Dead of Winter (14 page)

‘Oh, Karl. I didn’t know.’ Naomi walked over and began
comfort
-hugging him. ‘Try not to let them bother you too much. I’m sure even Shakespeare got rejection letters.’

‘Please don’t compare me to that old plagiarising bastard. He stole more notes than the Northern Bank robbers. At least they had the decency to wear masks.’

‘Don’t let those silly publishers get you down,’ said Naomi, planting a kiss on his cheek. ‘You’ll prove them wrong, one day. Promise me you won’t let them get to you.’

‘I’ll try, my wee love, but it’s not easy being me.’ He stood and returned the kiss, while stuffing the letter hastily inside the pocket of the bathrobe.

‘Go for your shower, Karl. I’ll have something else for you to slip into, once you get back, and it’ll be a hell of a lot warmer than my bathrobe.’ Naomi grinned, giving him a playful slap on the arse.

‘Such a tease.’ Karl moved quickly for the shower, grasping the key so tightly it began cutting his skin.

S
arah Cohen stood silently at the grave of her three children, staring at the simple inscription on the tombstone:
Benjamin, Nora and Judith.

Always with you.

And the spirit shall return unto God, who gave it.

Fat snowflakes were falling heavily on Sarah’s uncovered hair and long black coat. She appeared immune to them, as if stuck in a moment, or in an unexplained mystery. Snow and ice encrusted her eyelashes, preventing any more tears. Her lips were quickly becoming chapped from the bitter cold.

Although early in the afternoon, the relentless snow was already creating a dull darkness over the area. The graveyard was quickly emptying, with the exception of an elderly woman two rows down, and a tall, well-made man directly across from her.
Both seemed deep in meditation.

Sarah lifted her head slightly, before glancing over at the man and woman, wondering if they also were weighted down with inconsolable sorrow?

The elderly woman – now finished – began trudging through mounds of swampy snow, making her way towards a parked car a small distance away.

Less than a minute later, she started the car and began
guiding
it slowly out towards the main entrance gate. Just as she was about to ease through the gates, the engine began spluttering, forcing the car to stall.

Sarah could clearly hear the ignition being sparked up, the ageing engine spluttering and wheezing. She hoped the woman wasn’t going to be stranded in the snow.

The snowfall was becoming noticeably heavier, with the winter wind increasing its fierceness. Sarah moved to go.

‘There’s always some comfort here,’ said a voice directly behind Sarah, startling her. ‘Perhaps not a lot, but some, once you find it.’

Sarah stared at the man. He looked like a preacher, garbed in sombre clothing. Features were difficult to decipher in the dull light, but his skin was pale like the snow, eyes the colour of dead coffee. They had a cold distance in them.

‘It took me a while to find you, Sarah.’

Surprised, Sarah said, ‘How…how do you know my name?’

‘Patience and time. Everything eventually finds its way home.’ He held out his hand. A tiny item rested in it. ‘Take it.’

‘Take it? Why?’

‘I created it especially for you.’

‘I…I don’t understand.’

‘There is no longer any need for understanding. Take it… please.’

She backed away, her eyes on the tiny offering, her hands pulled defensively aagainst her chest.

‘What am I supposed to do with it?’ she asked nervously.

‘Do? Keep it.’ He smiled. The smile looked borrowed. Like something he’d just bought in a pawnshop. ‘It will be yours to cherish forever.’

Sarah shivered before quickly glancing beyond his shoulders, towards the woman in the car. The vehicle was still wheezing with effort. Sarah thought about running towards it, but her feet seemed unable to move, as if glued to the snowy ground.

‘She can’t help you,’ he said, producing a bulbous gun with a long-nosed silencer attached. ‘Besides, if she tried, who would help her after you’re gone? This is just between us, Sarah.’

Sarah’s heart began beating furiously. Words were sticking in her throat.

‘I…I don’t understand. Why…why are you doing…this?’

‘Why? Because it’s necessary.

‘Is it money you’re after?’ She took a small purse from her coat pocket. ‘I don’t have much with me, but take it. I’ve some
jewellery
, also.’ She fumbled at her wrist, the watch her mother bought her all those years ago.

The car started with a low growl, before easing outwards. Sarah watched it disappear into an impenetrable haze of swirling snow, with only headlights holding off the weight of the flakes. In her mind she could still see the taillights of the car, long after it had gone. It made her feel terribly alone.

He reached and touched her shoulder.

Bizarrely, a comforting calmness began spreading throughout her body at his touch. She suddenly felt light. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

The shot hit her in the head and she flew back with a grunt, her breath swept away in the sharp, unholy wind of winter. Landing on her back, glazed eyes opened to the sky. Blood began
spreading
out under her, mingling with the pressed snow.

For a few seconds the killer closed his eyes, head bowed, lips moving in silent prayer. Then he gently placed the rejected offering in Sarah’s left hand, before leaving the cemetery to the dead.

K
arl shook snow from his overcoat and leather gloves while entering the all-night cafe on Great Victoria Street. The exterior of Debbie Does Dinners looked like something from a Charles Dickens’ novel, but inside served the best coffee and grub in Belfast.

He removed the overcoat and gloves before parking his bulk at a small table right beside the front window, and waited for service. It wasn’t long coming, in the form of a middle-aged
waitress
, notepad in hand.

‘Hello, lover boy. Haven’t seen your craggy mug in weeks. Where’ve you been hiding?’

‘Busy as sin, Janice. Any late breakfast?’

‘Breakfast? It’s eight o’clock at night. Have you been boozing?’

‘Nope. Just working my arse off. Now, what can you do me for? I’m starving, babe.’

‘That’s what you get for tying up with a gorgeous-looking girl, half your age. You missed your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with me.’

‘I know, and I’ve come to regret every second of it.’

‘Liar.’ Janice smiled. ‘How about an almost Ulster fry?’

‘Almost?’

‘Sausages, eggs, potato bread, fried tomatoes, and mushrooms. Sorry, but we’re all out of bacon and soda bread.’

‘Cancel the sausages, and shovel the rest in my gob. Don’t forget a big pot of coffee, you lovely thing.’

‘No sausages? What’s wrong with you?’

‘It’s a long story, and one that you wouldn’t want to hear. Besides, I’m working on a new, slim me.’

‘I like you the way you are. Something a woman can grab.’

‘You say the loveliest of things, you lovely thing.’

As soon as Janice left, Karl focused his attention on Great
Victoria
Street Station, directly across from the cafe. The place was screaming with people, despite the last train having pulled out of the station over an hour ago. Tourists were everywhere, mixing with late-night drinkers and Thursday night shoppers. Unfolded maps and brochures of Ireland were being scrutinised by the beleaguered foreign visitors. Tour guides were herding the
unfortunates
from buses just back from the Giant’s Causeway and other and ‘must-see’ scenic routes of monotonous, winding roads and sectarian towns painted in wonderful colours of the
rainbow
. Some of the tourists sported loud t-shirts depicting Donald Duck wearing a bulletproof vest, proclaiming:
Please don’t shoot. I’m only a tourist visiting Belfast. Quack! Quack!

Only yesterday, bus crews had admitted to wearing
bulletproof
vests, after threats from a shady organisation, suspected in some quarters to be disgruntled taxi drivers angry at their meagre income being lessened by the big bus companies.

Who the hell in their right mind would want to tour this bloody place, anyway, and in this god-awful weather – or any other weather, come to think of it?
Karl had to smile at his own thoughts.
Speaking
of right mind, you’ve a cheek…

This afternoon’s letter from dead man Phillips had galvanized him, forcing him to comply with the madness in his head and going against the rational thing to do: ditching the plan
completely
.

Janice returned ten minutes later, thankfully interrupting his conflicting thoughts.

‘Enjoy, lover,’ said Janice, leaving the bill on the table before departing.

Almost immediately, Karl began cutting into the eggs. The fry was greasy, but not as greasy as some of the customers directing their suspicious stares at him.

Antique Rouge Show
, thought Karl, doing his best to ignore the stares.

The cafe was a well-known haunt of hookers and johns, thieves and fences, along with bent cops and double-tongued
informants
. Karl hated admitting it, but he blended in perfectly with this particular brand of society’s purgatorial lepers.

Despite the grease, the fry was delicious, and the coffee
excellent
. Just as he was about to bite into the potato bread, two
off-duty
policemen stopped beside his table, one of them belching loudly.

‘Nice meal, Billy. Pity about some of the scumbags they let in here, though.’

Billy grinned, but said nothing in reply.

Another time and place, Karl would have made a smart retort.
But now wasn’t the smartest of times to be smart. He continued eating, allowing Belcher and Billy to depart verbally unscathed.

Just as he was about to sip on the coffee, out of the corner of his eye he noticed a movement; someone trying to exit the cafe and not wanting to be seen – at least not by him.

‘Lipstick…?’ said Karl.

Lipstick stopped immediately, like a rabbit in headlights.

‘Karl?’ Lipstick smiled. It looked forced. ‘I…I didn’t notice you there.’

Despite the heat from the cafe, Lipstick’s skin was brailled with goose bumps.

A burly man accompanying Lipstick looked infuriated at Karl’s interception. To Karl, the man appeared to be higher than a lost balloon, bloodshot eyes bulging angrily from their sockets.

Looking directly at Lipstick, Karl patted the seat beside him. ‘Join me.’

Lipstick looked nervously at her companion, before replying. ‘I’m really in a hurry, Karl, and need to be–’

‘You need to be sitting beside me –
now
.’

‘Just who the fuck do you think you are!’ snarled Mister Burly, stopping beside Karl’s table. ‘She’s going with me, so don’t go sticking your nose where it isn’t wanted, otherwise I’ll bend it out of shape.’

Karl stood, face tight with anger. Quickly pushing away from the table, he eyeballed the man, nose to nose. ‘It’s not my nose you need to be worrying about, dopey. It’s my boot.’

‘Huh? What the fuck did you just–?’

Grabbing Mister Burly by the balls, Karl began squeezing. Tightly.

Mister Burly moaned in a bad way. His entire face seemed to have lock-jawed. Tears began forming in his eyes. He looked on the brink of collapsing.

‘Can you hear me better, now?’
whispered Karl into Mister
Burley
’s left ear.

Mister Burly nodded weakly. ‘Please…the pain…’

‘Wrong answer.’ Karl tightened his grip.

‘Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’

‘How’s the hearing, now?’

‘Okay! Okay!’

‘Good. When I release my grip on your tiny balls, you’ll do an about-turn, head straight for the door, and no back-lip. Deviate whatsoever from my instructions, and you’ll find your coat in the Mater Hospital – along with most of your body. Understand?’

Mister Burly quickly nodded.

‘Goodnight, sweetheart,’ said Karl, releasing his grip, before unceremoniously shoving his victim towards the door.

The man staggered out like a drunk at a wine convention.

‘You,’ said Karl, pointing a finger at Lipstick. ‘Sit.’

‘Where do you learn such frightening stuff?’ asked Lipstick, a mixture of awe and terror on her tiny face.

Karl seemed deep in thought, before answering in a soft voice. ‘I learned that little trick from a lady I had the privilege to meet, not so long ago. A lovely lady named Sandy.’

Then, just as quickly, the softness was gone, replaced with a forced crustiness. ‘Now, what the hell are you up to?’

‘It wasn’t what it looked like, Karl. Honest,’ said Lipstick, sliding in beside Karl.

‘I know what it looked like, and it was.’ Karl fumbled in his
pocket and produced a mobile. Hit a few numbers.

Lipstick looked terrified and very vulnerable. ‘You…you’re not going to call the judge and have my bail revoked?’

‘Worse,’ said Karl, before speaking into the phone. ‘Naomi? Listen. I’ve a visitor coming to see you. It’s Lipstick. Make sure you have a word with her. I must speak some foreign language because she doesn’t seem to understand me.’

Karl clicked off the phone before fishing for some money in his pocket. ‘Here. Get a taxi outside, and head straight to my place. I’ll be watching from this window.’

Lipstick looked horrified. ‘Can’t you give me a break?’

‘You’ve had more breaks than a KitKat.’

‘I can’t face Naomi, Karl. She’s going to be so angry with me.’

‘You don’t need a crystal ball to know that. Now get moving. I’m going to call her in twenty minutes. If you’re not there, I
will
make that phone call to the judge.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ said Lipstick, uncertainty on her face.

‘Wouldn’t I?’ said Karl, looking at his wristwatch. ‘Now it’s nineteen minutes…’

‘I’m beginning to dislike you, Karl Kane!’ said Lipstick, quickly sliding back out.

‘Join the queue. Eighteen and a half minutes…’

He watched her running for the door. A minute later, he stood and put his overcoat back on, before heading for the counter.

‘How was it?’ asked Janice, taking bill, payment and tip.

‘Top notch, as usual, Janice. Goodnight, you sexy thing. Take care,’ said Karl, putting on his gloves.

‘Goodnight, Karl, and watch yourself out there.’

Great Victoria Street Rail Station was still packed to the gills
with tourists and locals when Karl eased through the side entrance adjacent to the Europa Buscentre.

His intuition continued warning him as he walked with a forced casualness towards the rows of nondescript grey lockers down the dimly lit corridor. The ageing lockers resembled a fleet of tombstones.

Nearing the designated locker – number twenty-eight – Karl quickly took in his surroundings: an elderly male cleaner wiping the floor with a mop that had seen better days – a bit like the cleaner. The man seemed to be creating more of a mess than
anything
else. He glanced at Karl for a second, before continuing his slow pendulum movements with the mop.

Another man was standing a small distance away, scanning a freebie newspaper. He looked like an iffy businessman with a cheap suit and attitude to match.

Undercover cops? Those two have the look and smell, especially that sneaky-looking bastard pretending to read the paper
. Karl glanced up the corridor before checking the guy with the paper again.
This could be a classic stitch-up and you’re providing them with all the needles and thread they need for your sorry arse, Karl Kane.

Seconds later, Karl stopped hesitantly at the locker. Bending on one knee, he pretended to tie his shoelace while sneaking a glance under his arm. The iffy businessman was dumping the
newspaper
in an over-flowing bin. He appeared to be staring straight at Karl’s back. The cleaner, meanwhile, had stopped mopping the floor. He was leaning the dirty mop against a door, while wiping his mouth with what looked like a filthy rag. He seemed to be eyeing Karl, too.

Is that a rag, or a walky-talkie in his hand?

To Karl’s relief, the cleaner suddenly gathered his tools-in-trade, and began moseying out of sight towards the direction of the main part of the building.

You’re becoming bloody paranoid. Strap on your balls and get the job done.

Easing himself up, Karl glanced again at the other man, who was now speaking into a mobile phone.

Shit!

Against his better judgement, Karl’s gloved hand quickly removed the key from his pocket, grateful for the corridor’s bad lighting. Opening the locker, he peered inside. The oniony stench of sour feet hit him straight up the face. An old battered pair of Nikes and hardened socks the culprits. The contents of an upturned bottle of Brut aftershave had gelled, creating a gooey mess. The scent was weak but tangible, immediately reminding Karl of Edward Phillips in the departed days of his living.

A used disposable razor encrusted with yellowing shaving cream and face stubble accidentally nibbled Karl’s gloved hand. He shuddered slightly. Alongside the disposable razor, a family of clipped, dirty fingernails nested inside a used Kleenex tissue.

Disgusting…

Even though he knew it wasn’t healthy to think ill of the dead, Karl had to question Phillips’ personal hygiene.

A pinup of a beautiful nude woman attached to the inside of the locker door caught Karl’s probing eye. The nude had the
largest
ponderosa of pubic hair he had ever seen. He wasn’t a cartographer, but he would have said it resembled Alaska, if
questioned
on ‘Mastermind’.

Just about to take his eyes off the picture, he noticed the dark-brown
envelope taped to the hirsute forest. Freeing the envelope immediately, he tore a great hole, giving an unintended Brazilian to the Alaskan countryside.

‘Oops…sorry about that, lady…’
he whispered.

Hurriedly, Karl slipped the envelope covertly into the inside pocket of his overcoat, feeling like a thief in the night before
continuing
with the rummaging.

Badly soiled boxer shorts dangled from a hook, alongside a thickly knotted tie.

An omen? Shitty underwear and a hangman’s fucking noose…

Beneath copies of thumb-worn Hustler and other porn
magazines
, a large pouch protruded. He eased it out gingerly, as if it were a bomb about to explode in his face. It was made from faux reptile skin. A bulge rested in the middle of the bag, like a
crocodile
with a tiny animal lodging in its stomach.

What the hell have you got yourself involved in? Just leave the–

Without warning, a hand gripped Karl’s shoulder.

Fuck!
Karl’s heart popped. Back stiffened, ready for combat or arrest. Both, perhaps.

Turning quickly, he saw that it was the dodgy businessman. He was brandishing what looked like a weapon.

‘You a smoker, pal?’ The man spoke with a Canadian
inflection
. An unlit, enormous cigar was clamped between two fingers.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, grabbing me?’ Karl tried desperately to control the pumping in his heart.

‘What…?’ The man looked taken aback. His face paled. Lips trembled. ‘I…I’m sorry, pal. I didn’t mean to startle you. I…I walked out of the hotel without my lighter.’