by Julia Hughes
Dusty and dishevelled, Rhyllann appeared just as Crombie dished up.
‘That smells delicious - better than Alfie’s rotting fish.’ He pulled a face at the memory, and hurried to wash his hands. Rhyllann didn’t smell so good either, but Crombie supposed neither did he.
‘You get stuck in. I’ll take your cousin’s up for him.’ Unable to find a tray, he took a plate in one hand, and picked up a mug in the other.
A flicker of relief crossed Rhyllann’s face. ‘Thanks Crombie. If I have to climb those bloody steps one more time.’ He yawned. ‘After this, I’m gonna sleep for a month of Sundays.’ You and me both kiddo, Crombie started on the stairs, feeling desperately sorry for Rhyllann, who’d been travelling all day only to come back to chaos, and even sorrier for himself as his thigh muscles started cramping in protest at tackling yet another flight of stairs.
*******
Crombie counted to ten before kicking Wren’s door open, feeling a stab of annoyance at the sight of Wren, laying on the bed propped up against pillows. The blond hair glistened damply, and he’d changed into baggy track bottoms and a grey faded t-shirt, and Crombie recognised the laptop balanced over Wren’s knees immediately.
He glanced up as Crombie approached, tilting the lap top around to share.
'I presumed this is what you meant by something interesting.' Wren seemed to have regained sobriety remarkably quickly. Thoughts flashed through Crombie's mind too fast to be analysed, leaving him with only a vague notion Wren shouldn't be playing with the laptop unsupervised.
‘What are you doing with this?’ Crombie whispered, mesmerised by digits and symbols flashing across the screen. Eventually managing to tear his eyes away from the dancing numbers, he looked at Wren, to see him calmly checking the smart phone plugged into one of the USBs.
‘This is mine, and that’s my phone.’ Crombie managed to say.
‘It isn’t yours. Charlie Bozen stole it from Harry Lampton. And your phone in case you haven’t realised yet has been bugged.’ He raised his eyebrows at Crombie, inviting comment.
‘What are you doing? What have you done?’
The air crackled with static electricity, Wren’s eyes reflected the activity on the screen, seeming to dance with glee.
‘Is that for me? Breakfast in bed.’ He grinned. ‘Thanks Crombie. You are going soft in your old age.’
‘Soft in the head.’ Crombie muttered, suddenly not wanting to know what new mischief Wren was involved in. Chances were he’d only be told a new pack of lies anyway.
‘Eat that, then get up. We’ve got work to do.’ He turned and was halfway down the stairs by the time Wren called after him. ‘Thank you Uncle Derek.’
Gritting his teeth, Crombie pretended not to hear. He’d almost reached the kitchen when a thought struck him. He looked towards the lounge, then back up the stairs, and for the life of him couldn’t remember breathing a word about the laptop, which he’d virtually forgotten leaving in the front room. And his phone had been bugged? What did that mean?
Rhyllann called from the kitchen. ‘Hurry up Crumbley. Your food’s getting all cold. And eaten.’
Shaking his head, Crombie gave up thinking, too tired even to reprimand cheeky Rhyllann.
The first scuttling came as Crombie mopped up the last of the breakfast juices with a slice of bread. His head shot up and he shushed Rhyllann, in the middle of a moan about the RAF ‘(thing is Crombie, there’s no money to train up recruits, but they can’t be seen to have stopped recruitment, I’ve had two medicals already, they’re “longing” it out.)’
‘D’you hear that?’ He asked urgently. A scuffling snorting noise came from directly overhead, it sounded almost friendly. Crombie wrinkled his brow trying to remember where he’d heard it before.
‘Alfie!’ He grinned spontaneously, then laughed at the surprise on Rhyllann’s face.
‘Blimey! It worked!’ Rhyllann said, managing to look pleased and astonished at the same time.
‘Come on - quick!’ They raced up the stairs in tandem, fatigue forgotten. The ramp previously against the hot tub was now wedged into the enlarged escape hole. Again only the bottom half of the giant reptile’s body could be seen, this time masked by the bathroom door; from the muffled slurping sound Alfie was tucking into an early breakfast. Rhyllann slumped against the wall.
‘Phew. Thank god.’ Before Crombie could stop him, he marched over, drew back his booted foot and kicked the unsuspecting alligator in the rump.
‘Rhyllann no!’ Crombie threw himself across the floorboards, bracing himself for the inevitable fall to earth, knowing he’d come up short. Alfie’s head jack knifed around, morsels of fish dropping from its gaping jaws.
Only Rhyllann’s lightning fast reactions and an Olympian standard backflip saved him. One moment the alligator’s teeth scrapped against his combat trousers, the next they snapped on empty air.
His heart thundering painfully, Crombie pushed himself up from the floor and made an even clumsier low dive, somehow managing to snaffle his hands around Alfie’s jaw, praying Wren wasn’t wrong for once in his life. Unscrewing his eyes, he found himself looking into Alfie’s. Beneath his hands, the alligator’s skin felt silky smooth still, apart from the bumpy teeth. Crombie shivered and compressed his hold.
‘Get some bloody tape or something.’ He yelled, unable to break his gaze away from the alligator’s. Alfie’s head went limp in his hands, he did that strange blinking trick again, and Crombie swore he heard a sigh.
‘It’s ok Alfie, it’s ok now.’ He soothed, disconcerted when Alfie’s head rested on his knee, the tail flickered from side to side, and the eyes half closed in resignation.
‘Sod your bloody Alfie, what about me? It nearly tore my leg off!’ Rhyllann shouted indignantly from the other side of the room.
‘What did you have to kick him for?’ Crombie shouted back.
‘I didn’t kick him. I was trying to get him into the bathroom!’
From the floor above, Wren’s voice called out. ‘Can you keep the noise down please?!’
Gritting his teeth, Crombie loosened his grip slightly on the alligator’s snout. ‘Get me some tape. Please. I need to take my hands from this.’ He jerked his head at Alfie. ‘and wrap them round your cousin’s throat.’
Rhyllann didn’t move. His head was still flung back, an angry red flush covering his face and neck, and he glared up at the ceiling as though his eyes could bore through solid plaster.
‘Rhyllann! Tape! Now!’ His trousers felt suspiciously wet, looking down he saw Alfie dribbling, and he scrabbled his legs from under the alligator’s jaw, adjusting his grip so he could crouch to one side, making room for Rhyllann, scampering over with a roll of electrical tape, his face still red with anger.
‘Not so tight.’ Crombie cautioned. Rhyllann paused long enough to give him an incredulous look, then continued wrapping Alfie’s snout with tape, though his movements were a little less rough. When the tape petered out, he swiped his hands down his combat trousers, stood up and stalked out the door without saying a word.
Lowering Alfie’s head to the floor, Crombie whispered ‘Sorry mate. Be back soon.’ and hurried after Rhyllann, catching up with him on the third landing.
‘Let me handle this.’ He pleaded. ‘You go downstairs, there’s an alligator sanctuary in Weymouth. Phone them and tell them to expect us later today.’
Rhyllann’s deep brown eyes glittered manically, pushing Crombie aside, he twisted the handle of Wren’s door, his face a mask of fury.
‘Please son, I just want this night over. I can’t stand much more.’ Crombie laid a hand on his arm again, taking a deep breath as he felt the tension relax and the fight go out of Rhyllann. He nodded, suddenly looking as weary as Crombie felt.
‘You’re right. Let’s just get this over.’ Turning he tramped down the stairs heavily, taking each step carefully.
******
Wren’s half eaten breakfast sat on the bedside cabinet, and his nose was glued t
o the laptop’s screen again.
‘What the hell are you playing at?!’ Crombie asked before he could stop himself. Wren answered without taking his eyes off the screen.
‘I downloaded a programme from the internet. It’s extracting all the information on this laptop, and posting it to a website.’ With a final few taps of the keyboard, he pushed the laptop to one side, and sprung to his feet.
‘Is Alfie back in the bathroom?’
Crombie stared at him in horror. ‘Don’t change the subject again. What information?’ his skin suddenly felt clammy and he gave an involuntary shiver.
Wren shrugged, pulling on a track suit jacket, then searching the bedside cabinet drawers for socks.
‘Lampton’s accounts mainly. Who he’s been paying, who’s been paying him.’ He sniggered. ‘It’s gonna make “Wikileaks” look like a Sunday School outing report.’ Sitting on the mattress, he swiped the soles of his feet and tugged the socks over his instep, folding them over neatly at the ankle.
‘What have you done?’ Crombie repeated.
‘Stop worrying Crombie. The door swings both ways. I traced the spy ware back, rerouted your phone and who ever placed that bug is gonna get the blame.’ He smiled, as if to reassure Crombie. ‘As an added bonus, all info on your spymaster’s computer drive should be public knowledge in about twenty minutes.’
His smile faltered, waiting for Crombie to stop gaping and say something.
‘Do you know what you’ve done?’ He finally managed.
‘Yes. I’ve exposed corruption. There’ll be an enquiry. Some people are going to jail. Tough.’
Crombie swallowed against a mouth that was parchment dry. ‘You idiot. You could bring down the government. Don’t you care?’
A memory flooded back of a thirteen year old Wren, even more precocious.
‘You wanted this all along. Anarchy. It’s what you’ve always preached.’
Wren looked incredibly smug and incredibly pleased with himself. ‘A little rebellion’s good for the soul, it’ll be more fun than you think.’
This time Crombie didn’t give any warning. He punched Wren squarely on the jaw. changing the smug expression to one of pure puzzlement. Then Wren’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed against the bed’s mattress. Stepping over Wren’s legs, shaking his hand and rubbing his knuckles Crombie went in search of Rhyllann.
Rhyllann had changed his combat trousers for shorts again, a bandage swathed his right leg from ankle to mid calf, and he stood over the kitchen sink, splashing water over his face.
‘All fixed. Left a message on their answer phone anyway.’ He smiled happily, patting his face dry with a tea towel.
‘Did you sort that little shit out?’ He asked good humoured now he’d managed a wash, and with Alfie firmly secured in the bathroom. Crombie didn’t know how to answer him.
‘Well?’ Rhyllann’s smile began to slip.
‘I’m sorry. So sorry.’ He doubted Rhyllann would ever get into the RAF now.
‘What is it Crombie?’ He gave a laugh that sounded forced and unnatural, taking in the grazes on Crombie’s knuckles. ‘You haven’t killed him have you?’ His face drained of colour, apart from two red spots glowing on his cheeks, and Crombie knew he’d better find the words to explain very soon.
‘You’d better sit down. It’s a long story.’
‘Make it short Crombie. We’ve got a long drive in front of us.’
Summoning his tired brain into order, Crombie managed to give a concise account of what Rhyllann had missed while sunbathing in Mallorca.
‘Big whoop Crombie. If he said it won’t bite us, it won’t bite us.’
‘I’m not worried about that.’ Though he was. ‘Don’t you get it? I recognised several names. This goes all the way to the top, and it’s going to bring the country to its knees.’
Rhyllann shook his head, looking amused. ‘Chill. No it won’t. They’ll shut the website down, or call it a prank and blame some conspirator group. You’ll see. Remember all that fuss over “expenses” a few years ago? How many MPs lost their seats, let alone went to jail? And if they didn’t have their hands in the till, they knew what was going on.’ He blinked hard, thinking. ‘Or at least, they should have made it their business to know. It’ll blow over. Stop worrying, you sound like an old woman.’
Crombie wanted to believe Rhyllann, and wished he hadn’t slugged Wren. As though conjured up by his thoughts, the kitchen door opened and Wren staggered in, holding a tissue to his lip. He scowled at Crombie. ‘You hit me just once more, and see what happens.’ To Rhyllann he said ‘Leave it Annie. It’s probably my fault again.’ He managed to smile, trying to get back on Crombie’s good side.
Crombie shifted uncomfortably in his seat under Rhyllann’s accusing stare.
‘He did provoke me.’ He muttered.
Rhyllann laughed suddenly. Pointing at Wren he said ‘What the fuck have you been up? No wonder Carrie left. I’m seriously thinking about leaving!’
Wren stared at him balefully. Shaking his head, still smiling, Rhyllann patted Crombie’s arm.
‘Don’t let him wind you up too much. The internet’s for geeks. And he’ pointing at Wren again ‘is the Prince of Geeks.’
With this old insult, the tension in the room dissipated.
‘I’ll put the seats down on the Passat.’ Crombie wanted to get while the going was good.
‘What do you mean?’ Wren grabbed at his arm.
‘We’re getting rid of your pet tonight. No arguments.’ Crombie shook his hand off, waiting for the protest, but Wren nodded and muttering about getting Alfie ready, hurried down the hallway and up the stairs, Crombie following him out.
Crockery clinked behind him, and Rhyllann taunted as he cleared the table.
‘You still driving that old scrap heap? I didn’t notice it.’
Which wasn’t surprising, it would take a troop of boy scouts to clean off the dirt and grime of the M40, especially with the extra added bonus of sticky sap. Crombie didn’t bother to reply as he let himself out the front door.
Through the Fanlight.
Crossing the road to the Passat, feeling his eyes about to drop from their sockets, Crombie decided the easiest way would be to hand over the keys to Rhyllann and let him drive his crazy cousin and the alligator down to the coast. The Passat’s rear seats split into a two and one combination, the double cushioned seat came down smoothly, but the single seat’s back rest refused to move, no matter how hard he pulled at the release trigger and tugged at the headrest.
Headlights suddenly flooded the road, and Crombie ducked, shielding his poor tired eyes and cursing to himself. A car door opened and closed, followed a minute or so later by another soft clunk. Feet shuffled and voices were kept to an undertone.
Crombie deduced one of the neighbouring families had grown tired of their hotel and sneaked home. He hunkered lower, giving them time to get inside their house and settle down for the night, wishing his neighbours were half as considerate.
His mobile pinged with a message, probably a scolding from Mrs Crombie. Crombie began the usual hunt through his pockets, searching for his mobile, when he stilled, mid rummage. Frowning, he remembered his mobile currently rested on a dark blue duvet cover, attached by an umbilical cord to Lampton's laptop. When a second ping came, he frowned, hunting for the source of the sound. A third ping came from the direction of the passenger’s seat, Crombie squeezed into the front and rooted around in the dash pocket. Hidden under a pile of MOTs, was an old Nokia mobile, its fascia lit up like a miniature Christmas tree. Crombie froze. He hadn’t used that phone in over four years. There shouldn’t be any battery life, in fact the battery should be corroded. He withdrew it from the dash pocket with a hand that wanted to tremble; unable to shake a premonition that his dead father was trying to make contact with him. Instead a simple graphic of an envelope filled the tiny screen, and Crombie told himself he’d been overdoing everything and needed a good long rest. Ignoring the sa
ge advice from his brain, his heart continued its double time beat; something strange and unwanted was going on here. Feeling bemused, he opened the text in box.
“Keep quiet + don’t be scared.” he read. Crombie blinked in amazement. Of all the times for someone to start pulling his leg. There were two further texts. He opened the second one, anxious to get to the punch line.
“Lampton is here. He has Annie.” What he read next made his blood run cold. “They’ve got Lizzie.” Crombie scrolled up barely able to believe what he was reading. “Get on the flat roof. Hurry. Don’t call for help. Trust me. Please? Wren” Crombie breathed out heavily. He might have known. Wren didn’t do text speak. His hands were so sweaty he fumbled twice before managing to open the third text which repeated the first. “Keep quiet + don’t be scared.” The screen dimmed out as the battery died.
Closing his eyes, Crombie read every word again, emblazed as they were on the back of his retinas. “Hurry.” How the hell could they have Lizzie, how the hell? Crombie flew into the cul-de-sac leading to the warehouse, conscious of every muscle, every sinew and every drop of blood racing with adrenaline. Within seconds it seemed the warehouse reared in front of him, its black silhouette a fortress against the night sky. Crombie ran to the side of the building, racing up the fire stairs on the balls of his feet, keeping his heels clear of the metal steps. “They’ve got my girl, they’ve got my Lizzie.” His heartbeat thundered in his ears now, even so all he heard was his mind screaming at him to hurry hurry hurry. Once on the second landing of the fire escape, he chucked himself onto the flat roof of the kitchen extension. In the split second before he jumped, he saw just one figure outlined against the kitchen window, above this, Wren; his face and hair a whitish blob, leaning out of the sash window of Rhyllann’s bathroom. Wordlessly urging him to hurry, beckoning double handed as though landing an aircraft, wincing as Crombie flumped on the flat roof with the grace of a baby hippo.
