Mr. Suit (2 page)

C
oncussion
was what the doctor’s at the hospital suggested, but there wasn’t a great deal
for them to go on. They didn’t know him like she did, however, and she knew
something wasn’t right.

She’d
pointed Archie at Coronation Street as a kind of test. He watched like he was a
regular. Only he hated the soaps, especially the ones set up North. ‘Bloody
Northerners,’ he’d used to shout. ‘Can’t understand a word that comes out of
their mouths.’

She
added ice-and-a-slice to her third gin and tonic. The glasses and her bracelets
rattled tunefully every time she sipped.

While
she drank, she watched Archie carefully, on the lookout for some indication
that he was still with her.

It
was when a horn from the advert for car insurance blurted out from the set that
she saw it. Like someone had switched on the lights behind his eyes.

Then
came the blinks.

Hundreds
of them at once, like a swarm of butterflies.

“Hang
on love, let me get the pen.”

She
went over to the mock Victorian bureau and took out a pencil and a pad of
penis-shaped Post-Its, a present for Jenny a couple of Christmases earlier.

Post-Its
in hand, she sat down to note down the code.

All
she got from Archie was a load of gibberish. He didn’t pause until he’d given
her 50 blinks in a string.

“Oh,
Petal,” she said as tears rolled down her face. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t.”

All
she could think of was getting him back. Back the way he was, glued to the
sports’ channel and blinking out that nonsense of his.

And
then the blinking began again. This time it was slow and deliberate. He stared
at Liza to make sure she understood that he was back.

20
blinks for the first letter. 8 the second.

“The?”

Two
quick drops of the eyelids for yes.

13.
15. 14. The urge to slap him was back. She took a swig of gin and tried to
forget it. 5. 25.

“The
money? Charlie Suit’s cash?” She took his hand and held on tight. “Blimey Love,
you took your time.”

The
doorbell rang before there was any time to think about what it could mean.

Liza
leaned over to kiss her husband on the forehead. He tasted of disinfectant and
hospitals.

She
downed her drink, tucked her violet blouse into her mini-skirt and went to
answer the door.

She
turned the knob of the door and it flew open. Missed the tip of her nose by
millimetres.

In
barged an oaf of a man in a ski-mask and camouflage fatigues. Without the John
Lennon shades, he might have looked menacing.

“Oi
Love, do you mind?” she shouted.

He
didn’t seem to. Went straight over to Archie, dropped a bag on the sofa and
clicked it open. Within seconds he had a hypodermic syringe in his hand with a
needle that would have made an elephant faint.

Liza’s
mind went into overdrive.

What
a time for the Suit’s euthanasia squad to show. It was bloody typical of her
luck.

If
this thug managed to get the contents of the syringe into Archie, then the
£250000 he’d stashed the day the kidnapping went wrong would never see the
light of day, like a pirate’s buried treasure.

On
the last day Archie had spoken, he’d sloped off before Liza was awake and went
off to do ‘some business’. The business happened to be the handover of money
for the return of a child to its parents. As it happened, the child they’d
nabbed lived next to Suits on Millionaire’s Row in a tasteless new-build with
the trappings of Ancient Greece. Working out the family’s routines had been
easy. So had the snatch. Only thing that went wrong was at the exchange. The
police arrived as well as a gang of hired nutters and things imploded. Archie
was the only one to get away. He hid the money and headed back to report to
Suits. Suits, who had a twitchy trigger finger on account of things going
pear-shaped, ended up shooting Archie while he fumbled the door open. Suits
never got his money and Archie never used his limbs again.

Nothing
had been easy since.

Now,
just as there was a ray of sunshine in her life, the clouds were going to come
over and hailstorm all over her new good fortune. If Archie’s end came right
then and there, she’d never get her hands on the cash.

Her
mind clicked through all the possibilities like an old fashioned carousel of
photographic slides working at a crazy speed. In her mind’s eye she saw herself
on the Costas, soaking up the sun and the cocktails and being waited on by a
handsome Spaniard. She pictured herself with the Botox lips and the little
extra support for her breasts she’d invest in to guard against future sagging.
Imagined cruises and film premieres, being driven around in limos and eating
expensive chocolate. It was all within her grasp. A few more minutes and she’d
have had the location of the cash.

The
killer’s timing was bloody awful. All wrong.

Negotiation
with the stranger might work. She considered it. Let the idea flash through her
mind. They could go 50-50. Or better still, 60-40.

The
only problem was, the guy already had the syringe at Archie’s throat and looked
like he was ready to dig in and push the plunger.

Liza
picked up the golf club they kept by the door for emergencies and headed
swiftly over to the action.

Archie’s
chest pumped in and out like that of a tiny, captive bird. It wasn’t pretty.

The
sight made Liza hurry all the more. She strode over and swung for all she was
worth, powerful enough for a par-5 tee-off at Augusta.

When
the wood connected with the back of the ski-mask it made the sweetest sound,
the kind of ping that normally would have meant she was hitting long and making
the middle of the fairway.

The
man’s head fell forward and for a moment his body stood, stationary. A couple
of seconds later, he crumpled to the floor. Head bouncing right off the
cow-skin rug they’d brought back from Spain on their honeymoon.

Her
first thought as she looked down at the body? “How the hell am I going to get
the blood out of that?”

I
t
took no end of stroking and humming to settle Archie’s breathing.

When
she eventually let him go, let him flop back into the chair, he stared blankly
at the body.

The
failed-assassin’s blood hadn’t spread in the way she’d expected. Gave her hope
for the rug after all.

The
intruder looked like a marionette whose strings had been cut. His Lennon shades
had slipped from the bridge of his nose and his blue eyes were crossed as if he
were looking at something on the tip of his nose.

“Don’t
look too good, does he Arch?” She bent down to find out who she’d just sent
into the next world. “Wish you could do this.”

She
took hold of the bottom of the mask and pulled it carefully, as if trying not
to hurt him. Had to lift his head from the floor to slip it off. Felt the skull
give under the pressure of her touch like it was made of trifle sponge soaked
in sherry.

First
she revealed a square chin. Next a mouth a bit too small for the rest of the
body, thin and narrow and tightly closed together. The nostrils were overgrown,
the blackheads like a child’s dot-to-dot. The face all-too familiar.

Liza
was up and onto her feet in a flash, hand over her mouth in case a scream came
out, but no sound arrived until the words articulated her thoughts. “For pity’s
sake, Archie. We’ve landed right in it this time.”

As if they hadn’t landed in it before.

Archie
had moist eyes. Looked like a puppy who was about to be put down. Which was
pretty much what he’d almost been.

A
wave of nausea reminded Liza of her part in the arrangement. Gave her
conscience a prick-and-a-half. What she needed to do to keep her in the clear
was to make sure Archie didn’t suspect her. “Must have been Mr Suit’s idea of
doing you a favour.”

Which
seemed like a plausible explanation.

“But
sending his brother round to do the job, eh? Who’d have thought?”

Charlie
Suit’s brother, Willie. Christ. It wasn’t going to go down well with Suits and
his mob. Not well at all.

Liza
sat on the floor. Needed to find a way forward.

It
wasn’t much fun thinking for two.

Back
in the day, Archie would have been sorting things out already. Taking control
in that manly way of his. Now all he did was sit dribbling, unable to wipe away
the tiny tears that trickled down his cheeks and came to rest to make tiny,
glistening jewels in his bristles.

“Soon
as Mr Suits finds out, we’ll be sleeping with the bloody kippers.” The tears on
Archie’s face grew, forming streams down through his beard and wetting his
Arsenal Football Club bib. “So we better not be here when he does.”

She
stood quickly and straightened her skirt. “Wait here,” she said, then tutted at
her own stupidity. “I know exactly what we have to do.” With that, she
disappeared up the stairs and packed her bags as if it bag packing were a new
Olympic sport and she had her eyes on nothing other than the gold.

T
he
boats stood head on against the canal bank, hull-to-hull, tightly squeezed
together like cigarettes in a new pack.

At
the top of the banks, the white Edwardian buildings gleamed in splendour.

Liza
wheeled Archie along the towpath checking out what was happening in the tiny
gardens of the boaters while keeping an eye out for dog shit.

“That’s
nice, Arch,” she said, nodding at Sara’s new bench. “And look at what Carl’s
been up to now.”

Carl
was the know-it-all of the mooring and the biggest snob there. He’d installed a
rowing boat next to the fence since they’d last been down. Filled it with soil
and used it as a planter. The bright sunshine of daffodils and the cheery heads
of pansies grew from it, ready to cheer up the greyest of days when they came.
“Who the bloody hell does he think he is, putting that there?”

Archie
didn’t bother to respond. Wouldn’t have bothered doing so even if he could
have.

Liza
spotted the long, ginger dreadlocks of Mandy who was sitting on the wooden deck
of her barge, rubbing sun-cream into the back of the girl next to her who was
most likely her latest flame. Whoever it was, she didn’t look like she needed
any more tanning.

“Hi,”
she called.

Mandy
looked up and waved, the silver ring in her nose glinting in the daylight, then
returned to her massage.

“She
looks like a bit of all right, Arch. Looks like Mandy’s landed on her feet for
a change.”

This
time Archie would have nodded. She was a real stunner.

And
then they arrived at their own boat, Wol.

She
was a thing of beauty. 45 foot of shiny, apple green trimmed with cherry red
for the hand rails and gunnels. Between the windows were white roses and the
new fenders were neatly woven plaits of rope. She wasn’t everyone’s idea of a
canal boat, in fact to many she was like the ugly duckling. That didn’t matter
– Liza and Archie fell in love with it at first sight.

Archie
had bought Wol back in ’94 after a job on a jewellery store. She’d served them
well on many a family holiday. Had served Archie well as a shag-pad, too – Liza
had her suspicions, but never the evidence to back them up.

As
far as she could remember, it was the mention of the quarter-inch steel hull
that closed the deal back then and it no doubt helped that the roof and the
walls were the same. Sounded more like an armoured vehicle than a leisure
craft. What had persuaded Liza was the name. It was straight from Winnie The
Pooh, chosen by the previous owner who’d used it as a floating classroom for
dyslexic children.

Liza
wheeled Archie down the ramp.

The
boat rocked and rolled like Jerry Lee Lewis when they boarded. That was
something else about Wol. She had a round bottom. Made her different from the
rest under the water as well as above and far more unstable.

Liza
opened the doors and pushed Archie in. They were greeted by the usual scent of
wood polish and diesel oil. Nothing Liza had tried had ever made a difference
to that smell. It got so her clothes would stink of it after a long stay.
Still, she would just have to get used to it if it was going to be their 5
miles-an-hour ticket away from Shitcreek.

“Now,
let’s put the kettle on,” she said, doing her best to sound like it wasn’t all
about finding the money and getting the hell out of town. “Have a nice cup of
tea.”

She
turned on the tap. Let the water run for a while and listened to the clicking
of the water-pump. She lit a gas ring, filled the kettle and put it on to heat
up.

She
walked past Archie, between the toilet and shower and into the bedroom in the
front.

They
were regulars at the mooring, so when Archie had told her the money was on the
boat she had her doubts. It certainly wasn’t anywhere obvious.

First
place she looked was under the bed. The stumps of badly cut timber that
Archie’d used for supports reminded her of how shoddy his DIY skills had been.
She managed to crawl quite a way under in the gap between the set of drawers
and the old seat they’d built the bed upon. All she found was an old condom, a
couple of coins and huge balls of dust.

“Looks
like one of the kids has been bringing back their lovers, Arch. Filthy buggers
could at least manage to take back their rubbish.”

She
hooked the condom on the end of a pencil and held it at arms’ length until she
dropped it into the bin.

Next
she went to look in the storage under the original seat. There were the
sleeping bags and some life-jackets, but no cash.

“You
sure the money’s here?” she called to her husband who seemed to be looking out
of the window, gawping at Mandy and her friend.

She
kept looking until the whistle of the kettle blew. By then she’d checked the
wardrobe, the kitchen cupboards, beneath the shower tray, in the engine housing
and all the under-seat storage. The flower boxes were full of nothing but soil
and weeds and the containers for the gas bottles and the useful bits-and-bobs
only had what was supposed to be there.

“Stupid,
bloody bitch,” she muttered to herself as she poured hot water into the mugs,
straight onto the teabags. Imagine trusting the memory of her husband after all
this time. She could have let Mr Suit’s brother deal with the whole thing.
Sorted Archie out with those injections and left like he’d done nothing more
than fix the taps.

What’s
more she could have been shagging Charlie Suit and getting him to spend his
millions on some of the finer things in life. Like a little nip-and-tuck and a
holiday on the Riviera.

The
thought of shagging snagged her attention again and she wondered what Charlie
Suit might have under his shirt.

She
took a peak at Mandy and her partner. Watched as their tongues slid against
each other. When Mandy’s hand disappeared under the girl’s skirt, Liza felt her
knees buckle again. She needed to lean on the cooker to remain upright. Almost
knocked over the mugs in the process.

Closing
the curtains helped her regain her composure and she shuddered as she glimpsed
herself in a new lesbian future. And then she remembered what she was actually
doing.

Instead
of a millionaire’s life, she was about to do the slowest runner in the history
of getaways, just to end up under Spaghetti Junction somewhere and be
surrounded by Brummies. There’d be no money, no plastic surgery, no luxuries
and no way back.

And
a life with a man who could only blink his way through a conversation, who
wouldn’t be able to get it up if she smeared herself in KY and danced around a
pole .

“Are
you sure the money’s on the boat?” She squeezed out the liquid from the
tea-bags imagining she was draining the life out of her husband. “Think man.
Think.” She was being harsh and she knew it, but spending the early afternoon
dragging Willie Martin’s dead body from pillar to post until finally putting
him in the garden shed as a final resting place wasn’t her idea of the perfect
day. The effort had sapped most of her patience.

Blink.
There was Archie, off again.

2.
9. 12. 7. 5. 19.

“The
bilges. You’re a bloody genius, you are.” If they were there.

She
wheeled the chair through to the bedroom to clear the space. Filled his
drinking bottle with the tea and put the tube into Archie’s mouth. Went back
and lifted the carpet. Took a screwdriver from the box and prized up the first
section.

There
was the usual smell of oil and the lapping of blackened rain water. There were
also grey plastic bags taped up tightly into bricks. Loads of them.

She
picked one out and felt the weight of it, oblivious to the layer of filth that
clung to her hand. It was heavy enough.

With
no obvious way in, she returned to the toolbox and picked out a Stanley knife.
Before returning to the package, she ran in to Archie and hugged him hard
enough to force his shoulders and ribs to click. “Who loves ya Baby?”

Back
at the brick, she sliced carefully around the centre and pulled back the
packaging. Good old Queen Elizabeth herself smiled back, God bless her. There
were enough notes in just that one package to sort them out with a summer
holiday. Got her wondering if they should ignore the plan to hide out on the
canals and maybe head out to Mexico or Brazil or wherever it was that usually
worked instead. The only problem was that she hadn’t packed a bikini or any of
her beachwear.

“I
could buy stuff when we got there. Silly moo.” Her chat to herself was
interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She went through and took it from her
handbag hanging from the wheelchair handle and took a look at the monitor.

‘Suits
Martin’ it said on the screen.

She
threw the phone onto the bed like it had taken a bite at her fingers.