’t there. “David!” She turned around. David climbed into the driver’s seat of the SUV. “David!” Mrs T yelled running to the SUV. Pulling on his seatbelt buckle David slammed the driver’s side door. The window hummed as it lowered. “I’ll take the painting somewhere safe,” he said hitting the floor-mounted ignition as the SUV shook to #life. “What about us?!” Mrs. T leaned toward the open window. “If we all leave it will only escalate things. I’ll meet you at the police station. Stewart’s right, we can’t let the Art Director get the painting, or that other man,” he said pulling out of George Square. The SUV accelerated away into the traffic and disappearing around the first corner. Stewart and Mrs. T stood in the drizzle. They both turned around as the policeman approached. He had one hand on his baton as if expecting trouble. Directly behind the constable on the other side of the square, a police van appeared. Mrs. Turnbell folded her arms, her suit jacket creasing from the rain. “Don’t say anything, Stewart.” “I’m placing you under arrest for theft, vandalism and assault. Will you come quietly or will I have to restrain you both?” the approaching officer said as the tip of his hat dripped a thin film of rainwater across his chin. They both said nothing. “Good. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to represent you. You can choose to exercise these rights at anytime. Understood?” He asked, not bothering to wait for an answer. He grabbed them both by the arms. Escorting them into the back of the police van that pulled over at the curb behind them. The police driver jumped out. He was a tall and lanky with a birthmark on his left temple. He began confiscating their cell phones, wallets and other personal affects before throwing them inside the back of the van. The door then slammed leaving Stewart and Mrs. T in the enfolding darkness.

The Merchant' Coin PART 6 Mrs. T parked up at the kerb. “Let’s get this over with then,” Stewart said, popping open the car door to climb out. “Wait,” said Mrs. T, wriggling about in the drivers seat searching for her high-heels. “C’mon, Mrs. T.” Snatching them from the back seat, she quickly slipped them on, walking around the bonnet to meet Stewart. The man in the blue trench coat had already spotted them from the reaction on his Stewart's dad’s face. Stewart and Mrs. T walked across the Square. A jazz band played endlessly in the background. The attacker stood in silence. Stewart felt the man’s piercing blue eyes studying him as they approached. He looked younger than Stewart expected, in his mid twenty’s perhaps. His eyes however, looked older and more experienced than they should for a man of his age. He felt the blood pumping in his veins as he approached. Stewart stopped and his dad pulled them both into a quick embrace. “It’s good to see you both.” The man in the dark blue trench coat turned to face Stewart. “The Blueprint please, Stewart,” he said in a light European accent as he held out a black, leather-gloved hand. Stewart stared at him, narrowing his eyes. Mrs. Turnbell nudged Stewart with her elbow and with a sigh, Stewart handed it over. The man checked it before slipping the flimsy piece of paper inside the pocket of his trench coat. “You can have this back.” The man said, handing Professor Wilson back his cell phone. Mrs. Turnbell looked to the Professor. “Would you care to explain to your son and I what the hell is going on? Why did the Art Director attack us?” David Wilson raised his brow in surprise, “He really attacked you?” “Yeah. You warned me Dad, remember. How did you even know?” “I didn’t warn you, he did.” David motioned to the stranger in the blue trench coat, who was already walking away with the blueprint “…whoever he was, he attacked the Director at the gallery. I hid the Blueprint and tried to lead him away from it.” “Fat load of good that did,” muttered Mrs. T. David gave Mrs. Turnbell’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and took keys to the SUV. “C’mon, we’re getting soaked.” Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me, don’t cha! Stewart quickly patted himself down. Finding the cell phone in his left jacket pocket, the name Ashley flashed on the screen. “Ash, you’re not going to believe what happened-” “Stewart! What the hell is going on?” Mrs. Turnbell and his father began walking back to the SUV. “What do you mean?” Stewart said, meeting eyes with a policeman across the other side of the Square. “You’re all over the twelve o’clock news, Stewart. They’re saying you and Mrs. T attacked the Art Director and stole a painting! The Police have a manhunt out looking for you.” “What? That’s not how it happened.” Stewart felt his heart begin to race as the policeman began talking into his radio. “Oh god, gotta go! I’ll call you later. Love you,” he said, hanging up.