Joe Coffin Season One

by Ken Preston

  Laura shrugged. “He wasn’t so bad, then. And he wanted me, and feeling wanted made me like him more than I normally would have, I suppose. Tom was less like a little boy at that point. He’d done a few jobs for the Mob, and Craggs was starting to take notice of him. Craggs was upset with Joe for splitting up with me. He’s old fashioned like that, considers the marriage vows sacrosanct.”

  “Mortimer Craggs never struck me as the religious type,” Emma said. “Is this the same Craggs who once ripped a man’s tongue out with a pair of pliers, because he found out he’d been talking to the police?”

  “You’re right, Craggs isn’t religious, but he believes in loyalty. He believes in family. He was angry with Joe for leaving me, but then Tom took an interest in me, and from Craggs’ point of view, that was Tom stepping in, taking care of me. So Craggs started taking care of Tom, giving him more jobs, more responsibility. Life got better at that point. Tom was on the way up, he was finally getting some respect from his peers, and we got married, and we were happy.”

  “And then you had Jacob.”

  Laura nodded.

  “That was the start of it all, really, the point where our marriage started disintegrating, the point where Tom started growing mean, like a sulky little boy, who’s had all his toys taken from him. And then Joe met Steffanie, and everything took another turn for the worse.”

  Emma sat up a little. “Steffanie? What did she have to do with anything?”

  Laura sighed. “You have to understand something about Joe, first, before I tell you about Steffanie. He’s a big tough man, and he had a hard childhood, but he got through it, and he’s kind and decent, and he’s not perfect, but he’s a good man. He really is a good, kind man.”

  “But?”

  “But, when it comes to women, it’s like his brain switches off, and he loses all sense of direction and meaning. It’s like he doesn’t know what’s up or down, left or right. That’s why we split. He loved me, and I still loved him, but he’d meet a pretty girl, and she’d come on to him, and that was it, he’d jump into bed with her before he’d even considered what he was doing. And then he would feel all terrible, and guilt ridden, and promise never to do that again, but then he’d meet another girl, and it’s like they cast a spell over him or something. Got to a point I just couldn’t take it anymore, and I told Joe I was leaving him. He was upset, said he still loved me, promised to try harder, but I’d had enough by then. So we got divorced.”

  “And you married Tom, and you had Jacob, and then what?”

  “It was around the time that Joe met Steffanie at Angellicit, that I told Tom I was pregnant again. The day they officially became an item, and started wandering around like a couple of lovesick teenagers, that was a Friday. We met them at Craggs’ old club, before he bought Angels.”

  “Which one was that, Edwards Number 9?”

  “That’s the one, yeah. He still owns it, he owns all the nightclubs in town now, and a fair few of the pubs and hotels, too.”

  “Mortimer Craggs, he’s a real entrepreneur, right?” Emma said, thinking of Coffin, shooting Terry Wu, just so Craggs could have his club. “Maybe he’ll get a knighthood one day, for services to Birmingham city.”

  “Me and Tom, and a few of the others, I think Craggs was there, too, we met Steffanie. Joe was showing her off like she was a trophy, and you could just see he was completely smitten. Every time she looked at him, he was like a puppy, with his tongue hanging out, and rolling over on his back waiting to have his tummy scratched. It was a bit sad, really.”

  “But you said he always fell for the women, they were his weak spot.”

  “This time was different. He might fall hard for a girl, but then he would regain some sense of proportion, get a little perspective. This time there was no sense of perspective. I said they were like two lovesick teenagers, but that’s not true. It was Joe who was giddy with love, but Steffanie, she was a little bit more aloof, reserved. She went through the motions of laughing and chatting, and kissing Joe, and holding his hand, but when I looked in her eyes, it seemed to me that there was nothing there. No feeling, no empathy or humour or enjoyment, just the sense of a cold, calculating mind behind that fake exterior.”

  “You didn’t like her much, then?”

  “No, never. Steffanie had her own reasons for marrying Joe, maybe she thought he could get her out of the pole dancing life, although she always seemed to enjoy it to me, or maybe it was pure lust, but then she didn’t have to marry him for that, did she? Whatever the reason, it wasn’t because she loved him, I’m sure of that much, at least. And I looked at Tom, thinking that surely he would be able to see the real Steffanie too, but no, he was standing there goggling at her, with his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth.”

  “Men,” Emma said, contemptuously.

  “And then I realised, Tom didn’t love me, he never had, not once, not even when we first got together, and when he married me. Him and Joe, they’d known each other all their lives, and all Tom ever wanted out of life was what Joe already had. When Joe was married to me, Tom wanted me. I could see it sometimes, the way he looked at me. And then we split, and there was Tom’s chance, and he wooed me, and made me feel good when I was feeling bad, and he got what he wanted. But then, when our marriage had all turned bad, Joe met Steffanie, and she was a stunner, and so Tom didn’t want me anymore. He wanted Steffanie. And, on the following day, the Saturday, he came home pissed off his head, and kicked my unborn baby to death inside of me.”

  “Oh fuck,” Emma whispered.

  “I should have left him then, I should have pressed charges, and taken Jacob, and left him to rot.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I already told you. Mortimer Craggs.”

  “What? He forced you to stay with Tom?” Emma’s eyes widened, and a hot flare of anger rose in her chest.

  Laura nodded, tearful again. “When I was released from hospital, I was in no condition to go anywhere. Craggs came for a visit, brought me a bunch of flowers, a huge bouquet. It was beautiful. And presents for Jacob, too. A remote controlled car, and this huge kite, would have lifted Jacob off the ground if we’d ever taken it out of the packet and tried flying it. And Craggs said...” Laura’s voice hitched a little, “...he said that he would look after me and Jacob, that we were part of his family. He said we would never want for anything, that the bills would always be paid, we would always have a roof over our heads, and that Craggs and the Slaughterhouse Mob would always look out for us.”

  “But?”

  “But, I had to stay with Tom. Craggs said he would have a word with Tom, tell him to get his drinking under control, tell him to start treating me nice. But if I left Tom, or if I ever pressed charges against him, then I was on my own. Me and Jacob, we would be out on the streets, left to fend for ourselves. The Mob wouldn’t be our family anymore.”

  Emma realised she was hunched forward in her chair, almost painfully so, and leaned back, unclenched her hands. Her career making story was forgotten for the moment. Instead she simply had an anger burning inside her, anger not only at Tom for the emotional and physical abuse he put his wife through, but Mortimer Craggs, too. He had inflicted his own form of abuse on Laura, and in a way, his was the more vile of the two.

  “Mummy?”

  Emma and Laura both started at the sound of Jacob’s frail voice, little more than a hoarse whisper.

  “Oh, my baby!”

  Laura jumped off her chair and embraced Jacob. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she was smiling, laughing, crying all at the same time.

  Emma sat quietly, watching, and feeling a little like an intruder at an intimate family moment. She stood up, picked up her bag, ready to go.

  Laura straightened up, one hand caressing her son’s forehead. He was gazing up at her, his eyes dark with the drugs the doctors had given him.

  “Laura, I’m going to go now, leave you two alone,” Emma said.

  Laura looked round at Emma, her face t
ight and flushed and streaked with tears. She nodded, unable to form words.

  “Mummy, the cellar,” Jacob whispered.

  Laura leaned over Jacob again. “No, darling, don’t think about it, you’re safe now. You’re safe.”

  “Mummy,” Jacob whispered, his eyelids fluttering closed again. “It was Steffanie. Steffanie kept me prisoner in the cellar.”

  Emma’s stomach felt like it had plunged through the floor, and a cold, icy wave flooded through her system.

  Steffanie?

  the best orgasm you ever had

  Hard to believe it was the middle of the afternoon, the sky was so dark. Clevon pulled the collar of his jacket closer as a stiff wind sent a shiver though him, and picked up pieces of litter, sending them tumbling down the road. The cars all had their headlights on, and the street lamps had been switched on, too.

  Clevon stood in the entrance to Angels, watching the traffic backing up on the road, and pedestrians hurrying by, trying to get to shelter before the heavens opened with the threatened downpour. The burly bouncer flexed his pectorals under his coat. They were still sore from the workout he had given them yesterday, but he enjoyed the sensation of the soreness. It helped him feel like he had achieved something in his gym session, instead of standing around talking for an hour and a half.

  All Clevon ever wanted to do at the gym was concentrate on his workout. The trick was to focus on whatever task you had set your mind to, on the goals you wanted to achieve. Clevon had been reading a lot about setting goals, and focusing, recently. He had high ambitions; he didn’t plan on being a bouncer at a nightclub for much longer.

  The trouble was, Clevon wasn’t entirely sure what it was he wanted to do with his life, and where he intended to let his ambition guide him. Maybe into the music business, or maybe running his own gym, some place without all that crappy pop music playing in the background, and all those posers, standing around looking at themselves in the full-length mirrors.

  Clevon was sick of other guys talking to him when he was trying to workout. First of all, one of the big dudes would saunter over to him, and ask him to spot him. Clevon was always happy to help out with a workout. You didn’t have someone spotting you, you couldn’t bench-press the serious weights, and you couldn’t pack on the muscle. But more often than not, they just wanted to stand around and shoot the breeze, and end up wasting Clevon’s workout time.

  When Clevon got his own gym, he’d have it written into the contract they signed when they joined up, no standing around bullshitting. You were at the gym, you lifted weights, or you sparred in the ring.

  The bouncer retreated a little into the shade of the porch as the dark, heavy cloud cover suddenly broke, and the downpour began. The sound of the rain hitting the car bodies, and the roads and the pavements, was incredibly loud, like a vast cathedral filled with people pounding furiously on drum kits.

  This rain kept up, the club was going to be quiet tonight, Clevon reasoned. Nobody was coming out in this weather, not even to gawk at nubile young flesh dancing up on a stage.

  “Clevon.”

  The bouncer turned around. Addison was standing behind him, in the shadows of the club’s interior.

  “Sup, Addison?”

  “Clevon, Craggs wants you to close the doors, and come on inside.”

  “You kidding me, right?”

  “No.” Addison paused, swallowed.

  “Are you all right? You look like you gonna be sick or something.”

  “Craggs says, he says to shut up shop. Nobody’s coming in the club now, not in this weather.”

  Clevon shook his head. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Mortimer Craggs would keep his clubs open twenty-four hours straight through the week, if he thought he could get the business. Craggs never shut the doors during business hours.

  “Come on, Clevon,” Addison said, his voice breaking slightly. “You know Craggs, he’ll have your balls if you don’t do what he says.”

  “Okay,” Clevon muttered, “but this is just plain weird.”

  With one last look at the rain pounding the streets, rivers of water already gushing along the gutters, the drains overflowing, Clevon stepped inside and pulled the doors shut.

  “Man, it’s dark in here,” he said, reaching for the light switches. “Is Craggs trying to save money on the electricity?”

  He flicked the switch, flooding the reception area with bright, fluorescent light. And then he froze. Clevon’s brain refused to register what his eyes were telling him. It wasn’t possible, and yet there she was, even more icily beautiful than the last time he had seen her at the club.

  Steffanie Coffin was standing beside Addison. One long, graceful arm was draped over his shoulders, her hand hanging in front of him, and her fingers playing a little beat on his chest. Her other hand was slowly and gently caressing his face. Addison’s eyes were wide with terror, and Clevon could see a large, dark patch spreading from his groin, and down his trousers.

  Steffanie gazed at Clevon through her mane of long, red curls. Her lips were fat and glossy with red lipstick, and her eyes were dark, her pupils round and large. That look turned the bouncer’s stomach over, in a queasy, sexual way. A small part of him screamed in terror, begged him to open the door and run outside into the downpour, and keep on running. But another side of him needed him to stay, to approach Steffanie and let her have her way with him.

  Clevon swallowed, realised he was breathing heavily, his heart rate galloping out of control.

  Steffanie was wearing a large, white T-shirt, just big enough to keep her decent, but short enough that it showed off almost all of her long, slender legs. The T-shirt was stained with splatters of fresh, dark blood.

  “Steffanie?” Clevon said. His voice was barely more than a strangled croak.

  “Hello Clevon,” Steffanie said, and smiled.

  The bouncer backed up against the door at the sight of Steffanie’s long, sharp teeth. They were red, too. Clevon suddenly realised Steffanie wasn’t wearing red lipstick, it was blood smeared over her lips and teeth.

  Without warning, her head snapped round, and she sank her teeth into Addison’s neck. The manager screamed. He grabbed clumps of Steffanie’s long hair in his fists and pulled. His feet kicked out spasmodically, scrabbling against the floor, as he yanked at her hair and pounded on her back. Steffanie ignored him, holding him up whilst she chewed on his neck, making grotesque sucking noises.

  Still, Addison screamed, but his flailing arms grew slower and weaker, and the scream turned into a choked gurgle. Blood dripped down his chest and fell to the floor with a wet splat.

  Steffanie pulled away and dropped Addison to the floor. He groaned as his skull connected with the hard floor and lay still. Blood pumped in weakening bursts from an artery in his neck. Clevon watched in horror as Addison slowly turned his face to the bouncer, eyes pleading for help. But then his eyelids fluttered, and the life drained from his face.

  Steffanie wiped the blood from around her mouth and licked at her fingers.

  Without taking his eyes off her, Clevon scrabbled for the door handle, his hands shaking so bad, they could hardly grip it He managed to open the door a sliver, but Steffanie was on him before he knew what was happening. She pulled him away from the door, slammed his back against a wall. Her hands were slippery with Addison’s blood. Clevon gagged at the rich, coppery smell.

  Steffanie pressed her body up against him. He could feel her breasts through the thin material of the T-shirt, her nipples hard and erect. Clevon’s insides were alive with fear and excitement. He twisted his head away, screwing his eyes shut as she leaned in even closer, her mouth opening to reveal those terrifying, blood stained teeth. Her tongue flicked out, and she licked his cheek, from his jawline up to his temple. Her tongue was rough and sharp, like a cat’s tongue.

  Steffanie took his hand and guided it up her thigh, and underneath her T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing anything, and she was moist, and his finger slipped inside her. She cl
asped his jaw in her hand and turned him to face her and thrust her tongue in his mouth.

  Her tongue probed his mouth, as her body undulated softly against him.

  She pulled away.

  “It’s your lucky day, Clevon, I’m going to give you the best orgasm you have ever had,” she whispered into his ear. “And then I’m going to kill you.”

  * * *

  Mortimer Craggs had never felt as old as he did now. He had always prided himself on his strength, and his vigour and energy. Craggs believed in taking care of himself, always had. Now, aged eighty-two, he still worked out at the gym every day, lifting weights and rowing and running, and working harder than most teenagers could.

  Sure, he had slowed down over the last ten years in particular, but he knew he could still take care of himself in a fight. And when he looked in the mirror, he was proud of the body he saw, the drum tight stomach, his chest and the ropey muscles in his arms. He knew he could pass for someone ten or twenty years his junior. For Mortimer Craggs, life was one long battle, and if you wanted to stay on top of the game, you had to look after yourself, be ruthless with your body like he was ruthless with his enemies.

  Not for him the indulgences of the other mob bosses he had known over the years. Sure, he liked his cigars, and he liked his whiskies, but everything in moderation, and counterbalanced by a healthy lifestyle. That had always been part of his success as leader of the Slaughterhouse Mob. Where others thought they had made it, thought they could relax and enjoy life because they had ’arrived’, Craggs knew you could never afford to be complacent. The moment you relaxed, that was it, you were dead.

  Craggs was sitting in his chair, behind his desk. He was gripping the arms of his chair, and leaning back, far enough he knew he might topple backwards at any moment. The reason he was leaning so far back was crouched on his desk, looking like something out of his worst nightmare.

  The man, if it could be called a man, appeared to be ancient. Its grey flesh was wrapped tight around its skull, eyes protruding from its sockets like a corpse’s. But those dark eyes were alight with amusement and contempt. It bared its teeth at Craggs, revealing sharp, elongated fangs. It was wearing a dark, stained and wrinkled suit. There was something odd about that suit, it looked old and out of fashion, by at least a hundred years.