Raucous (5 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

“He got in by himself.  He wasn’t forced, he was asked and he went,” Mitch said.

Mitch had been sat there an hour and said the same words thirteen times.  He hadn’t been arrested but told it was in his best interests.   A dirty, bare room, military green walls, a Formica table and two cracked red plastic chairs, faded in parts to pink.  Mitch sat in one, his back to the frosted glass window, and Detective Parker in the other. 

The town had a small police station.  It had once been thriving, but cuts, and the apathy toward late night drunken fights, had meant the station was on bare bone staff.

They called at 8 a.m.  Two uniformed policemen at Mitch's front door.  They drove him without lights or sirens all the way to the back door of the station and walked him straight to the interview room.  He waited alone until an old man, at least sixty-five, face starched from tobacco and caffeine entered.  He was wearing an expensive but old-style tweed suit, indicating his after dinner habits were cigars and port.  His large red bulbous nose told the story of a man who was never satisfied with the one glass.

He introduced himself as Detective Parker.  He sat down and made sure his jacket didn't crease.

“At least I was,” he said.  “I retired and moved on.  I now work in a consultancy faculty, more for the elite class.”

He said this as if he had worked hard enough to be one of them, without knowing you could only be one if you were gifted the position.

Mitch knew his own salary put him firmly in the easy-life rich category.  He had never worked but he earned four-thousand-sterling a month for simply being alive.  But he figured this guy knew that already.

“Witnesses say you tried to fight.  Would that have been to save him?  Protect him?”  Parker said.

“I don’t even know the man.”

“A strange reaction from you for a stranger.”

“Sometimes I lose my head.”

“Every three days?” Parker asked.

Mitch looked up, and Parker looked back, arching an eyebrow, feigning to be surprised that he had got Mitch’s attention.

“Accurate guess,” Mitch said.  “Maybe it’s to do with the lunar cycle.”

“Maybe it’s to do with who exactly you believe you are.”

Mitch opened up his arms. “I’m just an over-aged teenager getting bored with nothing to do.  They should open up a youth club, keep us off the streets.”

“I believe they closed that specific institution down, let the loons out.”

Mitch pushed his tongue inside his right cheek.

“Are you too old to be politically correct?”  He asked.

“Too experienced to believe what you say.”

Parker pushed the photo across the table again.

Mitch pushed it back.

“I’ve already seen it.  It’s a photo of the man who voluntarily got into the van.  He told me his name was Jim.  You confirmed that was true, and told me his surname is Sharples, which means you know more about him than me.”

“I know a lot more.  More about you.”

“More than me?”

“Well, what do you know?”

“That his name was Jim, and he wanted to get in the van and speak to his friends.”

“Did you recognize the other two?”

“One probable plumber, although his hands didn’t look nearly swollen or gnarled enough for him to be doing too much work, and an educated one, who probably isn’t educated at all but would just like to be that way because he is an empty shell of confusion.”

“Did you see into the van?”

“Yes, there were seats and a steering wheel.  I believe they were tuned into BBC radio 2. Although I can’t be sure, but I think I heard the dulcet tones of a DJ that used to be hip and cool twenty years back and is now flogging the same old tired banter crap for the middle-aged generation in search of their fun youthful days.”

“You’re very observant.”

“I just hate DJs.”

Parker paused.  He half-closed his left eye.  He smiled and shook his head. “And that’s all you can remember?  No, idea who those two men were,” he asked.

“The chuckle brothers?”

“No idea who they are.”

“Not a kid’s TV watcher.”

“No I am not.”

“You should try.  Some really good stuff there.”

Parker paused again.  He placed his hands on the edge of the table in front of him and pushed.  “We haven’t really hit it off, have we?”  He asked.

“My mum always told me, never trust an alcoholic.  Or is your nose like that because someone punched it.  Repeatedly.”

“And what was your mum’s name?”

“It depended on the context, but generally she was called mum, what with being a mum.”

“Everyone called her mum?” Parker asked.

“Are you casting doubts on the fidelity of my mother?  Are you saying I have secret brothers and sisters?”

“You are not being overly cooperative.  Why is that?”

“Because I’m bored. I would have an hour ago but now you’re annoying me.  And if you say, shall we go back to the start, I will, only my start I’ll take as being in bed when your friends knocked on my door.”

“Are you annoyed I was delayed?” Parker asked.

“You weren’t delayed.  The car-park is right the other side of that window.  Nothing has been in or out since I sat down.  Sure, you could have come in the front way, but the door has a buzzer to have it opened and that didn’t sound.  You were already in the building and you made me wait.  That’s rude.  So sow what you whatever and so on and so forth.”

“I was working.”

“You told me you had just arrived, so how am I supposed to believe what you say when you have already lied to me.  What are you, a big fan of the Catholic church?  Please, I know we are a corrupt, sickly wealthy organization of crime and punishment, but please ignore that and let me be your moral guardian for your stroll along the path to redemption and a place in the fantasy land in the sky.  Honesty begets honesty.  Dishonesty begets dishonesty. You lied, I don’t trust you.  And drunks speak too much.”

“Your mother again?”

“Don’t bring my mother into this, god bless her soul.”

“Is she dead?”

“You’re the detective.  Or are you?  We’re in a closed police station.  You haven’t shown me your badge.”

“My client would like to know information.”

“And that client is who?”

“Not at liberty to say.”

“Well, I am at liberty to leave.  Thanks for the test run for my next involvement with fake police.”

Parker reached inside his tweed jacket.  Mitch saw the shoulder holster, and knew Parker wanted to show his power.  There are few who can carry concealed pistols without fear of arrest but Parker wanted to show Mitch he was one.  Parker pulled out a folded piece of white paper between his middle- and forefinger and placed it on the table. 

“This is for you,” he said.

Mitch looked at the paper for ten seconds before deciding he would open it.  The paper had been folded into four.  Written folded and placed in a pocket.  He opened the paper out and read the address. 

“And what is this?” He asked.

Parker smiled and stood and walked to the door in silence.  He looked back as he stepped through the door.  He smiled and spoke through a grin.

“It's a place where you need to go because this town is not yours any more.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

His promise was coming.  He should do it now, pull the trigger on the old man.  But he couldn’t.  He was making excuses, avoiding the inevitable.  He had promised.

Raucous passed the food, a metal tray with a single plate, a knife and fork and a glass of water.  The plate held bangers and mash with gravy, a dish Raucous had prepared in the large kitchen of the Turk's establishment.  The kitchen had been clean and empty.  Business started in the late evening.  Dinners for men who would stay on to enjoy the women who danced for their pleasure.  At 10 a.m. the place had been wiped down and was dormant ready for the night ahead.

Jim was being kept in a room in the basement.  The room was for women or men to rest.  A single bed, with light blue sheets was along the right wall, a single desk and chair on the left.  A room two meters by three, no window and a heavy wood door with a single large lock.  Jim sat on the bed and accepted the tray.  Raucous sat at the desk and faced Jim.  The door was closed.

Jim placed a napkin into his shirt collar.  He took the knife and fork and cut the first sausage into small chunks; he spread mash onto the chunks and dipped them in gravy.  He placed a piece into his mouth and chewed slowly, savouring the taste. 

Raucous watched the old man, thinking about when his own death would come.  Jim had no escape.  He knew that.  He had known as soon as he had gone to see the boy, to see Christian.  Only thing to concern the old man now was the how: quick or slow, easy or painful.

Jim finished up.  He wiped the white porcelain plate clean with a single, thick-cut slice of farmhouse bread.  He pulled the napkin from his collar, folded it into a small square and placed it on the plate.  He handed the tray to Raucous.  Raucous accepted, stood, opened the door and left.  He locked the door behind him as Jim stared at the white wall.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Ben didn’t fight, even when he outweighed and out-aged people by an easy amount.  These two men were not in those categories.  They were late thirties, shaven-headed goons.  They were big, probable power lifters not looking for definition but single effort strength.  They wouldn’t run marathons but they could crush a neck and choke someone to sleep with ease.  They were suited.  Grey nylon jackets looking like slim-fits when they were probably the size of a two-man tent.

“We’re here to remove you,” the taller of the two said.

Ben had opened the door expecting a parcel of Japanese action figures.  A Dragonball level four Goku that he had never held.  In the UK they were rare, in Japan they were teenage boy’s Barbies.  These two were empty handed.

“Remove me?” Ben asked.

The shorter, still six inches taller than Ben, thrust a paper forward smacking Ben’s chest, and pushing him back.  The men stepped into the space Ben had vacated.

“Notice of eviction,” the shorter man said. “You need to leave.”

“I. . .I don’t understand.”

“Nothing to understand.  Pack up and get out,” the taller said.

“Hurry now, we’ll watch,” said the shorter.

Ben fumbled with his phone.  He took it out the back pocket of his jeans.  He almost dropped it as his hands trembled.  He started to dial.  He had pressed the first nine when the pain came.  The shorter stepped forward and drove an oversized fist into Ben’s gut.  Ben buckled in two and fell to his knees.  His phone slid away on the hardwood floor.  Ben could see the electronic nine, big and black on its white background.  One of the two men, Ben couldn’t look up to see, smashed the heel of a hand-made leather shoe down onto the Gorilla glass screen and it shattered.  The heel of the shoe had a metal curve nailed into the leather sole.

The shorter of the two crouched down as Ben sat forward as if he had just committed hari-kari.

“You’re right, we’re being unreasonable.  Too much to take in, I guess.  We’ll give you a day.  Twenty-four hours.  We’ll come back.  And you’ll be gone.  Won’t you?”

Ben nodded and thought about how he could alter the destination address on his e-bay delivery because tomorrow was Jean's problem.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

He thought of how long Jim would stay compliant.  His mind was toying with his courage as he prepared the food.  The same process the same ingredients, the same care.  Sausage, mash and gravy.  The farmhouse bread was warm.  He walked down the stairs to the basement, balancing the tray, pacing the steps to keep balance.  He placed the key into the lock and pushed the door open.  Jim was sat on the bed as if he hadn't moved since the last meal twenty four hours before.  Jim took the food and followed his same routine.  He cut the food, he chewed slowly, and he cleaned the plate and folded his napkin.  He handed the tray back to Raucous.

Raucous stood and stepped to the door.

"Strange seeing him?" Jim asked.

Raucous turned.  "Always strange to see someone you killed."

"Only if they're still alive."

"Happen to you?"

"When I kill, they stay dead.  I guess pretty soon, if such things truly do exist, I'll be meeting a few."

"Christian?"

Jim inhaled and stood.

"His continued ability to breathe and live is of great importance to important men.  More important than the man Turk.  So he is safe.  Protected even."

"They bringing him here?"

"Maybe.  You know more than me."

"I hear he remembers nothing."

"Not even you, and you are someone he really should remember."

Raucous turned with the tray and stepped outside the room.  He looked back and Jim was sitting in the same space on the edge of the bed.  His hands clasped in front of him as he rested his elbows on his thighs.  Jim looked to the door.

"He may look like an adult Christian, but believe me, Raucous, you killed him."

"I know."

Raucous couldn't close the door.

"Do you think you'll be able to get to the end.  Get what you want?"  Jim asked.

"I don't know.  But I will die trying."

"Me and you both."

Raucous locked the door.