by J Battle
With a certain amount of satisfaction, I noted down all of his details and then, I went and got myself a coffee. Now, you’re not going to like me for this, but I live in the real world, and it’s a world where my company, or to be precise, yours truly, owed Mr. Grimm a month’s work for the money he’s already paid to dear Uncle Ray, and if it only took me a day to finish the job, he’s going to want some of his money back, so he can give it to Arnie and his pals.
And I didn't have any money.
So, I decided that I was going to wait a couple of days before I came up with Arnie’s address, and then, maybe two weeks for the next, and oh, I don’t know, three weeks for the final address?
You don’t think less of me, do you?
With the feeling of a job well done, and it being a Wednesday, I thought I'd take the short walk to The Hairy Follicle and have a well deserved pint of something cold, golden and wonderful.
It's always quiet in The Hairy Follicle on a Wednesday, and you never get any women customers; not unless it's 70's night. Why people still want to dress up in bad clothes and listen to bad music from nearly 80 years ago, I'll never know.
Now, you know me; I like women. They're great, and I spend a great deal of my waking hours, and my sleeping hours if I'm being honest, thinking about them. On a Saturday night, when I'm all dressed up, I go to bars that have women, and will still let me in.
On a Wednesday, when I just want to relax and not feel threatened; when I don't want to risk getting slapped because I looked when I should have listened; when I don't want to have to come up with witty conversation and smiles; when all I want is a quiet pint or two with no stress, then it's a women-less pub for me.
Bob was behind the bar as usual, and he spotted me right off; he's good that way. But he won't come over unless I ask, and I won't ask, because he knows what I drink, and I shouldn't have to ask. So I stood there, watching him out of the corner of my eye, and he remained in the corner, polishing a glass that didn't need polishing, watching me the same way.
It could have been a long dry night, and I was beginning to weaken, when Sam walked in.
'Hi Phil,' he said; all sort of quiet, the way he usually speaks, 'been served yet?'
I shrugged; I'm very good with shrugs.
'Not yet.'
'Hi Bob, a pint of whatever for me, and the usual for Phil.'
Bob nodded in a triumphant sort of way, without any justification, in my opinion, and came over to our end of the bar. I made a point of not making eye contact.
When we had our drinks, we settled ourselves down at a side table, well away from YougotadrinkMate? Naturally we turned our chairs slightly so he would not be in our eye-lines. He's not a pleasant sight to have in your eye-line.
'Nice hat,' I said, by way of starting a conversation.
'Thanks, ' he said, giving it a little tug, 'my other one was getting too well known.'
'Oh, ay?' I said. I made it a question, but it could just as well been a statement, or an exclamation.
'Yeah; can't be too careful. Did you hear the latest?'
I didn't know if I’d heard the latest or not, but I hadn't heard much lately, so I went with a 'No.'
'It's the new Law & Order AI. It comes on stream tomorrow. Can you believe it?'
Of course I believed it; Sam's not usually wrong about this sort of thing, though he is about so much else.
'That's the end, Phil; I tell you. The end of freedom; the end of liberty; the end of our right to do as we please.'
I gave a sympathetic nod, and didn't mention that all three ends were the same.
'Is that why you've got yourself a new hat?' I asked, just to carry the conversation along to its usual train-wreck conclusion.
'Yes, of course. With my distinctive red hair, I'm too easy to spot.' He nodded, as if every word he'd said made perfect sense, and took a good drink.
'You have red hair?' I asked. Although I've known him for years, it was a surprise to me.
'Yes.'
'But…your eyebrows…and beard aren't ginger?'
'Not now, they aren't. I dye them.'
'Oh. So why don't you die your…'
'That's just what they expect me to do. I survive by doing the unexpected.'
He leapt from his seat and dashed to the bathroom, which was quite unexpected.
Not at all phased by his sudden disappearance, I sat back a little and considered my pint. I was past half way so, if I didn't want to interact with Bob, I'd have to nurse it a little whilst waiting for Sam. Or I could man up and just call over to him from my seat, but then YougotadrinkMate? might take that as an invitation to butt into my life, which I could really do without. Once was one time too many for me.
I was distracted in this manner when a hand fell on my shoulder.
Calm as anything, I looked along the arm to which it was attached, and met the face of its owner.
'Hello, Mr. Grimm,' I said; ever the traditionalist.
'You alone?' he grunted, as his eyes scanned the room. I noticed that even he made a point of avoiding eye contact with YougotadrinkMate?
'Well, I am, for the moment.'
'Good,' he said, slipping on to Sam's chair, 'good.'
I nodded to show that I was in total agreement about the goodness of the situation; though I wasn't really.
'What you got?'
'Lager,' I said, hopefully.
'No. What you got for me? Have you got the addresses yet?' He did a bit more furtive scanning of the room by way of punctuation.
'It's only been a day,' I protested; trying my best not to whine.
'Still; what you got? I need to know now; there's been developments.'
'Oh, I see, ' I said, thought I didn't. 'Well, perhaps I'll be able to give you an address by the end of …'
'That pint.'
What? I thought. I was planning to go with end of the week, but there was something about the way his misaligned eyes were both focused on me, and the way he was gripping the table, as if it was the only thing keeping him upright, that made me relent. Perhaps his terminal illness was reaching its terminus?
'OK,' I said, picking up my drink, 'get me another pint, and I'll have the first address for you by the time you get back.' With a little swagger, I knocked back my pint.
I was a little put out to see that he hadn't moved.
He simply sat there, in Sam's chair, and gave his head a little shake.
'Arnold Watt: 46 Grove Grove,' I said. I'm not very good at confrontation; the world would be a better place without it; in my humble opinion.
He nodded, which I felt was a good sign, so I nodded towards my empty glass.
'I need the others,' he said, and it didn't sound at all like 'that's good; I'll get you that drink now.'
'These things take time,' I said, in a professional, man of the world sort of way.
'I'll need them by first thing tomorrow morning.' Was his response, without any indication that he was about to go to the bar.
'But I…' I was going to say that I don't get in to work until late morning, and then I’d have to start looking for them from scratch, and that, maybe a couple more weeks was a more reasonable timeline. I ran the words through my head and they made perfect sense to me, but, one glance at that hard ugly face was enough.
'OK,' I said instead. It seemed to work better.
'Good,' he said. Then he stood up and walked away, not going anywhere near the bar.
Fortunately, Sam was back to rescue the situation.
'Who was he?' he said, as he collected our glasses.
'Oh, just a client,' I said, nonchalantly. I can do nonchalant; when there's no chance of confrontation.
He returned from the bar and planted my full pint in front of me.
'That wasn't my round,' he said.
I smiled back at him. I'm a firm believer in cherishing every victory; no matter how petty.
Chapter 5 – Then, oh no, was that me?
Next morning, I was in work by 8:15.
> I was hoping that first thing for Grimm was just before lunch, and not 8:20.
As I waited for the coffee machine to ramp up, I switched on my computer. It felt like a good way to start. I have a news banner running across the bottom of the screen, to keep me up to date with what's going on in the world, the way a mature professional sort of man should. To be honest, I rarely look at it.
However, that morning, as I was tapping my fingers and waiting for the coffee machine to come up with its cup of dark brown richness, I did. And I saw a familiar name.
A certain Mr. Arnold Watt had been found dead, in his house, at 46 Grove Grove, Didsbury.
Oh bother, I thought.
Stabbed to death; apparently.
Oh dear, I thought.
The police were considering the death suspicious, it seemed.
Oh no, I thought.
They were checking all of his known associates, the report continued.
Oh damn, I thought.
I really need to learn some more effective expletives, I thought as I began to delete all history of searches involving the recently deceased from my computer.
So, to sum up my position; a man was dead, and I'd just given his address to Mr. Grimm, and the man was dead, and any investigation at all would track down my searches, and connect me to Mr. Watt, who was now dead.
And Mr. Grimm was probably on his way already to my office to get the addresses of the other two men, so that he could kill them as well.
At least, I thought, I haven't got their addresses, so it will all end there.
What I relief, I thought.
Then a little voice in my head said, what will Grimm do when he gets here and I don't have the addresses, and he can tell from my face that I know what he's done?
Sounded like a situation where I should make myself scarce.
Then the front door slammed, and I jumped, and came very close to needing a change of underwear.
I looked desperately around my office for something that might pass in the right light for a weapon. All I found was a silver pen, and it's not true, you know, about the pen being mightier than a sword. In any given fight, I'll take the sword every time.
Then Sam walked in, and I could have hugged him, if we'd had a huggy sort of relationship.
'Hi,' he said, adjusting the positioning of his hat, 'you're in early.'
'I am,' I said, 'I had… if you weren't expecting me to be here, why are you here?'
'I always come at this time.'
My face may have given away my puzzlement.
'For coffee, and the quiet sit. And they don't know I'm here.'
I decided that it wasn't the right time to delve into the misconceptions of his convoluted mind.
'Come on, we’ve got to go.'
'But…I've only just got here.'
I grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around until he faced the door.
'We have to go now, before he comes.'
It was a sufficiently vague imperative to get Sam moving, as he has a fear of the non-specific.
We almost reached the front door; we almost made it. But we were too slow.
'Hello Mr. Chandler,' he said, with one eye on me, and the other on Sam, 'you got want I came for?'
'I…no. I was just…'
I stopped because he was shaking his head, in that 'whatever you say is going to be wrong' sort of way. He was also holding up a very big knife. And it wasn't the sort your mum would use to carve a joint of meat; it was broad and shiny, and it had far too many jagged teeth for my liking.
'Just tell me, son,' he said, and his voice sounded quite gentle and sad, as if he was about to say this is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.
'Look, let's just calm down now, and put away the knife and we can talk all about it.' It sounded like the right thing to say, even though my voice was shaking a little too much to be really convincing.
'Just give me the addresses, and no-one needs to get hurt,' Grimm said, waving the knife by way of emphasis, which didn't really give me a warm feeling that he was speaking the truth.
'I don't…I don't have the addresses.' There, I'd told him.
The knife fell still, hanging in the air between us. Both his eyes settled on my face, and he raised one eyebrow.
The pause might have lasted as long as 30 seconds; it just felt like 30 hours.
'Yet,' I said, at last, because I couldn't hold out any longer.
You try it; it's not easy facing up to an armed thug with only right and a silver pen on your side.
'Good,' he said, as he lowered the knife, 'get to it then. I want it all sown up by noon.'
He might have said more, or he might have waved his knife about a bit, just to be sure that I fully understood the situation I was in. He didn't do those things because Sam hit him over the head with a sock, and he fell to the ground like a man who has been hit by something considerably harder than a sock.
'Come on!' said Sam, as he stepped over the unconscious thug.
'Shouldn't we tie him up, or something?' I asked, hesitating. In films, you always tie up the bad guy, usually just before you get the girl.
But Sam was gone, and I was alone, standing over a thug who was becoming less unconscious with every second, and you know what I think about confrontation.
So, I went after Sam.
The street outside the office was empty, which wasn't a surprise to me. You don't find Sam unless he wants to be found, and usually, he doesn't.
I checked my watch. Where could he go at this time of the day, with the pubs still closed?
There was only one answer.
I looked back at the entrance to my office, and thought about the awakening thug. It was close, but that prospect was even worse than breakfast at Joey's Café.
I ran.
I ran away from the certain danger of evisceration at the hands of Mr. Grimm, and towards the undoubted but less specific danger of Joey's Café. I'll be alright, I thought, as long as I don't eat anything, or drink anything, and don't use the bathroom.
When I reached Joey's Café, I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. I wasn't very fit, and I'd run something like a quarter of a mile, so I felt I deserved a moment to myself.
You can't see inside Joey's Café, though it is surrounded by windows. They are just so dirty that you can't see through them.
Sam was sitting at a table by the door, with a large mug of tea in front of him. Fortunately he hadn't completely lost his senses and ordered something to eat.
'Hi,' he said, rubbing his thumb against an unidentifiable, but certainly grubby, and maybe life threatening mark on the outside of his mug.
'Well,' I said, as I joined him at the table, trying not to think of the germs my bottom was coming into contact with, even through my pants. 'That was something.'
He nodded, and I watched with considerable trepidation as he brought the mug up to his lips. At the last moment, he seemed to realise what he was doing, and he lowered the mug without taking a drink.
'You know,' I said, 'it looked as if you hit him over the head with your sock.' I laughed.
Sam nodded. 'I did. I always carry a sock full of sand on a Thursday. Just in case.'
'Why…' I knew I shouldn't ask, but sometimes, even when you've known Sam as long as I have, you have to ask. 'Why on a Thursday?' You'll notice that I wasn't asking about the carrying of a sock full of sand per se; it was just the day that puzzled me.
'Thursday. You know? Thursday.'
I shrugged. He wasn't making any sense to me; not even the tenuous, one finger still in touch with reality sense I was expecting.
'Thursday. Named after the Norse God of Thunder. More properly pronounced Thor's Day. Need I say any more?'
I may have tried to come up with some sort of answer, but I failed.
If you understand what he meant, I'll take answers on a postcard, please.
Chapter 6 – Then, getting Grimm
'What made you hit him, anyway?' I asked, somew
hat later.
We'd survived the threat of all sorts of hideous illnesses at Joey's Café, although it was a close run thing, and I did have an itch that I don't want to talk about.
We'd made our way to the Horses Bed, which likes to open its doors early for the racing, and we'd sat down to our first pint of the day. A little early, I admit, but it was happy hour somewhere in the world.
'What d'you mean?'
'Why did you hit him, out of the blue like that? I was going to talk him around.'
Sam raised one eyebrow, as if he was going to challenge that last statement. Then he seemed to relent.
'I had to; he mentioned noon.'
'Oh,' I said,' and…?'
'I told you. Yesterday, I think; yes.'
'What did you tell me? Specifically; you tell me a lot.'
'About the Law & Order AI coming on stream.'
'At noon?'
'Yes; on the dot.' He checked his watch; he doesn't have a wrist-top, for obvious reasons. 'We've got 90 minutes before our lives are changed forever.'
'No,' I said, 'it won't make that much difference. They're not putting up extra cameras, or anything.'
Sam sighed, and I knew that I was in for a bit of a lecture. Sam can never understand why I don't see the world in quite the way he does.
'Look, it's simple really. You're right; they won't be adding extra cameras. They don't need to; we're already pretty well plastered with the things, watching everything we do, and taking our temperatures.'
'They take our temperatures?' Despite my best intentions, it's easy to get caught up in Sam's delusions.
'Of course, so they can identify us when it's dark.'
'OK.' I nodded.
'What you don't realize, and no-one else either, is that, even though we have had all these cameras looking down on us for years, nobody looks at the captured content.'
'The captured content? That's like, the pictures and the videos?'
