They say curiosity killed the cat, well my curiosity is well and truly dead. Here I am standing in a multi storey car park looking at a patch of wall with an orange stain on. The whole place stinks of human waste, petrol fumes and damp .What brought me here you may well ask.
Having lived a comfortable life with my grandparents, I quickly learned not to ask about my real parents. All they ever said that was they were dead to them. Years passed and, as with all things, the grandparents passed away. Now I was the owner of the house and with sufficient money to keep me in comfort, I set about making the place my own.
My first job was to clear the garage of the rubbish they had discarded over the years, hiring a van. I worked through it all day, back and forwards to the tip. Finally reaching the rear, I found an old campaign chest belonging to my great grandfather. Tired, I dragged it into the house, took a bath and went to bed.
My mission started with that box. A letter within it, addressed to me, contained information about my parents. They didn’t know if my parents were alive or dead, they took me in when social services asked for their help. My father was always in trouble, he claiming my grandparents had disowned him years before I came to live with them.
One of the papers gave a last address for them in Birmingham. Curiosity got the better of me. I packed a bag and drove there that afternoon. What a mistake that was. Following a map led me to a dilapidated street. I knocked nervously on the door and an old woman answered. Her face when I asked about them snarled. She told me in no uncertain terms I wasn’t welcome and to go back to whichever rock I had come from. Beating a hasty retreat, I sat in the car wondering what next. An old shabby man emerged from the house and knocked on the car window; nervously I lowered it .
”You the bloke asking about the Dicksons? Bobby was a nasty piece of work. You don’t want to go asking around here, it could leave you in the hospital ward, know what I mean? Now bugger off and don’t come back.”
Now I really wanted to know. ”If anyone has any information I’m booked in the Hilton in the centre,” I told him.Spitting, the old man turned back and walked away.
Settling into the hotel following my evening meal, I Decided to stroll around the centre, never having been there before. Just yards from the front door a car pulled up alongside
”You the guy looking for the Dicksons? ”
I nodded, the rear door opened, an arm reached out and pulled me into the car. A scarf was tied around my face.
