by Chris Parker
Ethan took a pace forwards as he spoke. Matt’s forearm flexed as he tried to squeeze the trigger. His arm tensed but his finger didn’t move. He grunted as if he was struggling to lift a heavy weight. Nothing happened. Matt glanced towards Calvin. He redoubled his effort. Sweat beaded his face. His hand began to shake. Ethan laughed, harsh and abrupt. Matt’s gun hand stilled. Ethan turned away from him and faced the crime boss.
‘So …’ Ethan paused deliberately, ‘…that was part one of the lesson.’
Calvin shook his head. He still didn’t feel as alert as normal but he knew what he had just seen. ‘All you’ve taught me is that you couldn’t make Matt do what you told him to.’
‘No. He did exactly what I told him to. You just didn’t see it. Or hear it. Or understand it. You will understand this, though.’
Ethan returned his attention to Matt. He took another step forwards. He spoke in the calm, reassuring tone of a parent soothing their child. ‘Now, looking at me closely, just take the pistol and put it in your mouth.’
Calvin Brent watched in amazement as the man he paid to intimidate and beat others opened his mouth and put the gun barrel in as far as it would go.
It’s like he’s sucking cock.
Brent realised he was staring open-mouthed. He pulled back in his chair and clamped his mouth shut.
Ethan smiled reassuringly as Matt’s lips closed around the metal. ‘Let me tell you what you are going to do,’ he said. ‘You are going to squeeze the trigger very, very slowly until the gun fires and blows your brains out. Do you understand?’
Matt nodded.
Calvin’s vision folded inwards, focussing only on Matt’s trigger finger. It grew large in his mind’s eye, blotting out everything else. He saw the pressure increase. Bit by bit.
He heard Ethan Hall whisper, ‘Good boy.’
He saw Matt’s finger increase its pressure. The trigger began to depress. It was all happening in slow motion. The result was inevitable. Another fraction of an inch and Matt’s head was going to explode. He was going to do what Ethan Hall had said! How could that be possible? Another split-second passed. The movement was almost complete. Calvin realised that Matt was staring, unblinking at Ethan. He realised the hypnotist had no intention of saving his life.
‘Stop it!’ Calvin roared at the top of his voice. ‘Stop it now!’
Matt staggered as if struck. It looked to Calvin as if he was suddenly, for the first time, aware of what he had been about to do. Matt pulled the gun from his mouth and began to retch violently. Ethan Hall didn’t wait for him to stop.
‘Now do you see? Was that obvious enough for you? I can make people do anything. I can stop them from pulling the trigger just as easily as I can make them take their own life. Think about that. Just think what I could do for you.’
Calvin Brent nodded slowly. Thinking was currently proving even more difficult than before. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes he would never have believed what had just happened. But he had seen it. Ethan Hall was unique. He was just the man he needed to solve a problem that had been troubling him.
‘What do you want from me?’ Calvin asked.
‘There are some people I need to find.’
‘You just want some addresses?’
‘And a driver to get me to them.’
‘And for that you are prepared to do me a favour?’
‘Yes.’
Brent nodded again, deliberately this time, as if weighing up the odds, as if he needed to really think about this. His poker face was inscrutable.
‘How many people?’
‘Less than a handful.’
Brent held his silence for a few seconds before replying. He was vaguely aware of Matt standing motionless on one side of the room. ‘What I’d want in return for that is non-negotiable. I need someone to die. I need it to be a natural death. Do you understand?’
Ethan didn’t flinch. ‘I can make that happen.’
‘Let me be really clear – I don’t need it to look like a natural death; I need it to be a natural death. Are you sure you can make that happen?’
‘Of course. Especially if you can answer a few questions about the person concerned.’
‘What sort of questions?’
‘Nothing to do with your relationship with them; just personal stuff that will let me work out how to create what you want.’
‘I thought you’d be able to work it all out for yourself once you got there.’ Brent leaned forward on his desk. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was the first chink he’d seen in the other man’s armour. ‘Or are you not quite as good as you make out?’
‘Trust me, I’m better than that. I just thought you’d like to know in advance what I’m going to do. I thought you’d like the power of knowing everything. I thought you’d want it to be quick and easy, given that you’re such a professional.’ Ethan’s face was expressionless. ‘Although I can take a long time over it if that’s what you want. Make it messy. Make a lot of noise. Gamble that nobody hears anything. Let the cards fall where they may, so to speak.’
‘Don’t push your fucking luck.’ Calvin forced a scowl; with Matt watching he had no choice but assert his authority, even if it still didn’t feel as right and easy as normal. ‘You’ll get the answers you want, then just make it look like an act of God.’
‘It’ll be the nearest thing.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘You’ll see. Whoever your target is, they are as good as dead already.’
Calvin nodded, his mind racing, his thoughts coming back under his control. Never play the cards, play the man, his father had told him. And always plan ahead. Ethan Hall certainly warranted some precise and cautious planning, and he already knew too much to be allowed to walk away once his work was done. Calvin nodded again. ‘Then we have a deal,’ he said.
‘I thought we would.’ Ethan had watched the change in Brent’s skin tone and breathing pattern as he considered his options. He had watched the pupils in his eyes dilate as he imagined what would happen. No matter what he thought, the criminal was actually as obvious as an open book. He waited the few seconds it took for Brent to realise the next question.
‘These people you want me to find, what are you going to do with them?’
‘I’m going to say a few words.’
Despite the feeling of normality that had just returned – or, perhaps, because of it – Calvin Brent, the Numbers Man, the great poker player, heard those words and shuddered. Until a few minutes ago he had never considered just how much influence one person could exert over another through what they said. He had always relied on muscle to make sure the numbers were right. However, the man standing in front of him had something more powerful than muscle, something far more dangerous, something seemingly irresistible.
Calvin Brent could not imagine – and, truth be told, he didn’t care – just what Ethan Hall was going to do to the people he planned to talk to. Whatever it was, it would be both compelling and terrible. Of that he had no doubt.
PART 2
FEAR
15
Did you really think I’d forgotten you?
Did you think that because I hadn’t spoken to you directly for a while you were no longer in my mind? Or that I was no longer in yours?
Did you?
Are you really that stupid?
Or are you just that hopeful?
It’s what the herd calls Wishful Thinking. It’s what they do every time they buy a Lottery ticket. Every time they feel the pain or see the blood and choose not to go to the Doctor’s. Every time they say, ‘For better or worse’ and expect only better. Every time they think ‘Better late than never’ and believe it will be.
Wishful Thinking.
Just one of the reasons why I have no sympathy or respect for you. One of the many reasons.
So let’s be clear about this: you have brought this on yourselves. It didn’t have to involve so many of you. It could have been just between me and him. And if
you had let me just put him properly in his place it would have taken a stain out of your world, too. Only you have your rules and your false allegiances, based on habit and fear and expectation. You have your beliefs. They make you cling. And when you cling to a sinking ship you drown. Simple as.
So you can practice as much deep breathing as you want. It won’t make any difference. The depths I am going to take you to will burst your heart. Every heart. Everyone of you.
It is all mapped out. From the moment I opened my eyes it was laid out before me.
Like a red carpet. At once a reflection of my special status and a marking of the way forward. And like every red carpet my plan runs into a very particular place. And like every red carpet only a chosen few ever get to the end of it.
And the ones I have chosen will realise eventually they have reached the worst of all possible endings. Each individually created. Bespoke, specific and tailored.
After all, I’m not the only one who’s here to serve.
16
Liam Hemsall couldn’t stop himself thinking about the day – that special day – when he had spoken the oath. It seemed such a long time ago now. The images in his mind’s eye were blurred and hazy. The words, though, they were as clear as a bell. They still rang out. Which, he guessed, was why he couldn’t stop repeating them in his mind.
‘I do solemnly and sincerely declare that I will well and truly serve the Queen in the office of constable, with fairness, integrity, diligence and impartiality, upholding fundamental human rights and according equal respect to all people…’
I will well and truly serve…
That was the motivating factor. It always had been. The desire to serve, to use his authority, skill and judgement for the benefit of society. Liam didn’t know where the urge first came from. He hadn’t grown up in a family of police officers. He hadn’t been inspired by the ever-increasing number of tv dramas that sought to find a new spin on the cops and robbers theme. And he certainly hadn’t been drawn to the idea of wearing a uniform. No, for some inexplicable reason he had grown up coming to the realisation that the best way to meet his own inherent desire was to join the force. So he had, at the first available opportunity.
And as soon as he’d developed enough general experience he had applied to become part of an Armed Response Team. If you were serious about serving, he reasoned, you needed to be at the sharp end. You needed to be there when you were most needed. You needed to have specialist skills. You needed to be willing to shoulder the biggest responsibilities.
He had sailed through the interview and the subsequent firearms training. Within a month, as the result of a sudden vacancy, he had found himself a bone fide member of an Armed Response Team. He had felt at home from the very first day.
‘Professionally speaking.’
‘Why do you feel the need to clarify?’
‘Because you can feel at home in different places and with different people without them being your real home or real family. My wife and daughters have a place in my heart that no-one else can touch.’
‘It’s all a matter of degree?’
‘Yes.’ Liam swallowed. His throat was dry. His gaze, he realised, had gone down to the floor again, just as it always did whenever he was forced back to this point, to that moment in time.
‘Service is a matter of degree too, isn’t it?’ The psychologist was unbelievably still. He was the only person Liam had ever seen who could question and listen with absolute stillness.
‘Yes. Everything is a matter of degree.’
‘Even life and death?’
‘I didn’t kill anyone.’
‘I was just asking you to pursue your line of thinking.’
‘You talk of thinking as if it’s separate from feeling.’ Liam eyeballed his questioner. He was grateful to have a reason to look up from the floor. ‘You talk about something you’ve never experienced as if you understand what it means, as if you know the effects it has.’
‘My purpose, as you know, is to help you create, acknowledge and then manage your state. I’m only here because you are.’
‘I’m only here because I shot someone.’
‘And?’
Liam felt like an alcoholic desperate to drink. ‘And because he didn’t die. And now he’s free.’
‘He wasn’t free when we first met.’
‘No.’
‘At that time he was expected to die.’
‘Yes.’
‘You were coming to terms with potentially having killed someone.’
‘Struggling to come to terms.’
The psychologist inclined his head. It seemed to Liam that it was at once an acknowledgement and an invitation. He kept talking.
‘In fact, as you helped me realise, I was struggling as much with my emotional response to the shooting as with the actual incident.’
‘As far as we know, we are the only species capable of having thoughts about our thoughts and feelings about our own feelings. Sometimes when we go meta to our original state we make things worse for a while, not better. So the question is…’
‘How much worse is it getting?’ Liam finished the psychologist’s sentence.
‘That’s almost the question. Although in that form it does encourage another question.
‘Which is?’
What’s the it you are referring to?’
Liam glanced down. The dull barely recognisable voice in the back of his head whispered, The pull of the floor, that’s what I’m referring to. Pull, pull, pull.
‘It’s me.’
‘That’s right.’
Pause. The psychologist didn’t blink. Liam felt as if he was being drawn down into the smallest space, crushed, in danger of being lost forever. He had to speak.
‘It was my job, my role, what I had trained for. The situation demanded that I fire my weapon. There shouldn’t have been any…’
‘Emotional consequences?’
Liam nodded. ‘It means I’m not fit for purpose.’
‘And yet we are all emotional beings. Our brains are designed for us to feel emotion before we rationalise. All humans – even police officers tasked with carrying and using firearms – are emotional first and foremost. How can feeling a mix of emotions after being obliged to discharge your weapon make you unfit for purpose? Don’t you think that if you didn’t feel an emotional response it would suggest you were unwell, not the opposite?’
Liam sat back in his chair, the weight of the questions, tangible, pressing against his chest. He managed to say, ‘It depends on the emotions.’
‘And the emotions we feel about our emotions.’ The psychologist glanced down at the floor; at the place Liam was trying so hard to resist. ‘Does it mean anything else about you?’
‘It means that I don’t know who I am, that I never have.’
‘And when you were told that he was going to live?’
‘I was conflicted. Some part of me was relieved. Some other part said I was a failure.’
‘And when you heard that he’d escaped?’
Liam shook his head angrily as if an insect was buzzing and trying to settle on his face. He had received a phone call within hours of Ethan leaving the hospital. He had been warned that for a couple of days at least the press would be all over the story. ‘There are no words.’
‘In that case, what fills that space?’
‘Where the words should be?’
‘Yes.’
I do. Pull, pull pull.
Liam shook his head again. ‘When you lose something that important nothing can take its place. It’s like an earthquake inside you. There’s only debris.’
‘Rebuilding usually takes time.’
‘It’s never the same, though.’
‘Sometimes it’s better.’
‘I don’t believe it can be. Not in this case. If I’d hit my target, Ethan Hall would be dead. It would be over. At least for everyone else. Now God alone knows what he will do. And it’s all because of me.’
/> ‘It’s because of many other factors, too.’
Liam couldn’t look the psychologist in the face. Instead he gave in to his need to share the memory pressing against the front of his head.
‘I remember, I hadn’t been on the force long and I was having a beer with some of the other lads and DCI Peter Jones came in. I’d heard about him, this great detective who always found a way – Jonah, they called him – and he came over and spent a couple of minutes with us. I remember asking him why he’d become a copper. He didn’t hesitate; he just smiled and said, “Because I care about the world.” That was it! It was everything I believed and had committed my life to in one simple sentence. He didn’t even say it like it was anything clever. To him it was just a statement of fact. He cared about the world and had found the best way to show it. And he hasn’t failed yet.’
‘How do you know?’
‘His record speaks for itself.’
‘To a certain degree.’
Liam snorted, ‘You’re just using my words against me.’
‘I’m just using your words. That’s not the same thing.’
‘Then maybe I’m using my words against me.’
‘Maybe you are.’
‘Can’t you ever give a straight answer to a straight question?’
‘You didn’t ask a question.’
‘Ok. Here’s one – who am I?
The psychologist inhaled briefly before he answered. When he did, he looked Liam directly in the eyes. ‘I’ll tell you exactly who you are,’ he said.
17
‘You’re a fucking incompetent!’ Peter Jones stabbed his right forefinger towards the chest of the seated Duty Inspector whose meeting he had just interrupted and ended prematurely. ‘Of the highest fucking order!’
‘You can’t talk to me like that!’ Barry Smithson bridled, struggling visibly to regain his composure.
‘You’re not listening are you? Even though I’m standing right in front of you and talking loudly enough for the rest of the building to hear!’
‘Of course I’m – ’
Peter stopped the sentence dead in its tracks. He wasn’t here for a conversation. ‘I can tell you’re not listening because I am, in fact, talking to you like that. Listen more closely this time and see if you can spot it – you’re a fucking incompetent! And because of your decision to take one of those officers away from Ethan Hall’s hospital room – a decision you chose to make even though I explicitly told you we needed two officers there at all times no matter what happened elsewhere – because of your decision, the man I know to be the most dangerous individual I have ever arrested is out there somewhere, free to do whatever he chooses!
