Club27

by Karl Bourdiec

  He rounded the corner, then another and another, Arbeia was made up of corners to be rounded, most of the time you could a mass of wrong turns and still get to where you were meaning to go.

  As its name, implied Arbeia was designed, contracted and built by the Romans.

  Being so the roads were all very straight and layer down to create perfect grids for barracks and homes to be placed on, sadly the barracks had gone and the homes had been dropped as they were needed, creating a skyline of houses designed by master builders, with homed crafts and the flair of an artist, these masterpieces of building were normally sat next to homes designed by Jeremy at the housing office, he had a flair for squares and the houses showed that.

  Cameron kept looking at the note. Not that it made a difference, he knew the street, but looking at it eased his mind enough that he hadn’t fainted or dropped dead at the thought of meeting his son.

  The streets had thinned out, paths that would fit whole cars now became a squeeze to the point where Cameron had to turn a little to get through them.

  The roads Cameron had found himself on now, we’re no longer the beautiful straight sheets the romans had left behind, they’d now had been replaced with growths of paths that veined where ever they’d felt like.

  Cameron pulled the yellow crumpled note from his pocket a final time, he held it up against the sign for Robertson street like he’d seen in a movie.

  ‘Thirteen,’ he read under his breath, the street the house was in was one of the odd ones which contained both odd and even numbers. There was always something unsettling when they did that, nobody knows why.

  He was at the hundred end of the stretch, but eyeing it up, the road didn’t seem too long, doors stood next to each followed by a window or two then a twin of doors again.

  Half way through, when he hit fifty-two, an odd shiver ran up his spine as if someone walked over Cameron’s grave, he shrugged it off and continued, he always got that tick as he was about to go on stage, now he’d be meeting his son for the first time the shiver was the same but much more intense.

  Cameron swallowed air with a huge gulp, single digit doors now, he’d walked past it, too deep in his own mind. He made the adjustment of steps backward to number thirteen. Black stuck on numbers told him so, the three had peeled a little and the one was a little lopsided. Cameron couldn’t do it, his son lived here, his son had tried to shoot him, his son had shot Allen, his son had probably killed Gilly.

  ‘For fucks sake Benji.’ Cameron sighed pressing his forehead against the door. It swung loose.

  Mary flicked through the wallet, small pieces of plastic with Gilly’s name on them filled the front panels, the back was crammed with cash, mostly red notes all layered together.

  ‘a dead man’s wallet.’ Simon said over her shoulder, Mary pulled out the only photo in the leather-bound wallet, Gilly with an straight face was printed on the right-hand corner of a small pink piece of plastic. On the back icons of cars and bikes scattered the card. Mary flipped it back over to see the man’s face once again.

  ‘One two one, Jarrow road?’ Mary read aloud.

  ‘Do you know where that is?’ Simon asked taking the card off her and inspecting it for other details.

  ‘Yeah, I think so. Jarrow road was three or four streets down. It was the dwellings for the maids of our home.’ She placed the card back into the wallet once she snatched it back from Simon and pulled out a few of the red notes from the back, they had fifty printed in each corner.

  ‘This should get us there.’ Mary said.

  ‘I’d say.’ Simon agreed. Simon rested his weight on his cane and threw his arm into the air, he’d hoped that calling a taxi was as easy as it was back in the twenties, at that exact second several cabs drove past him driving close to curb in hopes of a puddle being there, there wasn’t and he stood down bone dry.

  ‘Perhaps I should give it a go’ Mary suggested, she stepped close to the curb and with all the feminine wilds she could muster put her hand out, in seconds three taxis stopped for her. She gave Simon a little grin and got into the back of the car, Simon followed dragging his straight leg behind him. The cane got caught for a few seconds, but was freed after some struggle.

  With a couple more gentle nudges the door swung open, it wasn’t Cameron’s fault, he thought to himself, somebody had been sticking crowbars in his son’s door, as a father he had to see if the culprit was here, it was the fatherly thing today. Although he’d never really been this person’s father.

  The door swung it’s last swing and the opening was large enough for Cameron to pass, flowers were printed up the stairs, they were slightly raised and part of the carpet had bowed as the door was pushed open.

  Cameron screwed his face up as people did, seeing such awful décor. The walls were similarly printed with pink flowers, possibly roses, although no real rose looked like that.

  ‘Hello?’ questioned Cameron making tiptoes up the stairs.

  ‘Tiptoe through the tulips, through the window.’ He stopped singing and just hummed instead.

  ‘Hello??!’ Cameron asked again. This time the o was stretched into a hoot. The steps below him creaked, he couldn’t nudge himself up the stairs like he did the door. Reaching the top Bishop was met with three doors. Two of them had been swung from the hinges, the one which lead to, what Cameron guessed was a bedroom although it only had a mattress stood up from the floor by some crates, the door for that room was only held by one hinge, it half lay over the mattress. No more than his head poked through the door way, it was a mess, things strewn all over the floor, clothes, most of which were black, in blob like piles in each corner. Ben was his son, this room proved it.

  After a deep breath, Cameron stepped slowly out of the first room and into the second, this room also looked turned upside down, this time it looked as though it had been done with purpose. Draws pulled from their places, tapes and Cds tossed from here to there, somebody was looking for something.

  What? Cameron had no idea but the mess told him they didn’t find it. Cameron left the living room without disturbing anything.

  He slowly tiptoed to the last room, an uneasy silence had fell over the room, like somebody was in there, the sense you get when somebody is hiding from you.

  This door was closed shut, they handle was pushed down as though the spring in it had loosened off. A nudge to the door and it came away from the clasp holding it there.

  This room was also empty, a small TV was laying on its back, a black and white glow came from the screen, the feeling of somebody being there doubled but was replaced by the white noise of the TV, Cameron pulled the plug and the feeling fell away, he was alone.

  He pulled himself up from the hunched position he’d adopted it, rubbing at the stubble on his face and stepped out from the room, he’d been stupid to come here, why would Benji be waiting at his home? He’d thought to himself, he should have stayed with the others he continued in his head. Cameron had made his way to the tip of a living room and collapsed onto the sofa unsure what to do next, something jabbed him in the side a pebble shaped plastic.

  Cameron through the small lump to the other side cushion, it didn’t catch it and the plastic bounced along the sofa. He crossed his arms as much as his shirt would let him, it smelled moist and as if it hadn’t been washed in twenty years, Cameron stood back up, he’d saw some clothes in the room with the bed in it, with any luck something in there would fit him.

  Cameron was in luck, not only was his boy the same size and shape as him, his fashion wasn’t too far from his own, no baggy jeans to change into, but there was a black tea which had a little more stretch and a little less stench than his own, and a blue checked shirt, not a as grungy as his own, but thieves can’t be choosers.

  Cameron quickly shed his clothes which he’d worn for so long they’d became more like his skin, and changed into the clothing he’d found on the floor. He didn’t look too different other than the colours had been inverted. Cameron before changing had fo
und a pair of jeans which looked too slim for him to fill, they lay smoothed out on the mattress, he gulped down some air and lifted the jeans, sorting through the pockets some gum, not chewed, a rapper from some other sweet and a five pence coin, no notes, no ‘Three pm meet me here’ scribbled on the back of a napkin.

  ‘vivvv’ something said from the living room.

  ‘vivvv vivvv,’ again. It came from the plastic pebble.

  The taxi had taken the long way around, even Mary knew that and she’d not seen the town for almost one hundred years, she’d passed all the short cuts and watched the driver all the way here, red lights showed a set of four numbers, Mary gave the cabbie a pink note and informed him to keep the change.

  ‘taxi cabs have changed greatly in the time we’ve been away.’ She said pulling Simon from the leather chair, his cane could only help a small amount in times like this. He slammed the door behind him.

  ‘I don’t know, they seem as rude as ever.’ Every so often below his British voice a Southern gentleman hid.

  ‘Jarrow road,’ she commented, the old stumpy homes had been replaced with a large block of flats,

  ‘That’s somewhat different, but it’s nice to see the children of the area are as filthy as ever,’ a small child ran past almost trampling her toes. Mary pulled out the pink pass once more, check and double checking the number printed on it.

  ‘Thirteen,’ she read out looking up the blocks.

  ‘It can only be on the second or third floor.’ She placed the card back into its slot and threw the wallet into the bag.

  The stairs were grey slabs, they looked as though they’d weigh quite a bit but still rocked as they made their way up them.

  ‘Does everything is this God forsaken town creak under a person’s weight?’ Simon yelled up to Mary as she was much quicker than him and had made it to the floor where number thirteen doors sat in wait.

  ‘A key!’ she yelled down the well,

  ‘Don’t look at me, I didn’t see a key, have you check the mat?’ he replied in yell,

  ‘There is no matt! Who in their right mind hides a key under a matt!’ she yelled back.

  ‘Perhaps a plant pot?!!’ Simon replied.

  ‘This is no animated movie Simon! Nobody really hides keys under things.’ Mary replied, this was all getting a little silly, she thought.

  ‘A bin?’ Simon cried one more time, at that second a door opened from behind Mary, painted green and obviously badly painted in such a way that flakes ignored green snowed from it as it opened, the door must have had some weight as it moved with effort, behind it was a little old lady whom resembled a mole.

  The little plastic pebble refused to stop shaking over the sofa cushion, a blue glow pulsed from a tiny screen on its face.

  Cameron hid from it in the bedroom, he wasn’t scared of it, or at least that’s what he told himself, he just didn’t know what it was or what it was used for. He pushed it under a cushion which stopped it being so noticeable but he could still here it shake under there.

  It stopped, it was sudden and he wasn’t certain it wouldn’t start again but the stress of it had dropped away as soon as it had ended its violent shaking.

  In his mind, he’d tried to cognitively decide what the little silver rock was, Cameron had half decided but at this kind of distance he couldn’t really confirm it.

  It lit blue again, a little light spat under the cushion and on to a seat, like the opening of a cave.

  With pincer like hands Cameron lifted the cushion, he was sure the brick had turned clockwise since he placed it under there.

  He grabbed it with his two fingers and with the other hand, pulled at it like a trap door, in a similar way the pebble opened, a little light grew from the top of the device, it was a phone.

  ‘missed call, two new messages.’ He read to himself, it beeped at him as Cameron hit buttons, mobile phones didn’t look like this to him, they were clunky and looked like the portable house phones old people swore by.

  A after some loud obnoxious beeps Cameron could listen to the voice mails, they came from a dirty English accent one which sounded familiar but Cameron couldn’t put his finger on.

  He was so busy working out who the voice was coming from he was unable to really listen to the message which was left and told the phone to replay them at the end.

  ‘it’s me, I think everything is going to plan, he’s out and walking around, they seem to only be a little dazed, I honestly thought they wouldn’t get out the building.’ The phone beeped at the end of the message, there was another after, Cameron looked at the face of the phone and put it back to his ear, making sure it was still playing its recordings.

  ‘They got to Gilly’s, now I think they’re on the way to Gilly’s house.’ Cameron shut the phone, the disembodied voice had to be talking about Simon and Mary, he used to live on Jarrow road, Cameron had been there only once to pay off a bar tab and a few chairs he’d smashed over some bodies head during a bar fight, he reminded himself he didn’t start the fight and only finished it and set off.

  It was getting a little later in the evening and the streets were bare of people. Nobody ever seemed to be walking around in this part of town. Cameron walked on picking up the pace and patting the phone he’d placed in his pocket, he left his old clothes behind. Although he never really thought more about it.

  ‘You after wor Gil?’ the little old lady panted, her voice grated through Mary and Simon like they had been shanked.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Mary jumped to answer she stepped forward with little movements.

  ‘He not home till late, ale ways at that pub of is.’ Each sentence the little mole lady spoke had to be converted into English for the two.

  ‘You wouldn’t perchance have a key?’ Mary said bowing her head to the women’s height.

  ‘I de, perchance.’ She said with the air of sarcasm only people from the north east can muster.

  ‘good. Would you let us in?’ Mary stooped more to talk to the old lady.

  ‘Nor, I perchance won’t.’ the old lady said trying to slam the door as she left, this failed due to there being a foot wedging it open.

  ‘I shan’t ask nicely again.’ Mary said delicately pulling her shoe from the space. The door was still shaking from the impact, the lady joined in.

  ‘Now, I’d suggest getting the key you have else my friend here won’t be the only one using a cane.’ Mary explained, Simon waved at the oldie before eyeing her up and down.

  ‘she’s already using a cane.’ Corrected Simon.

  ‘Shut up.’ She spoke out the corner of her mouth. The little old lady shook away, Mary stalked behind her, feeling the need to continue to duck, even though the rooms inside had ample headroom they felt as if they bowed to almost touch her head, everything in the home had been built to a shorter scale, she felt she’d stumbled into a hobbit hole, if she’d ever read that book.

  In a small bookcase sat a ray of books, one of them stood out like a saw thumb, the mole pulled at, the book case didn’t rotate nor did it slowly lower to reveal a door, instead the book simply fell from its place as the lady caught it, it opened as books commonly did instead of words a small bundle of money, the usual form money is held in, and three keys all identical.

  Without inspection, she pulled a key out and handed it to Mary, Mary slowly rapped her long slender fingers around the key, it was sharp, it didn’t hurt though.

  Outside the home, Simon nodded at a man carrying his dog up the stairs, it only felt right to nod. It was the English thing to do and between robbing dead men and threatening old ladies, he was still a true Englishman.

  Mary stepped out, she seemed oddly calm and collective for a woman who’d just threatened an old mole woman, she gently closed the door behind her.

  ‘I have made her some tea, calm her nerves a little.’ Mary saw the irony in this and shrugged it off. With a click or two with the key the lock loosened itself and the door swung open.

  ‘Ladies first,’ Simon gestu
red, he’d begun to show his true colours now and his true colour was yellow, sometimes a sickly green but mainly yellow.

  ‘Men,’ Mary spoke under her breath stepping over a handful of letters Gilly had obviously ignored or missed that morning. Simon pushed them aside with his cane before entering.

  ‘Do you ever have the feeling you have no clue what you’re doing?’ Simon asked as Mary sulked around the room.

  ‘Always. I just do whatever my guts think are best.’ Mary looked in draws in the kitchen, Simon had found a couch to fall into.

  ‘Hm’ he said obnoxiously as if to say that’s the same thing as not knowing what you’re doing.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ pointing his cane, Simon asked, he was starting to get on her nerves.

  ‘Looking for a black book. An address book. Whatever he’d hold Mikey’s address in.’ Mary glanced around.

  ‘A computer,’ her brain twigged on, in the small slice of dining room Gilly had sat a small wooden desk, cheaply built and badly varnished.

  On it sat a grey box and a black letter sized screen.

  ‘You have no clue how to use this.’ Simon had gotten up and strolled over behind Mary, now sat at the computer waiting for it to start up.

  ‘I watched that young girl use hers, it’s not hard I believe.’ Mary had passed the password on the first attempt, it had helped that the password was written on a small yellow slip of paper. The background of the computer displayed before the symbols and logos loaded up, it was an image of Gilly holding a large fish, a huge grin held his cheeks up above his eyes. It was odd seeing a dead man smile so much Mary thought to herself.

  ‘He looks happy.’ Simon breathed into Mary’s neck, he obviously thought the same.

  ‘Could you.’ She shewed him away with her hand to tell him to step back a step.

  ‘Do you think that little old lady is okay?’ Simon asked playing with something he’d found on the computer desk.

  ‘she’s fine. She had a cup of tea and I’ve left her with the television on.’ Mary clicked away selling her lies she’d told herself.