The Driver by Mark Dawson Page A

of our men ended up with both legs blown off after he stepped on an IED. I went to try and help stabilise him before we got him out. Didn’t notice the second IED.” He closed his hand into a fist and rapped it against his leg; it sounded a hollow, plastic knock. “Gets painful sometimes so that I can’t sleep. It was like it that night. Kept me awake so I thought I might as well make myself useful.”
    “I’m sorry,” Milton said.
    “No-one notices. That’s the beauty with prosthetics these days. You wouldn’t know unless you’re told. They’re not quite so inconspicuous if you have to wear one, though. But, you know, we’re getting better at it all the time. Another five years…” He spread his arms wide. “It’ll be good as new. You won’t even know it’s there.”
    “Nevertheless.”
    “I manage.”
    He tried to make a connection with him. “I served, too,” he said.
    “Iraq?”
    “Yes. Both times.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Just a squaddie the first time. Then special forces.”
    “SAS?”
    “That’s right.”
    “You boys are tough as hell. Came across a few of your colleagues.”
    “That right?”
    “Helped one of them out. Crashed his jeep. Ended up with a broken leg.”
    “You know what,” Milton said, smiling at him. “I will have that coffee.”
    Brady smiled. “Not a problem. Young man?”
    “No,” Trip said. “I’m fine.”
    Brady got up and went to the kitchen. There was a coffee machine on the countertop and Brady made two cups of black coffee. “You been to Afghanistan, too?” he asked.
    “Several times,” Milton replied.
    “What’s it like?”
    “It wouldn’t be on my bucket list, put it like that.”
    “Never been out there myself but that’s what I heard from the guys I know who have. Ragheads––you ask me, we leave them to get on with whatever it is they want to do to each other. One thing you can say about them, they know how to fight––right?”
    Milton ignored his distaste for the man. “They do.”
    “Gave the Russians a bloody nose when they tried to bring them in line, didn’t they? They’ll end up doing the exact same thing to us. If it was my decision, I’d get us out of there as soon as I could. We should never have gone in the first place.”
    Brady rambled on for a moment, his remarks scattered with casual racism. Milton nodded and made encouraging responses but he was hardly listening; he took the opportunity to scan the room more carefully: the stack of unpaid bills on the countertop; the newspaper, yellow highlighter all over a story about the Republican primary for the Presidential elections; a precarious stack of vinyl albums on the floor; the textbooks shoved haphazardly onto the shelves; framed photographs of two children and a woman Milton guessed must have been Brady’s wife. Nothing stood out. Nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly nothing that was a reason for suspicion.
    “Milk and sugar?”
    “No thanks. Black’s fine.”
    He passed him a mug of coffee and went back around to sit. “So––the girl.”
    Trip leaned forwards. “Madison,” he said.
    “That’s right.”
    “Did you speak to her?”
    “Not really. I went to the door and called out but she didn’t even pause. Kept going straight on.”
    “She didn’t come in?”
    “No, she didn’t. Like I said, she ran off.”
    “Why would Mr. Leonard tell me that you said she did come in?” Milton asked.
    “You’ll have to ask him that. Between us, Victor’s an old man. His faculties… well, let’s be charitable about it and say that they’re not what they once were.”
    “He’s lying?”
    “I’m not saying that. Perhaps he’s just mistaken. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
    “Right.”
    Brady spoke easily and credibly. If he was lying, he was good at it.
    The doctor sipped his coffee and rested the mug on the arm of the chair. “You’ve reported her missing?”
    “Of course,” Trip said tersely.
    “And?”
    “They were useless.”
    “Well,