Ben took a drag on his cigarette, a swig of his vodka and nodded his head. Sylvia rattled the shutters before crossing Ostere Lane to talk.
‘That little Alex went missing a couple of days ago. There was a promise of bright lights and stardom. Harry, who I reckon is a bit fond of that little minx, well, he went looking for her, and now he’s gone missing. Tilly took off this afternoon. I told her not to go. It’s madness, it is. And you, young man, if you know what’s good for you, will go and get the two of them back. She’d think highly of you, she would, if you became the hero.’
‘Where?’
‘The East End.’
‘Not good, eh?’
Ahmed appeared with two canvas bags of supplies. ‘Everything you asked and beer and a bag of ice. Tobacco and cigarettes.’
Ben offered him the big note from Max. ‘Keep the change.’
‘There not be change big spender.’
‘Hello, Ms. Sylvia,’ Ahmed said. ‘This boy needs slow down. Good customer and look how he lives.’
Sylvia smiled and nodded to Ahmed and waved goodbye. Ahmed helped Ben from the chair so he could take it inside.
‘You take care,’ he said. The shutter came down and Ben stumbled away, thinking about Tilly’s empty house.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Hiding Out
A floorboard creaked as a breath of cold air traveled the hallway. The beer can Ben had placed by the rear door rattled across the floor. Ben eased his body off the sofa and crept up the stairs. Above on the first floor corridor the ladder reached into the attic. Space had been cleared through four terraced house attics, with ladders dropped to all first floors. In the final house the sewer hatch gaped open and his escape route was complete.
A foot scuffed below. The extinguished candle on the coffee table glowed red with a wisp of smoke rising. Bloodied cloths and gauze littered the table. Cans of beer and a bowl of melted ice sat on the floor.
He kept moving, worried about the trousers and shirt sitting on the sofa. He’d removed his clothing wanting to wash the blood out, but there was no running water in the house. He’d replaced the bandage to his shoulder, cleaning the gunshot wound with methylated spirits, before gluing the wound and holding it closed. He taped gauze to the wound, swallowed a handful of painkillers, half a bottle of vodka and too much beer. The pain no longer bothered him but he felt decidedly light headed.
Pissed to bits and feeling clever, he’d called his mother on the burner phone Ahmed had supplied. She started off quiet at first, but Ben wanted to know why she’d written the letter.
‘I was worried about you,’ she said. ‘The things the papers are saying about you. And the television. And your father is a respected man, a general, and him having to justify your actions every day, but in the nations interest he can’t take your side. Can’t you just give yourself up?’
‘They’ll hang me, Mum.’
‘Don’t be stupid. That’s just you being melodramatic. God, even as a child you had a sense for the theatrical. No one’s done any hanging in this country in an age. They aren’t going to build the gallows just for your precious neck.’
‘Mum, I’m tired. I’ve been shot, and I’ve taken serious painkillers.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. You are such a child. Where are you?’
‘I can’t tell you. They’ll torture you and if you don’t know where I am, you can’t be giving me away, eh Duck.’ He giggled. ‘Duck. Where does that expression come from, eh?’
Ben understood the drugs played with his mind, but he wanted to pursue the Duck expression. His mother wanted him to hang up. ‘You’re drunk. Again. I can’t talk to you like this. I don’t drink, and your father has the occasional brandy. I don’t know where you got your drinking habit from. But let me tell you, young man, it isn’t pretty and it isn’t clever.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum, but it’s been a long day. Can we meet? You know talk. I don’t want you and Dad to think bad about me.’
‘Not if you’re going to be drunk. Not if you’re not going to listen to me.’
‘Will you bring Dad?’
‘No, I haven’t said I’m coming yet.’
‘But you will, eh? You and Dad. We can get something to eat. My treat.’
‘Where are you getting money from? I don’t understand the life you’re leading. You do know your father is working for the Department now, don’t you? Oh yes, your shenanigans derailed his career, but now he’s been offered a job in the ministry. Once he gets out of the hospital, and… Oh, the trials you’ve put us through.’
Ben’s head hit the table and he jerked back. He didn’t feel well. The painkillers Ahmed had given him were super strong. He’d fumbled the phone trying to get it back to his ear and it fell into the ice bucket. He’d laughed, knowing he shouldn’t have made the call in the first place.
‘No phones,’ Jackie’s mantra played in his mind.
And he was trapped in the abandoned house next door to Tilly’s because he’d made a call. He had meant to take up residence in Tilly’s, but that was off limits due to the cop car sitting outside. He’d also spotted a soldier in the shadows at the top of the street. The lights in her house burnt bright and he knew Tilly had left for the East End. Tilly never burnt power. Tilly’s house worked on a generator, the constant hum of the engine playing at the back of her kitchen. If she wasn’t going to be home for a period, she’d have emptied her fridges and turned the damn thing off.
Ben took another step backward. Footsteps sounded on the warped floorboards. The intruder’s approach stopped at the kitchen and Ben looked to the ladder behind him. Panic suggested he climb, but his injury insisted he wait. He pulled his gun, checked the safety and aimed at the patch of floor between the bottom step and the cluttered coffee table.
Shoot, run and get the hell out of Ostere.
A figure stepped forward and reached for a bottle from the ice bucket. He observed a gun at the hip. The beer hissed as the cap twisted and bounced across the floor. The figure sighed as the bottle was placed back on the table. Ben watched and waited, his palms perspiring and the gun feeling heavy.
A small radio was pulled from the belt. ‘Yeah, he’s here.’
Ben knew the voice.
‘Surround the building and let’s get this idiot fitted for a noose.’
‘What!’ he cried. ‘You scheming cow.’ A spasm of pain burnt in his chest and radiated down his arm. His foot missed the step and he fell to his side, clattering with a cry to the bottom of the stairs.
Wynona stood with her radio in hand and torch shining on the cripple trying to stand. ‘Hello, Ben. I thought I might find you here.’ She looked at his bandage and raised her eyes at the bare chest.
‘Who you calling?’
‘Relax,’ she said. ‘Who’d you get to treat your wound?’
She looked at the paraphernalia littering the table. She picked out the tweezers from the glass of spirits and held them up to Ben. He was still trying to stand, the pain in his chest hindering his effort. With the tweezers she picked up the bloodied gauze and sorted through the other oddments.
‘What’s going on here?’
‘I couldn’t find a bullet, but I’ve cleaned it up, best I could. Still hurts like a bitch, but it’s not hot to touch, and I don’t have a fever. So that’s all good, I believe.’
‘Good, good. I like your hideout, too. Clever choice this, right next door to Tilly and you’ve got your own guards outside looking after you. If Barney knew you were here, he’d have a fit.’
‘I can’t stay here, can I?’
‘No. He’ll work it out eventually and he’ll come with guns – lots of guns.’
Ben reached for the vodka and the drugs. He shoveled a handful of pills into his mouth and crunched loudly, before swishing the medication down with vodka.
‘I spoke to my mother earlier and she’s agreed to meet with me. Can you organize safe passage to the Drunken Duck?’
‘That isn’t a good move,’ she s
aid. Wynona flopped on the sofa, screwing her nose against the sour odor and dust that rose into the air. ‘Your mother will be flagged. They’ll have her phone monitored and as soon as it moves, they’ll be onto you.’
‘Yeah, but it’s got to be done.’
‘Does it mean you’ll leave this house? They’ll sweep it eventually looking for occupancy. Your phone will give you away. You shouldn’t have called your mother.’
‘Yeah, it stinks in here.’
Ben pointed at the bucket of water. ‘One dead phone.’ He laughed. ‘So you can get me in and out of the Drunken Duck, eh?’
She stood and looked out the front window. ‘You understand your mother is on your side, don’t you?’
‘She got a funny way of communicating that sentiment.’
‘She wants you to surrender to the police so you don’t get shot. She wants you to prove your innocence so you can give up this life of hiding.’
‘Can you prove I’m innocent?’
‘I’m close, but not there. I’ve got access to a Black Hat gun, but the Sarge won’t help me on this, so I’ll be using a private company for the ballistics check. I have bodies with bullets in them and I should be able to match the dead copper’s guns to those bodies. But it’s going to take time. I’ve spoken to your old girlfriend and have a statement which might stand up in court. You got to remember I’m the office girl with very little experience in investigation. Now if Barney was on your side you’d be a free man.
‘You know he’s got half of West Sector’s constabulary searching for your sorry arse with a man parked up your bloody arse. They know you will come and visit Tilly. They’re banking on it. You need to leave this house.’
Ben picked up a beer, twisted the top and took a long draught. He reached for the vodka as he sat back on the dusty sofa and placed a half-smoked cigar in his mouth. He puffed at the butt, smoke billowing into the room.
‘She’s not there.’
‘Who?’
‘Tilly. She’s not there. I was speaking to Sylvia and she says she’s not there. She’s gone off looking for Harry.’
‘Stupid girl,’ Wynona spat. ‘She asked me to look for him and I said I would. I was thinking of sending you out there, while I finish sorting out your life. You’ve become a full time job and I thought I had one of those. Weismann’s got the right hump with me because I’m not supervising the Punksters. The little shits have been thieving in the square, which is high risk as the army prefers to shoot rather than ask questions.’
Ben watched the Wynona as she talked, the smile growing on his face. He’d forgotten about the pain in his shoulder. ‘You’ll say it one day.’
‘Say what?’
‘That you’re in love with me and want me to have your children.’
Wynona stopped, turned and glared. ‘In your dreams.’
She walked away shaking her head. She had her truncheon in hand, slapping it against the palm of her hand. She looked up the stairs before turning to face Ben. He puffed on his cigar and blew a thick smoke ring toward Wynona.
‘You think you got this sorted, don’t you? You think no one’s going to catch you because you’re smart, street smart, don’t you?’ She stepped to the window and watched the road outside. A lamp light flickered and died. The dead house opposite was missing a hoarding on the right window. A glint showed, a torch light shone and the light reflected off a camera lens sitting atop a tripod.
‘Now, Ben,’ she said. ‘You need to go now. For fuck’s sake, why are you hiding next to Tilly’s house? Are you challenging them? Do you want a gunfight in the street, like that’s an honorable way to die? Fuck sake, Ben, what are you doing here?’
‘I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I’m lacking alternatives and I thought this might be the last place they’d look.’
‘Can you walk?’
‘Yes, I can walk. I’m just a bit slow.’
‘Let’s go. I got a place you can stay. They won’t be checking out my house.’
‘Well done. You finally got me into your house. Now getting me into your bed is another matter. I prefer the right side. I don’t know why, but I always seem to end up on the right side. Even in Blacky’s loft I slept to the right with Billy on the left because he snored louder than a hibernating bear.’
‘Dream on, Street Boy. You smell. You will be getting nowhere near my bedroom.’
‘I can wash.’
‘In disinfectant, I hope.’
‘Look at us. Arguing, and we haven’t even had our first proper kiss.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ben Rides Pillion
Ostere’s town square glittered with fairy lights swinging in the light wind. Fires burnt bright with beasts rotating and charring. Citizens paraded in their glory, tasting the wares and toasting life with beer and wine. Small music combos dotted the corners of the square with folk, young and old, dancing to the beats. Sam the Snake Charmer enjoyed popular support, his bandaged arms white in the night, as he played a flat tune on a battered whistle. The juggler sat on the steps to the first aid tent gargling mouthwash to quell the burns to his throat.
Wynona ensured a table stood spare at the Drunken Duck. A Pittsville Punkster stood guard, threatening any stray body thinking it free for use. Ben stood in the dark of Smelly Alley, his hood covering his head. He’d arrived at the square an hour ago, walking through the crowd, his hood shadowing his face, marking out the army, and the coppers, and the new breed of dark-suited men in their black out glasses.
The screen showed a film clip of a historic sporting event before the usual report on the economy. Everything was good in the world. The Man appeared, beseeching all to keep the faith and keep up the good work. ‘Do something extraordinary for your country and it will do something extraordinary by you.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Ben said.
The screen turned to images of the war on terror. A citizen stopped by Ben’s side. He shook his head at the sight of bombs exploding, black clouds and fire engulfing sand-blown, apocalyptic cities. ‘We won that damn war yet?’
His mother arrived at the Drunken Duck as the clock in the town hall began to strike the hour. Ben ignored its flat chime, watching the square, wary of a trap being sprung on his freedom. Wynona had placed Punksters around the square to keep watch, but Ben knew the Punksters were good for thieving, not for spying.
His mother sat at the table outside the Drunken Duck. A waiter brought her a glass of wine and the menu. Wynona had said the delivery of the drink meant it was cool to approach. He took a seat and smiled. His mother sat back, her hand to her mouth, shocked by the figure sitting opposite. Ben had lost weight, most of it in blood. He hadn’t shaved and had the pallor of a day old cadaver. It took a minute, but she marshalled her senses and smiled, sitting back in her seat. She pulled her jean jacket close over her beige shirt, tilted her head ready to speak. Her dark hair sat in a bob, neat and functional, framing a small face devoid of makeup.
‘How did you get to this point, Benjamin?’ She reached across and grabbed his hand. ‘You’ve gotten old,’ she said. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but you’ve lost your youth. It’s just gone. When you left home you were a baby and now you’re…’ She sat back in her chair and attempted to smile. It fell from her lips before it began.
‘I’ve been sleeping rough for two and a half years. I’m sorry I didn’t keep up my cleansing routine. News flash, Mum, I don’t floss, either.’
‘Why didn’t you just serve? None of this would’ve happened if you’d answered the army draft. You’d have married Linda and you’d have a child and be on the way to a good army pension. But that was too simple, wasn’t it? You never could take the simple path. But this…this running wild, robbing and killing like a bloody Slotvak. How is that? Oh, you need a good, bloody spanking.’ She held her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear, but why are you doing this? Why aren’t you working and thriving. Your father served with distinction and your actions have hit him hard.
He’s not been well and his health is getting worse. But he’s been reassigned and will be working in the Defense Ministry with General Batista as his boss. Surprising, considering the fuss you’ve caused.’
‘Well, tell him to get well, Mum, because I need help here. He knows people who can help me out. I’m going to need a legal team and that’s going to cost money.’
‘Of course, you don’t have any money.’
‘No, Mum. I don’t have any money. Because Dad wanted me to catch bullets for the Man’s war on terror, I’ve not had opportunity to earn a living. But I need you guys now. This is the point where you guys do the right thing and put your hand up, eh.’
We didn’t bring you up to be looking like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘A hood to hide beneath. You smell and when was the last time you shaved? This is just wrong. I bet you haven’t been to church recently.’ She looked at Ben waiting for an answer. ‘Well?’
‘I went just before Christmas. Twice. But no, you’re right, this isn’t how you brought me up. You taught me to do what’s right. I don’t believe the Man’s war on terror is right. I believe he’s using the war to cleanse our country. Conscription is about cutting the welfare bill. It’s about sending the unemployed, the retards, and the criminals to their deaths. I believe he’s promoting this war for the sake of his presidency and the weapons industry, which appears to be the only form of manufacturing we have these days. I believe he is promoting the war on terror to maintain his hold on power. And for those reasons, Mother, I don’t want to provide my chest for one of his mates’ bullets to pierce. People are dying, mom. Good people are being sacrificed for his war. His war. By not fighting, I am doing what I think is right. That’s about knowing right from wrong.’
‘You were always so impossible. The things you say. If everyone believed your thoughts we’d have anarchy. Did you actually pray when you went to church? Did you ask for guidance? Did you?’
Heroes Don't Travel Page 28
