Persona Non Grata

by D. C. Grahame

  Near the front door, Indy began to regain consciousness. His mind still de-fragging the wooden panel of the front door.

  In the kitchen, Molar absorbed the regret in Grace’s eyes. Now scared rather than defiant, his voice was now heard. He released his grip and departed, his goons following in tandem. Indy dazed and unsure of reality, saw several blurs motion passed him. Worried, confused and in pain, he threw his hands to each side of his torso. Waving them frantically in the hope of finding solid ground. He called out to Eva, whose lengthy silence beset him with fear.

  Chapter EIGHT

  John flushed the toilet and semi-soberly traipsed back towards the sofa. His muscular frame wrapped in a duvet as he moseyed back to Indy’s leather settee. Having sipped a good two litres of water through the night, he was unable to recall events hours prior. Three in the morning, he looked at his phone that rested silent on the coffee table. He didn’t want to wake Indy and Eva, but something in his gut stopped him from sleeping. A nagging sense that things weren’t in balance.

  He dialled Indy, knowing the man was too much of an obsessive-compulsive to just let it ring and ring. Either an answer or a declined-call would sort John’s head and have him lights-out asleep.

  The phone rang and rang. He sat up on the sofa and tried again. Again to no avail. Now wide awake, he hung up and dialled for a taxi, grabbing Indy’s keys as he exited the apartment.

  ✽

  The emergency services surrounded Grace’s terraced house. Two police cars and an ambulance sat parked as worried neighbours watched on. John’s fears had been realised as he threw a twenty at the taxi driver, sprinting passed the authorities towards the front door. Alarmed by his arrival. Several of the officers inside intercepted him causing Indy to rush in and explain.

  John knew to step carefully with the KCPD. An institution he believed to need only a tiny excuse to claim provocation. With his hands up, portraying both a genuine and mocking surrender, Indy escorted him in.

  ‘Molar did this?’ John asked. Grace while in the midst of giving a female police officer her statement, heard his voice. A voice she had not heard for several years. Ignited, she felt her blood boil, an outrage fuel her aching head. Like a panther, she pounced from her place and rushed down the corridor. Her finger pointed in his direction like it were a fencing blade.

  ‘You did this!’ she declared furiously, causing the statement-taking officer to chase after her. John ushered Indy a step back, realising and awaiting his punishment, not wanting his brother to be caught in the crossfire. ‘You brought them here, you did this.’ she lamented, slamming her fists down onto his chest. John gave the police a slight nod to retreat, which would only patronise and infuriate her further. Throwing heavy and vicious fists into his jawline. She screamed louder, losing energy with every cry. ‘Do you not care?! Do you not care about the people you hurt? Do we mean nothing to you?’ she cried, causing him to face her with a destroyed guise. He slowly shifted backwards under the weight of her strikes.

  Indy couldn’t bear it. Innocent or guilty, he knew his brother, would keep silent as he absorbed the punches. ‘Why did you come back? Why did you come back?’ Grace shouted, breaking down into tears. Indy cradled her defeated body in his arms and escorted her away from John who stood comatose. He had taken beatings before, but this one humbled him to his core. Her anger, her despair, brought him to his metaphorical knees. As the police pulled her into the lounge, he could only watch on. Heartbroken at such beauty now breeding only contempt. Eva now fashioned with a bandage across her face tendered to her sister, wrapping her up in a sisterly squeeze. Indy turned to empathise with his brother.

  A brother who was once again, nowhere to be seen.

  ✽

  The Que Pasa staff continued their post-night clean up as Frank observed from the venue’s centre point. Though perceived to be a classic micro-manager from first glance, he was actually lost in his own little world. Plotting his next move.

  Oblivious to him, Mads stood in his shadow. Trying to make a calm but menacing introduction.

  ‘Do you know where your brother is?’ Mads asked.

  ‘Which one?’ Frank replied, facing away uninterested in the subject matter. Almost ignorant of who he was speaking to.

  ‘Molar has been let off his leash Frank. And he’s already paid John’s ex a visit.’ Mads revealed.

  ‘If that’s true. I would check the first trains out of the city.’ Frank advised.

  ‘I doubt it. You think John would run away from Molar?’ Mads questioned.

  ‘If Molar visited Grace, it’s not him John’s running away from.’ Frank replied.

  ‘I see. I assume you will be here if things escalate.’

  ‘I’m heading to London for a month. I’ve got a few hospitality conferences, vendor meetings lined up. Upgrading and streamlining this place.’ Frank revealed, ever full of euphemisms. ‘I’ll be back down once a week to check on business.’

  ‘I’m impressed, Frank.’

  ‘That’s nice. If you find John before Molar, I assume you’re going to give him a polite nudge out of the city.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Something like that? I thought you were your own man Mads, not the type to do daddy’s bidding.’ Frank stated with a hint of manipulation. Though he resented his brother, he didn’t want to see him in the hands of Molar or papa Kane. Deep down, he still cared for him to some degree.

  ‘Come on Frank. You know what he did. The old man deserves a face-to-face.’

  ‘Maybe your father would be interested in meeting more productive people.’ He noted, implying an invitation for himself, albeit under slightly less adverse circumstances.

  ‘Well, that’s even if I find him first. Molar has too much of a score to settle. Dad wants him alive, but the infamous Goldmolar will take the slapped wrist.’

  ‘Well,’ Frank replied, pausing as he considered things, ‘have fun with it.’ He replied blasé, inviting Mads to take his leave. Alone once more, Frank returned to his palace and to his plotting.

  ✽

  It seemed only yesterday John arrived in Kingsland by way of Kingsland Central station. Yet here he was again, keen now to make his exit as modest as he once did his entrance.

  Enough he thought. He had played a dangerous game in coming back, and now the consequences were there for all to see. Whatever mission he was sent on was not worth the heartbreak, her heartbreak. Not again. His exit would be immediate and undramatic. A scenario far different from his previous exile.

  It would no doubt please some of the city’s more colourful characters.

  As he crossed the same CCTV that once spotted his arrival into the city. The first train-out parked up and awaited its passengers. He quickly boarded it, parking himself in the corner seat. Resting his head against the cold, frost-glazed window.

  Grace’s rage flooded his mind. He’d try to stir up a happy memory of them both, only to be overridden by the image of recent events. Her beaten cries and her beating fists were all his mind could consume. Her eyes, though mesmerising, were filled with both unrestrained anger and nerve-racking fear.

  He had seen those eyes only once before, a long time ago.

  The train shuddered as it departed off the support-buffer and John’s head jibbered forward against the window. The jolt drove his mind away from the present time and headfirst into memories he had frequently tried to forget.

  ✽

  The crowd chanted. The building shook.

  The echoing bass of verbal incantations reached the locker room, where a twenty-four-year-old Indy tended to a pre-fight John. Wrapping his fists with thin medicinal bandaging.

  ‘Only a few layers.’ John advised.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Indy asked as John tightened his fist, checking the flexibility of his make-shift mitt.

  ‘The repercussions? All the money we’re about to make Indy, it won’t matter. We’ll get our asses on a plane to a Pacific island. I’m thinking Fiji. Sta
rt new lives, away from this shithole.’ John reaffirmed.

  ‘Grace is on board then?’ Indy questioned.

  ‘She’ll come round, I hope.’ John replied, concerned he may not have thought his plan out the whole way through.

  A few minutes before his eleventh underground fight. He appeared as fresh as ever. Many had tried, but only a few had managed to sustain a healthy career in the competition. Bloodsport, it was often labelled. An appropriate name. While John didn’t ever display the flexibility of Jean Claude, he certainly had the natural talent. Already acquiring a champion level fan-base.

  Famous for his calm, withdrawn method that could at any moment transition into a relentless, pressurising style. He was to this point nine and two, with the two losses stemming from his best of three with Goldmolar.

  The loudspeaker sirened for the fighters to present themselves and John stood up from his seated position. His opponent Nico Kane, Isaac Kane’s oldest son, was also to this point undefeated. A record obtained and sustained through match-fixing that all opponent fighters happily abided by. No one was brave enough to beat up the prince of the underworld. The crowd all but expected every fighter who opposed him to dive. The betting odds had Nico as the definite favourite, with John, one of the most gifted fighters Kingsland had seen, at a staggering ten to one.

  ‘Red tried to get hold of Razz, couldn’t. Reckons Razz has it ending at a decision for Nico. Doesn’t think you’ll dive, but doesn’t believe that you’re doing what you’re going to do either.’ Indy informed.

  ‘That’s his mistake. I don’t want anything to do with that perverted rapist after this anyway. Red’s followed the plan, though?’

  ‘Yeah, every dime you’ve both got, on the first round.’

  ‘Good. Here we go.’ John announced, heading to the arena.

  Making their way down the passageway to the arena entrance, they caught a post-fight, fully nude Molar standing in the communal shower. Looking toward them with a smile, brazen in his stance. Erect from his battles.

  ‘Have fun.’ he remarked as the Vinyar brothers looked beyond him.

  ‘When I reach the ring, I don’t want to see you anywhere near this place, understood?’ John stated.

  ‘I’ll be with Red and the bookies. John, are you sure about this?’ The crowd roared with anticipation as John’s name was announced. He looked to his nervous younger brother, exiting with a wink.

  The crowd fell into rapture as he walked through the spectators, reaching the concrete canvas. There Nico awaited him, blonde, handsome and slightly leaner in physique than his opposite. John could see the confidence on the heir’s face. Nico would no doubt save all his energy for the fifth round, where the more orchestrated show would begin. John however, had no intention of waiting that long.

  Isaac Kane meanwhile was noticeably absent. He loathed these environments, having made his name in them a thousand years back.

  The referee stood between the two fighters, wasting little time in initiating the fight. John took three controlled breaths through his nose. Keeping his lips tight and his expression moody and calm. The bell chimed, and the match started slow and cautious as neither fighter looked to commit.

  Nico in a way felt sorry for John, a proud wolf who would have to submit to the triumphant lion. He thought it best, regardless of how the bookies had laid out the rounds, to end things quickly. And claim his expected win in little time.

  He leapt for John’s jaw, throwing himself off his feet, leading his flight with a single closed fist. John blocked it, only for Nico to counter like a snake, wrapping his other arm around the neck to form a chokehold. John allowed it as he stood up with him, knowing Nico was going for a dramatic move he had never truly executed correctly. John felt himself slip and slide between Nico’s sweaty palms. Without preface, John threw his lower half back while bowing his upper half powerfully forward.

  Nico felt his whole weight come surging upwards from beneath him. Somersaulting in the air, he tumbled hard and awkward to the cement-layered ground. The crowd gasped in shock as Nico himself looked back stunned and speechless.

  The crowd for a period mute, suddenly roared up. The noise hid the sound of John’s rapid steps as he flew toward Nico with a grappling spear. Nico climbed to his feet and drilled his elbow down into John’s back. Prepared for the hit, John had already clenched his core in anticipation. He delivered his own counter, throwing a right uppercut up into Nico’s downward facing nose. Nico’s head rocketed up towards the ceiling.

  With his opponent’s vision incapacitated, John through a merciless stomping foot into Nico’s groin. Winded and debilitated, the Kane boy froze in pain. Unable to breathe, unable to calculate what was proceeding, Nico fell to his knees. John retreated a yard. Giving the impression that he was still prepared to take his role as the fallen in the fifth round.

  Nico looked to his foe with angst. Incensed by the man’s mission to humiliate him before taking his rightful place as the loser. Nico climbed to his feet and roared a weak roar. With no rules, he spat a venomous mouthful of bloody saliva at John’s face before unleashing a series of violent haymakers. John blocked every wild swing before seeing a gap in Nico’s stride. He grasped hold of Nico’s arms before savagely thrusting his forehead into the man’s nose. With blood now cascading down his chest, Nico collapsed to the ground.

  Standing atop of the disgraced Kane. John lowered himself, placing his knee on Nico’s throat.

  ‘Yield.’ John whispered, hearing his victim groan underneath the knee.

  ‘What are you doing? Stick to the plan.’ Nico warned and whispered. John pressed harder with his knee.

  ‘Yield.’

  ‘My old man’s gonna end you.’ Nico threatened. John forced his knee-cap deep into Nico’s neck, feeling the latter’s trachea condense. Nico in turn, threw his hand in the air, waving it frantically at a referee who watched on baffled by proceedings.

  He, like the warriors, was well aware of the fight’s pre-planned ending. Nico gasped for air, waving chaotically towards the official.

  ‘I think he wants to tap out.’ John said almost humorously, retracting his knee as Nico began passionately tapping the floor, gasping for oxygen.

  The crowd was polarised. John stood in the centre of the canvas. His heavy breathing filled a silent-yet-packed arena.

  ‘Vinyar the defiant!’ A punter yelled from the back, in a Colosseum-style tribute. The romanticism could only influence the rest of the crowd to follow suit. The losses from misplaced bets were suddenly deemed a worthy price to pay for having a rebel champion they could root for.

  John felt triumphant, pumped, as he stood tall in a room full of morons. His next step was to meet Red, cash-in on their play and convince Grace to run away to a remote, exotic beach somewhere. A battle much harder than the one he had just fought.

  ✽

  The morning after the fight, John climbed out of his bed, naked and sweaty. Grace remained beneath the duvet. Resting her head on a pillow as she took an exhaustive breath. She turned to his side of the bed where on a small table, sat a stack of travel books. Each plastered with bookmarking post-its, highlighting possible grand escapes.

  ‘Do you not think this is a bit wild?’ she asked.

  ‘Everything sounds like an extreme idea until it comes together.’ He shouted back from the en-suite shower. Free of sweat, he wrapped a towel around his waist and kissed her forehead. ‘We’ve got the money, you, me, even Indy, Frank and Eva. Imagine it, even for a few years. Somewhere amazing, Fiji maybe?’ He said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. She couldn’t deny the whole thing sounded pretty amazing. Especially with her slow-burning dissatisfaction with the city.

  ‘I’ll admit that does sound cool, for a year maybe. You can’t just walk away from reality.’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying, let’s just pack up our stuff and do it. Your dad hates me already anyway, might as well give him a legitimate excuse.’

  ‘Walk out and go. Leave all our troubles be
hind?’

  ‘Just like in the movies.’ John insisted, exiting the room and heading downstairs. Leaving her with the fairy-tale notion, knowing the more it lingered, the more she would be persuaded.

  Flicking the switch on the tea kettle. John grabbed two mugs from a nearby cupboard and took a moment to appreciate a new life that was potentially near.

  As the kettle reached its boil, giving a light whistling sound, John heard a sharp sound appear from outside the house. The unmistakable noise of a car screeching to a halt. John peered through the blinds to see a vehicle arrive outside.

  Turning the volume on her radio up. Grace climbed out of bed and stretched out, tapping her waist gently before cradling it. In the small waste bin in the corner of the bedroom. Kept a secret she considered revealing again and again. Two pregnancy tests, each with a positive result.

  As in love as they had ever been. She knew the time was now to tell John, especially before any grand adventure they had planned.

  ‘John’ she called down to the ground floor, only for it to go unanswered. She called down again at a slightly higher volume. Nothing.

  Downstairs, the kettle boiled and the mugs awaited water. John though was absent from the scene.

  On the other side of the front door, behind the frosted glass, several shadows appeared. A gang of men whispering amongst themselves.

  ‘You’re sure this is the place?’ One asked while another nodded. With the door unlocked, it opened slowly and silently to reveal Nico with several of his goons. All entering the premises. Toby Razz, the frailest of the pack, followed at its tail.