by Peter Boland
“Not right at this moment. We’re fixing Rosie’s door. Want to help?”
A big smile spread across his face. “Are you going to do another magic trick with the nail?”
“Not this time, I’m afraid. This one’s a lot more straightforward. We will need to go and see the lad who we did the magic trick for. Remember the guy building the bin store?”
“Yep.”
“Could you go ask him if we could borrow a screwdriver and a handful of small washers.”
Dink nodded enthusiastically and scampered off like an overweight spaniel.
“Sweet guy,” said Savage.
“He is,” Rosie said. “I’m lucky to have him as a neighbour. He’s never any trouble. Unlike some of the pricks in this place.” Rosie’s face became dark, worry lines popping up across her forehead.
“Everything okay?” Savage asked.
Rosie masked her gloom with a fake smile. “Everything’s fine.”
Clearly it wasn’t.
Savage took an oblique approach. “Tell me, what made you change your mind?”
“About what?”
“Me helping you. Last time I offered you nearly bit my head off, whereas now you seem more open to a bit of assistance.”
Rosie shifted uneasily on her feet. Started fingering a dirty mark on the wall, of which there were many. She breathed deeply. “Someone keeps creeping into our room at night. Watching me and Grace sleep.”
“You’re kidding,” said Savage. “Someone in here?”
She nodded.
“Why don’t you call the police?”
“Don’t be daft, they won’t even come into Thornhill, let alone Tivoli Gardens.”
“That must be terrifying.”
“Luckily, my Grace sleeps through it. Doesn’t know anything about it. And I want to keep it that way. I’m always awake. Just lie there scared stiff, frozen. He just sits on a chair watching us for about an hour. Then leaves.”
“Is that all he does, watches you?”
Rosie looked at the floor, muttered a barely audible “no”.
“What does he do?”
Rosie stuttered. “Sometimes he, you know, plays with himself.”
Savage made fists with both hands, dug his fingernails into his palms. “Who is he?” he asked.
She shook her head, eyes filled with fear. “You can’t do anything. It’ll only make it worse. At least if the lock gets fixed he can’t get in.”
“Tell me who it is. I promise I won’t touch him. Scout’s honour.”
“What are you going to do to him?”
“Nothing, absolutely nothing. I swear.”
Rosie thought for a moment. “Grace will be coming out of school soon, I have to meet her.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything rash.”
Rosie thought for a moment, then said, “It’s this slimy guy called Jezza, on the first floor. Number nine.”
“Okay,” said Savage. “I’ll watch out for him.”
An awkward silence grew while they waited for Dink to return.
“I never used to be in this position, you know,” Rosie said suddenly. “Used to be happily married, had a house and a mortgage. A proud mum bringing up my young daughter while my husband worked. Then one day he disappeared. Cleaned out our bank account, left me with nothing. He’s in Spain now, I think. We lost the house and had to come here.”
“Guy sounds like an asshole.”
“Since then I seem to be surrounded by assholes.”
“We’re not all bad,” said Savage. The look on Rosie’s face said she begged to differ.
Just then the hulking figure of Dink burst through the front door, breathless.
“Got them,” he said proudly. As he approached he handed Savage the screwdriver and opened his other hand to reveal a palmful of shiny washers, like metal sweets. “He didn’t know what size you wanted so he gave us lots. Did I do it right?”
“You did it perfect, Dink,” said Savage. “Right, let’s fix this lock.”
In a second, Savage had removed the screws and prised the strike plate away from the door frame.
“How are we going to fix it?” asked Dink.
“Well,” said Savage, “we simply put some of these washers underneath the strike plate, so it lifts it away from door frame, bringing it closer to the lock, like so.”
Savage fitted three washers behind each of the screw holes then replaced the screws and tightened them up. The strike plate now stood slightly proud of the door frame. Closing the door gently, he made sure it didn’t catch the newly raised-up strike plate, then gave the key a twist. This time the deadbolt went across and sat snugly in the bolthole, securing the door. He gave it a try, pushing against the door with all his weight. It held firm. “There,” said Savage. “Safe and sound. Give it a try.”
Rosie attempted to open the locked door. It wouldn’t budge. A wide smile broke across her face. “Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you.”
Savage handed the spare washers and screwdriver back to Dink. “Would you mind returning these to our friend on the building site, Dink?”
Dink took them and was off again, out the door.
“I must give you something,” said Rosie.
“Don’t be crazy, only took a minute to fix.”
“Please, I insist.”
“Okay then, do you have a couple of hairpins I could have.”
Rosie’s brow creased in confusion. “A couple of hairpins? I was thinking something more than that.”
“No, really, I just need a couple of hairpins.”
“Sure,” she said. “I still owe you, big time.” Rosie disappeared into her room and returned clutching a fistful of hairpins. “Thank you,” she said.
“My pleasure.” Savage turned and climbed the stairs.
“And you’re not going to do anything silly, are you?” she called after him. “Jezza’s dangerous.”
So am I, thought Savage. “Nope, I promise I won’t touch the guy.” He turned and continued up the stairs.
“Done your good deed for the day, have we?” Jeff said, pouring on the sarcasm thick.
“Yes I have, actually.”
“Feeling all warm and tingly, are we?”
“Why are you talking like a prick? Oh wait, you always talk like a prick. And what’s wrong with helping people? And what’s wrong with getting a nice feeling when you do it?”
“I suppose a bit of self-gratification isn’t the problem here. The problem is, you think you’ve found the secret she was hiding. You’re so naïve.”
“So the guy creeping into her bedroom at night and jerking off while her and her daughter sleep isn’t the thing that’s making her scared and uptight?”
“Correct.”
“So that’s just a little speedbump in her life, a fly in the ointment.”
“Also correct.”
“Okay, astound me. What’s the thing that’s making her life a misery apart from living in this place, while bringing up a teenage girl and being surrounded by drug addicts, alcoholics, perverts and low lifes?”
“They’re not all low lifes. You’re stereotyping occupants of social housing, shame on you, I say, shame on you. Some of these people are just down on their luck. Like Archie and Dink.”
“Oh so you like Dink now, do you? You implied he was a retard the other day. That’s a horrible thing to call someone with learning disabilities. Shame on you, Jeff.”
Jeff didn’t reply.
“Jeff, what’s this amazing revelation you have then? Jeff?”
Jeff still didn’t reply.
“Come on don’t go all shy. What’s Rosie hiding?”
“Don’t know. She’s still hiding something.”
“Great, thanks for the heads up. That bit of informat
ion is next to useless.”
“All I’m saying is, you still need to look out for her. The Jezza problem is the least of her worries. Now, on that subject, what are you going to do about Jezza? You promised not to touch him, remember.”
Savage reached his bedroom door unlocked it and went in, closed the door behind him.
“I’m not going to touch him, but I am going to give him a lot to think about.”
Chapter 31
Three a.m. Silence enveloped the house. The arguments had stopped. The crashing and banging had ceased. And no music filtered up through the floorboards. The only noise came from the house itself, its weary timbers and beams calling out, popping and groaning under the strain of holding themselves together.
Savage stood outside bedroom number nine. Jezza’s room. He listened with his head against the door for sounds of movement. There weren’t any. Getting down on his hands and knees, he peeked under the bottom of the door, which was badly fitted and had about a half-inch gap between it and the stale carpet. Savage could see no lights on. He straightened up and gently knocked on the door. Stopped and listened. Nothing. He knocked again, this time slightly louder. No one came to the door. Jezza was fast asleep.
In the darkened landing of the first floor, Savage could vaguely make out the lock staring back at him. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see it properly. He’d already checked it out during the daylight hours. Besides, Savage could pick a lock with his eyes closed, and this one didn’t exactly pose a challenge. It was a cheap, unbranded pin cylinder with a latch, and unlike Rosie’s, there was no deadlock. Piece of cake.
He’d already pre-shaped two of the hairpins Rosie had given him. The first one, bent at a right angle, he inserted into the base of the keyhole. This was his lever for putting pressure on the cylinder inside. The other hairpin, shaped like a hook, he pushed into the keyhole above the first hairpin. Inside the lock were five key pins he had to move out the way. Savage located the first pin, pushed it up and out of the way. As he did so he turned the lock ever so slightly with the lever, increasing the pressure to stop it from slipping back down again. He moved his hooked hairpin along ever so slightly to the next pin inside the lock, and repeated the process. After he’d pushed up all five key pins and turned the lever hairpin, the lock gave up with a satisfying click.
Extracting the hairpins, he gently pushed the door open a few inches with his fingertips. He listened. Still nothing. So far so good.
Savage opened the door just enough to put his head inside the room and get a proper look. There were no curtains, just a sheet hanging lopsided over a rail above the window. Some light from the night sky leaked in, allowing Savage to get a feel for the room. About twelve feet by twelve feet, he could make out a small bed in the middle with Jezza sleeping on his side in a T-shirt and boxer shorts without any bedclothes, despite the minimal temperature. Not much else was in the room, apart from dirty aluminium take-out trays stacked up on the floor like miniature ziggurats, clusters of beer cans and a chair piled up with unfolded clothes.
Stepping in and closing the door quietly behind him, Savage threaded his way through the remnants of take-away food to the clothes-covered chair. He tilted it forward, tipping all the clothes silently onto the floor in a heap. Lifting the chair, he placed it by Jezza’s bedside, and sat down.
He watched the pervert’s body rise and fall with every rhythmic breath, blissfully unaware of Savage’s presence. Sleep, like death, was a great leveller, making everyone as vulnerable as a newborn baby. An apt analogy, as Jezza had a completely bald head and was overweight. Not in a Dink way, in that beer-drinker’s way; arms and legs too thin to go with his bulging midriff. Savage watched him for a while then cleared his throat. Jezza didn’t stir.
Savage cleared his throat again. All he got back from Jezza was a snort followed by a deep sigh.
Savage began gently tapping the bed with his foot, increasing the intensity, until Jezza started to surface. He moaned a few times, turned onto his back, licked his lips then his eyes gradually opened into lazy slits. They blinked a few times then snapped wide open when he realised someone was in his room watching him.
He sprang into an upright seated position, swore, snatched the covers and pulled them up to his chest.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my room? Get out.” The words came from his mouth pea-shooter fast.
“It’s okay,” said Savage. “I’m just watching you sleep.”
Jezza swore again. “You freaking weirdo. Get out.” His voice increased in volume.
“Keep it down,” said Savage. “You’ll wake everyone up.”
“Get out now,” said Jezza, trying to muster as much machismo as he could.
“But I’m just like you, a Somnophiliac.”
“What the hell’s that?” Jezza asked.
“We’re people who like watching others sleep. I heard you were into it too. We’re likeminded you and I. So I figured, if I wanted to watch someone sleep, you’d be okay with it.”
“What?” said Jezza. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Oh,” said Savage. “Do you mean there are rules, is there a manual?”
“No. But you can’t just come in here and watch me sleep, it’s—”
“Isn’t that what you do? I mean, you watch that woman downstairs and her daughter. So if you’re allowed to watch them, thinking about it logically, surely I’m okay to watch you, that’s only fair isn’t it?”
“No, no… it’s totally not fair. I don’t want you in my room.”
“Oh, that’s a bit of a setback,” said Savage disappointed. “Because I plan on being here most nights to watch you. Darn it, I was really looking forward to it. So the two downstairs, do they like it when you watch them?”
“I want you out of my room now.”
Savage didn’t move, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hey, tell you what, I can see you’re a bit distressed, so how about we make a deal, work on a tit-for-tat basis. Every time you watch Rosie and Grace sleep, I get to watch you sleep for two consecutive nights.”
“Wha–? No, no way. And that’s not fair. Why do you get two nights?”
“Because you get to watch two people sleep, so I get two consecutive nights because there’s only one of you.”
“No, no. I don’t want you in here at all.”
Savage went quiet, then said, “Well in that case, for the deal to work you’ll have to stop watching Rosie and Grace altogether.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll stop. Now please get out.”
Savage stood up, straightened his clothes as if he’d just had a business meeting. “Okay, are you sure you won’t change your mind?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Please, get out.”
“Fair enough.” Savage sidled over to the door and opened it, just a chink, to check if the coast was clear.
It wasn’t.
The ghostly shape of Archie hurried past the landing, oblivious to Savage’s gaze. As he disappeared down the stairs, Savage stepped out of Jezza’s room, closing the door quietly behind him. He peeked over the bannister in time to see Archie yank open the front door and head out into the night.
Savage descended the stairs, waited a few seconds and opened the front door. In the distance the odd shape of Archie walked briskly away from Tivoli Gardens.
Closing the front door behind him, Savage followed Archie at a distance as he took an erratic route out of Thornhill housing estate, zigging then zagging down different roads. Archie strode at a hearty lick. Faster than Savage expected, especially for a guy with a whisky addiction and a hideous hacking cough. Surely the damp air would be playing havoc with it, but it didn’t diminish Archie’s pace.
Savage followed him for over a mile through the silent streets. Tailing someone at night had its benefits, the cover of darkness being one. It also had its drawbacks. Lack of people meant it was harder
to blend in. A lone figure on a road stood out like a tree in the desert. And at that moment Savage found himself pursuing Archie along a double-yellow-lined road with shops either side, with no convenient doorways or shadowy alleyways to dart into, and no handy parked cars to hide behind.
Up ahead, Archie turned and looked behind him. He was far away enough not to recognise Savage, but not far enough that it wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Why would anyone be walking the streets at this ungodly hour of the morning? Savage was completely exposed.
Thinking fast, Savage began to sway, slowly meandering from one side of the pavement to the other with uncertain steps and a sense of balance that had gone haywire. Just another drunk attempting to make it home. No threat at all. He looked more likely to hurt himself by toppling over or falling into a bush. Archie bought it and carried on walking but slowed his pace considerably. The small man began glancing up and down the road, clearly expecting something to happen or someone to appear.
Savage had no choice but to continue the charade, staggering forward, drawing closer and closer to Archie who’d now stopped altogether. By the time Savage would reach the glare of the next street light, he’d be close enough for Archie to recognise him. That couldn’t happen. Savage stopped, propped himself against a shop windows and pretended to pee, buying himself some time. If that didn’t buy him long enough, he also had the option to bend over and feign being sick to delay moving closer towards Archie. This reassured him. Probably the first time the thought of being sick had given him any comfort.
The smooth hum of an engine drifted up the road towards him. The only car he’d heard in a good while. He glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of a navy-blue BMW gliding past. He couldn’t see who drove it, but by the way it rode low to the ground, there must have been some heavy guys inside. He memorised the licence number as it passed. Farther up the road it swung into the kerb right beside Archie.
He got in the back.
Once the car was out of sight, Savage called Tannaz.
Though it was well after three a.m. Tannaz sounded fresh and chirpy.
“What’s up, Savage?” she said. He could hear her taking a drag on a cigarette.
