Persona Non Grata: A Novel

by Grahame, D. C.

  ‘Better the devil you know right.’

  Mads was characterised by many, albeit behind his back, as a callous creep. A snake both in mental and physical attributes. He was Kane’s last living child and still the least favourite.

  ‘I saw you both buddy-buddy before, is he just an honourable guest or are you doing something stupid?’

  ‘He’s a person worth knowing. You think club’s like this make their revenue at the door or behind the bar. Come on Indy. You’re better than that.’ Frank stated.

  At this point, Indy wanted little else than to put Frank’s mouth on standby and enjoy the view of the beautiful women scantily dressed below. As he eyes glanced across the free-flowing hands, rippling above a tide of swooshing hair. His eyes locked onto one individual, transfixed by the image.

  A single man standing still, immovable in the middle of the rhythmic riot below.

  ‘And your relationship with the Kane family, just how do you think John’s going to take that?’ Indy questioned, keeping his eyes locked downward. Frank looked the other way, appreciating Eva and Grace’s oiled legs which were both on show.

  ‘Why would I care what John thought?’ He queried. Indy utilising all his strength, held back a smirk.

  ‘Because he’s looking straight at us.’

  Frank couldn’t decipher the statement. Both his head and mind shook a few millimetres side-to-side. Trying to jig some logic to the declaration. He turned to Indy and followed his gaze. He felt his own face evolve into a look of dread, contrasting to his twin brother’s joy.

  In a field of motion, John stood locked in place. His eyes fixed on his brothers. He could see the anticipation in Indy’s stare, the anguish in Frank’s. He relished both as they absorbed his sudden apparition. With little build up, he shifted from his position and made his way through the rapturous crowd. Now suited and semi-groomed. His appearance was only a slight variance to his younger brothers. Though handsome, his face was weathered. His hair and beard were both quite rugged for their short lengths. His eyes sat deeper behind the brows than his brothers, a distinctive trait of their father.

  As he began to walk up the steps, the bouncer guarding it stepped aside, almost nodding in recognition. Indy and Frank watched his climb, with the former seeing an opportunity to tease.

  ‘I guess your love life’s taken a hit.’

  ‘Fuck off, keep quiet.’ Frank replied rapid, shutting down the conversation. He wondered and worried why John had returned, tonight, after all this time. Did Grace contact him? Not in a million years. Would Indy of ratted him out? The shared look of surprise a moment ago suggested otherwise. But John was almost on their level now. And Frank felt as if he was a toddler with his hand in the cookie jar, a huge, arena-sized cookie jar.

  John reached the top step, acutely aware that his next facial expression would say a thousand words. He gave an uncharacteristic smile that beamed towards them both. His march to their position bypassed the girls completely. Indy brushed John’s outward hand aside and gave him a fierce hug. Frank kept it formal, taking and shaking his elder brother’s hand. Indy stood lost for words while Frank felt uneasy in the long pause that had developed, and sort to end it.

  ‘The prince has returned.’ He declared to the three of them rather than addressing John directly. John didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t like the loud, ostentatious stylings Frank was famous for. Especially when he knew that tempestuous, yet alluring eyes sitting a few metres shy would soon be on him.

  ‘Boys. How are we?’ he said with a voice an octave lower than the twins.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Indy said, still amazed. Frank interjected.

  ‘A throne to claim?’ He said hoping to get to the bottom of John’s return.

  ‘Well, I hear we have a new king, Comic Sans.’ John replied, resurrecting a nickname Frank had received near the beginnings of puberty. He had subsequently attempted to expel it over his adolescent years. Frank couldn’t help but give a wide grin. He missed John’s blunt, almost intimidating delivery.

  ‘Nice face you got there Indy, how’s the other school teacher doing?’ John asked.

  ‘He’s fine, probably here having a good night, teaching biology. Que Pasa welcomes all sorts. ‘

  ‘That it does. You get a proper look at the guy?’ John continued to enquire. Indy knew it to be a serious question masquerading as small talk.

  ‘No.’ he replied.

  ‘So what are you doing in QP John, I could list a thousand places you’d be over here?’ Frank wondered.

  ‘Well. I’m not here. I’m a ghost, and you haven’t seen me.’ John announced causing Frank to chuckle.

  ‘Well. I have.’ Frank replied, ‘you’re standing right fucking there, and half the city’s darlings currently downstairs have as well.’ Frank continued, rejecting John’s ambivalent request. Indy was slightly more subtle in delivering a footnote to Frank’s comment. Using the pupils of his eyes to assist him, shifting them in Grace’s direction.

  ‘Someone is sitting just behind you.’

  ‘I know, it’s why I’m facing this way.’ John responded, causing Frank to sneer to himself. ‘Let’s say I’m here because I missed you both, but I’m also not making any mistakes. I’m retired. So, I’m not here so to speak.’ He explained.

  As Eva and Grace began receiving the bottles of Champagne they had batch ordered at Frank’s grave expense. They noticed a third man liaising with the brothers. Unable to see his face, they both wondered what kind of individual could have both twins simultaneously engaged.

  Grace felt a weight crash down to the bottom of her stomach. She recognised the profile of the man’s face as strobe lighting flickered across it. Her lips separated in disbelief. Her younger sister, now alarmed noticed and tapped her thigh to see if she was okay. And just like that, the man marched away, keeping his face concealed.

  Upon his exit, the audacious version of Frank re-surfaced. Throwing his hands in the air in John’s wake.

  ‘Well there he goes again, like a fart in a hurricane.’ he moaned. Indy watched as John dodged the crowd and exited the venue, catching Mad’s eye for a fleeting moment.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Indy awakened in his bed alone with a throbbing headache. The other side of the bed vacant, he remembered Eva opting to crash at her sisters. No doubt to console Grace whose mind was now fragmented by John’s sudden arrival. He could relate. John had cut through everyone’s routine mind-set in a way only he could. Where was he now? God knows Indy thought, putting a pair of sweatpants on.

  Nursing his forehead, he reached the lounge area where John re-appeared once again, in the final stages of making coffee.

  ‘Jesus’ Indy jumped, not expecting another man in his home.

  ‘I crashed on the sofa, hope you don’t mind.’ John said appreciative. Indy rubbed his eyes to double-check his vision before tiredly nodding along, making his way to the cupboard for a coffee mug.

  ‘You left things pretty ambiguous last night.’ Indy cited.

  ‘Sorry about that, I was waiting for you two to separate from the girls. Didn’t realise they were up there with you. How were things once I left?’

  ‘Grace reached an atomic level of drunkenness and Frank ditched us to sort something in his office.’

  ‘I could tell he missed me.’ John noted with a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘I think he did bud. It’s just he’s been distracted by things at the moment.’ Indy insisted, taking a seat on one of his kitchen stalls. John took a position opposite.

  ‘And how are you doing? I heard through the grapevine what happened to you. I wanted to see for myself that you were all good.’

  ‘You came back to Kingsland for me?’

  ‘Well, partly for you. A small part of me misses the place.’

  ‘A small part of it missed you.’ Indy replied, referring to himself rather than the city. He felt an unusual level of distrust between them on this exchange. As if they were both lying even when telling the truth
. He knew John loathed the town and that his return from a rather heated exile would take some kind of grave reasoning. ‘Are you going to speak to her?’ Indy asked.

  ‘She doesn’t want to talk to me.’ John replied casual, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘Besides, I’m probably going to be busy, keeping an eye on Frank. Do you know what he is up to?’ John asked, initiating a delicate interrogation.

  ‘Running a club, showing a blind-eye to low-level criminals. That’s about it, not really worth your attention.’

  ‘Did he tell you how he funded the club?’

  ‘Big Red was a partner, but it’s Frank, you know how resourceful he can be.’

  ‘Yeah, resourceful’s dangerous, especially with our surname.’

  ‘Coming back is dangerous, pretty sure Mads clocked you as you left.’ Indy informed as John couldn’t help but chuckle.

  ‘The city clocked me the moment I got off the train. No doubt my face was caught at the station. Kane’s probably got a nice glossy print of my mug waiting for him on his desk. Safe to say they all know I’m back.’

  ‘Yeah, but what about...?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Goldmolar?’ Indy queried nervous. John took a moment, a frustration growing, both with the name and his brother.

  ‘Don’t you start calling him that too. If Kane’s favourite lap dog wants to hunt me down and go seven rounds. Then I can’t stop him can I?’ John asserted, not wanting to focus on Kane and his violent affiliates.

  Gordon Molar, known by most through his trade name, Goldmolar. A simple reference to his gold tooth. Was like John, an infamous underworld fighter. But while John enjoyed the fighting and the prizes. Molar enjoyed hurting people and the power he held over others. Getting off on the pain he inflicted, it was a quality that quickly assimilated him within Kane’s operations. Frank had once described him as a comic-book villain, a henchman that was beyond John’s equal. He was leaner in physique than the Vinyar boys but was without a doubt the city’s best fists. An English-Irish prize-fighter turned underworld champion. John was the only man worthy of being labelled a rival, having bested him once out of three vicious fights. Molar’s advantage was his mentality. An archetypal sadist. Whose arousal from dishing out pain allowed him to move without consequence. He didn’t want to knock the opponent out, he wanted their career over. On a few occasions, their life as well. Making a grown man bleed isn’t half as enjoyable as making them squeal, he once told John at a summons. The meet where underground fighters negotiated fight terms.

  ‘Okay, but still, you’re not keeping an eye on Molar?’

  ‘It’s more important we keep an eye on Frank, Indy.’ John again uttered, given his brother a hint of what he perceived to be the man’s real motives for returning. ‘While Que Pasa might appear a tacky place. Delivering tetanus to anyone who runs their hands along the metal railings. It’s also a nucleus. A gateway to the underworld. It’s a terminal for where people and vices meet. Always has been.’

  ‘Right.’ Indy again replied baffled, finding it all a little far-fetched. ‘And you think Frank’s involved himself.’

  ‘Took funds from Red, funds from the Yardies. He’s probably getting help from some other places as well. I would say it’s safe to say that.’

  ‘Wait, how do you know his taking funds from the Yardies?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. What’s important is what’s going to happen. There are people out there who don’t take to being envious for too long. You were worried me being here might start the fire. I wish it were the case.’ John warned. Indy remained silent, staring back at his elder both enlightened and terrified.

  His eyes shifted for a moment as he heard the news reporter on TV speak with a fearful urgency. The Worthing killer had again struck right in the heart of the city. A young woman’s dead body found ditched on the side of a very public road. Now the fifth victim in Kingsland since the killer migrated from the Worthing district.

  John didn’t faze. Paying little attention to the report, as he smothered a large dollop of jam onto his toast. It was only by the change in voice did John’s disinterest waver, recognising a familiar voice. Flat in tone and tired in delivery, the reporter interviewed a resilient Detective Marler. A man John once befriended. The brothers moved closer to the box, sitting down on the sofa opposite.

  ‘Marler’s still here.’ John noted.

  ‘Do you know him?’ Indy asked.

  ‘Yeah, in fact, you’ve met him too a few times. I think he hurled you into a bouncy castle once. He was a friend of Dad’s.’

  ‘Oh right.’ Indy replied, struggling to recognise him.

  Thinking back to John’s concerns over Frank and Que Pasa. A question he had shelved in his mind re-appeared. ‘I’m just wondering here but why didn’t Kane try and buy Que Pasa before. His business is almost entirely real estate nowadays from what I hear on this thing.’ He noted, pointing to the television.

  ‘Levy would never have sold it to him. Those old cronies have been squabbling since the dark ages. Kane crippled the city with acquisitions. Levy threw all his resources into one last stand, the prime location that is Que Pasa. I reckon Kane almost appreciated Levy’s resilience to that fact.’

  ‘Honour amongst thieves.’

  ‘Maybe, but Levy doesn’t own it now.’ John reminded.

  ‘Do you think Mads was there last night because-’

  ‘-Speak of the devil.’ John interrupted as a new story transitioned on the broadcast. Showing paparazzi surrounding a bald, slightly tanned figure exiting the courthouse. Isaac Kane, a sixty-something man of half-British, half-Polynesian descent. His broad, stocky shape walked down the concrete steps of the Kingsland high court. His casual and charismatic persona portrayed nothing more than an experienced, ever-trying businessman. His choice of companions, however, suggested otherwise. As Kane reached an awaiting car and entered it, exiting the camera frame. The reddish-brown haired and pale Molar wasted little time in pushing several bystanders out the way. Always wanting to reiterate the organisation’s no-nonsense and deterred brand.

  Indy reviewed John’s passive spectatorship, sensing an opportunity to lighten the mood.

  ‘So who are you more afraid of, Kane or Grace?’ he jabbed awaiting a smile. John kept his focus on the television. A thoughtful expression melted into a smirk.

  ‘One wants to set his boys on me, crush me into a fine powder, and the other, well she could really do damage to me.’

  ‘I hear ya.’ Indy replied laughing. ‘Any plans for today? I was going to see Eva, but I might leave the sisters to it considering your grand reprise.’

  ‘I need to speak with an old associate.’ John ominously replied. Being a Vinyar, Indy knew when to leave it at that.

  ✽

  In an impressive acrobatic feat. Red had managed to lay his entire snoring body across two chairs and a table. As was the tradition with the Old Market Pub, its floor was empty. Minus one lost punter who was far too intoxicated to move. Abi walked to the front door, checking it was unlocked. Lifting and pulling its heavy build with all her might. She panted for a second all the while giving a disapproving look at the slumbering Red, his belly now the closest part to the ceiling. Heading back to the bar, she heard the heavy door open, far smoother than her previous effort. John Vinyar, a man she half-recognised, stepped in, smiling at the door in disbelief.

  ‘This thing still hasn’t been fixed?’ he commented to himself, making his way to the middle of the bar floor. He gave the chubby gent a look of endearing pity before giving Abi a reassuring nod. She had trouble placing a name to a face but felt a strange sort of ease around him. John gently kicked the leg of Red’s first chair causing the large man from Lewisham to slam forward in a jolt.

  ‘Ready salted!’ He yelled out impulsive, staring hard at nothing.

  ‘Diet is going well I see.’ John commented causing Red to turn nervous and unsure. His initial fear turned to ecstasy as his best mate from the old days stood before him.

 
; ‘No...’ he muttered to himself, struggling to believe who it was. He leapt from his seat and gave the man a paralysing hug. John winced at the pressure, eventually delivering a large grin. ‘I can’t believe it’s you J. What are you doing here? Are you back for good?’

  ‘Yeah, in a way. Can we make that two packs of Ready Salted?’

  ‘Hell yeah, Hey Abi!’ Red yelled, assuming she was now out the back.

  ‘What?’ she shouted back in her usual, un-lady-like manner.

  ‘Two packets of crisp’ he yelled out.

  ‘You only need one!’ she screamed.

  ‘Not just for me, just, woman make it two.’ Red reiterated. He planted his large rear on a feeble wooden chair and placed his baseball mitt palms on top of Johns. ‘It’s so good to see you, brother.’

  ‘You look good Red. I hope things have been working out for you. I can see the pub is still a cash-cow.’

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t matter, it’s always been our safe house of sorts.’

  ‘Do you need a safe house?’

  ‘No, but the heavy door keeps the riff-raff out.’

  ‘Only some riff-raff.’ John replied, referring to one of Red’s ongoing business affairs. Red decoded the insinuation.

  ‘Well you know bruv that was a good deal. Your boy, he has big plans, I’m just sitting here with capital and a broken front door for security.’

  ‘Red it’s okay, it’s not you I’m concerned about.’

  ‘You’re worried about Comic Sans?’

  ‘A little, his too naive for all this. Making deals with Heracles, Mads, even you. He thinks he’s a gangster, running a club like he’s in Carlito’s Way.’

  ‘Is that like Scarface?’

  ‘Yeah, and they both die in the end.’

  ‘Frank is a smart kid J. I didn’t even know he was in cohorts with Heracles. But shit, he got me to hand him serious cash, and all he did was flash me a wink and a smile. He’s a natural-born hustler. Those cats last a whole lot longer than barbarians like you.’ Red informed.