by Geoff Smith
And Lola knelt close to Bart, and he felt the point of the black blade prick his skin as she pinged through the cable tie and squeezed the knife under his forearm.
'It has to be you, Bart Crowe,' she whispered and she kissed his forehead. Then she spoke loudly so Steve could hear. 'I'm so sorry Bart. You're a good person, okay? And if there's a heaven -'
'Thanks Lola,' Bart said.
And she kissed him on the cheek and she stroked his hair.
Zack was struggling to focus, but even in pain his eyes were dark and intense. And Lola's lips quivered as she held him to her chest, and she kissed his head and his nose and his cheek. She kissed his lips. She held his head in her hands as his eyes strained to find hers.
Their eyes met. Unspoken words hung like threads between them.
Then there was Steve, pulling her away.
'You have to go now,' he said. 'Before it gets too dangerous.'
Lola wiped her eyes. She stopped at the door and she looked back to see Zack looking back at her. Then she left them, weaved her way to the stairs, past the flames and debris, her pale blue blouse blending into the grey of the smoke.
Steve sat opposite the boys, next to the corpse of Francesca De Souza, in the seat that Lola had left. He he let out a long sigh and he said, 'So, I guess that's that then. You know what, Bart, I really thought it was a shame that you and Lola didn't - you know. And it's a real shame because if you had've done, I would've let you go too.'
Bart looked at Zack. The grimace of pain. And he hoped his friend could stay conscious a few minutes longer.
'I did try,' Bart said, 'but, well, that's life I guess.'
Steve snorted.
The flames were brighter outside and the heat tickled their skin, and puffy black clouds padded the ceiling like the down of dark swans.
'They have a pastor at the school you know? A service and a sing-song every day. And you know, When you think about it, all this here, it's all a bit biblical, isn't it? Sins of the father and all that.'
And Bart said, 'If you think you're God's agent here, I'm putting in a complaint. I mean, Zack here, he's not blameless, but - what about Francesca? What about me?'
Steve tapped the gun, and his eyes began to scan the ground.
'Where you're going wrong there, Crowe, is that you're seeing living as a right and I'm really not sure that it is. There's sin in us all. No-one free of it. We're all to be judged in the end.'
'And what about Glenn Golden then? Who's going to judge him?'
'I've got no quarrel with Glenn.'
And Bart craned his neck around and he looked out into the store room, and then he snapped his head back to look at Steve.
He said, 'Glenn Golden paid you to kill Lola's mum. He paid you, Steve. It was his crime. He's as guilty as you are. More guilty -'
And Bart looked to the side again, out into the storeroom, making it as obvious as he dared.
'That's the second time you've looked - What the fuck is it you're looking at? Is there someone out there?'
He glared through the smoke. His head jerked about like a hungry bird. He gripped the neck of Bart's shirt and he shook him.
'What did you see? Who's out there?'
Bart grinned and Steve butted him in the face.
The impact burned.
His nose throbbed.
Blood welled on his upper lip.
And Steve shouted, 'What the fuck did you see?'
Still woozy from the head-butt, Bart wasn't prepared for the punch that crashed into the side of his head and he could only half focus as Steve lurched up towards the door and stood there for five clear seconds, looking out over the storeroom.
Sensing his opportunity, but still giddy from the blow, he lifted his hand and he gripped the knife tight. He sprung his left hand and he reached down to his ankles and sliced off the ties. And he stood and staggered up behind Steve, the knife in his hand. His whole arm shook and his legs quaked. He pulled his knife arm back. And he paused.
The knife.
If he could do it without the knife, without killing.
And he threw himself onto Steve's back, and he wrapped his arm, the arm with the knife, around Steve's throat. But Steve had a hold of his wrist, and he smacked Bart's hand against the frame of the door until the blade fell, its sound swallowed by rumbling flames. Steve elbowed him in the gut and Bart doubled over, stumbling back as Steve's big fist wheeled and crunched into his jaw. Bart fell, fell to the floor. And he saw the sole of Steve's foot growing larger. He rolled away, deflecting Steve's stamping foot with his forearms and shifting sideways and back to his feet. And he hopped onto the chair, twisting to avoid the powerful arms that grabbed at him.
Then there was a tug on his jeans and two big hands clamped on his leg. They yanked him off his feet and he fell back. His body left a dent on the insulating board on the back wall, and he slid down, landing on the coffee table. The edge of it jabbed into the small of his back and he cried out. But then Steve had a hold of his collar and his hair. He twisted him round and dumped him in the bloody carpet. And Steve dropped his whole weight down, pinning Bart's arms under his knees, and his forearm pushed against Bart's neck.
'You're nothing, Crowe,' Steve said, panting, a broad smile across his face. 'You're fucking nothing. You're nothing now, a couple of hours you'll be nothing still. So it doesn't really matter if you die then or if you die now. Do you understand me?'
Wheezing, Bart said, 'Can't - talk -'
Steve pulled the automatic pistol from his inside pocket and jammed the barrel into Bart's ear.
'How about now? Can you talk now? Does that fucking help? Do you fucking get it now, Crowe? You're nothing at all. You're a sideshow. You're a sad, pathetic nobody.'
Bart nodded. He tried to say he understood but he couldn't find the breath he needed for the vowels and his consonants rattled like keys on a fob.
The flames were tapping at the door and the smoky ceiling descending. The window nearest the back wall cracked with the heat and the perspex fell inwards. And, in the corner, next to Zack, a tall, fake pot-plant wobbled. Leaning, slowly at first, almost imperceptibly, like the first moments of a toppling tree. And then it fell. And it fell towards Steve and Bart, and as it came down, Steve twisted. He tried to bat the thing away, swinging his pistol hand, shifting his weight, and Bart was suddenly able to pull his legs back, and so, with everything he had, he rammed his feet into Steve Hasland's gut. And Steve was caught off balance. Twisting and writhing, he fell sideways as the plant came down and the gun flew from Hasland's hand. It flew through the air and it clanged against a metal chair and dropped, onto Francesca De Souza's lap.
Both of them saw it.
Steve lurched forward. He gripped Francesca's calf, pulled her leg and her body slumping in the chair. And Bart moved too, grasping at the semi-sheer fabric of her blood-soaked orange top, grasping, reaching hand over hand, like a man dragging himself from a pit. And the gun was there. Hasland's hand close to it, but Bart was closer, and then - he had it.
He had the gun.
And it felt unnaturally heavy.
And when Steve saw that Bart had it, his small eyes widened. He froze. And then it was Bart who came down on top of him, knees pressed across Steve's shoulders. And Bart had the pistol in both hands and both hands shook. And the room shuddered in the heat.
Only Steve's eyes remained steady.
And Bart had to shout over the roar of the flames.
'Okay right - You're going to stand up - and - I'm going to bind your hands - and - we're going to get out of here - okay!'
And Steve shouted back, 'No! No fucking way, detective! No fucking way! I'll fucking kill you. An' I'll kill Richards. It's what I am. It's what I came here to do. I've come too fucking far to fucking compromise!' The gun shook in Bart's hands and Steve said, 'So go on. Run if you want to. Go get help. You can try. See how far you get. Or you can put that gun into my mouth and you can blow my fucking head off and you know what, Bart? Either wa
y is good with me. So come on then, detective. Make your choice.'
Above them, the tube light flickered and died and the room darkened.
Bart's knees shook as he tried to steady the gun.
'Do it, Bart. Do it if you're a killer like me. Do it now, if that's what you are. I'll not fight you.'
And Zack said, 'Do it, do it , do it! For fuck's sake. Shoot the psycho! Fucking shoot him!'
And Bart lowered the gun and Steve opened his mouth and Bart pushed the barrel inside.
And he squeezed the trigger.
Steve's eyes were wide, shaking his head and trying to speak with the gun in his mouth.
Bart pulled the gun back and Steve said, 'You've left the bloody safety on, you lummock. On the left. No, the left. Yes, there. Don't push it all the way down. Just to the middle.'
Zack screamed with frustration and he choked and he coughed.
And then Bart brought the gun back down and he rested the muzzle on Steve's temple. He squeezed on the trigger. The cocking action clunked. And then, when the gun fired, the crack of the shot was muted by the roaring flames, like a thunderclap in a down-pour. But it was the kickback that shocked him most. He fell back and the pistol writhed from his grip, and he fumbled, trying to keep a hold, as fragments of skull and of brains spattered his face and his coat.
And then Bart stood over the body of Steve Hasland, and he was not fully able to comprehend what he'd done. It was horrific. His red hands, the gloss of blood that covered the pistol. He let the weapon fall and he looked at his hands and he shook off some of the blood, wiped his hands on the back of his coat. And the gun landed on the chest of Steve Hasland's body. And the flames roared and windows cracked and black smoke filled the room.
And then there were sounds of sirens wailing outside.
Bart scrabbled around in the bloody mess on the floor, and when he found the knife, he cut the ties on Zack's wrists and ankles. Then he hoisted Zack from the chair. He fumbled as he tried to loop Zack's arm over his shoulder, his friend slipping, falling to his knees before Bart could steady him.
'I'm going to lift you up again okay?'
'Yeah.'
And Bart lifted, feeling the strain in his hamstrings. And Zack slipped down again. This time Bart gripped Zack's wrist, heaving him up, and the two of them swayed in nervous equilibrium. Bart stepped forwards. He slipped, losing his footing on the blood covered floor, losing his hold on Zack's wrist. And as Zack slipped down a figure appeared at the door, emerging from the smoke, a man. And the man pushed his arm around Zack's waist. And as Bart took Zack's arm back, the man took the other arm. Brown suede coat and brogues. And Bart looked across at his Granddad, standing beside him, helping him save his friend from a burning building. And neither of them smiled. They took what air they could from the smoke-filled room, and they looked straight ahead, and they focused on finding a path through the flames. They stepped. They stepped again. And step by step through the fire and smoke.
56
The back-street behind The Golden Arcade was dotted with police officers and firefighters, more arriving. Granddad was pulled away and the two young men were quickly surrounded.
Bart sat down against a wall, looking across at the older man with medics and police, as an officer patted him down. A paramedic kneeled next to him. She clicked her fingers in front of his face. He looked round and feigned a smile as she checked his pulse and his breathing.
'You know, we're going to have to take you in because of the smoke - I'm sorry but I can't give oxygen to the three of you at once,' she said.
The three of you...
Did she mean Granddad or -
Scanning the scene frantically, too many people, too much to take in, and then there she was, Lola Golden, sliding out from the back seat of the medic's car, coming towards him, tears on her cheeks.
'You know these boys?' the paramedic said.
'Yes,' Lola said, and she looked into Bart's eyes, her voice trembling as she blinked away a tear. 'I knew you wouldn't let me down.' She widened her mouth and she sucked in her lips as she stroked Bart's hair.
And Zack was wearing the mask, hungrily sucking oxygen into his lungs. And when he coughed and choked, and his eyes moved rapidly as he came back into himself. He pulled the mask away, and he coughed again before he could composed himself.
And then he said, 'Hi.'
'Hi,' Lola said, and she held out her hand.
'Okay kids,' the paramedic said. 'I'm just going to talk to my colleague for for a mo, okay? I'll be right back,' and she walked down the road to speak to a good-looking police officer who was leaning against his car.
And Zack held up his hand and he and Lola connected, their fingers and thumbs, interlocking them, clamping them tight.
Lola said, 'I love you, Zack.'
And Zack said, 'Yeah? Well, somebody has to.'
And Lola kissed his forehead as Zack slipped the mask back on, and then the paramedic was standing over them.
'Okay -' she said and she raised an eyebrow, '- so I'm really sorry guys, but there's a couple of ambulances out front waiting to take you away. And the fire people, they really need to get another engine down here, so if you guys could hop into the car -'
Bart got to his feet and he touched the paramedic's upper arm as Lola Golden and Zack Richards held each other in a tearful embrace. 'I'll sit up front, if that's okay.'
Document R
The Kent Clarion Online 22/11/2019. 11.38 a.m.
Fire destroys Margate seafront amusement arcade
A fire has destroyed an amusement arcade in Margate.
Firefighters were called to the incident at The Golden Arcade on Marine Terrace, just after 7 am on Saturday.
The fire, which is being treated as suspicious, is being seen as a major blow for the resort which has experienced something of a revival in recent years.
'The fire crews have been incredible'
The blaze broke out just before 7 am but took hold with incredible speed.
People gathered on the beach to watch the fire with many commenting favourably on the speed and scale of the fire services' response.
Colin Crowe, 68, who was in Margate to visit his Grandson, was one of the first on the scene and one of the many who reported the fire to the authorities.
He said: "The fire and ambulance crews have been incredible."
Over 100 fire-fighters were at the scene during the course of the blaze.
'We are all devastated'
The amusement arcade, which forms part of an Edwardian terrace, partially collapsed within an hour of firefighters being called out.
Fire crews have now subdued the blaze, but damping down and checking roof voids is likely to continue well into the afternoon.
A spokesman for Kent Fire and Rescue said: "Firefighters have fought hard to restrict damage from the fire on the first and ground floors of the building and have been largely successful in restricting damage to neighbouring properties."
Police have stated that four people, a woman and two men, all eighteen, and an older man, escaped the burning building and that they have been taken by ambulance to hospital in order to treat them for the effects of smoke and other toxins.
A police spokesman said: "The cause of the fire is currently being treated as suspicious. Work is ongoing to ascertain the circumstances of the incident and whether, indeed, there have been any casualties."
The arcade forms an important part of Margate's seafront attractions and was due to be refurbished in the new year.
The owner of the arcade, Glenn Golden, 52, was also one of the first to arrive at the scene. He said: "We are absolutely devastated. The arcade is a real attraction and is tremendously popular with visitors to the town and provides work for a number of local people."
57
Bart was squeezing dirty washing into his rucksack when the envelope fell to the floor. A thousand pounds in used twenties. Glenn Golden's money. The notes looked scruffier than he remembered. He picked it up
and stuffed it back into his coat pocket. And, looking around the dusty room one last time, he slung the rucksack over his shoulder, pulling the door closed behind him.
Barbara Feathers shuffled out to meet him at reception. She looked tired and she wasn't trying to hide it. She produced a bill that exceeded his calculations, just as he thought she would. But he paid without complaint. Barbara didn't thank him and she didn't say goodbye. Instead, she returned his card and his receipt, disappearing back into her flat with little more than a word, and then she was gone, back to the safety of her comfy settee, back to the safety of daytime TV, and the solace of the bottle.
Bart reached over the desk. He took a thick looking pen and pulled the envelope from his pocket. He wrote, 'To Mrs Feathers. For the future.' And he tucked it under some papers she had on the desk, protruding just a little. He pulled open the heavily sprung door and walked out into the morning light.
*
In the midst of the city with skyscrapers and office blocks high on all sides, many of them made for the nearest doors, looking to hole-up quickly. But most, like the three boys, wanted to score high. They continued to the centre of play where the tracers zipped in erratic grids across their screens.
Noah said, 'Left, left left! Keep running!'
They crossed the square to the grand hotel.
At the entrance Bart had turned to looked back as Noah's screen flashed red. Shot by someone. No idea who, or where from. But his friend made it inside without another hit. And the red flashes stopped. Just a stray bullet perhaps. The hotel foyer was grey-brown and dark, but light streamed down from the stairs. Connor led the way, running fast, and they all climbed up through alternating spells of darkness and light.
A flash of blue.
Bart turned.
'Behind!' he said.
Noah and Connor doubled back to see there were three of them, three blues and Bart had hit one. It was a headshot, but not an instant kill. Red marks on the soldier's ear. It would be an easy kill from here. But Bart didn't fire, didn't finish him. He just stopped, standing on the lowest stair, an obvious target. His screen flashed red, flashed again. Connor and Noah could see the first soldier was recovering and knew that Bart would soon be in his sights too.
