by S. B. Caves
Dillon’s intestines tied themselves in a knot. He shot up from the sofa and went back to his bedroom to get dressed.
They don’t know who I am, and even if they did, what would they want from me? He wondered this as he pulled on his jeans. Someone has to pay for that heroin, his mind answered. And if Craig isn’t available, then it’s going to fall back on you, sonny boy.
‘Where are you going?’ Leila was in the doorway bouncing Cora on her hip.
‘I need to go out.’
‘Where?’
‘Shut up, will you, and just listen.’ He spun around, tugging his T-shirt on. ‘I don’t have time to explain everything to you. It’s probably better if you don’t know anything anyway.’ He whirled around the room searching for socks, and settled on a dirty pair from the laundry basket. ‘I don’t know what’s happening right now, but I need to find out where Craig is.’
‘Why?’ Leila asked over the sound of Cora’s babbling. ‘You’re not wrapped up in any of this, are you?’
‘Of course not,’ he snapped, slipping his feet into his trainers and barging past her.
‘So what is this? Will you just slow down and talk to me?’
‘You know what Craig’s like. He’s always getting himself into some shit. So I need to find him.’
‘What’s that got to do with you?’
‘Stop asking me so many fucking questions, will you?’
‘I’m the mother of your child!’ she said authoritatively. ‘Your business is here in this flat with us, not out there getting mixed up in this fucking nonsense.’
‘Listen to me carefully,’ he said, his hands clenching into fists. ‘I’m going to leave now, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.’ As he said this, Leila made a dismissive grunting sound and walked off, leaving him talking to thin air. Dillon punched the hallway wall and then went into the living room after her. Her eyes were wide and attentive, betraying her defiant demeanour. ‘When I walk out that door, you bolt it behind me and you don’t answer it for anyone, do you understand me? I don’t care if it’s your mum, your sister, or if Jesus Christ himself comes down from heaven. You do not answer that fucking door, do you understand?’
‘You’re frightening me,’ she whispered.
‘Good. Then hopefully you’ll do as I say. Don’t leave this flat under any circumstances. You’re under house arrest until I come back, got it?’
‘Yeah.’ She shrugged. ‘Fine.’ Then, as he was walking off, she added, ‘You are coming back, aren’t you?’
I hope so, he thought, and left.
He had to speak with Tara, find out what happened. Had she set him up somehow? Dillon didn’t think so, but he didn’t rule it out either. For a man who, by the very nature of his work, had to remain discreet about all aspects of his social life, Craig certainly did his best to make his business public. He had these schoolgirls fighting over him in the street, with their friends recording it and putting the footage online. Craig’s discretion only went as far as offering them an alias upon meeting them, but it didn’t matter if he called himself Daffy Duck or Batman, they all knew who he really was. They knew because they’d heard all the urban myths about him, swapping rumours and putting their own spin on the stories until he was crazier and scarier with each retelling.
At least he didn’t cut the girl, Dillon thought without much relief. Craig and his morbid obsession with knives – Dillon could never understand it. He liked to cut. He didn’t have a clue as to what had happened back at Craig’s flat, but if there was any solace to be had in the situation it was that Craig didn’t go berserk and start cutting her. If he had, surely they would have reported that?
Dillon jogged to the lift and thumbed the call button. The up arrow glowed, showing that the lift was ascending from two floors below.
Perhaps the news would show CCTV footage of the incident. He got his phone out of his pocket and typed ‘Craig Morley’ into the search engine. The reception was awful in the foyer and his results were stuck on the load screen. He kept his eyes on the phone as he walked out into the sunshine, thumbing the blue ‘GO’ icon to refresh the search. A couple of seconds later the page loaded showing news items. He was almost at his car door when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The phone dropped from his grasp and bounced on the concrete.
‘Mr Dekkers would like to speak with you, please.’ It was the golem that guarded the door at Dekkers’ town house. His massive frame eclipsed the sun, bathing Dillon in shade.
One second Dillon was thinking about his phone, the screen’s contents distorted by a snarl of cracks, and in the next his mind was a total blank. The fear ambushed him and robbed his ability to speak. He opened his mouth and uttered a nonsensical sentence that his daughter Cora would have probably articulated better.
‘This way,’ the man said, guiding Dillon to a Bentley that was as out of place among the surrounding cars as a flying saucer would have been.
Dillon’s muscles became rigid. He saw Dekkers in the back seat reading a newspaper, and a word flashed in his mind like a beacon: RUN. He knew he if he shrugged the golem away and made a dash for it they wouldn’t catch him on foot. He’d run back through the estate and lose them in the warren of hallways. That thought was glorious for the second that it lasted, before his rational mind returned and reminded him of Leila and Cora, and what this bastard might do to them in his absence.
The golem opened the back door and Dillon got in.
‘It seems your friend found himself in some bother,’ Dekkers said, without looking up from the newspaper. ‘He didn’t make the morning edition but I suspect he will have a couple of column inches this evening.’
Dillon opened his mouth to feign ignorance, but he decided against it. Dekkers was already many steps ahead of him. The best he could do now was co-operate and try to negotiate some breathing room.
‘I just saw it on the news. I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on.’
‘Hmm…’ Dekkers licked his thumb, turned the page, his white hair flowing over his shoulders like spun silk.
Dillon saw the golem’s eyes watching him in the rear-view mirror. ‘Right now, I don’t… I don’t have any leads, but then again, I haven’t made any calls.’
Dekkers laughed softly. ‘Leads. You sound like a detective.’
Dillon gulped audibly. ‘There’s a girl he was fucking around with, she’ll know something. He’ll turn up. And then…’ He ran out of steam. He hadn’t thought further than locating Craig and he didn’t want to mention the heroin.
‘Then we have a tea party?’ Dekkers suggested.
Dillon tittered. To his ears it sounded like a very feminine laugh. He cleared his throat and said, ‘I’ll find him for you because I know you were involved in some business.’
‘Were we? What business was that?’ Dekkers asked, his white eyebrows arching.
Oh god, how had he wriggled his way into this position? He squirmed in his seat. ‘He was going to export something for you.’
‘Are you referring to the eight kilos of heroin now in police custody?’
Dillon nodded and bit down on the side of his tongue until he tasted blood.
‘I think I might have a better plan. Would you mind if I told you?’ Dekkers asked, perfectly polite. ‘I’m going to put some men on the street, and we are going to comb the city. London is not so big, so we will soon see who knows what. I’ll start with the big lady that you brought to his home, the one that was going to smuggle some of the eight kilos up her vagina.’ He smiled at this, and in the rear-view mirror, Dillon saw the golem’s eyes glitter. ‘Then, when we find Craig, we will expect the nine hundred thousand he owes us for the heroin. But of course, we now have to factor in my other expenses.’ He held out his hand and began counting off his fingers. ‘My men don’t work for free and they must be compensated. Then you have petrol and any other miscellaneous costs. So for now, let’s estimate the bill in total at an even million. Does that sound fair?’
Dillon’s stomac
h growled loudly. He felt a burp building up in his chest that eventually lodged in his windpipe.
‘So Craig will owe me one million. And, because I am not completely unsympathetic to the situation he has found himself in, I will give him seven days to pay it. Are you with me so far?’ When Dillon remained silent, Dekkers said, ‘Excuse me? Are you with me so far?’
‘Yes.’ Dillon nodded and swallowed the acidic burp down, his throat burning with the taste.
‘Good. I knew you were a clever man. However, we haven’t factored in the other scenario. What happens if we can’t find Craig or, god forbid, he’s dead? Well, that’s nothing to do with us of course. These things happen. But I am still one million out of pocket.’ He tapped Dillon’s knee with his index finger. ‘Which is where you come in.’
‘Mr Dekkers, I swear, let me talk to this girl, she’ll know something and then—’
‘Please, allow me to finish. Craig’s debt will transfer to you. And likewise, you’ll have a week to find the money. After that, things get a little bit more serious, I’m afraid. Not only will you incur interest, but you will also find your health severely compromised. But don’t worry.’ He rested a gentle hand on Dillon’s arm. To Dillon it was like an anchor dragging him to the bed of the ocean. ‘You will not suffer until your loved ones have suffered in front of you. How old is your daughter, by the way?’
Dillon’s lips glued together. Dekkers’ hand slapped him in the face, his rings cracking against Dillon’s cheekbones.
‘Now you speak. How old is your lovely daughter?’
‘Eight… eighteen months,’ Dillon said, rubbing his face, tears pricking his eyes.
‘Such a wonderful time, isn’t it? When they start developing their own little personality, and you can see glimpses of the person they’re going to become. Or maybe not.’ He sighed. ‘To cut my sermon short, it’s in your best interests to ensure we find Craig. You know Craig, you know his patterns, his associates. So if you get a lead, give us a call.’ He handed Dillon an old mobile phone and added, ‘There is only one number in the address book. Phone it, and you will reach Mikkel.’ He pointed to the golem. ‘He will call you back straight away. Let’s stay in touch, yes?’
‘Y-yes,’ Dillon stammered.
‘Good man. You can go now.’
Dillon opened the car door and rushed out. He walked toward his car, numb. As he touched the car door handle, Dekker called from his window, ‘It would be unwise of you to think about leaving. Please do bear that in mind.’
Then the tinted window went up and the Bentley drove away.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was a short, lonely walk back to the station from the warehouse. Emily hadn’t realised it until she was sitting down on the train, but her left hand was freckled with Morley’s blood. She had sweated buckets throughout the course of the night’s activities and now felt cruddy all over, but knowing that she had Morley’s blood on her skin made her itchy and nauseous. Now she wanted a shower more than she wanted to sleep; she had to scrub herself clean, wipe away the residue of her nocturnal sins and wash them down the plughole.
And then do it all over again tonight, she thought bleakly. She remembered the sound the hammer had made on Morley’s head. It was dull, not the dramatic thwack you got in movie violence. She felt her gorge rise, sure that she was going to be sick, and then closed her eyes and concentrated, waiting for it to pass. She didn’t have the stomach for this. How was she expected to help murder Morley? Did she even still want to do it? After all, what was stopping her from just backing out now? She’d done her part, and if Jack tried to say any different, then she would remind him that it was her that had knocked Morley unconscious. She had saved Jack’s life. Her fingerprints weren’t on the hammer and nobody had seen them. She could just call it quits.
But it didn’t matter if she stopped now or if she shovelled the last bit of dirt on Morley’s grave. She had helped seal his fate. She had helped kill Craig Morley.
It was a long journey back on the train and paranoia began to scuttle around in her mind. How long had they spent scuffling with Morley before they finally got him in the back of the van? It had felt like an eternity but it couldn’t have been longer than a couple of minutes. How much noise had they made? Morley had been shouting – screaming at one point – and then there was the sound of Jack choking. Had they woken anyone up? Could someone have seen them clearly in the car park? Surely not. Anyway, as rough as that area was, the residents were probably used to all manner of madness. It probably wasn’t enough to arouse their interest, she told herself, and then repeated it in her head, trying to make the idea gain weight so she could believe it.
Then it hit her like a bucket of water – so sudden and forceful that she sat upright in the seat and gasped, making the woman sitting next to her jump in fright. Jack had been wearing a balaclava and she had not. Christ almighty. What if someone recognised her from when she was lurking around outside Morley’s flat a few days before? That’s all they needed to tell the police, wasn’t it? A weird woman had been roaming the hallway and then we saw her again hitting Morley with a hammer. She was on the cusp of hyperventilating.
She looked out the window, saw that they were slowing to a halt and realised it was her stop. She squeezed through the herd of commuters, making it off the train just before the doors shut.
* * *
She slid the key quietly into the lock and opened the front door slowly in an attempt at making a quiet entrance. She felt like a teenager sneaking back home from a house party hours past her curfew. She was halfway up the stairs when Roger caught her. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and threw his arms out in a gesture of exaggerated exasperation.
‘Well?’
‘Roger, don’t start, OK?’
‘Don’t start? You’ve been out all night. I’ve been worried sick.’ Behind him in the living room, she could see his bacon sandwich and tea on the table. The worry hadn’t robbed him of his appetite apparently. ‘I’ve sent you about twenty messages, tried calling you. What is this?’
Her nails dug into the banister. ‘I was in the hospital.’
‘What?’ His eyes bulged behind their lenses. ‘What do you mean?’
She shook her head. ‘Not for me. You remember Jack? He came to the door the other day?’
‘Your sister’s husband?’ He nodded. ‘What about him?’
‘His mum’s not well,’ she lied. ‘She’s on borrowed time and they reckon she could go at any minute. Jack’s all broken up about it, like you would imagine.’
‘Well, that’s sad and all, but you’ll excuse me for being blunt here, what does that have to do with you staying out all night and not telling me where you were?’
‘She’s at death’s door, Roger. I don’t know when you were last in hospital, but they don’t want you to have your mobile phone on in the ward. The signals mess with the X-ray machinery.’ She could see that he knew that was a load of nonsense and he still wasn’t budging. ‘We thought she was going to go last night, so I waited with him.’
‘Right, OK.’ Again his hands flew up theatrically. ‘Perhaps I’m not enunciating my words properly or something. I’m a bit scatty this morning because I didn’t get much sleep last night. But what does his mum dying have to do with you? I thought you were in trouble, like maybe you’d been raped and murdered or something.’
Raped and murdered, she thought. And you seem so relieved that I’m home.
‘Let me stop you there, Roger, before you say something even more stupid. Jack is family. He was married to my sister. I was very good friends with his mother, all right? I know it may seem difficult for you to believe, but I did have a life before you, you know.’
She stomped up the stairs. Everyone in the house should already be at work, but if by any freak occurrence someone was using the bathroom, she planned to kick the door to pieces and drag them out. Thankfully, the bathroom was unoccupied. She went in and began stripping out of her clothes. In th
e mirror, she saw that her wrist was striped with Morley’s blood. She was in her underwear when Roger banged on the door.
‘Go away,’ she said, clutching the sink for support. Her eyes were sunken and had a wild, witch-like quality to them.
‘No, I’m not going away. Look, perhaps it was insensitive of me to question you like that, but you can see where I’m coming from, can’t you?’
She couldn’t have this conversation with him now. She needed to get clean and go to bed. She turned on the shower, removed her underwear, and stepped in.
‘Emily?’ He knocked on the door again. ‘Em, don’t bloody blank me and treat me like an idiot when I’m trying to talk to you. All I’m asking for is a little common courtesy here.’
Common courtesy. She would’ve laughed if she’d had the strength to. Roger was perhaps the most inconsiderate man she’d ever met. He was a freelance digital illustrator who worked from home, picking and choosing his own hours. He stayed up all night watching Netflix and keeping her awake with the glow of the screen and the volume cranked up, which she could hear even when he put earphones in. He only ever did his own washing up and cooking, and never thought to prepare her something to eat when she came home after a traumatic commute during rush hour. And here he was talking about common courtesy?
The water was scalding hot, almost unbearable, but that’s how she wanted it. The crash of the shower blocked out Roger’s voice as he began to say something about Jack not technically being her family any more, and that Roger himself was actually more family than Jack was now. She grabbed the bar of soap and scrubbed herself pink.
When she was clean and satisfied that she had no traces of Morley on her skin, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body. A bank of steam followed her out of the bathroom. Roger wasn’t there. She could hear his fingers clicking and clacking aggressively on the laptop keys downstairs. He probably wasn’t even writing an email to anyone, just hammering the keys to make noise. Creep.
