He grabbed Irene's hand, gripping her wet skin as tight as he could, and they ran toward the gate. They ended up by the back of the pub, the street deserted.
Irene let out a cuss word and stomped toward the pub, entering through the back door. Joe followed and they bumped right into the boy that had been running in and out all afternoon.
"You, boy," Irene snapped at the poor lad. "The man, Mitchell, did he say anything to you about leaving, or where he was going?"
The boy froze, a half-peeled potato in his hand, and shook his head. "Not after I delivered the note, Ma'am."
Irene took a few steps, towering over him. "What note?"
He shrugged. "Dunno. Just had me deliver it to the Grouper estate. Rode my bike. Took almost an hour. Didn't even give me money or nothing for doing it."
"Where is his room?" Irene asked.
"Through there," the boy said. "I just wanted-"
Irene held up her hand to silence him then strode past him through the back of the pub, Joe following. They entered a small room, a bed in one corner and a cluttered desk in the other. Joe slicked his hair back and wiped the rainwater from his face. His shoes squished as he walked up behind Irene. A blank notepad sat on the desk and Irene grabbed a pencil, rubbing it on the piece of paper. A scattered imprint came through the lead tracing, partially revealing a circular message.
"Translate fast for me, Joe," she said.
Joe fished his notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. He flipped to the page he'd written the cypher down on and translated each letter as she spoke it out loud.
Once the note was translated as best they could, they both stared in horror at the message:
I ... NOT DIE BUT YOU ... ... WILL.
Chapter VII
The Destruction of a Lovely Sitting Room
"He's going to the Grouper estate," Joe said.
"Not if we get there first," Irene said, tossing the notepad on the desk. She hurried out of the room, Joe on her heels. Her pants were soaked, the bottoms waterlogged, slapping her ankles as she went. The woman who'd given them directions earlier puttered around the bar. She gave a loud gasp as Irene came up behind her.
"Call an ambulance and the police to the Grouper estate," she said.
The woman stared at her, no doubt startled at Irene's appearance. She felt her mascara running down her face and damp bits of hair plastered to her cheeks and neck. She snapped her fingers, startling the woman out of her trance.
"Do it now!"
The woman finally nodded and Irene and Joe left the pub. Irene instantly noticed the empty parking spot where a small blue four-door had been parked all day. If Noah was in a car, they needed to drive as fast as they could.
They climbed into the Vauxhall and within seconds, Irene had the engine started, and pressed the accelerator down. The car lurched forward, surging down the street and out of town.
The drive to the estate was short, especially at the speed Irene forced the car to travel.
They pulled into the laneway and Irene stopped the car, yanking the brake handle. They both leapt out, neither one bothering with an umbrella.
The blue four-door from the pub sat halfway in the front flowerbed.
Irene bounded up the front steps, blinking away the rain hitting her face. As she reached the front door, she slipped and slammed into the wood, grabbing the doorknob. She tried to turn the handle, but it was locked. She tried a few more times, shaking the metal knob out of frustration. She stepped back, trying to find a solution through the lashing rain. Beside her, Joe shouldered the door hard, but it didn't budge.
A muffled gunshot came from inside the house.
They both froze, looking at one another, eyes wide in panic. Jaw clenched out of pure frustration, Irene grabbed a brick-sized rock from the front garden patch.
She didn't come all this way for this mystery to end in murder.
She lobbed the rock through the narrow glass window beside the door. The glass shattered a hole big enough for her fist, and she reached inside the house and found the lock on the door. She unlatched it and drew her hand back through the hole.
They rushed into the house, bringing the rain and wind in with them. Slipping and sliding on the marble floor, they both stumbled to the sitting room they'd occupied earlier.
Irene pushed the door open and stopped. She threw her arm out, catching Joe's chest, preventing him from entering the room. He gasped over her shoulder.
Mr. Grouper lay on the floor, blood soaking into the carpet, darkening the red flower detail. The gunshot wound in his chest pulsed with every ragged breath he took.
Noah stood in the middle of the floor, pistol pointed at Henriette. His other arm, the one he'd kept tucked to his body, hung at his side. And though his fingers were curled and bent, his muscles still looked like they worked. Water dripped off of him, and his contorted face made him all the more frightening. Henriette's hands were raised, but her face was red with rage and shock as she kept her eyes fixed on Noah.
Startling at Irene and Joe's entrance, Noah quickly swung the gun toward them.
Irene's stomach leapt into her throat, but she swallowed any fear she had. Fear wouldn't help her. Logic and quick thinking would.
"You two," Noah spat at them. "Get in here. Over with her."
Irene grabbed Joe's wrist, preventing him from moving. Noah's voice was slurred only slightly, much different than how his alias 'Mitchell' sounded.
"You've gotten yourself into quite a predicament, Noah," Irene said to him.
"I know exactly what I'm doing," he said. "Over with her. Now."
"That's not going to happen," Irene said and felt Joe tense under her grip. "My friend behind me is a doctor. He is going to help that man you shot then you and I are going to have a little chat."
Noah shook his head and inched closer to them, gun aimed right at Irene's chest.
"He takes one step, I'll blow his head clean off."
Irene tried to bite her tongue but couldn't keep herself from correcting him.
"A gun of that calibre wouldn't blow his head off," she said. "It would simply put a small hole in his brain, similar to the one in Mr. Grouper's shoulder."
Behind her, Joe hissed. "Why are you correcting him?"
Noah let out a deranged, frustrated yell. "Move now!"
As much as Irene didn't want a gun pointed at her, she needed to keep the aim off of Henriette. She made the woman a promise to keep her and her family safe and she'd already failed Mr. Grouper. She wouldn't let Noah shoot Henriette as well.
"This does not need to end with more gunshots, Noah," she said. "Do not turn yourself into a murderer."
Noah thought about her words and then swung the gun back to Henriette.
"She's a murderer," he said.
"She did not kill you," Irene said.
"She tried."
Henriette must've found a bold streak of courage because she stepped toward Noah. It surprised him and he shuffled back a bit, but then cast his full attention toward her.
"I did try to kill you," Henriette said, words dripping with thick anger and hatred.
Irene released Joe's wrist and jerked her head toward Mr. Grouper, telling him to save the man bleeding out on the floor. But Joe didn't move and she heard his uneven breath in her ear. She reached behind her again, finding his wrists. Her touch seemed to help him any time he had these panic-induced episodes, and she hoped this time would be no different. She wound her fingers into his and squeezed gently. She heard his breath smooth out within seconds and she released him.
He moved swiftly to Mr. Grouper and immediately started to tend to the wound.
"You were my friend," Henriette said to Noah. "I trusted you and told my secrets to you and you broke my trust. You didn't listen. You thought you deserved more than friendship, whether I wanted more or not."
With Noah distracted, Irene stepped sideways, aiming for the fireplace.
"I worked so hard," Noah said. "You laughed at my jokes.
You understood me. Then that man came along and ruined it. He took you from me."
"I didn't belong to you," Henriette said.
Irene grabbed the fire poker and levelled it in her hand a couple times, testing the weight.
"Leave," Henriette said. "Leave my family alone."
"How's your daughter?" Noah said. "Maybe we should check on her."
That was the final straw for both Irene and Henriette. Even though Irene wasn't particularly fond of children, threats made against them were the most heinous in her eyes.
Despite Noah's bent and disfigured body, his reflexes still seemed intact. Irene needed his attention. She needed to pull the gun's aim off of Henriette.
She cast a quick glance to Joe. He pressed down hard on Mr. Grouper's chest, stuffing strips of the man's housecoat into the wound.
"You're right, Noah," Irene said. "This woman did try to kill you. I would be furious as well."
Her words landed and Noah turned to her. As soon as the pistol's aim was away from Henriette, Irene struck.
She whacked Noah's wrist with the fire poker. He yowled and dropped the gun. She circled him, turning him away from the discarded weapon on the floor. She went in for another hit, but her grip was slippery and Noah was faster than she anticipated. He grabbed the poker and tugged. She slipped on the wet floor and he managed to rip the poker from her hands.
He let out an angry snarl and swung the poker. Irene put her arms up, blocking her face. The metal smacked her arm, the curled end catching her forearm and tearing the skin. She stumbled sideways and heard the poker fly out of Noah's hand from the ricochet off of her arm.
She straightened, but he rushed her. At the last second, she struck out with a hard right jab. Her fist broke his gnarled nose but didn't stop him. He collided with her and they both stumbled backwards. Her calves hit a table and they collapsed onto the wood. Noah reared back and punched her in the face.
Her cheek split and warm liquid ran down into her hair. Her cheek went numb as he hit her again.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and used her weight and momentum to roll them off of the table. They crashed to the ground and she quickly scrambled off of him, knowing she was no use on the floor. He outweighed her, but if she could get on her feet, she'd have the upper hand.
Beyond him, Joe had turned from tending Mr. Grouper, worry written all over his face. He cast a concerned glance toward the bleeding man, then started to his feet, a look of determination on his face as he aimed for Irene. She held her hand out to stop him.
“Save him,” she said. "I'm fine.”
Help from Joe would be appreciated, but his skills would be better put to use saving a man, than attempting to assist her in this fight.
He hesitated and Irene pointed to Grouper. “Save him, Joe.”
She turned her attention back to Noah, and saw Joe do the same with Grouper, but not before taking another worried look at her.
Noah clambered to his feet and rushed Irene again. She got her fists up, popping onto the balls of her feet. Her left arm screamed in pain, but she set her fist up for a left hook. As Noah stepped into her space, she caught him with the left hook. He stumbled sideways but didn't go down.
His anger would fuel him until he fell to the ground with exhaustion. But she would not last that long. She needed a weapon again.
She spotted the poker on the floor and swiped it. She spun it in her hand, then waved it in front of her in a quick flurry of practised motions.
The movement halted Noah for a second. She shuffled forward and whacked him across the face. He stumbled, blood splattering from his face onto the fabric of the couch. She swung low, catching his leg, bending his knee. He went down hard, collapsing with a loud thump on the floor.
Irene's face throbbed and her left arm was numb with pain, but she advanced, ready to attack him again if he rose to his feet.
To Irene's frustration, he did just that, slowly lifting his body, ready to engage with her again. She didn't want to kill him. She didn't want to beat the hell out of him either. There were no sirens in the distance, nothing to indicate help was arriving anytime soon, and she wasn't going to let Noah get anywhere near winning.
She rolled her shoulders back, stretching her muscles, preparing for round two.
As soon as Noah got to his feet, a gunshot rang through the air.
Chapter VIII
The Aftermath of a Failed Plan
The shot cracked the air, and Joe instinctively threw himself to the ground, covering his head with his arms. A horrid thought swept over him, making him instantly sick to his stomach. Ears ringing, he straightened and looked for Irene. She stood over Noah's body, poker in her hand. Alive and breathing.
Joe almost wept with relief.
Mrs. Grouper stood only a few feet away, smoking gun at her side. She dropped the pistol and stumbled to the couch, sitting and staring at Noah.
Joe went back to his task. Mr. Grouper's wound went right through his chest. A serious wound, but luckily it missed his lungs by a hair. He was bleeding out fast, though, and Joe could only do so much before Mr. Grouper needed urgent medical attention. He'd packed the back of the wound to stop the blood pooling under Mr. Grouper, and that was the best he could do until the professionals arrived.
His damn hands shook so badly he couldn't get them to do anything as fast as he wanted. His arms were soaked with a thin layer of watery blood, the red colour seeping into his cream-coloured shirt.
He felt a body kneel beside him and Irene's hands came into view.
"I can help,” she said, exhaustion pouring from every breathy word.
Joe shook his head. He needed to keep his focus or he feared the painful flashbacks threatening him would consume his mind. He did need momentarily relief from the feelings though, so he looked to Irene for some relief.
Unfortunately, her appearance only switched his panic to concern for his friend. Darkened blood ran down her face from an open cut on her cheek, the skin underneath darkening and swelling. Her forearm had a large abrasion that oozed blood and ran down to her hand.
"Irene..."
"I'm fine," she said and he immediately knew it was a lie. No one could be fine when they looked like she did.
The front door crashed open and heavy boots thudded in the foyer. The ambulance staff and police. Finally.
"In here!" he called.
Within seconds, two constables and medics rushed into the room. Joe grabbed Irene and they scrambled back, away from Mr. Grouper, as the medics took over.
At first, the constables didn't say anything, just observed the scene. Joe had no idea what to even say to them, but he stood, trembling. They immediately deferred to him, but as he opened his mouth, no words came out.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and Irene, beaten and bloody, stepped forward.
"Evening, Constables," she said. "We've had a bit of an incident."
✽✽✽
By the time the clock chimed eight pm, Joe and Irene sat on the couch, leaning against one another. Joe's body and brain were so exhausted, they begged him to find a bed and sleep.
Mr. Grouper would live, and the ambulance staff complimented Joe on using what little resources he had to save Mr. Grouper's life. Mrs. Grouper gave her statement and the constables immediately ruled the shooting self-defence, especially after seeing Noah's disfigured body and the damage Irene had done to him, not to mention how she appeared. Mrs. Grouper never mentioned the code, and neither did Irene.
The constables had a bit of trouble with Irene and they couldn't quite believe that she kept subduing a man of Noah's size with that much anger propelling him. With grit and annoyance in her voice, she offered to show them how she subdued Noah, and Joe intervened.
"We'd really like to get home," he said to the constable. "We can give you a card with our phone number in case you need to reach us."
The constable agreed and let them pass. Mrs. Grouper met Joe and Irene in the front foyer.
"Thank
you," she said. "You saved our lives."
Irene gave a tired snort. "Your husband was shot."
"My husband is alive," she said. "So am I, and so is my daughter. I will see to it that you get twice the fee you asked and should you need anything from us, we shall be glad to offer it."
"That is appreciated," Irene said.
Before Mrs. Grouper departed for the ambulance that held her husband, she directed Joe to the lavatory so he could scrub Mr. Grouper's blood from his arms.
As Joe stood in the spacious room, arms under the hot water, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His chest tightened as he looked over the dark blood smears on his face and chest.
He coughed, wheezing, fighting off the episode. He figured that being covered in blood would trigger an episode, he just never thought he'd ever be covered in this much blood again.
He cupped his hands and splashed water on his face, rubbing his cheeks and neck hard, ridding his skin of the blood.
By the time he was done in the lavatory, his skin was red and tender from scrubbing so fiercely. He made his way down the hall, back to the front foyer. Irene sat on a small bench by the front door, a pile of bandages beside her.
A medic intervened, stopping Joe.
"That wife of yours is a stubborn one," he said. "Let us clean her up, then told us to leave her alone. Said she was waiting for you."
Joe didn't bother correcting him on Irene's title. "Thank you."
He walked to Irene and crouched in front of her, grabbing a gauze square.
"Why didn't you let them help you?" He grabbed some tape and positioned the gauze on the split on her cheek. Most of the black streaks from her eyes had been wiped away, but flakes still fell from her lashes. Her lipstick, which she wore with pride, was worn off, some of it smeared with blood around her mouth.
"I wanted you to fix me up," she said, wincing as he pressed the tape to her skin.
"Why?" He grabbed a larger gauze square for her arm.
"Because you're my doctor," she said. "Plus, I much prefer your smell to the scent of the cigars and cheap cologne he smelled of."
The Circle Code Conundrum Page 7
