Candleland

by Martyn Waites

  Larkin paced round the room. It was small, he soon realised he had nowhere to go. “Big fucking deal. You want me to stop feeling the way I do just cause of that?”

  No,” said Mickey. “I just want to show you that people can change. Ralph says he’s found faith, that he’s making a new start. We have to take him at his word, give him a chance. Like someone did with me.”

  Larkin sat down. “Like you think I can do with myself, is that what you mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  Larkin bowed his head, not wanting to make eye contact with Mickey. “It’s time you went, Mickey. I don’t want to talk any more.”

  Mickey stood up, slowly made his way to the door, and left.

  Larkin sat on the bed, poured himself another whisky. His hands were still trembling. He took a big mouthful, swallowed and felt the liquid burn.

  Mickey’s words had left him feeling angry and confused. He clasped and unclasped his still-shaking fists. He took another mouthful and sighed. It was late, but he didn’t feel like going to sleep.

  Then he noticed something. He wasn’t crying anymore.

  Larkin didn’t see Mickey Falco the next day. He stayed in his room not speaking, not reading. Just thinking.

  The day after that there was a knock at the door. Mickey Falco.

  “How you doin’?” he asked, limping into the room.

  “Fine,” replied Larkin.

  “Body healin’ all right?”

  “Yeah,” said Larkin.

  Mickey nodded, pointed to his head. “What about up here?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Mickey gave a small smile. “Good. Well, in that case” he said, looking round the room, “I think you’re well enough now.”

  Larkin looked at him. “For what?”

  “Some answers,” said Mickey.

  Larkin sat there expectantly.

  “Well don’t just sit there,” said Mickey. “Get your coat on.”

  “Where we going?” asked Larkin.

  “To see Karen,” stated Mickey simply. “She’s waiting to meet you.”

  Larkin was speechless.

  Mickey smiled. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s not keep the lady waiting.”

  In the White Room

  Larkin, dressed in his new olive-green cargo pants, black box-cut sweatshirt, boots and fleece, walked down the stairs of Candleland, out into the street, and was escorted by Mickey Falco into the back of a waiting Transit, where another piece of apparel was added to his body.

  “Sorry about this,” the man said, tying a blindfold round Larkin’s eyes and slipping an old sack over his head. “It’s not that we don’t trust you, we just wouldn’t want you having knowledge someone else could get at.”

  Larkin shook his head and said nothing. The bag smelt strongly of old root vegetables, mildew and dirt.

  “Off you go then, mate,” said Mickey.

  Larkin heard him leave the van, close the door, bang the side. The van sped off.

  For the first couple of street turnings, Larkin tried to use his limited knowledge of Hackney to keep track of his route, but it was no use. The van was turning, left, then right, then left, going flat out on some stretches, crawling on others. Street sounds filtered in, music from hip hop to indie, cars revving, tooting, screeching, voices raised in anger and laughter. He had no idea where he was, no clue to his direction. He was a passenger in every sense.

  Suddenly, the van came to a halt. Larkin had no idea where he was or how long he had sat there. The door was opened and he was pulled out. The hands were neither rough nor gentle, just proficient. He was walked through a door and down a flight of steps, directed to a chair and forced to sit. He heard the sound of footsteps retreating up stairs then a door slam shut. Then nothing. He sat in silence as well as darkness.

  “You can take that bag off your head now,” a female voice said eventually.

  Larkin did so, slipping the blindfold off also. Light, artificial and bright, flooded his eyes. He snapped them shut again. Slowly, he opened them, allowing himself to become acclimatised gradually.

  He was in a windowless basement room, painted completely white. Walls, ceiling and floor. On the floor were patterned Indian rugs. There was a bed, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe and a desk, all in blonde wood, all looking new. The bed had a patterned duvet cover and scatter cushions on it, on the desk there was a PC, hard drive and printer. A small table with a TV and video sat at the end of the bed. On the bed sat Karen Moir.

  Larkin looked at her. Small and slim, her posture was erect, contained. Her hair was short, brown and slightly spiked, her clothes a white linen shirt and faded blue jeans. She sat as if deliberately posed, aiming for neutrality, but her eyes gave her away. They were large, round and haunted.

  Those eyes locked on to his and didn’t waver. They held more than they could express.

  “Hello, Karen,” began Larkin awkwardly.

  She held her stare.

  “I’m Stephen Larkin.”

  “I know who you are.” Her voice, Edinburgh-lilted, had a shake to it. “And I know why you’re here.”

  Larkin slowly nodded his head. “Good. So you know what I’m going to say to you next?”

  Something flared across her haunted eyes. “Yeah. You’re going to tell me how sorry my dad is, how he wants to put the past behind him. How he wants to see me.” The shiver in her voice increased. “Before it’s too late.”

  Larkin didn’t reply. Karen sounded like she had rehearsed this moment for quite some time. He would let her have her say.

  “You can tell him from me,” she said, using anger to channel and control her voice, “that I don’t want to see him. I don’t need his sympathy. Tell him to piss off back to Newcastle. Tell him he’s too late.” Her voice faltered and cracked.

  Larkin again said nothing, just reached into his pocket and brought out a card. He handed it to her.

  “What’s this?” she asked, taking it.

  “That’s in case you want to tell him yourself. It’s where he’s staying. And the phone number.”

  She tore it in two, flinging the pieces on the bed. “You’ve had a wasted trip.”

  Larkin sighed, leaned forward in his chair. He knew this was going to be difficult. There were questions he needed answering, things only Karen could tell him, but this was his main reason for looking for her. The rest would have to wait.

  “Listen,” he said, “I don’t think you’d have gone to all this trouble, all this cloak-and-dagger stuff, just to tell me to piss off.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Yeah,” said Larkin. “That’s a fact. And I’ll tell you something else.” He was starting to get annoyed now. “I haven’t come all this way, through a whole load of shit, nearly been killed, just for you to do that. Your dad sent me. I’m here now. And we’re going to talk about that.”

  “Why should I?” Karen spat back.

  Larkin could think of a few answers to give her, but held his tongue. “You work it out. Then you decide.”

  “I decided a long time ago I didnae want him in my life.” She stood up, walked to the furthest wall. “You know why? Because every time I did want him he was never there. He was out makin’ the streets of Edinburgh safe, he always told me. Lyin’ bastard. He was out drinkin’ wi’ his mates. Tryin’ tae get into the funny handshake club. Get himself fast-tracked.” She leaned against the wall, as far back as she could go. “Other kids used to say, ‘It must be excitin’ havin’ a dad who’s a copper, like Miami Vice.’ An’ I used to say ‘Yeah’. I never told the truth.”

  Karen, Larkin soon realised, was speaking more for her benefit than his. He waited to see if she had anything more to say. She did.

  “And then later on,” she said, “when I needed him – not just wanted him, needed him – he was missin’ then as well.”

  Larkin let her words be carried off into silence, then spoke again.

  “He’s changed, Karen. He’s a different man.”

&nbs
p; She gave a harsh, mirthless laugh. “Oh we’ve all changed, haven’t we? I mean, look at me. See how much. And I’ve got a hell of a lot more changin’ to go through.”

  She broke off, biting her bottom lip, trying to contain what was inside her. She didn’t want to let it out, Larkin knew, didn’t want herself or him to see it. Her body twitched and trembled as she fought for control, her eyes, jumping with fear and anger, flitted all over the room, darting about like swallows trapped in a barn.

  Larkin felt for her. He managed to catch her eyes, steady them with his own calm, empathic gaze. He spoke, his voice pitched low and soothing.

  “What can I say, Karen? Yeah, I know it’s difficult, but he just wants to see you, that’s all. He knows what you think of him, he just wants to see that you’re all right.”

  Karen gave out a long, juddering sigh, and with it came the tears.

  “I’m not alright,” she said, sobbing, “I’m not alright …”

  She moved away from the wall, slumped back on the bed. As she cried, the tension and rage left her body too. It seemed to be replaced by something far worse, something beyond sadness. She sighed, shook her head absently.

  “I just wish … I wish I could just curl up and go to sleep for a long, long time,” she sobbed. “Years, even. Then wake up and it’ll all be over.” She looked at Larkin, eyes wet with pain. “But it’s not going to happen, is it?”

  “No,” said Larkin.

  She nodded. It looked like the answer she was expecting.

  “So what happens now?” she asked.

  “That’s up to you, Karen.” She sat in silence.

  “There is another reason why I’m here,” said Larkin at length.

  Karen nodded. “Charlie Rook,” she said.

  “Yeah, Charlie Rook,” said Larkin. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  She nodded again, and started her story.

  “He killed Hayley.” The words, carrying the gravitas of a final statement, started her crying again.

  Larkin sat in the chair, powerless to help.

  Karen’s head dropped forward and the tears rolled down her cheeks. She struggled to hold it in, face contorting like a wounded animal.

  “Nuh – not him personally,” she said. “But he had it done.” She looked up, face creased in pain. “Oh, Hayley …”

  “Tell me about her,” asked Larkin.

  They had met while they were both on the game. Karen was hooked on smack, doing punters to pay for it. Hayley was another runaway. “Because her dad used to fuck her.” Karen gave a flat laugh. “I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies. At least mine never did that.”

  Then they fell in love. “And to this day I don’t know what she saw in me. I’m just glad she did.” The tears stopped, her face brightening at the memory. “We totally fell for each other. I was shocked, because until then I’d never been with another woman. Well, apart from work, but I don’t count that. But I never thought of myself as gay. Neither had she. Although when you think about it, it’s not surprising.”

  “Why?” asked Larkin.

  Karen gave him a challenging, confrontational look. “The things punters try an’ get you to do … you have little love left for men.”

  Karen’s expression changed and she was again lost in a memory. “She was everythin’ … I told her about the heroin, she’d already guessed, mind, an’ she sorted out a methadone clinic for me. She knew Diana. And Diana knew Mickey. Mickey Falco. He helped. It wasn’t easy, but I wanted to try my best, you know? I had someone who loved me. I wanted to do it for her.”

  “Did it work?” asked Larkin.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “A few backslides, but … one day at a time. I’m doin’ alright.” She nodded, seemingly to convince herself. “And she didn’t mind I was HIV either.”

  “Was Hayley HIV positive?” asked Larkin.

  Karen shook her head. “No. We took precautions with each other.”

  “And with punters?”

  Karen stared at him confrontationally. “You tryin’ tae be judgemental?”

  “No, I was just asking.”

  “Well for your information, I always used a condom. Which is more than a lot of them do. Some punters refused and wouldn’t listen to anythin’ I said about AIDS.” She laughed. There was rage in it. “Last thing you want is a lecture in sexual health from a whore, isn’t it?”

  She looked away. “I just let them get on with it. Some of them liked it better that way. More of a thrill. Like Russian roulette.”

  Larkin nodded. He made no comment but instead asked, “So how did you come into contact with Charlie Rook?”

  “We got sick of workin’ the streets as independents, dodgin’ pimps, not havin’ enough control over the punters, that kind of thing. And we needed more money.”

  “What for?” asked Larkin.

  “HIV and AIDS isn’t the life sentence it used to be,” she said. “They’ve got drugs on the market, treatments out there so good they’re closin’ hospices.” There was a large element of self-conviction in her words.

  “I know,” he said.

  “But it’s not the side-effects that are the problem with them.”

  “It’s the cost.”

  “Right,” she said. “An’ the NHS don’t make priority cases out of ex-junkie prossies.”

  “And that’s where Charlie Rook came in.”

  She gave a watery smile. “We met Melissa, his recruiter. Have you met her?”

  “The ice goddess? Yeah, I’ve met her.”

  “Cow,” spat Karen. “She knew we wanted money, said she worked for this guy, real upmarket stuff, he’d look after us, pay us well. We said, yeah. We were interested. So she took us to meet him, he liked us, asked us to work for him. He’s got this place in the City. Lot of rich punters.”

  “I know,” said Larkin. “I’ve been there.”

  She gave him a fierce look, and opened her mouth for something to accompany it, but then stopped herself. “Oh, yeah. Mickey said.”

  “It wasn’t for pleasure, believe me.”

  “Right. Anyway, Melissa does health checks on all the new girls. She helped me fake mine.”

  “Kind of her.”

  “Wasn’t it?” said Karen. “I should have known something was up then. But I didn’t.”

  She sighed, shook her head. “So Hayley an’ me are workin’ there, servicin’ the punters, makin’ good money an’ gettin’ no hassle when Melissa comes up. She’s got a proposition for us. Wants us to steal somethin’ from Charlie. Set up a blackmail scam. She knew we wanted money; this way we’d get it.”

  “And what did she get out of this?” asked Larkin.

  “Charlie’s business. The thing she wanted us to steal would have destroyed all his credibility. He would be ruined. Melissa would then step in and take over. We’d get our money. We all live happily ever after.”

  “So you said you’d do it?”

  “Yeah.” Karen sighed. “What fuckin’ mugs.”

  “What happened?”

  “We went through with it. Stole what we were supposed to, we found it where Melissa had left it, went to the place Melissa had organised and waited for the call. Never came, did it?” Her voice began to waver. “We waited for days, still nothin’. But Ringo an’ Lenny. They called. I was out shoppin’ buyin’ food. I had the thing on me. They took Hayley an’ I … I ran. I couldn’t …” She broke down in tears again.

  Larkin looked on helplessly. He wanted to go to her, comfort her. Put his arm round her shoulder, let her cry into his chest. But he didn’t. The girl was hurt, damaged, but she’d started to talk to him. He had established a kind of trust with her in a small space of time. He didn’t want his actions misconstrued, the trust broken. So he sat there helplessly, watching her break her heart all over again.

  “She might not be …” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

  Karen said it for him. “Dead? Oh, she is. Charlie Rook’s got a special place for that. F
or people who’ve upset him or outlived their usefulness.” The words were choked out of her. “Hayley’s sleepin’ wi’ the fishes now, alright. If there are any fishes in that polluted shite.”

  “What?” asked Larkin, confused.

  “Dagenham,” she said, raising her tear-stained face. “He’s got a place at Dagenham, his father’s old scrap metal yard. Backs on to the Thames. That’s where they get rid of the bodies.” Her sorrow had tipped back into anger again. “That’s where Hayley went …” She dropped her head again.

  “So what did you take?” Larkin asked. “What was so important?”

  Karen looked up, eyes glistening. “I’ll show you,” she said.

  She crossed to the PC, started it up, logged on. From a drawer in the desk she took out a CD-ROM and inserted it in the hard drive. Her fingers moved over the keys with practised ease.

  “As well as being a pimp, Charlie has this other thing. His bespoke event management service, he calls it,” she said, fingers tapping. “What it means is anythin’ goes. Anything. And that’s where the money is. Anythin’ and everythin’ as long as you’ve got the money. Anythin’.” She turned to Larkin. “C’mere, watch this. If you can.”

  Larkin looked at the screen. There was what appeared to be an operating theatre, sparsely equipped, with a naked body strapped to the table. The body belonged to a boy, about eighteen or nineteen. He was struggling, trying to snap the thick leather straps.

  Into the scene walked a man dressed as a surgeon. Larkin began to get a bad feeling about it.

  “Who’s that?” he asked. “Should I know him?”

  “No,” replied Karen, “but I bet you’ll have bought something from one of his companies.”

  The camera moved in for a close-up of the boy’s terrified face. The man dressed as a surgeon roughly held the boy by the chin to stop him struggling. In his other hand he held a large needle trailing some coarse, black thread. As Larkin watched, he pulled the boy’s eyelid out and stuck the needle through it.

  “Oh fuck,” Larkin groaned, turning away.