Walk in Silence

by J. G. Sinclair

  The blow stunned Keira, leaving her momentarily powerless to fight back. The weight of his body pressing down on her made it difficult to fill her lungs. Keira tried to roll him over, but her strength was already starting to fade. As she raised her free hand to strike, Pavli grabbed hold of it, wrenching both arms wide. She lay spreadeagled, unable to move with Pavli on top of her, his face just inches away now, close enough to feel his breath on her cheek and see the sweat glistening in his pores.

  Keira drew on the last of her strength and butted Pavli in the face, her forehead connecting with the bridge of his nose with a sickening crack. He reared backwards, groaning in pain, giving Keira just enough time to pull her freed hands to her face and block the onslaught of blows that followed. Pavli was out of control, screaming and cursing in Albanian as his fists rained down on Keira.

  The blows kept coming, one after the other, pounding at her face and head until eventually her arms fell limp and she lay motionless with her eyes closed, fighting against the wave of nausea sweeping up from deep in her stomach. She felt a sharp pain in her wrists, then heard a clicking sound as Pavli snapped a set of handcuffs on her.

  There was a pause filled only with the sound of groans and heavy breathing. Keira could taste blood and vomit in her mouth as Pavli lifted himself up off of her. Her lips were split and oozing blood, the swelling around her right eye so bad it was difficult to tell if it was open or shut.

  Pavli crawled to the other side of the room and sat propped against the wall holding the Beretta in his hand. Still panting, he said, ‘Now we’ve got ourselves a crime scene.’

  Keira lay flat on her back, unable to move, her head turned towards him.

  ‘It was always a crime scene,’ she replied in a barely audible whisper.

  ‘Look where we’re at now,’ said Pavli. ‘This is all fucked up.’

  ‘Where’s the boy?’

  As he talked, Pavli ripped a piece of cloth from his shirt and started to tie it round his leg. ‘Mister Vedon is finished with this game now. He has you down as naive: can’t believe you came back to Albania rather than go to New York. For a moment he was not certain what you were up to. He thought you had the big plan – had him worried – but he laughed hard when I told him you’d come back here. It was not expected. He laughed hard because you are naive to think you can come back and make everything okay.’

  ‘Where’s the boy?’

  ‘You were never going to get him back. Mister Vedon feels you may already have done enough to get Engjell E Zeze out of jail. The trial in Glasgow has been postponed . . . You and the boy have played your part. That is all he wanted. You know how all of this works . . . You have become incriminating evidence. No one wants you around to cause trouble in the future and no one wants the young boy to grow up looking for revenge.’

  ‘And it’s down to you to clean everything up?’

  ‘We should just have fucked. I think we are attracted to each other. We could have fucked and you could have gone home and forgotten all about the boy and still be alive.’

  ‘I am still alive.’

  Pavli reached across and picked up what was left of his torch, then dragged himself along the floor, past Keira, to the doorway.

  ‘You make things too easy for everyone. Mister Vedon thought he was going to have to find you in New York and have you killed there, but instead you came to him. He told me to take you somewhere quiet then – at the bar – you suggested coming here. Your client’s house, where it all started . . . This will become the place it all ended too. It is poetic I think.’

  Pavli used the wall and the table to brace against as he struggled to his feet. When he was certain he could support his own weight he lurched forward a few paces and stood over Keira, swaying unsteadily as he raised the Beretta and pointed it at her head.

  ‘Where are the car keys?’ asked Keira. ‘I thought I saw you clip them to your belt, but they’re not there.’

  ‘You planning a trip?’

  ‘Just curious.’

  ‘Sun visor.’

  ‘What’s the Albanian for “do it now”?’

  ‘Beje tani.’

  ‘How do you say thank you?’

  ‘Faleminderit. Anything else you’d like to ask – any last request – before you go?’

  ‘I’m done. I’d just like to say, beje tani.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Pavli.

  ‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ replied Keira.

  There was a loud crack and the air filled with smoke as the shotgun blast exploded out through Pavli’s chest in a mist of blood and gristle. He stared down at the gaping hole with a mixture of disbelief and shock, then slowly sank to his knees. The second blast caught him in the back of the neck and threw Pavli’s headless torso forward with a jolt, as it landed heavily across Keira’s legs.

  Keira raised her head from the floor as much as she was able and said, ‘Faleminderit,’ to the old woman standing in the doorway.

  ‘Je I mirëpritur,’ replied the old lady. ‘Ti je vajza me mundi deri fytyrë që erdhi në derën time. Fytyra juaj duket shumë më keq.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ replied Keira. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The old lady with the dry stacked hair dropped the shotgun to her side and pointed at her chest. ‘Unë quhem Rozafa.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Rozafa. Unë quhem Keira.’

  ‘Keira, you will bring my daughter back? My Lule?’

  ‘I swear,’ replied Keira.

  Thirty-one

  Lule glanced down at her phone buzzing on the table. It was a number she didn’t recognise so she let it ring out, figuring they’d leave a message, and signalled to the barman to bring her another drink. A few seconds later the phone buzzed again: same number.

  The third time the screen lit up Lule picked up the phone and answered in Albanian.

  ‘Kush është ky?’

  ‘Lule?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Keira. Where are you?’

  ‘In the Cabrestrante, drinking much of the rakia. Where are you? Whose phone is this?’

  ‘It’s the cop’s . . .’

  ‘So where are you?’

  ‘Still in Dushk, but I’m just about to leave. I’m in your house, sitting with your mum.’

  ‘You and the cop are in my house, are you fucking kidding me?’

  ‘Just me.’

  ‘What’s the cop doing? Did you show him next door?’

  ‘The bodies are gone.’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘Someone’s fucking us around. I don’t have time to go into it just now, Lule, but I still think Ermir is on the boat . . .’

  ‘The pizza guy reckons the cops got here too early. He said the party starts later.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s all screwed up. Pavli was lying. I’m going to leave in a minute and drive back to Orikum.’

  ‘How long did it take to get there?’

  ‘Just over an hour. Pavli had the lights and the siren on so it might take me a little longer. Wait for me in the bar.’

  ‘Let me say hello to my mother.’

  ‘She’s upstairs. I’ll get her to call you back.’

  ‘I’m going to try get on boat.’

  ‘No, Wait till I get there, Lule. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  A horn sounded on the driveway leading down to the marina.

  Lule turned over her shoulder and saw a furgon flashing its lights, signalling for someone to open the gates. One of the guys behind the bar made his way over to unlock them and wave the driver through.

  ‘Something is happening. I’d better go.’

  The minibus turned left into a service area that ran behind the main building of the marina. Lule fished in the canvas bag for her purse, left money on the table for the drink she’d just ordered, then headed towards the vaulted alleyway that led through to the service area.

  Large flat-lid wheelie bins lined the rear walls of the Cabrestrante and the seafood restaurant, and there were a
number of cars parked in an area reserved for staff. The furgon pulled into a gated yard at the far end and drew to halt. Lule sprinted across the open area and tucked in behind the furgon as the tall meshed gates slid closed behind.

  The dimly lit yard, littered with fishing creels covered in discarded netting, opened on to the sea. A row of small yachts stood on stilts in a line that led to the other end of the yard where three empty cargo containers sat rusting in the sea air. At the end closest to the harbour three refuelling pumps stood silhouetted against the moonlit water beyond.

  The minibus door creaked open and Lule heard the murmur of girls chatting as they disembarked.

  She peered round the back end of the furgon and saw one of Vedon’s men in a dark suit telling the young women to follow him. Lule counted twelve, all in their late teens or early twenties. She knew these girls well: knew how they worked, how they spoke, how they fixed their make-up to make their eyes look bigger and their lips more full; she knew how good they were at making a guy feel special even if he was a jerk. Joining this group of girls and sashaying on board would be easy.

  Lule knew their story.

  She used to be one of them.

  The guy in the suit led the group through a narrow wooden gate that opened onto the quayside next to the stern of the Persephone. As she followed the girls onto the metal gangplank, Lule glanced back at the people sitting at the Cabrestrante. She saw the waiter lift the money from the table she’d been sitting at just few minutes earlier, then looking around to see where she’d gone. It struck Lule that she was looking into the past: staring at the world from a different dimension inhabited by a different version of herself. It would come as no surprise if the other Lule walked back to the table, sat down and ordered another rakia.

  The girls were led across the gangplank onto the wooden boarding deck and through into a large open lounge area with a bar at one end and a dance floor in the middle. Linen-clad trestle tables full of food – platters of fresh seafood, trays of meat cuts, displays of fruit laid out to resemble Giuseppe Arcimboldo paintings, hot servers steaming with curries and stews – were lined up along one side with uniformed staff standing behind, waiting to serve.

  The girls were handed a glass of champagne by one of the many waiters milling around and told to follow the suited guy down to the lower deck, where they were shown into a large cabin and told to choose an outfit from the rack.

  Everything was low cut, short or see-through.

  Nowhere to hide a gun, thought Lule.

  The cabin was kitted out like a high-end luxury hotel. Real wood and marble on every surface, deep pile carpet underfoot and a bed that was all mattress.

  As the other girls started to strip, one of them caught Lule’s eye. She looked younger than the rest and didn’t appear to be having quite as much ‘fun’.

  ‘I didn’t see you on the coach.’

  ‘I made my own way,’ replied Lule. ‘This your first party?’

  ‘Yeah. Seemed like a good idea at the time; now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘You want my advice, don’t drink the champagne. You’ll wake up in the morning with a sore pussy, not knowing where the hell you are and your ass ripped open so wide next time you sit on sofa the damn thing’ll disappear up it. If you really need a drink, go to the bar and watch the barman pour it. Don’t take anything they hand you . . . not even the water.’

  ‘Thanks. You done this before?’

  ‘Only once. Woke up in Scotland.’

  The girl smiled, then realised that Lule was serious. ‘Was it this boat?’

  ‘Different boat, same scam. If it all gets too much, dive overboard and swim to the beach. As long as you been acting drunk, no one’s coming in after you.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Lule, yours?’

  ‘Odeta.’

  The girl reached across and shook Lule’s hand.

  ‘It’s quite a boat.’

  ‘Yeah, but don’t get fooled, it’s all a con. You don’t get to own shit like this by being nice to people. The guy that owns this is a douche. There’s no one you’re going to meet tonight’s gonna be looking for love: they’re not gonna set you up for life or take care of you. All they want is to fuck some fresh pussy and grab your tits . . . after that, it’s all over. They want to fuck about with you, but they don’t give a fuck about you, you know what I’m saying?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How much they paying you?’

  ‘Five thousand.’

  ‘Lek?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That’s just the basic. Guy wants to do anything more than squeeze your tits, tell him he’s got to pay. They all carry bags of cash so don’t let him pass you off with a cheque or an IOU: you’ll never see the money. What time’s the party start?’ asked Lule.

  ‘There was a hold-up. Meant to be here an hour ago, but something was going on. I think the guests are supposed to be arriving on another boat any time now.’

  The guy in the suit came back into the cabin. ‘Okay, girls, hurry it up. Get your faces on, finish your drinks and let’s get upstairs.’ He stood waiting in the doorway running his eyes over the naked ones as they finished pulling on their clothes.

  Lule thought about calling him out on it, tell him to stop being such a sleazebag, but didn’t want to draw attention to herself.

  When they were ready the girls formed a line and started to file past him out into the narrow corridor. Odeta stood at the back waiting her turn to leave the cabin. She glanced down and saw Lule lying on the floor next to the bed, tucked in as far as possible out of sight with a handgun clasped to her chest.

  Lule winked at Odeta and held a finger to her lips. The young girl gave nothing away on her face, but Lule heard her say to the guy at the door, ‘That’s all of us,’ as she left the room.

  He’d counted twelve: everything was cool.

  The door slammed closed and Lule was alone. She lay there for a few moments listening to the bass beat that had just started upstairs, trying to work out the tune: the artist was Adrian Gaxha for sure, but what was the name of the track? Lule pushed herself up from the floor then made her way around the bed and over to the cabin door.

  She tried the handle: it wasn’t locked. Easing the door open, Lule checked in both directions, then slipped out. The boat carrying the guests had arrived. The sound of voices shouting over the music filled the boat. The party had started.

  There were five berths in all; two on each side and one in the middle to her right. Lule tried the door, but it was locked. She walked the length of the narrow passageway checking the other doors and found they were all open, but the rooms were unoccupied. At the end of the short corridor a set of double doors led through what looked like a TV lounge to another set of doors.

  As Lule moved through the lounge she noticed a large plastic box pushed in between the sofa and the wall and stopped dead.

  A child’s toy was pressing up against the lid, preventing it from closing. Lule lifted the lid. The box was filled to the brim with toys for all ages – boys and girls. As she knelt to look more closely she spotted an empty fun-size pack of Cocoa Crunch cereal under the coffee table that sat in front of the wall-mounted flat screen. The cereal was spilled out onto the carpet.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing down here?’

  The voice came from over Lule’s shoulder.

  Another one of Vedon’s suited soldiers was standing at the entrance. ‘You’re supposed to be upstairs.’

  Lule placed her hands on the floor and pushed up, slipping her Beretta out of sight under the sofa as she stood.

  ‘I was sent down here to clean up the mess left behind by those useless fucking cleaners and to get the boy moved to one of the bedrooms.’

  ‘Who sent you down?’

  ‘The krye.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  Lule gave him one of her ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ looks and replied, ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘What shit we t
alking about? I don’t see any shit.’

  Lule bent down and lifted the Cocoa Crunch pack from the floor.

  ‘D’you want me to get the boy and you clean the shit up or d’you want to get him then go explain to Mister Vedon why this all took so fucking long?’

  Lule could see the guy staring at her, trying to figure out if she was bullshitting or not. ‘Where’s the boy to go?’

  ‘First bedroom on the right, next to the one the girls were getting changed in.’ Lule threw the last bit in as an extra. If she knew where the girls were getting changed like she’d known about the mess on the floor and the fact that there was a boy, maybe she was legit.

  In his mind it all stacked up.

  ‘I’ll get the boy,’ said the guy as he crossed the room and rapped on the double doors with the fat part of his fist.

  ‘Ibish?’

  There was a muffled reply.

  ‘Ibish, it’s Kushtim, open up.’

  Seconds later the guy Lule presumed was Ibish slid the doors wide and stepped into the opening. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘The krye wants the boy taken over to the bedroom.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Lule answered. ‘Then you can take a break. I’ve to wait with him until his . . . date arrives.’

  Lule was squatting by the coffee table.

  ‘Yeah? And who the fuck are you?’ asked Ibish.

  ‘The kid’s mom! Who the fuck d’you think I am?’ replied Lule, giving him some of it back. ‘Mister Vedon asked me to tidy up some mess and get the boy ready in one of the rooms. I’m just doing what I’m told. If you two did the same instead of standing around giving me shit then I could get upstairs and enjoy the party.’