by Mike Bennett
Keith had been able to relax. They’d settled the score and they’d got away with it. Sergei had too many enemies active in the area to ever suspect them, so the only loose end was Coleman, and he was out of the picture. Or at least he had been, until now.
Keith turned into the street where Hodge lived. ‘We shoulda shot the plonker ourselves,’ he murmured. It would’ve been cleaner: four dead bodies and no loose ends. He shook his head. No. No way they could have done that. Coleman was all right, and they’d thanked him by ruining his life and getting him executed. He stopped outside Hodge’s building and pushed the buzzer.
‘Si,’ Hodge’s voice crackled through the intercom.
‘Hola,’ said Keith. ‘Soy Keith, innit.’ The door buzzed as the lock was released. Keith pushed it open and entered the cool interior. The floor was tiled with large slabs of smooth, flecked marble and Keith’s flip-flops slapped noisily as he walked to the stairs. He heard a door open above, and then Hodge’s voice echoing down from the second floor. ‘Alright, mate?’
Keith looked up at the big bald head peering over the rail. ‘Not particularly, no.’
‘No. Not exactly champagne-popping news, is it?’
‘Fucking tell me about it, mate,’ said Keith, slowly ascending the stairs. ‘I mean, how’s this come about, eh?’ The front door to the building opened again and Spanish voices filled the hallway. Keith looked up to Hodge and put his finger to his lips. Hodge nodded. Keith walked up the remainder of the stairs in silence. When they were both behind the closed door of Hodge’s apartment Keith asked, ‘Louisa around, is she?’
‘Naah. She’s round at her place. Probably gone shopping with her mum.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Keith going into the lounge, ‘Harvey Nick’s?’
Hodge chuckled. ‘No, Harrods.’ He walked across the tiled floor to the kitchenette. ‘Drink?’
‘Whatcha got?’ Keith sat on the couch, took off his cap and wiped his brow.
‘What would you like?’
‘I dunno. Bit early for beer, innit. You got any ice tea?’
Hodge opened the fridge and took out two cans of ice tea. He came back and sat down in an armchair. The seat sighed as he sank into it. He was a big man; once his bulk had been all muscle but over the last year or so it had softened. ‘’Orrible business, eh?’
‘Barbaric,’ said Keith. ‘It’s like we were saying on the blower earlier – it’s like that bloody Al Queda lot had a go at him, innit.’
‘Yeah, I did some reading up about that on the Internet. Apparently they did it in Chechnya too.’
‘Who did?’
‘The Chechens.’
‘Whatchoo going on about? Who are they?’
‘They’re people what live in Chechnya. They’re always having wars with the Russians.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Keith nodded. ‘Them Chetchnyen ... nz.’
‘It started out with the Chechens decapitating Russians, but then the Russians started doing it back.’
‘Sounds fair enough.’
Hodge waited for the penny to drop. Keith slurped his ice tea. Hodge said, ‘So you see what I’m getting at?’
Keith’s brow furrowed. ‘What? That decapsitation’s a popular sport in Russia?’
‘No.’
Keith clicked his fingers and pointed at Hodge’s nose. ‘I know. You think Sergei might have read about it in the Russian newspapers and thought to himself, “Aye, aye, that’s a good idea. I’ll do that an’ all.”’
‘Yeah, more or less.’
‘Yeah,’ Keith nodded, ‘and of course he’d have seen the Iraqi crowd doing it on Sky News an’ all, wouldn’t he?’
‘Yeah, well, it’s terror tactics, mate. He’s telling us that he’s on to us and we’re gonna get the same thing.’
‘Fuckin’ hell! Calm down, Hodge. Even if it was Sergei, how’s he gonna do that to us? He can’t hurt us if he don’t know where we are.’
‘Yeah, but what if Mark Coleman told him where we were?’
‘How could he? As far as he knew, we were in Portugal.’
‘Ah, but what if he knew we were here?’
‘How’s he gonna have known that? And anyway, if he had, he probably would’ve come and killed us himself. After all, we stitched him pretty bad, didn’t we?’
Hodge shrugged. ‘Maybe he didn’t have the bottle, or maybe he just forgave us.’
‘Forgave us for making him a fugitive from the Russian mafia? I doubt it, mate.’
‘He might have done.’
‘Would you?’
‘No. Probably not.’
Keith slurped his drink. ‘So, have you seen Damo today?’
‘No. I haven’t been able to reach him.’
Keith grinned. ‘He’s probably lost in the folds of Carol’s arse, eh?’
‘Maybe we should call round to Carol’s? See if we can prise him out.’
‘Nah, he’ll find his own way out eventually. But I’ll tell you one thing – after all this Coleman business, he’s gonna have to stop going clubbing down the coast. It’s too bloody risky.’
‘He goes to Marbella though, Keith. Sergei’s not in Marbella.’
‘How do you know? I mean, he’s not going to advertise himself, is he? He’s not like Planet fuckin’ Hollywood.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Even if Sergei ain’t there, Damo still might get seen by someone, mightn’t he? He might get talkin’ to someone, say the wrong thing, you know what I’m saying? I’ve told him before but he don’t listen.’
‘Well, I reckon he’ll listen now.’
‘Yeah, well I should bloody hope so. He’ll have to do his dancing locally from now on.’
‘What at your place?’
‘Nothing wrong with our discos mate – proper music: 70’s and 80’s – none of that bollocks he listens to. And no fuckin’ pills neither. We run a clean ship these days. He’ll have to give all that lark up for good.’
‘He has done.’
‘Has he? You sure?’
‘Yeah. He still smokes a bit of weed from time to time, but who doesn’t? Carol grows it in her garden. She’s got some lovely plants. She fertilizes them with her own pee.’
Keith made a face. ‘Urgh, charming. Remind me never to smoke any of that shit.’
‘Works wonders she reckons. Nitrates I think it is. She washes in it too.’
Keith looked horrified. ‘Do what?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Hodge chuckled. ‘She says it keeps her young-looking.’
‘Well, maybe she should start using it to clean her bleedin’ mirror. She’s about as young looking as Mother Teresa.’
‘Mother Teresa’s dead mate.’
‘Yeah, exactly,’ Keith finished his drink.
Hodge pointed at the empty can. ‘You want another one?’
‘No mate, I’d better be off. Things to do, people to see.’
‘Who’ve you got to see?’
‘No one. It’s an expression busy people use, innit.’
‘What? You busy, are you?’
‘Well, no, not particularly. But I like to create the air of a busy man, you know what I mean?’
‘Busy men don’t wear flip-flops, Keith.’
‘Tell that to Ghandi,’ said Keith, rising. ‘He wore flip-flops and he was well busy.’
Hodge tried to think of a comeback but couldn’t.
Keith grinned. ‘Ahh, gotcha there, didn’t I?’
Hodge laughed and they went to the front door of the apartment. Opening the door, Hodge said, ‘So how’s Chelle feel about all this? You told her anything yet?’
‘What? About how we popped Sergei’s nephew?’
‘Yeah.’
‘No mate. She’d go fucking mental. You know that.’
‘Yeah, but what if she starts talking to people? What with all this Coleman business in the paper. I mean, she might say about how Sergei was hassling you two, and how you had to sell up and all that?’
Keith suddenly seemed to sag
. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’ He closed the door and put his face in his hands.
‘You all right, Keith?’
Keith slid his hands from his face and nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry. It’s just ... ’ He shook his head slowly. ‘This is a fucking nightmare, innit? Having to make sure our friends and families are suitably gagged.’
Hodge laid a hand on Keith’s shoulder. ‘I know, mate. But it’s worth making sure. You gotta remember, Michelle thinks this whole business ended when you sold up and moved on. Why wouldn’t she talk about it? I mean, it’s gossip, innit? Women are always gossiping – and juicy titbits like knowing a bloke who lost his head go around like wildfire.’
Keith rubbed his chin. ‘Yeah, but, me and Chelle, we agreed when we first moved here to keep quiet about all that Russian shit. I told her – the last thing we need is Sergei finding us and moving into this neighbourhood and pushing us out of business again. And she’s always accepted that and kept her trap shut.’
‘Yeah? What about Mel?’
‘What about her? She’s a kid, she don’t know nothing.’
‘Well, you don’t think she does, but maybe seeing these pictures in the papers will jog her memory, you know what I mean?’
‘Bloody hell, Hodge.’
‘You’d just be playing it safe, mate. You could have a word with the pair of them at the same time.’
Keith sighed. ‘Chelle don’t need reminding, she knows well enough.’
‘People forget, Keith. Urgency fades with the sense of danger.’
Keith frowned. ‘Who are you? Yoda all of a sudden?’
‘You know what I mean, Keith. Either of them could let something slip unintentionally.’
‘Yeah, well, I suppose I could use Coleman’s head to freshen up the old sense of urgency, eh?’
Hodge smiled. ‘Sounds like a smart move, mate.’
‘Yeah, well,’ he took Hodge’s hand from his shoulder and shook it briefly. ‘I’ve got myself some very smart advisors, haven’t I?’ He opened the door. ‘Thanks, mate. I’ll catch you later.’
‘Alright mate. Do you want me to get Damo to call you when he turns up?’
Keith thought a moment then shook his head. ‘Nah. Just give him the news and make sure he’s fully mentus on the matter.’
‘Mentus? What’s that, Spanish?’
Keith frowned. ‘I dunno. Compus mentus, innit. It means knowing stuff or something like that.’
‘Oh right. Yeah. Mentus.’
‘Nice one,’ said Keith starting down the stairs.
‘Alright mate. I’ll make sure he’s ... fully mentus.’
‘Lovely. Cheers then,’ Keith waved as he disappeared from view.
Hodge smiled and went back into his flat and closed the door. ‘Mentus? I should bloody co-co.’
Meanwhile, in the Flinch family home at Casa Underwood, John Flinch turned from David and Lydia and spoke to his nurse. ‘Conchita, could you leave us alone, please?’
‘But, John, you – ’ Conchita began to protest.
‘Please, Conchi, I want to speak with my family alone.’
Conchita reluctantly picked up her book. ‘Okay. I will go to the kitchen for coffee, but if you need me ... ’
‘Don’t worry Conchi,’ said Lydia. ‘We’ll call.’
Conchita looked doubtful.
‘I’ll be fine, Conchita, really. Now that David is here, everything is going to be just fine.’
Conchita left. David drew her seat to John’s bedside and sat down. ‘I had no idea the resurrection was going to be so soon. I came because ... well ... I came to see you.’
‘Of course you did,’ said John, ‘and I’m so happy to see you. You’ve changed so much. You’ve become a man.’
David suddenly felt the years they had lost. He bowed his head for a moment then said, ‘I’m sorry, John. I’m sorry I ... I lost touch.’
‘It doesn’t matter, David. You’re here now. At least I get to see you again before I leave this world.’
‘I – I didn’t know,’ said David.
‘You couldn’t have done anything even if you had known. It started in the prostate; I had no idea, by the time I was displaying symptoms it had gone pretty much around the houses. But I’ve accepted my fate. It’s the way of things for us mortals.’
A tear spilled onto David’s cheek and he wiped it away.
John smiled. ‘Don’t cry, David, this isn’t a time for sadness. We should be celebrating: tomorrow night, Lord Underwood will rise and walk among us once more.’
David nodded. ‘Yes ... That’s ... that’s great news.’
John laughed. ‘You mustn’t fear him, David. I don’t. I’ve come to know Lord Underwood well over the years I’ve lived here.’
‘How? He’s lying in a coffin.’
‘Oh, initially from our father, I had a few good years with him before he died.’ John’s eyes focused for a moment on his memories. ‘My God. He told me such stories.’ He blinked and his attention returned to David. ‘Also from reading and studying the old diaries of our ancestors – they were all educated men and quite a few were very good diarists. Their works are down in the study. You can read them yourself.’
‘I will.’
‘But also, I came to know him by just being with him, down in the crypt, in silent communion.’ John smiled. ‘He’s alive, you know? Oh, he looks dead, but he’s still very much with us.’
David felt a wave of dread pass through him. He reached for his cigarettes. His hand skittered over his packet for a moment before he managed to overcome the urge.
John continued. ‘You can’t imagine how I’ve looked forward to meeting him: this man that I’ve devoted my life to all these years. I have been the guardian, David, even though my tenure has been spent in overseeing his slumber. I have protected and served him faithfully.’
‘I know, John. And I’m sure he knows it too.’
‘Yes, he does,’ John’s expression became bitter. ‘Damn this fucking disease. I was so close.’
‘You shouldn’t talk like that, John. You don’t know you aren’t going to be here tomorrow night. Sure, you mightn’t be able to get down to the cellar, but, well, he could come up and see you, couldn’t he?’
Lydia’s phone rang. ‘Oh, shit, sorry.’ She rummaged in her bag as she turned and headed to the door. She pulled out her phone, opened the door and stepped outside. ‘Hello?’
John waited until she had closed the door behind her, then he turned back to David. He spoke in a low voice. ‘Good, she’s gone. I didn’t want to have to dismiss her, but I would have if necessary. David, listen to me. You mustn’t let Lydia persuade you to hand over the role of guardian to her.’
‘What?’ David leaned closer. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Ahh. She’s already spoken to you, hasn’t she?’
‘Well, yes, she did mention it in the car. But – ’
‘You mustn’t listen to her, David, no matter how much you may not want to do this job. It’s not about you – your needs, your wants – they don’t matter.’
‘They matter to me.’
‘Listen to me!’ John seized David’s hand with surprising strength. ‘I can’t debate this with you, David. I don’t have time. You have to listen and do as I say.’ He pulled at David’s hand, urging him to come closer. ‘Lydia is a bad seed.’
David frowned. ‘Well, yeah, she can be a cow at times but – ’
‘No, forget the past! The cow you knew has grown into – I don’t know, a monster.’
‘A monster cow?’
‘Don’t joke, David. I’m serious. She’s evil.’
‘Well, so what if she is? It’s not like she’d be Guardian to the Dali Llama, is it? Surely being evil’s an advantage in this job?’
‘No, you don’t understand!’
‘No, you’re right, I don’t. She’s a Flinch, isn’t she? I thought that was all that mattered. Or is it because she’s a woman?’
‘No, although that plays a part. We, th
e Flinch brothers, we were raised for this – boarding school, the army, discipline, they were all part of our preparation for the role, part of Dad’s plan for us and for this time. But Lydia was never intended for this.’
‘That doesn’t mean she can’t do a good job. What about women’s rights and all that?’
‘Forget women’s rights. They may be relevant now but they weren’t when all this was put into motion. Tradition demanded a male heir to continue the line; a man who could fight, and kill if necessary, physical strength, stamina, discipline. That’s why our father bred with so many women; why we were born of different mothers – a male heir had to be found, David. Dad couldn’t just have had a wife and hope he got lucky with a boy eventually.’
The door opened and Lydia entered. They fell silent and looked at her. She smiled uncertainly. ‘Sorry, boys, I didn’t mean to interrupt – I can see you’re in the middle of something. I just wanted to let you know, I have to go out. It’s business, I’m afraid. Can’t be helped.’
‘Oh, right,’ said David. ‘Yeah. Okay.’
Lydia came over to the other side of John’s bed and stroked his head. ‘Now, don’t you go getting all excited, okay? You’ve got plenty of time to speak to David, now. He isn’t going anywhere. You should rest.’
‘Thank you, Lydia. I shall, soon.’
‘Okay.’ She kissed his forehead. ‘See you tomorrow.’ She waved as she went out the door. ‘Bye both.’
They waited a moment then David got up to check the corridor to see if she had gone. She had. He closed the door.
John looked at him gravely. ‘Aside from sexual politics David, Lydia mustn’t ascend to the position of guardian. She has … another agenda. She could never be content merely to serve. She’s greedy, ruthless, and ambitious. These are not the qualities of Underwood’s servant.’
David sat down again. ‘So Lydia is a bit ambitious, so what? I’m sure Underwood will be able to keep her in line – discipline her himself if necessary. I can’t imagine he’s got to this stage without slapping a few wrists here and there.’
John shook his head. ‘David, please. ’
‘No, John. That’s not good enough. As far as I’m concerned, she’d be perfect for the job. Give it to her, because I want out.’
‘Don’t you understand? There is no “out”.’
