The Midnight Men and Other Stories (4 page)

Kane threw his arms in the air. “It wasn’t a lie, it was just . . . withholding information. And for good reason.”

“That’s as may be, young man, but the fact remains that each time I use this merchandise of yours, I risk my life. So, I want you to remain here until I have completed what I want to do. Until then, you get nothing.”

Kane looked at him through narrowed eyes.

Feeling the old confidence flooding through him, Nathan turned away from Kane and began to pour another drink. When he heard the young man slide back onto the parquet he felt a shiver run up his insides, the curious thrill he always felt whenever he succeeded in controlling another.

He turned and faced the living room. “You’ll be pleased to know that I only intend to use one more piece tonight, Kane. And now is as good a time as any.”

“I thought you ‘ad someone specific in mind,” Kane said.

Nathan smiled. “Yes. Someone I would dearly like to see . . . out of my way.”

Kane scratched his head. “You know, if it’s someone big, I mean someone in your sphere of work, it’s really not wise to have me here as a witness.”

“A witness?” Nathan repeated in a jocular tone. “My dear boy, who would believe someone like you?”

Kane glared at him.

“And I’ve already told you,” Nathan went on, “I want someone here in case it goes wrong.”

“Can’t you wait until your wife gets home?”

“No!” The word came out too fast, too angry. He took a deep breath. “I love my wife, Kane, and I would not subject her to such foul things. She’s an innocent. The only good thing in my life, and I want to keep it that way.”

Kane looked at his watch then. “Well, you better get on with it, Mr P, ‘cause it’s nine-thirty. Didn’t you say she’d be back by ten?”

Nathan bristled at the boy’s words.
You better get on with it
. It was a long time since any young upstart had spoken to him like that. But he put aside his pride for the moment. He was as eager to get on with it as Kane.

He looked down at the two lumps of flesh. The piece on the right was slightly smaller than the one on the left. Although his mind suggested choosing the smaller piece for the sake of expedience, another voice pointed him towards the larger of the two. For the size—the importance—of the murder he was about to commit, it would need the biggest piece available.

He picked it up, studied it. Although he knew it was poisoned, and that there was a slight risk to his own life, he felt no fear. Seeing it work so comprehensively had removed his doubts. And, he noticed, his gorge did not rise this time. It was actually getting easier.

He raised the lump of gristly flesh to Kane and smiled.

“Down the hatch,” he said, and dropped it into his open mouth. This time, being more relaxed, he tasted the flesh on his tongue, and the bitterness of it made him balk. He filled his mouth with the brandy, fixed his eyes on Kane and began to chew.

As he sat there, staring at the young man’s gaunt features, a malicious thought entered his head. Such a simple idea. The third piece. He had no use for it. There was no one else in the world--apart from the name he was about to call out--who he wanted removed from this earth. Except, maybe the young man sitting in front of him.

Yes, that would be very neat, indeed.

With an inward chuckle of triumph, he swallowed the second piece.

“Francis Gallagher,” he said.

Nathan washed away the bitter aftertaste with another mouthful of Cognac. Any ill effects he was going to feel seemed to have passed, and he actually felt somehow rejuvenated, really alive.

Kane looked at him, his brow creasing in curiosity. “Who’s Francis Gallagher?”

Nathan could only smile. “No one you’d know, my good man.”

***

He went to the safe and put together an envelope for the young man, slapping it in his hand at the front door.

“Thank you, Kane,” he said. “That’s the best ten thousand I’ve ever spent.”

And, he thought to himself, if I’m careful I might even get it back after they find this lad dead, and I tell the police he stole it from my house . . .

Predictably, Kane opened the envelope and quickly flicked through the fifty pound notes, before stuffing it into his inside jacket pocket. Nathan yanked the door open for him, and the boy was about to step through when he paused on the threshold.

“Oh, one little thing, Mr P,” he said. That cocky grin had returned to his sallow features. “If you’re thinking of using that last piece on me, forget it.”

Nathan’s face froze in a trembling smile. “What?”

“The juju doctor, the one I got it from, he said a few words over the merchandise, protecting me from its effects. Just thought I’d mention it.” Kane reached up and patted Nathan’s cheek. “Catch you later,” he said and then slipped out into the night.

Nathan held the door open for a few seconds, before slamming it shut on Kane and his ten thousand pounds.

Finally alone in his house, Nathan stood in silence for a moment, letting the knowledge of what he had achieved in the last hour wash over him. He wished he could know now if his second victim had succumbed to the juju magic, but it wasn’t as convenient as it had been with Terry Carson. He noted, with a wry smile, that much of the silence he was enjoying now was due to the removal of that obnoxious force from next door. For that, he could pat himself on the back. He walked over and wrapped the remaining piece of meat in its cloth, slipping the pouch into his trouser pocket.

The time was quarter past ten. Maria was late again. He decided he wouldn’t wait up for her. And besides, he felt a sudden wave of exhaustion come over him. Climbing the steps to bed, Nathan felt certain he would get a good night’s sleep.

***

His peaceful slumber was shattered at one o’clock in the morning with the sound of thunder. He sat bolt upright, and realised instantly that he was still alone in bed. The bright light of an angry storm flashed outside the curtains, bathing his room in an unearthly white glow. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and then he heard the noise which had woken him.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

It was the front door.

Maria!

He pulled on his dressing gown and slippers and raced out onto the landing, descending the stairs three at a time.

When he yanked the door open, he found his young wife standing on the porch, and the sight of her forced a sharp cry from his throat. Her dress, sodden with rainwater and clinging to her slender frame like a second skin, showed several tears. Bright swatches of blood glistened all over her body. There were deep scratches all over her face; blood and dirt in her hair. She was sobbing like a child, and as she came toward him, she fell. He caught her in his arms and carried her into the living room.

“Oh, Maria,” he cried, sitting her on the sofa, and smoothing long strands of wet hair from her face.

Her sobs began to tail off, but he could see she was in terrible agony.

“Maria, my love, what happened?”

She looked at him with her big brown eyes, one tainted red, and she began to explain. “I don’t know,” she said. “I was walking home, and . . . someone must have attacked me.”

“Attacked you!” His hands pulled into fists. “Who?”

She shook her head, blowing hard into a tissue. “It was dark, and he came from behind. I didn’t see anything.”

Nathan felt the stripping away of his power. This beautiful, sweet girl, who had made his life finally mean something after a disastrous first marriage, had been brutalised on the very night he had taken the lives of two men. Was this the price?

“Did this man . . . rape you?”

She clutched at the torn hem of her skirt then, and, to his surprise, said: “No!” Then, softer, she said, “No, he didn’t.”

“He didn’t?”

She shook her head. “He must have just taken my handbag. When I woke up by the side of the road, it was the only thing missing.”

Nathan stood up slowly then, looking her over from head to toe, appraising her injuries. She seemed to have suffered a lot of cuts and bruises for a simple mugging, but . . . who was he to doubt her word? Why would she lie to him?

“I’m calling the police,” he said.

“No!” she cried, grabbing his arm.

He looked back at her, the shock evident on his face.

Fresh tears came into her eyes. “Please, Nathan,” she whimpered. “No police.”

“But, sweetheart, you need to get to a hospital . . .”

“No! No doctors, no police.”

He crouched back down to her now, taking her ice cold fingers in his warm hands. “Darling? Why ever not?”

Just then, the telephone rang, the sound cutting through their house like a chainsaw.

Maria jumped. “Don’t answer that!” she begged.

Nathan stared down at her, the long, slow worm of doubt beginning to burrow into his mind.

“I have to,” he said firmly, and crossed the room.

He paused before picking up the receiver, afraid of what he might find on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” he said.

“Nathan? Thank God I got you. It’s Charlie.”

A tremor shot through Nathan’s gut. Charlie was his superior, and for him to be phoning him at this late hour meant trouble.

“What is it, Charlie?”

“Haven’t you heard? It’s Francis!”

The name of his enemy worked like smelling salts, bringing him out of his temporary trance. He’d almost forgotten Gallagher in the chaos of the last ten minutes. He cupped his hand around the receiver so that Maria wouldn’t overhear anything he didn’t want her to hear.

“Francis?” he said, trying to sound confused.

“He’s dead, Nathan. There was a car crash and . . . Francis is dead!”

“My God,” Nathan said. “When? When did this happen?”

“Just before ten,” Charlie explained. “The police said he must have suffered a heart attack at the wheel. Who’d have thought it, eh, Nathan? Old Mr Fitness?”

“That’s top class irony,” he said in a humourless monotone.

“Sure is. Thing is, Nathan, the reason I’m calling is that I need you to step into his shoes tomorrow. Is that too much to drop in your lap, Nathan? Just say if it is.”

Nathan couldn’t resist a grim smile to himself. “Charlie, I’ll do everything in my power to fill Francis’s shoes.”

He heard Charlie sigh heavily with relief. “You’re a star, Nathan.”

“How did you find out about Francis?” he asked.

“His wife phoned me about an hour ago. She sounded really at the end of her string, Nathan. It’s a real shame. And what’s worse is that . . . Maybe I shouldn’t say.”

“What?”

“Oh, what the hell. You’ll find out in the office tomorrow, anyway. Apparently, an eyewitness at the scene of the accident swears he saw a woman climb from the wreckage. A young woman. And it certainly wasn’t Mrs Gallagher.”

Nathan felt a cold hand grip his heart and squeeze.

“Say again?” he said, his voice faltering.

“Nathan, the old dog was cheating on his missus! He had his bit on the side in the car with him!”

Nathan turned slowly then, turned until he was looking at Maria. She was slumped on the blood-stained sofa, staring back with a frightened, desperate look, like a wounded kitten that’s about to run.

“The police said she must have been seriously concussed to run away from such a bad accident. They shouldn’t have too much trouble finding her, though. Whoever the silly bitch was, she left her bag in the car!”

Charlie’s laughter came floating out of the receiver, but Nathan didn’t wait to hear the full extent of it. He dropped the phone back in its cradle, and then stood there, staring at the floor. Staring at the trail of blood and dirt which his wife had dragged into the house with her. At the end of that trail lay the end of many things for Nathan Parker. The end of all trust, the end of his belief in innocence. The end of a marriage, and ultimately, the end of a life . . .

The same cold dead hand which had pinched his heart was now ripping downwards to his gut, to the very core of his being. He looked at the young woman on the couch, saw the betrayal in her eyes, and felt all the power he’d held onto so preciously go out like a candle flame.

“What’s happening, Nathan?” Maria said, her voice like an echo in the cloakroom of his mind. “It wasn’t the police, was it?”

“No, dear,” he said. “It’s just . . . business.”

Something inside him had broken. He saw now through a dark filter, and he began to advance towards his young wife.

She saw the horrible gleam in his eye, the flexing of his hands, and began to edge along the sofa, smearing the upholstery with streaks of blood.

“Nathan, what is it?” she asked pathetically, but she already knew. She slipped off the sofa and hit the floor with a cry. Despite the pain, she began to crawl across the lounge on her back.

“Nathan, I never meant to hurt you!”

But he said nothing, her voice so far away now.

He was almost on top of her when she leapt up with a sudden burst of energy, and raced for the open bathroom door. He grabbed for her, tearing a piece of her designer dress at the waist, but then she was gone. He lunged after her again, only to find her too quick for his old bones. She slammed the bathroom door on his fingers. He heard the thick wet snap of bone and screamed. Once he’d retracted the two fingers, she shut the door firmly and slid the bolt across.

“You bitch!” he roared, his voice so loud it appeared to shake the windows in their frames. Lightning flickered outside. He put his back to the door and slid to the floor, descending into a fit of heaving sobs.

“How could you, Maria?” he whimpered. “How could you do this to me?”

She was silent beyond the door.

“And with him!”

The thought of Francis Gallagher, that slimy, stuffed-sofa of a man, undressing his beautiful wife, kissing her, pressing his rough hands all over her body . . . The images brought the black veil over his sight once more. There was only one fate for her . . .

With his good hand, he pulled the cloth pouch from his trouser pocket and unravelled it. The final piece seemed to stare back at him, beckoning him to finish his triumvirate of evil. He didn’t need to kick down any doors to kill her, he had a power which transcended all physical barriers.