Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller (22 page)

“Hello?”

The voice came from downstairs,
but was deep and commanding enough to travel.

“Hello?”

It sounded again, this time more
curious. I heard another voice, vaguely familiar. The two had a
quick exchange that I couldn’t quite make out. I could sense them
moving through the house.

“Charlie! Look at this! The
window’s open!”

“What’s going on? None of the
lights work.”

I thought I recognised the other
voice as Sebastien, but I imagined most members of his family
sounded similar. The voices had a quick, terse exchange again, this
time quieter. I edged closer to the doorway to try and hear where
they were. They had stopped talking, and I heard an occasional
shuffling on the first floor. After a minute I heard footsteps
against the wooden stairs. I closed the door and looked around the
room, there was nowhere I could conceivably hide. I stood against
the door and waited. The footsteps were close by now. I heard
whoever it was step out onto the second floor cautiously. Then they
stopped. I held my breath, hoping in the utter silence I would hear
where they had gone, then I remembered; Josie’s door had not been
entirely closed before I entered. I didn’t know if whoever it was
would know that, but if they did, they would certainly suspect I
was in there. I stiffened my body, waiting for them to open the
door.

“Hell- Oof!”

My first reaction as they pushed
the door open was to slam it back against them. I had thrust it
back so suddenly that they had flown back from the impact and
slammed their head against the wall opposite. I opened the door and
looked at the overweight, greying, slightly past middle-age figure
sprawled out in the hallway. His eyes were closed and after
shuffling slightly his arm limply dropped, he was out cold. There
was a little blood on the wall behind him, and I saw that he had
cut his ear on the edge of a portrait’s heavy frame.

“Is that you, Charlie? Did you
say something? Hello? Can you hear me? Say something Charlie.”

The voice approached the bottom
of the stairs, and I heard brisk footsteps begin to clap against
the wooden boards. I spun around into the room, grabbed the bag and
threw it over my shoulder. The second man was about halfway up the
long flight now, still talking, but walking slower as he made his
way up. I ran to the rail that edged around the approach of the
stairs and leapt over it. He didn’t get a chance to see me, and
although I only had a rough idea of where he was on the staircase,
I guided myself mid-jump just enough to fall on top of him. He
instinctually pulled away but my kick sent him toppling back down
the stairs as I landed in a bundle and kept myself from falling by
lashing out and grabbing the bannister. A pain shot through my
lower back as it hit the edge of a step full force. I let out a
short shout of pain, but recovered to my feet just as the tall,
black-suited figure landed on the floor below. He convulsed with
the impact. A second after lying there he began to move. Before he
could get up I flung myself down the steps three at a time and
landed on top of him. I held him down and pressed his face against
the carpet so he could not see me.

I noticed his watch: silver,
with an elegant and slim black face. It was Sebastien. The watch
made that certain. All manner of thoughts passed through my mind;
of beating him up, of somehow embarrassing him, of telling him who
I was; they were gone as soon as they came though. My only worry
was making sure he didn’t recognise me. I snatched out at his arm
and pulled the watch’s clasp, violently yanking it away from his
arm.

“Take it! Just take it and
leave! Please!”

Reassured that he would make no
more movements, I stood up. I hesitated a moment before heading for
the front door, hoping he would be too injured to follow me, and
too shocked to notice I had one arm. I ran out into the street, and
sprinted down every side street I could find.

“Vicky’s ok. I called her from
the station and she slept over at a friend’s.”

“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe
he did that.”

“Doesn’t matter. Not the first
time I’ve been in a cell. Gives you time to think anyway.”

“What did you think about?”

“You, mostly. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t think I
ever want to go home again.”

“Josie, can I ask you
something?”

“Of course.”

“Tell me honestly: Am I stupid?
In the way that… I mean… I dunno.”

“No! Joseph, don’t ever think
that about yourself.”

“I dunno. Sometimes it seems
like I get everything wrong. I’m just used to losing.”

“Joseph…”

“And now it’s just a matter of
losing with my head held high; with a little pride at least. That
or giving up totally.”

“Come here…”

I stopped running when I reached
a neglected alleyway. I looked around but there was nobody around.
I tore off my scarf, hat, and jacket then threw them into a nasty
looking dumpster. I opened the backpack, pulled out a couple of
plastic bags from a side pocket, and placed the laptop and charger
inside them. Then I took out a light green rain jacket and put it
on. I tossed the backpack and everything inside it onto the top of
the dumpster, then threw one of the trash bags on top of it. I
hesitated a second, just to ensure I hadn’t forgotten anything,
placed the bag with the laptop under my arm, and jogged out of the
alleyway home.

A tiny orange glow emerged from
the front of the laptop as soon as I plugged it in. A wave of
relief swept through me; I had worried that the light drizzle might
have seeped through the plastic bag and caused a problem, or that
weeks of disuse might have killed it. I recalled vividly the
affectionate complaints Josie would often utter about the computer
being old and crappy. The fear that somehow her family may have
tampered with the contents of the laptop flashed through my mind. I
knew they couldn’t be so comprehensively mean, though.

I left the laptop to charge on
the coffee table and grabbed my coat. I was curious about what
Vicky had got up to, and I expected that Sandy would want me to
settle in for a cup of tea and a chat. The phone rang. I knew who
it would be.

“Hello?”

“Joseph… It was you, wasn’t
it?”

“You’re back already?”

“Everybody is talking about it.
Yes, we came back for the service. Back to Iris’ house, that is. It
was you, wasn’t it?”

“You’re there now?”

“Yes, I just slipped out into
the garden to call you, so I can’t talk long. If someone hears me
I’m dead—sorry, not dead, you know what I me— Joseph! What are you
thinking? Do you realise how crazy everyone is going?”

“What’s going on?”

“Oh come on, Joseph. It’s me
you’re talking to. It’s only a matter of time before they start
suspecting you had something to do with it.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, or… I don’t know. God, I
really don’t. They’ve just called the police, and their first
reaction is that it’s a robbery; but it’s obvious there’s more to
it, and they’re beginning to come up with ideas. You made a mess
here, but you left a lot of obviously expensive stuff behind. What
on earth—”

“It could be anyone: A panicked
burglar, a junkie in a hurry. I’m sure they have plenty of other
enemies too.”

“Joseph, wake up. Imagine, on
the day of Josie’s funeral they get burgled, and her room is the
only one with any damage on the first floor. You took her crappy
laptop and left a one thousand pound tablet computer behind in the
kitchen. You’re not exactly far from people’s lips today anyway. I
knew it was you the second I saw it. Oh God, this is bad,
Joseph.”

“Relax, Monika. They can’t do
anything. They don’t have proof. You can’t just point fingers at
anyone and get the police to go after them—not twice, anyway.”

“Are you sure? You don’t even
sound so sure yourself anymore. I can hear your voice trembling
even on the phone.”

“I’m not trembling. I’m just
putting my coat on.”

“I can’t believe you did
this.”

“It’s fine. You know Josie’s
family. They think the whole world beyond their leafy suburb is
full of pimps and robbers. I’m sure they will mention me, but they
don’t really believe it was me. Sebastien had some guy follow me
for the past week or so, he’s been parked outside my block for the
whole day—he didn’t see me leave, or come back.”

“But—“

“But nothing. If there’s one
thing Sebastien thinks about me it’s that I’m dumber than he is.
I’m far too stupid to recognise I’m being followed, let alone
double bluff him.”

“Why, Joseph?”

“You only pieced it all together
because you knew I wanted that laptop.”

“I don’t like this. It’s very
uncomfortable here. Hey, wait, Sebastien had someone follow you?
Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah-ha. I knew something was up.
He’s been very weird with me today. He’s been making a lot of snide
comments at me—more than usual. He seems to know I’ve been seeing
you.”

“What’s he been saying?”

“Wait, I have an idea.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. I have to go now.
Thank me later. I’m going to cover for you. Although God knows why.
Bye Joseph.”

She hung up abruptly. I put the
phone down and pondered what she might do. I felt both relieved
that she might take care of any suspicion surrounding me, but also
a little unnerved. I didn’t want her to say something stupid, or
that couldn’t be backed up and that the police might uncover. I
made a mental note to call her later on in the day, then pushed the
thoughts out of my mind. I was far too interested in reading what
was on the laptop to consider those things immediately anyway. I
glanced over at it; tempted to open it right away and delve into
what it contained, but I wanted to wait until it was at least fully
charged. It couldn’t hurt to be extra careful; no doubt the laptop
contained the only copy of the book.

I opened the door and made my
way to Sandy’s.

Vicky had bought make-up on her
shopping trip with Sandy’s kids. Red-faced and slumped from hours
walking in the cold, she stalked to her room and stood in front of
the body mirror fingering the various small boxes affectionately. I
stood in the doorway and watched her apply things to her face with
the methodical, concentrated precision of a grown woman. It made me
feel nauseous. I had the strong impulse to be angry with her. To
condemn the make-up and take it from her, but the urge confused me
more than anything else. It wasn’t like bad food, pornographic
websites, or violent films. I couldn’t be sure it was such a bad
thing, and yet it felt wrong to see her rouge her cheeks and colour
her eyes.

I went to the kitchen and pulled
a beer from the fridge. My hand was shaking as I opened it. I tried
to avoid thinking about sex, periods, bras, and other womanly
things that lay in the future. I took a large gulp, slammed the can
down on the counter, and made for her room to take the make-up and
demand she clean herself up. I made it halfway down the hall before
stopping myself, echoes of Monika’s advice bubbling up in my
mind.

Settling down in front of the
TV, I decided it was for the best that I let it go. If Vicky took
it too far then I would have a talk with her. I thought of the
girls I’d known who always wore make-up, and the girls who hadn’t.
I tried to understand it and only got more depressed. Gazing at the
laptop, the promise of its contents distracted me comfortingly.

The bitter, rancid smell of
rubber and paint burning tinged at the edge of my nostrils. I
sniffed around towards Vicky’s room, then went to the balcony.
Stepping out, I saw heavy plumes of smoke pulsate upwards upon the
damp air. They came from a car down below in the parking area, not
far from the tower block. It was engulfed in smoke, and I could
make out the faint tapers of flames licking the interior and
beneath the open hood. It was sitting in the middle of the parking
area, close to the entrance, and around it stood about five or six
people, shouting and shoving each other. Their voices got louder
and their movements more aggressive. Within minutes, the crowd
doubled, then tripled. People seemed to emerge from all corners of
the parking area, as if in waiting, and aside from a few, they
quickly became involved in the shouting and fighting.

I looked around and saw that
most of the neighbours had also stepped out onto their balconies to
look at the brawl. A few even began shouting themselves. The smoke
was beginning to fan out and hang in the air, making it difficult
to discern the people below. I looked over towards the blue saloon.
It was there, but Buzzcut’s simian hand was not in its usual
position upon the steering wheel. I checked around and found
Vicky’s binoculars on the balcony floor—dirty and wet from days out
in the rain. Squinting through the grimy lenses I could see that
Buzzcut wasn’t in his car at all. I scanned slowly until I saw the
crowd, now almost bundled upon one another, throwing punches and
grabbing for each other almost indiscriminately. Their shouts were
no longer indecipherable words, but the groans and cries of
physical anger. I caught sight of a familiar figure, brawny and
tall, and the unmistakably dated hair. He was in the fray, throwing
punches and grabbing at another figure with his giant paws.

I continued to watch for a few
minutes, until a large fire engine and several police vans pulled
up in the road beyond the entrance. Their sirens and the
authoritative shouts of the policemen caused only a few of the
fighters to disband. Soon the police themselves were in the middle
of the battle; displacing people with their batons and manpower.
The scene grew even more chaotic as firemen drew hoses out in
efficient lines and whilst exchanging heated instructions with the
police began to dispense long flumes of fizzing water over the car.
It took less than a minute for the policemen to forcibly escort
most of the fighters back to the vans, and for the firemen to sooth
the black clouds into a gently rising mist of steam. I scanned
hurriedly for sign of Buzzcut, but between looking through the
smoke-tainted binoculars and trying to pick out figures with my own
eyes I lost him.