Persona Non Grata

by D. C. Grahame

  ‘All I know is that he outstayed his welcome years back. Tapped a minor, I think.’ Frank replied, trying his best to appear oblivious. Heracles could see through the masquerade, but at the current time, opted to see how things played out.

  ✽

  Indy half buried in boxes, pulled out a welder’s mask and a hammer.

  ‘Okay, yep, yep, nope, this is a bad idea.’ Red insisted as Indy examined the mask and climbed to his feet. He had already resolved that all sensible rationalisation would wait until sunrise. ‘Seriously bruv, whatever this fit of mania is, it’s a bad trip.’ Red warned.

  ‘They won’t stop, Red. They won’t stop. John wakes up, they find him, they kill him. You know this.’

  ‘Indy I understand that you’re upset, but whatever you’re thinking, whatever you plan to do with that hammer and that...’ Red paused to point at the welder’s mask, ‘...volcano... helmet. Is nothing short of insane.’

  ‘There are no consequences for these people, no accountability.’

  ‘Oh, well that’s news. Welcome to the world sunshine. And I guess you’re going to be that consequence hey? A project manager with an arsenal he gathered from his storage cupboard. Your pink belt in ju-jitsu isn’t going to dissuade a bullet from flying through your ass-cheek.’ Red enlightened.

  ‘Throwing punches isn’t the only way to scare bullies.’ Indy resolved. Wondering for a moment if he had made the statement up or plagiarised it from someone else.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ Abi mused watching Indy close the door behind him. Red sighed to himself, fatigued from the night’s dramatics.

  ‘To get shot in the ass-cheek’ he replied.

  ✽

  A furious Isaac Kane sat slouched at his desk. A peace-time general defied by his closest lieutenants. His chief henchman Molar stood stubborn and relaxed while Mads, the more innocent of the two looked back fretting.

  ‘The disobedience I can take, I get it, none of us would get very far if we spent a lifetime listening to our boss. It’s the indiscipline I can’t grasp, the stupidity stemming from the theatrics. Garrotting the fucker on public transport during commuting hours. Maybe you should explain your decision making there Michael Corleone.’ Kane told Molar, who looked back uninhibited.

  ‘We tried to detain him, bring him to you, but he resisted.’

  ‘Resisted.’ Kane replied, ‘how many men did you take?’

  ‘A few.’ Molar replied.

  ‘Twenty.’ Mads inputted, seeing an opportunity.

  ‘Twenty men. My guys in broad daylight, on the most accessible public transport route south of London.’ Kane murmured. He began to nod his head as he contemplated events. Grabbing the closest projectile, a remote control, he hurled it towards the pair. Mads ducked while Molar remained motionless as the controller passed them both. Shattering against the wall behind them. ‘What is my agenda boys?’

  ‘Pack up shop.’ Mads replied.

  ‘Pack up shop. How do I do that?’

  ‘Legitimacy.’ Mads again chipped in.

  ‘Legitimacy. I need all our current business ventures to run smoothly, without incident. I need my men to conduct themselves accordingly. According to my fucking designs. It’s bad enough with the courts trying to brand me with every little problem the city has. With Ron leaving his post as commissioner, we need to protect our names as much as anything else.’

  Molar cringed at the speech. It wasn’t their names he worried about. It was his, Isaac Kane, and only Isaac Kane he wanted free from the tabloid infamy. Molar saw a coward that he once called a mentor. With so many passive retreats, so many pivots away from the violence and criminality that asserted them as the monarchy. It was time to accept the truth. Kane had gotten old. And Molar more and more failed to recognise the man he once idolised. A year ago John would have been in a box. Several boxes. Shipped off to rival gangs as an example made. Kane’s pre-occupation with leaving the city was diverting him from the core ethos that kept his men loyal over the years. He needed a push, Molar thought. A spark that would reignite the volcanic Polynesian warrior the city all feared.

  Isaac, on the flip side of that coin, looked at the pair knowing there were facts they were not ready to comprehend. After what happened to Nico, he wanted nothing more than to see John hanging upside down in his garage. But it would need to be done discreetly, entirely on his terms.

  He saw either side of the criminal spectrum in Mads and Molar, neither quite hitting the mark of an appropriate heir. Something every dynasty-creating man yearns for in his later years. The same problem was true for his old rival James Vinyar. Whose sons Frank and John were similar to Mads and Molar in their contrasting attributes. ‘What has happened, has happened, we must focus on existing items. The old factories in the east, supposedly Doug has noticed activity. Gordon, clean out any visitors. I want that land clear for residential property in March.’

  ‘Probably squatters’ Mads intervened, ‘I wouldn’t waste your best tool on it, dad.’ He commented, enjoying the chance to call Molar a mere tool.

  In reality, Mads had promised Frank the building in exchange for a small stake in the club. A deal he opted to keep shy of his father and the tax man. Whatever Frank’s motives for the area were, he was not entirely sure. But considering the Vinyar man’s short-range ambitions, Mads deemed it trivial.

  Kane, experienced in both business and children lying, saw through the story. Stimulated by the falsehood, excited by his son’s initiative. Something he thought the boy to be previously lacking. With everything that was going on. He could warrant feeding his son scraps, a parental long-shot he concluded.

  ‘Fair enough. Gord- Gordon!’ Kane yelled as Molar hung up his phone call. ‘I’m sorry if we are keeping you’.

  Molar wasted no time in delivering the news.

  ‘Police didn’t find a body on the train.’

  ‘I’m sorry, you’re going to have to repeat that.’ Kane said with a calm, icy tone.

  ‘He’s alive.’ Molar replied. Kane absorbed the news as casual as he could portray. Walking to the glass-paned double doors that overlooked his sizeable and inviting swimming pool. Mads watched on as his father appeared to do a series of calculations. He could see an anxiousness in the old man. An invincibility, slowly wavering.

  ‘The Vinyar family is now a serious problem.’ he announced, puzzling the boys somewhat.

  ‘Why specifically now, exactly?’ Mads queried. Isaac watched the light reflect off the rippling pool and onto the bushes a little further ahead. He chose not to explain why as his mind briefly travelled back to the last time he saw James Vinyar. And the promises made that night.

  Wanting to stay focused on the here and now. He opened the doors to the pool area.

  Behind the bushes that bordered Kane’s swimming pool, crouched within the vast selection of trees. Indy watched on with the visor of the welder’s helmet open, the mask of it facing upward to the night sky. He kept still and silent as the wind calmed and the garden rested. At a safe surveillance point. He could see a small security team around the house and the Kane family inside it, having an agitated discussion.

  Needing a closer look, he moved toward the bushes closest to the pool. He slid the visor down across his face, only to halt, unable to see through it.

  Feeling like a fool, having selected a mask to use at night that was designed to extinguish light. He was unable to see anything and dumped the mask in a nearby bush.

  With the security guards oblivious. He paced, then crawled to the bushes closest to the swimming pool. Watching as the family continued to converse before heading out of the study, and onto the decking next to the pool.

  It was at that ultimate moment that Indy lost all logistical thought. He couldn’t work out his next move. What was he going to do? Rush towards them with hammer-in-hand, ferociously screaming his surname? If Molar’s roundhouse kick didn’t break his skull, one of Kane’s bullets certainly would. There was no single scenario in which Indy wouldn’t come out
unscathed, or alive. Where was that shitty mask his sub-conscious moaned. It was so bright by the pool, the mask would have been perfect right about now.

  It remained hovering defunct between the thin branches of a nearby bush.

  He retreated and recovered the mask. It was then and there, a thought erupted in his mind.

  A mask, an actual mask.

  One that wouldn’t just conceal his identity but bewilder and intimidate those who confronted him down a dark road.

  A suit, a pitch-black suit that would camouflage him, for those rare occasions he would hide man-fully in bushes.

  The demonic, dark figure. It wasn’t just an epiphany. It was a blueprint.

  ‘Boys the only thing that matters is the status quo.’ Kane explained from a distance.

  ‘The status quo.’ Indy whispered to himself, realising Kane’s most vulnerable item. A way of disturbing the man without getting shot or kicked dead in the head.

  ‘Assassinations. Failed assassinations on the city’s busiest rail line are not what we need right now.’ Kane reiterated. Indy discovered his mistake, the weapon of choice wasn’t the hammer. It was the spotlight. The old man, from all his years of brutality, didn’t fear a lunatic in his garden. He had men paid for such an event. What he really feared was damage to his credibility, his goals, his brand. He wanted things in balance, the balance he had tried to set over years and years. A masked, dark figure roaming the streets. Grabbing and shifting attention towards the criminal world would only disrupt that balance. Antagonising the illustrious Kane and his mighty, transitioning corporation.

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ Mads asked.

  ‘Find John and report his location to me, that’s it,’ Kane mandated, ‘don’t get creative.’

  As Mads marched off semi-apologetic. Indy studied the kingpin who took a moment to check his pristine pool for dead leaves. Molar stood by his side, scanning the bushes that bordered the pool. Indy wondered if Molar could see or sense his presence. Like a shark sniffing a blood drop. Not wanting to risk it. Indy retreated backwards from the pool before jogging towards the outer fence. Clear of adversary, he leapt over the final, bordering wall, only to crash and land face first into a puddle of mud. He darted up off the ground unfazed. Distracted by the concept of his new design.

  ✽

  Grace and Red’s relationship was a mixed bag. Their history consisted primarily of him appearing on the scene whenever John was in some kind of trouble. Though it could be argued that it was almost always John’s own fault. Red’s cheeky grin and London accent helped Grace paint a stereotype he to this day, couldn’t shake.

  But that didn’t matter. The past didn’t matter. As Red stepped to one side, revealing John’s condition, she slowly and nervously hovered over to him. Viewing his ordeal, she felt heartbroken and sympathetic by his state. Gently resting her fingers very delicately on his bandaged neck.

  ‘How did this happen?’ Eva asked, standing behind her silent sister.

  ‘He was leaving the city. They jumped him at Heming. Abi was at the station by chance, and she phoned me.’ Red explained. Grace considered for a second what would have caused John’s abrupt and theatrical exit from the city. Feeling guilty, even if it was not genuinely warranted.

  ‘How did they know where he was?’ Eva puzzled.

  ‘We don’t know.’ Red replied, having pondered that issue himself. As Indy arrived at his front door, all heads turned to meet him. Red wondered where the volcano mask had wandered to while the girls looked on curious to where he had been.

  ‘We needed more painkillers.’ Indy noted, lifting a small box of pills he kept at reception on the ground floor.

  ‘I found some in your bathroom.’ Abi replied.

  ‘Oh. Well. Good.’ Indy replied, marching beyond the lounge’s occupants to his bedroom. Eva followed, suspicious of his behaviour.

  ‘Where were you?’ she asked inquisitive.

  ‘I told you, getting painkillers.’ He replied, trying to sound watertight, even with the context of events, ‘Why are you looking at me weird?’ He asked.

  ‘You have mud all over your face.’ she explained, pointing to his left cheek. Indy rubbed it, feeling the coarse, dry dirt under his fingertips.

  ‘I checked the car for some tablets, and a car splashed a puddle up on me. Why are you looking at me like that? It’s nothing.’ Indy replied poorly, heading into the bathroom to wash his face. Eva watched him stand by the sink before turning to a sorrowful Grace. Was that to be her one day, the lies, the pain. Was Indy just another John promising the world, all to eventually deliver nothing.

  Red and Abi continued to discuss next moves. With the former insisting they finance John’s accommodation. Somewhere secluded, while he mended. Grace interrupted the planning, speaking with her eyes still glued on John.

  ‘He can stay with me.’ She confirmed. Eva intervened, sensing her sister’s emotions were driving her to speak irrationally.

  ‘Sweetie...’

  ‘He can stay with me.’ Grace repeated, forgetting the home invasion that had occurred just hours prior.

  ‘Might work. The police are going to have a patrol car hovering nightly.’ Red concurred, ‘Let him rest here for a day or so. Then we’ll move him, quietly.’ Red advised.

  ‘Do you think they will try and do this again?’ Eva asked. The question triggered Indy’s plotting in the bathroom to escalate further.

  ‘I think they’ll do anything they want in all honesty.’ Red replied. Indy considered the sentiment, adamant it was about to be burnt to the ground.

  ✽

  ‘So did we have a good week?’ Dr Wilton asked Indy, who sat awkwardly on the edge of his seat, an alert expression on his face. Highly experienced in her field, she immediately noticed a divergence in his demeanour. Possibly entering a manic phase of his bipolar, she considered. ‘You seem different Indy. Anything worth noting?’ She asked. Indy looked at her with an unsure stare. Knowing she probably had an asylum or two on speed dial.

  ‘Nope. I’ve just woken up incentivised.’ Indy explained. Intrigued by the use of lexicon, she held her silence, implying that she wanted him to continue. ‘Trying a new sport.’ he continued.

  ‘A new sport? Besides Ju-Jitsu?’

  ‘It’s kind of an Ironman, triathlon type thing.’

  ‘Wow, that sounds, well, beneficial.’ she replied.

  ‘Really? It could be dangerous.’ He added.

  ‘As long as you’re not reckless. All sport can be good for your mental and physical well-being. Exercise and passion, both release chemicals that counter the imbalances you feel day-to-day.’

  ‘So you are saying this would be good for me? Maybe cure the bipolar.’

  ‘You can’t be cured. If you refuse to take your prescription or attend more frequent sessions, then I would say passions, whether it be a relationship or a chess tournament. Can shift your mentality from a state of disillusion to a more optimistic landscape.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  ‘So you’re not going to tell me what the sport is? Should I be concerned?’

  ‘Nah. You know I’m not John. It’s just a rather embarrassing activity.’

  ‘Like Ultimate Frisbee?’

  ‘You’re mistaken, that’s an immense game.’ Indy said with an immediate and unshakable tone. Wilton smiled before raising her finger to gather his ever-wavering attention span.

  ‘A warning, though. This sounds like the up phase. And manic episodes as you know can be just as dangerous as depressive phases. It can lead to impulsive and reckless behaviour. So as your health provider, I ask you one last time. Do you see this new sport leading to reckless activity or the endangerment of your health?’ She asked, wanting to make sure she had done some weak form of due diligence. Indy stood up to exit and looked back at her with an ambiguous, slightly mischievous look.

  CHAPTER TEN

  In Sports-For-You, where everyone gets a bargain. Indy entered the vast sports store, weighing up th
e aisles. A man on a mission, hustling through a small crowd as he headed towards the hockey department.

  Picking up six individually-priced shin pads. Two adult-size, four child-size. He threw them in a basket and ventured onwards. Ticking off the to-do as he looked to his next item.

  Diving headfirst into a bargain bucket near the ice hockey gear. He rummaged through the cheap goods, causing some products to tumble over the edges of the cage. Searching deeper and deeper until he found what he was looking for. A vintage hockey goaltender mask. He smiled at its face, dropping it in the basket. Now beginning to pile up.

  Reaching the Nike concession, forever packed in by keen, wealthy Asian teenagers. He arrived at and admired the newly released and rather expensive full-body thermals. Thick for warmth and protection, while also sweat-wicking and flexible. He rifled through and found his size, adding the garment to his haul.

  As the cashier rang up the items, Indy stood patiently observing the DIY store opposite side of the car park.

  ‘$287.50’ the sales assistant announced as Indy pulled out a large wad of cash, not wanting to use a credit card.

  Across the car park, he marched into the DIY store, checking a small post-it with his semi-completed to-dos. The store owner looked at him slightly flummoxed. Indy wasn’t his typical patron. Especially when the young man wasted little time in picking up an array of random items.

  Some thin but resilient tradesmen gloves. Black spray paint. A small pair of metal cutters. Super glue and a half-metre-by-half-metre sheet of aluminium. The shop owner scanned the products in the trolley, sneaking a glimpse at the list of items on Indy’s post-it. Catching the last item on the agenda.

  ‘Morph’ the owner mouthed silently to himself, at a loss. Indy caught the man’s investigation and slipped the paper into his pocket. Delivering a vague, innocent smile as he went for his suspicious cash wad.

  Now carrying an abnormally large amount of bags for your average male shopper. He reached the doors of his final destination, a fancy dress store. Even with Christmas around the corner, the storefront was dead. With not a single person in sight minus a bored and roaming sales assistant. Indy prospected a vast array of costumes, cringing at the majority that missed the mark.