The next morning, Fee was slow to dress as a new pain flared up, causing her to wait until the agony subsided. Every joint felt stiff and heavy like a puppet made out of wet asbestos. Around 11.20 AM, she waved as Rick took a taxi back to the Tuxedo man's address; that nethermost part of town, wreathed in a miasma of dread. Almost half an hour passed with no sign of the car. The breeze was still and smelt like a classroom, all dead air and waiting. To cheer things up, Amy decided it would be a good time to confess to Fee that she was conceived in the same Cortina, with the help of back-to-back Iron Maiden songs. Fee turned to her mother with a mortified look on her face.

  "Why?" She said. "Why would you bring that up?"

  "I was trying to make it less awkward for you kids."

  "So you chose that of all things?"

  "If it helps, that was your father's choice of music. I wanted R.E.M."

  "No, it doesn't help."

  The conversation was interrupted by the blast of a 'La Cucaracha' horn.

  Amy grimaced. "Crap, I forgot about that."

  The pair of them greeted Rick in the driveway, as he peeled out of the car with a look of mild discomfort.

  “If anyone tells you old cars are better, they are liars.” He said, rubbing his arms.

  "How are you liking the retro feel?" Amy asked.

  "I'm suddenly grateful for power steering."

  "Amen to that."

  Fee took a toolbox and made her way over to the car.

  Freeing a key from a fifty-year-old lock was going to be a chore, even with the help of videos online.

  Ten minutes passed in slow motion, then twenty, until frustration bit, and she left the car, shaking her hands.

  “I need space, I need space.” She said. “I’m all cramped up.”

  “Be patient,” Amy said. “This is good practice in case you get kidnapped.”

  “What every daughter likes to hear from their Mother.”

  “You’ll thank me when the cuffs come on.”

  “What if they use cable ties?”

  Amy paused but had no answer.

  “You know what? I’m just going to make a cup o’ tea.”

  “Great answer, thanks!” Fee said, marching back to the car. More minutes passed, and still no luck. "Come hold this, " she told Rick, handing over a penlight and moving the tablet. After a nervous wait, the key was freed. "And done!"

  "Colour me impressed, Ms Green," Rick said.

  "Colour me flattered, Mr Pie."

  "I will colour you both in dog-shit, if you don't knock off the boner talk," Amy said, armed with a cup of tea. "Oh, nice job."

  Fee pulled out a car manual, a breakdown membership card and an old copy of an eighties novel about glamour and Hollywood excess.

  Rick flicked through the pages. “The rain-coloured rain, rained on the rainy street…it was raining. Genius writing. Nobel laureate.”

  “Thirty million in sales,” Amy said.

  “Were there thirty million head injuries?”

  Fee wiped her hand after finding a harmonica.

  “Eww. Nice." She said, echoing Amy's grimace.

  "He really thought he could make a living from that," Amy said..

  The second lucky dip brought a pair of old shades and a strip of photos from a booth. Pickford Green had been a tall, muscular man with dirty blond hair.

  "He's really rocking that Trustafarian look." Fee said.

  Amy sighed. "Nothing says nineties like frost-tips."

  "A photo-booth picture," Rick said. "Bit of cliché, isn't it?"

  "Hey, be nice. I can assure you, every couple has done it."

  Fee and Rick looked at each other.

  "I still have ours."

  Fee’s face tingled. "Yeah, that was a fun day."

  After rummaging around a bit more, she found a secret pocket within the top lining. She brought out a small green notebook bound in an elastic band. The majority of the writing was chicken scratch, with randomly placed equations and sketches of buildings.

  "What does this mean?" She asked.

  "I don't know," Amy said, with a cursory look. "He called it some kind of 'Formula for human greatness'. It became an obsession.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Speaking of obsession," Fee said. "What the ever-living fudge is this all about?"

  Fee showed them a chronological list of vehicles from film and television that went for at least five pages.

  Amy looked on in bewilderment. “What in God's name? He's even included the model and year!"

  "What the hell is Hardcastle and McCormick?" Rick said.

  "It merits an entry because of their vehicle, apparently."

  “This is lunacy," Amy said. "It's almost like he is trying to pad out a word count. Who was he trying to impress?"

  “Himself...but at sixteen?” Rick said, with a shrug.

  Confused, Amy headed toward the front door. "I've got laundry; you kids have fun down memory lane."

  "It's not our memory!"

  "Still counts."

  "Hey, can I keep this?" Fee asked.

  "It's your car, Bab. Go nuts."

  Amy disappeared into the bowels of the house, while Fee got to grips with whatever her Father's ramblings amounted to. All that she knew about Pickford Green was that he made a living from landscape gardening with a company called ‘Clipped, Raked, Untangled’

  Fee never saw any signs of mental illness in her father. She held back any temptation to change her opinion about him, but she could feel the tide shift.

  “Go nuts.” She said. "Poor choice of words.”

  "He could have just been really passionate, y'know, like football fans."

  "Football fans don't keep a nutter's diary."

  "Nor do they plaster their bedroom with the drawing of a tree."

  "Hey..." Fee said, but had nothing else. "Shut up, alright?"

  "I still think you're overreacting."

  "Over-reacting?" Fee said, holding up the book. "These aren't even words; they aren't even close to words. I mean, would you like to know the kinds of helicopters featured in the eighties?"

  "Like a pub quiz?"

  "It also says: Talk to Carl Cosa. Who is Carl Cosa?"

  "I guess we'll never know," Rick said.

  "According to this, a Greenhouse can be used to conceal a secret base."

  "That could work if the Greenhouse was a TARDIS."

  "Was that a pop culture reference?" Fee said, with a sly smile. Rick handed over a pound coin. She then looked closer at the sketch. “Hold up.”

  "What?"

  "I know this place.”

  ***

  Toward the back garden, the aptly named Greenhouse had fallen into disrepair after a time and became something of an eyesore. Shattered panes of glass carpeted the concrete base in hard, jagged shapes. The entire area had been fenced off, with warning signs all around. Fee cleared a path with a hard brush, pushing the larger shards into the corners. The space revealed a loose drainage grate, with something inside. Under the grate was a burnished metal access panel with a blank display. Below the display was a thick set of numerical keys and a large handle to the right; a shallow groove ran along the bottom length.

  "Well, that is something else." She said.

  Rick loomed over the panel.

  "Looks nice, but now what? You don't have an access code."

  Gripping the handle, Fee yelped in pain.

  "What the hell?" She said. "Damn thing attacked me!"

  She flapped out a handkerchief to stem the flow of crimson beads leaking from her fingers.

  "Look!" Rick said, pointing to the groove lined with fresh blood.

  "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

  "Look at the machine!"

  The blood disappeared into a tiny pinhole. This caused the display to light up in bright green digital.

  "No way! It must be DNA coded." Rick said. "Was there any warning in the book?"

  "Do you think I'd be clutching my hand if there were?"

  Fee gave him the notebook, and he flicked through the pages, checking for any numbers that could be used as a code.

  "It's all gibberish." Rick said, "Obviously, he is not going to have the entrance code to a secret base written next to whatever Starsky drove."

  “Ford Grand Torino," Amy said, appearing from behind. "Don't ask me how I know. I'm just awesome." She peered down at the access panel. "Huh. Your dad was really protective of his man-cave."

  "You knew all this time?" Fee said.

  "Of course," Amy said. "Like Rick says, it was coded to your father's DNA alone."

  "You could have at least bought a new Greenhouse."

  "Why bother? I mean, no one is going to poke around broken glass."

  "Me included."

  "You and your brother."

  "It’s all a bit pointless,” Rick said. “That machine or whatever looks to be broken."

  Fee rose to her feet.

  "Ehh, probably for the best. No-one wants to find a dungeon full of dead hookers."

  "Hey, have some respect," Amy said. "Besides, that would never have happened."

  "You know for sure?"

  "Let's just say...I know."

  An awkward pause fell between them.

  “Wow, mum," Fee said flatly. "We have to talk about boundaries on agreed conversation."

  Amy laughed. "I definitely picked up the wrong baby."

  "Don't say that! You'll freak me out."

  Rick dusted his hands. “Yeah, well. We can’t stand here all day.”

  “Obviously,” Amy said. “It’s up to you kids. Open or not, make a decision.”

  Fee looked at the screen, then back at Rick, who shrugged again.

  “Well, it’s going to bug me if I don’t.” She said. “So yeah, I want to see what it does.”

  Amy crouched down and tapped in 0-1-1-2-3-5-8.

  A dark square lit up green, indicating access approved.

  “Have at it.” She said.

  Fee gripped the handle. More blood spilled out in bright red threads, as she yanked it to a horizontal position.

  "Can I be the first to say, this is the stupidest kind of security system?"

  "Trust me, you're not the first," Amy said, handing her a tea towel.

  The panel slid away to the sound of clanking gears. Underneath, a gap opened up to a T-shaped lever nestled inside a cylindrical hole.

  Fee eyed it warily. "If this thing cuts me, I'm setting fire to the garden."

  "Fine by me," Amy said. "I told him swipe cards were better."

  Fee lifted the cylinder as far as it would go and turned the lever vertical, before plunging it back into the hole.

  "How did you know how to do that?" Rick asked.

  "I saw it in a movie."

  The sound of stone being dragged came from a nearby shed. She stood stock still, frozen with anticipation.

  "Why did that sound like a tomb being opened up?" Rick said.

  "You're really setting the mood here." Fee said.

  Crowding into the shed, they could see the floor had opened up to reveal a spiral staircase, descending into the pitch black.

  "Okaaay,” Rick said. “Who wants to be the first to go down spooky stairs into an abyss?"

  Amy was the first to move.

  "Come along, if it pleases you."