The Magpie Trap: A Novel

by AJ Kirby

The Dodo smiled, ‘I am a computer engineer, Dr. Sharp. I get access to all of these places through my job. But I like to see what goes on behind closed doors in my country. There are some people here who are intent upon bringing ruin upon our wonderful land, and I am intent upon stopping them.’

  ‘But why have you been watching us?’ Jim had finally recovered the power of speech. ‘How do you know our names?’

  ‘Ah, well, I know quite a lot of things about you, about both of you. I’ve been waiting for you to arrive ever since the raid on Edison’s Printers. As soon as I learned about the theft of so many Mauritian rupees - and your precious Precisioner printer - I knew that our paths would cross. Do you know what damage the influx of all of that money would have on our economy?’

  Hunter shook his head.

  ‘We’d get sudden inflation… so many people would be made poor. I cannot let this happen. I watched the raid on Edison’s Printers. I saw that you were not to blame, Mr. Hunter. I always try to hack into the Edison’s network, but I’ve never managed to do so. That one night, I suddenly got in; because they set up a dummy network, it was easy to hack into. I saw the group of men make their escape. I waited for them to arrive in Mauritius as I knew they would. And then they arrived here a couple of days ago. But you were not here. Alone, I cannot stop them, but with your help, we can. I have arranged a meeting with them in two days’ time. You must come with me.’

  Jim felt as though he was going to faint; had this man been manipulating him ever since the heist, dragging him further and further into the knot of the plot, forcing him to act? His head was spinning; was this man some kind of crazed militant? Ruth voiced similar fears.

  ‘You talk about stopping them, Mr. Dodo. How do you intend to do that?’

  A crafty smile crept onto the small man’s face, his beady eyes narrowed to tight slits. ‘You think I intend to make them extinct? Well, that remains to be seen. At this stage, what I want to do is to punish them for their actions.’

  Hunter had to regain control of a situation which was rapidly becoming a nightmare.

  ‘I say that we get the police involved. It’s the only way,’ he said.

  But the Dodo cut him short with an abruptness which was almost savage in its intensity.

  ‘The police, you say? The British police? The very police that are right now eating their doughnuts, watching completely the wrong gang, in the erroneous hope that at some point they’ll be led straight to the Precisioner? Do not insult my intelligence, Mr. Hunter. They would come here and trample over everything, like elephants. We will solve this ourselves. After all, why else have you come here on your own? You are not a policeman.’

  ‘That’s right, Jim,’ said Ruth, rounding on him. ‘What the hell are you planning to do once they do walk into the trap?’

  The Hotel Vasco Da Gama

  Danny was becoming a little more amicable towards Chris as they travelled towards the north coast of the island in a battered red hire car; at least the end was in sight now. They would finally meet the elusive Mr. Ramnawaz; the Dodo. Once they had finished their dealings, completed their transaction, they would be able to go wherever they wanted. Maybe the freedom that would afford them would allow them to resume their friendship away from all of the mistrust and doubt…

  But Danny still had reservations about the imagined future. If they did manage to get the Precisioner working - their licence to print money - it would continue to act as a temptation to both of them; a temptation to be stolen and enjoyed as a lone pursuit. Maybe they’d have to set up some kind of security measure in order to take away this temptation; something like hiding the Precisioner somewhere which could only be accessed by both of them at the same time. Maybe they could put it in a security box in a Swiss Bank; a security box which needed two keys to be turned at the same time.... or maybe somewhere where they both had to sign-in.

  We’re going to have to set up our very own Fort Knox just to keep ourselves out, Danny thought; oh the bitter irony.

  Chris’s face was set in stern concentration behind the wheel.

  Maybe he’s having the same thoughts, Danny reflected. Or maybe he’s planning something else…

  Danny tried to stop the express train of thoughts in his head.

  ‘Nearly there, cocker; do you reckon he’ll have heard about you roughing up his gardener?’

  ‘Fuck off Danny,’ Chris laughed, easing the tension a little. ‘We probably did him a favour. He’ll think twice about hiring dwarves in the future.... that guy could hardly even pick up a spade.’

  ‘Wasn’t much of a doorman either, was he?’ laughed Danny, joining in. ‘Can you imagine him working as a doorman in Leeds; he’d get trampled underfoot in the rush to get into somewhere like Majestyk… Can you imagine the headlines; Dwarf killed by Stray Stiletto.’

  ‘There it is,’ breathed Chris, wiping the laughter off Danny’s face. They had rounded a tight bend in the road and saw, along the coast, the Hotel Vasco Da Gama. Chris increased the pressure of his foot on the accelerator, drawing them ever closer to their moment of destiny. From a distance it almost looked as though the hotel was overgrown with palm trees.

  As they pulled into the sandy car park, they realised that their initial impression had been right. The hotel looked deserted; piles of rubble were all over the place, fallen trees had crashed into the reception, the once-grand sign was hanging by a single wire. Windows on the frontage were either smashed or boarded up, and some of the side wall had collapsed into a heap of broken bricks. There was only one other car in the car park; a large black four-by-four which was rather like the taxi they’d taken from Port Louis Airport what seemed like months ago.

  ‘Are you sure that this is the place?’ Danny asked, nervously.

  As if in answer to his query, his mobile phone impatiently buzzed in his pocket. It was a text message, from a withheld number. Danny read it aloud.

  ‘It says that we are in the right place. And that only one of us should go to meet them by the pool.’

  ‘Sounds like the Dodo read our minds,’ Chris commented. ‘Funny place to pick though…’

  Returning his phone to his pocket, Danny felt the straws tucked in there too.

  ‘We’ll have to draw for who goes, and who stays with the bags…’

  ‘Well, whoever goes will have to take the Precisioner…otherwise, how’s he going to fix it?’ Chris’s eyes narrowed menacingly.

  ‘Fuck it. You pick,’ Danny fanned out the straws and held them out to Chris. He could hardly breathe for the tension. Chris slowly reached over and took a hold of the first straw, was about to pull it out, and then he paused, and pulled the other - the long straw.

  ‘Looks like it’s me,’ Chris laughed. ‘See you in a bit Danny; when I’m back, I’ll have the keys to the magical kingdom.’

  With that, he swung open the car door and stepped out. Haltingly, Danny passed him out the bag with the Precisioner in it from the back seat. And then Chris was gone.

  Jim Hunter and Ruth Sharp wordlessly packed their bags at the hotel in Rose Hill where they’d never even spent a night. Jim knew that Ruth was in shock at the chink in Jim’s rhinoceros hide which she’d seen through; she’d seen right through to his core and his potential to do harm. She had suddenly realised what Jim himself had not; that there was only one possible outcome to his trip to Mauritius; death. The only thing still to be decided was whose death it would be.

  There was a soft knock on the door of their shared room; Ruth went to answer it, still not looking at Jim. A maid followed Ruth into the room, speaking French. Jim couldn’t understand a word of it; all he could see was a lot of wild gesticulating, as though they were conducting competing invisible orchestras. Finally the compact woman left the room, shaking her head.

  ‘What was all that about?’ said Jim, who’d taken a seat on his single-bed to watch the show.

  ‘Two things, Jim, and I will only tell them to you if you promise that you won’t be involved in any bloody violence. I’m si
ck of bloody violence…’

  She took a seat next to him and started crying.

  ‘What is it? Ruth, what is it? What did that woman say to you?’ Jim was stroking her hair, trying to coax some sort of explanation out of her. He’d never seen her lose her cool before.

  ‘Don’t be fucking stupid. I’m not crying because of that… I’m crying because of the situation! I can’t believe I’m involved in something like this. Out of the frying pan and into the fire,’ she sniffed, finally regaining control of her shaking.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Bloody men! Bloody men and your stupid adventures; your stupid ideas of revenge; your violence. Adrian hit me; you never knew that did you. He hit me because he was jealous about my career. And do you know what? I felt guilty about it. I felt guilty because I shouldn’t have been outstripping my husband. I shouldn’t have been running off having affairs. You don’t believe it do you; how could the eminent doctor deign to be hit? Well I bloody did; I threw myself into his fists. I wanted someone to punish me… Now you’re punishing me, Jim, and I can’t take it any more…’

  ‘I promise there’ll be no violence,’ pleaded Jim.

  ‘Can you not see?’ she looked imploringly into his eyes. ‘Can you not see what you’re getting yourself into with this Dodo-man? You are doing exactly what I used to do! You’re punishing yourself for the fact that Callum Burr was in that coma and not you. I can’t watch you kill yourself. I came here to keep an eye on you, but I’m not strong enough…’

  Jim again knew that her knowledge of his desires, his motivations was so much better than his own. He may have been good at reading other people, but he had never even dared to open the book of himself.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Ruth,’ Jim muttered, realization of the suicidal nature of his plan again hitting home. ‘Please; book yourself on the next flight out of here.’

  ‘Do you know? That’s exactly what that woman told me. She said that she saw the desperation in your eyes… She also told me…’ Ruth paused, as though deciding whether to tell Jim what she knew or not, ‘… she also told me that she did see another set of English people at the other hotel she works at. She told me that she saw the same look in their eyes. And Jim… there were only two of them, not three. What if they’ve killed the third member of their gang? What if that’s just another one in their spree of violence? What if you’re next? Come with me Jim. Come home with me… I’ve left Adrian now. We can be together. But only if you come now…’

  Hunter hung his head in shame; he knew that he would stay. He had to see things through. He knew that he was on course for a Wild West shootout and that there was a very high possibility that he might die. Pride was setting him up for the greatest of falls.

  He heard the door slam behind Ruth as she walked away from him. She walked out of his life for the second time.

  Then, leaving enough time for her to call a taxi, he followed her out of the room and set off for the Dodo’s house. He had a different path to tread. It was a path full of trepidation and danger, and at its end lay the confrontation he needed in order to purge his soul of the evil he felt.

  Danny tried to fiddle with the dial on the radio, trying to pick out something which was not just static. He rooted through his pockets to find a cigarette to smoke to ease his rising sense of panic, but found that he had none. Then, his fingers closed around the straws again. He pulled them out of his pocket and took another, closer look at them, slowly turning them over in his hands.

  Looking more attentively, he realised that a small cut had been made near to the top of the longest straw…

  Maybe it’s simply been squashed in your pocket, or maybe… Maybe it’s a fix! Chris has duped you!

  The sudden realisation washed over Danny like a wave. Chris had run off with the Precisioner!

  One thought ploughed through his mind, clouding his vision: Chris is shitting on me, just like we did to Mark. There’s no honour amongst thieves.

  He raced out of the car door, not even pausing to slam it shut. He careered through the dilapidated reception area, leaping over fallen racks of postcards and upended chairs. He flew past the ransacked guest rooms on the ground floor and the Mary Celeste dining area. He ran out of another set of doors which led to the pool area, and saw, as he had expected, that it was empty. The pool had long since stagnated, and there was the rusting remains of a scooter bobbing about on the surface, its petrol congealing around it like blood.

  Where is he? How has he got away? Is he in this with the Dodo?

  Danny’s paranoia was reaching new heights. He plunged onwards, past broken-down outbuildings, a disused shower area. Gradually the thick carpet of lush grass began to turn into sand; he was heading for the beach. Desperation clung to him like a well-worn coat; he frantically turned to look back at the hotel.

  Where the fuck are they?

  Danny could smell the salty tang of the sea as his legs pumped him onwards and through the cover of trees onto the vast expanse of dazzling white sand. The fiery sun played tricks with his eyes; he had to adjust his settings to cope with the overwhelming intensity of the light after the sweaty darkness of the palm grove.

  Was that a small boat that he could see? Danny had to shield his eyes with his hand to try and discern what it was. He ran closer; seeing the flickering illusion turn into solid form. And then he saw it.

  There was a long, wooden jetty which promenaded out into the sea; a fishing boat was moored to one of the struts. The shadow of a small figure was moving quickly between the jetty and the boat, loading what looked like petrol tanks and canvas bags onto the back of the boat by the engine, which was gently chugging in readiness. At the beach-end of the jetty was a small solidly-built timber hut, it had probably been used as some sort of water sports centre for hotel residents when the hotel had been in operation. Within the hut, Chris Parker was sitting comfortably, as though waiting for a bus, or maybe a boat, to carry him away. He was sitting with the Precisioner on the table in front of him, as though he had no care in the world.

  Danny started running again; full pelt. The adrenalin in his blood was making him crazy; all he wanted to do was smash Chris in the face. He wanted to keep punching him until that smirk was wiped off his fake-tanned face. Chris had tried to double-cross him. He’d been made to look a fool; like the man who’s watched someone disappear into a puff of smoke on stage, and is left standing there, scratching his head, wondering: how did they do that?

  Danny ran into the hut with a barbaric yell and crashed through the table and into Chris, knocking the Precisioner onto the floor. He had Chris by the throat and was yelling unintelligible nonsense into his face; all of the pent-up rage and pain at his lost life, at losing Cheryl was in that roar.

  He never noticed that as he had crashed into the table, he’d sprung the trap. From the straw roof of the hut, a row of metal bars crashed down, blocking the only entry and exit route. He was only stopped from killing his old friend by the tears which were clouding his vision. And then he heard a noise behind him.

  Mid-punch, Danny turned around, and the full horror of the situation dawned on him. Through the steel bars of their cage, he saw two faces staring at him, as though they were watching animals in the zoo. Danny’s arm dropped meekly to his side and he fell backwards off Chris’s prone body. Through his crushed and broken mouth Chris was mumbling something:

  ‘Danny, we’re in a Magpie Trap…’

  Then Chris fainted again.

  Jim Hunter found a crate of whisky on the Dodo’s boat, and he cracked into it with a vengeance, trying to eradicate that sick-feeling which was churning around in his stomach. When he’d arrived at the Hotel Vasco Da Gama in the Dodo’s four-by-four, he’d been shocked at the intimidating confidence which the Dodo had in his plan. He seemed so sure that the illusion of being double-crossed would drive the criminal into an insane rage which would lead him to spring the trap. The Dodo’s vision of the innate corruptness of humanity, and of westerners, in
particular, had scared even Jim. He’d therefore started pouring whisky down his throat, despite knowing deep down that it was a sedative prepared by the Dodo as a part of his terrible plan. The Dodo clearly wanted Jim to merely observe the results, to be too drunk to interfere.

  And then he’d watched the savage, bestial violence as Danny Morris had taken the bait; hook, line and sinker. But he’d also observed the subtle shift in Danny when the red mist had finally cleared from his eyes. He noted that Danny had stopped himself from killing Chris of his own accord. Only then had he been alerted to the presence of the two observers. The Dodo had rubbed his hands in glee at the spectacle in front of him and had even been shouting encouragement as though he was attending a cock-fight. He’d looked genuinely disappointed when the assault had stopped.

  Suddenly, the Dodo pulled a pistol from the high belt of his trousers. He began waving it around frantically, shouting. It resembled a frenzied war-dance.

  ‘You fight again! Keep fighting! Or I will kill you!’

  Hunter was genuinely surprised at this new development; he instantly sobered up. Things had spun so far out of his control that he had no idea how he could stop what was going on.

  ‘He’s fucking passed out!’ wailed Danny beating his fists against the wooden walls of the hut.

  ‘Well finish him off,’ said the Dodo, coldly. He rattled his gun against the cold steel of the bars menacingly.

  ‘I can’t,’ begged Danny.

  In the blink of an eye, the Dodo took a step back, levelled his gun and fired, once, twice at Chris.

  The echoes of the gunfire reverberated through the silence that followed. And then Hunter’s ringing ears began to hear properly again and he was forced to listen to the renewed sickening dull thuds of Danny’s fists against Chris’s body. This time Danny was trying to punch him back into life; he repeatedly drove his bloodied fists into Chris’s chest, pausing only to breathe into his open mouth.