by Jay Gill
Fischer grabbed Moon and pulled her to him. She laid her head back on his chest and listened to his heartbeat.
“Do you think they’ve found the boy yet?” asked Moon. “He was a real crybaby.”
“I promised the priest they’d have him back by now.”
“You should have let me kill him. He might ID Spicer or me,” said Moon.
Fischer grinned. “It won’t matter soon. We do Hardy, and we’re gone forever.”
Chapter Eleven
The windscreen wipers thrashed from side to side as the silver-grey Toyota Avensis made steady progress along the M6 motorway.
Donny leaned forward, peering through the windscreen with his bulging, buggy eyes. “Can you believe this weather? The last time I saw weather like this I was in Manchester. I’d just topped some fool who’d run up debts with the wrong fella and I was heading out to see my then girlfriend. Boy, she was a pain in the arse. She had a nice arse, don’t get me wrong, but she was very demanding, and not in a good way, you know? Not demanding in the bedroom sort of way.”
Donny scoffed and raised his eyebrows as the memories came flooding back. “More in the ‘Buy me this, take me here, take me there, do this, do that’ sort of way. Anyway, I’m heading out of Manchester, and this almighty storm hits. The sky’s lighting up with forked lightning, like a New Year’s firework display. I decide to pull into a service station and rent a room for the night, Holiday Inn I think it was. The room was okay, nothing special. Sometimes you get lucky; this time I didn’t. Anyway, I take a shower and decide that before heading downstairs to grab a bite to eat, I should call Linda. Linda’s the pain-in-the-arse girlfriend I mentioned a moment ago. I call and get no answer. I give it a minute and call again, figuring she might have left her phone out of reach and missed the call. You know how it is. Anyway, she picks up this time and we’re chatting away. I tell her I’ll be back, not that evening because of the rain, but in the morning. That’s when I hear the voice of someone else. ‘Where do you keep the shampoo?’ That’s what I heard. She denies anyone’s there. Says it was the TV. Of course, I know immediately the bitch is screwing around while I’m out of town. There I am, working my nuts off to make a future for the both of us while she’s on her knees for some stud I later discover she picked up at the supermarket checkout.
“I pretend I believe her. I even joke about how silly I was being and apologise for my paranoia. I tell her, ‘It’s only because I love you so much.’ But I know the truth. I skip dinner. I check out. I get right back in the car and drive through that fucking storm. With the rain hammering down and the thunder booming and the lightning striking all around, it’s like God himself is trying to hold me back – you know what I mean? Anyway, there’s no way on this earth I’m stopping.
“It’s the middle of the night by the time I arrive back. I let myself in. I creep upstairs. I push open the bedroom door. Voila! There, in my bed, is Linda and Mr Supermarket Checkout Guy. His crappy supermarket shirt and tie resting on my chair, where I put my clothes. I kicked the bed. ‘Checkout guy. Time to check out,’ I said. And check out he did. Right there in my bed, with a bullet between his fucking eyes. Followed shortly thereafter by my Linda.”
Barton lifted his head and opened an eye.
“Were you even listening?” Donny asked. “Some company you are. You don’t converse. It’s like you’ve bypassed ever having a complete conversation in your life. You don’t like me putting the car radio on. You say you want to drive, but then decide you don’t want to drive because you don’t like automatics. The least you could do is stay awake and listen when I’m talking.”
Barton took out a packet of cigarettes.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Donny. “You can’t smoke in here – the car’s a rental. See?” Donny pointed to a No Smoking sticker stuck to the dashboard in front of Barton.
Barton lit his cigarette, sucked on it, then exhaled in Donny’s direction. He ran his fingers through his hair and watched the bug-man get all flappy.
“F’ Christ’s sake,” said Donny, his eyes bulging more than usual. He pressed the button and the car window opened. “You know, you’re not that sociable. In fact, I’d go as far as to state you’re unsociable. Uncongenial. That’s the word. Arsehole is another.” Donny flicked the indicator and started changing lanes. “I need a break. Stuck in this car with you is too much. I need some air. You’re a waste of space, you know that? A waste of space.”
Barton smiled and looked out the window at the passing traffic. The stick-insect man is funny, he thought.
Chapter Twelve
Fischer arose early. He collected up their belongings and dropped them in one of the two bags by the door. He went through the black canvas bag containing the eighty grand, took out a thousand, tucked it into his jacket and zipped the pocket. He put another ten thousand in the bag he’d give to Moon, in case the pair of them should become separated at some point.
He stood at the foot of the bed and watched Moon as she slept. It would be easier to do what he had to do without her, but it wouldn’t be as much fun. He also knew she’d never forgive him if he simply left her a note and went on ahead. She looked like an angel. She could do that, but Faye Moon was the product of her upbringing, or lack of. Her soul was tainted by her sickening childhood experiences. When she unleashed her dark side, she was like the fury of a winter storm, raging and unpredictable.
Fischer kicked the bed. Moon mumbled. He kicked it harder. “Wake up. Moon, wake up. It’s time to go.” He walked around to the other side of the bed and shook her. “Now. Come on. Get your pretty arse up. How can you sleep so much?”
Without opening her eyes, Moon said, “You didn’t let me get much sleep last night, remember? I was dreaming about us. We were on a sunny beach together. Drinking cocktails. Whiskey sours. Think it was the Caribbean. Somewhere hot with a gorgeous beach and handsome waiters.” Moon opened one eye and squinted at Fischer, who was standing over her. “That’s where we need to go. After this, we should go to the Caribbean. With eighty grand, we could live like royalty.”
“Maybe. But right now, you need to get your butt out of bed. Come on, now!”
Moon opened her other eye and pouted. “Maybe? That means no. You said maybe. That means you’re not taking me. You promised.”
“You sound like a child,” said Fischer. “Get your clothes on. It’s time to go. If you’re not up in one minute, I’m going without you and I’ll do Hardy alone.”
“Screw you. I want something nice to look forward to. I was stuck with that kid for days. Before that, I was sofa surfing. I’ve been running around for you, you ungrateful bastard. I’ve spent weeks getting all your shit together to break you out. And now you’re barking orders at me, like I’m nothing.” Moon pulled the sheets over her head and curled up in the foetal position.
Fischer bit his tongue. You couldn’t force Moon to do anything she didn’t want to do. When she got like this, he had to try a gentler approach. He placed his hand on the sheet where her shoulder was. “I’m sorry, Moon. It’s just we need to get going. Right now, I’m a bit jittery and want to keep moving.” He spoke softly now. “The last thing I want is to be separated from you again. Equally, it’s important we avoid detection.”
Moon lowered the sheet and peeked out. She looked up at him. He nodded encouragingly and Moon smiled. Fischer bent over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Come on, Moonbeam. Let’s get on the road. We need to find someplace else to stay. Time to check out Inspector Hardy. Then we can do whatever you want. Go wherever you decide.”
“Promise?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, then. Give me five minutes. I need to shower.” Moon rolled across the bed and jumped off. She skipped to the bathroom. While turning on the shower, she called out. “Get the landlady to make us some bacon rolls to go. We need to get some food. I’m starving. You definitely need to get some food; you need to get some muscle back on that body of yours. Looking at you now, I r
eckon I could take you down with one hand tied behind my back.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
Fischer sat on the end of the bed and listened to Moon giggle. She was hard work at times, but she was good company.
“Are we really going to kill him? The cop, I mean.”
“I haven’t decided yet. That wasn’t my intention, but we’ll see how things pan out.”
“Where are we going to stay when we get there?”
“I have an idea about that.”
Chapter Thirteen
Donny zipped up his trousers and stepped carefully back along the edge of the field towards the car. He took out an antibacterial gel cleaner from his pocket, squirted it into his hands and rubbed them together. He looked up at the sky, which was finally clear and blue.
Edging his way through a gap in the hedgerow, he heard grunting and gasping and the scraping of gravel. His long arms out to steady himself, he sidled through the thorny gap, twisting and unpicking his way through. Having examined his clothes for tears and his arms for scratches, he straightened up and was confronted with Barton and a policeman. Barton was sitting with his back to the car, legs splayed, his arm clamped tight around the police officer’s neck. The policeman’s face was red, his eyes staring. He looks young, thought Donny. Maybe only in his twenties?
Donny glanced down the road to the garish-looking squad car. “What the fuck?” said Donny. “What the hell are you doing? Are you nuts?”
The police officer stopped struggling. Barton kept squeezing until he was sure there was no life left. He shoved the officer’s body aside and got up, then doubled over and held his knees as he got his breath back. “I thought he was never gonna croak,” he panted. He looked up at Donny. “Help me get him into the squad car. Grab his legs.”
“What?”
“Grab his legs.”
“Look, let’s think about this for a minute. I mean, I didn’t hear Lyle say anything about killing fresh-faced police officers. He’s just a kid, for Christ’s sake. I don’t know that I want any part of this.”
Barton straightened up. “Maybe I should kill you too.”
“What? Why would you say that? Are you insane? You and I are partners, remember?”
“A partner would help. If you’re not a partner, then it’s best for me that I kill you. It’ll look like you two struggled and killed each other.”
“Genius. You’re a real Einstein. That would be your plan? That we strangled each other to death? You see, that doesn’t work. I’m pretty sure even Inspector Clouseau would see through that.”
Barton stared at Donny.
Donny sighed. “Okay, I’ll help. But when we next speak to Lyle, you let me do the talking, all right?” He looked down at the dead police officer and shook his head in dismay, then turned and looked up and down the country road. On either side of it were hedgerows and open fields. He reached down and grabbed the officer’s ankles. Lifting the body together, the pair heaved the body towards the squad car.
“I’m still trying to understand how we ended up with a dead cop. We pull off the motorway into a country lane so I can answer a call of nature. I’m gone five minutes, at most. In that time, you manage to kill a man. What happened – did you get bored? Did you think, ‘I know what’ll do to alleviate my boredom: I’ll kill the next person I see. Better still, I’ll strangle a bobby’?”
“He wanted see my driving licence.”
“And? So what?”
Barton pulled a face that suggested the problem was obvious.
“Oh, I see. You’re wanted. Outstanding conviction? That’s great. I’m working with the Outlaw Josey Wales. You’re on the ‘Wanted’ list. Terrific, bloody terrific.”
“I couldn’t have him digging around,” said Barton. Using his knee and leaning against the side of the squad car, he balanced his end of the body. At the same time, he reached out to open the car door.
Donny adjusted his grip. “This guy weighs a ton. He’s a small-looking fella, but by God, he’s heavy. Will you keep it steady? I nearly dropped him.”
Barton threw the door open and slung his end of the body behind the steering wheel, leaving Donny holding the legs. “Would it be too much for you to give me a hand here? My back is prone to herniated disc problems. You wouldn’t believe the pain when…”
Barton showed no interest, and Donny looked around to see what had caught his attention. He followed Barton’s gaze. At the top of the road, coming towards them from the direction of the motorway, was a figure on a pale-blue and white moped. Wearing an open-faced red, white and blue crash helmet, a black leather jacket, a shirt and tie and tan chinos, the rider was eyeballing them, clearly trying to make out what was going on.
Donny began frantically heaving and shoving the body into the car, but on his own the body wasn’t going anywhere. Turning, he saw Barton walk behind the squad car, lift the hatchback and duck down.
As the rider slowed to pass, Donny nodded and smiled as though nothing was amiss. “Afternoon,” he said.
The rider, a man in his late sixties with large grey eyebrows and a matching grey moustache, suddenly comprehended what he was seeing, and his eyes widened.
From behind the squad car stepped Barton, swinging a bright orange traffic cone. He hit the rider in the centre of his chest, knocking him off his bike. The moped continued forward, lurching wildly from side to side like a drunk, before finally ending up in the hedgerow. Barton loomed over the rider with the plastic cone and rained down blow after sickening blow.
Still holding the police officer’s legs, Donny grimaced as the rider’s face deteriorated into a bloody pulp. “I think he’s dead, Barton. Barton! You can stop now. You’re getting blood and brain all over your cowboy boots, and I don’t want blood in the rental. I’ll lose my deposit.”
Barton, panting heavily, dropped the orange plastic traffic cone. He rubbed his boots on Moped Man’s chinos. “I love these boots.”
“I’m sure he’d be mortified to know his brains went on your boots. Now, if you don’t mind…” Donny looked at the dead police officer he was still holding and then back to Barton. “A hand? So we can get the hell out of Dodge.”
Chapter Fourteen
Fischer took a final bite of his second Big Mac. Eyes closed, he sank back in his booth, letting the juicy flavours of the burger caress his tongue.
From beside him, a woman in a McDonald’s uniform said, “You look like you enjoyed that.”
Fischer looked up in surprise. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he replied, “You’re right. It was terrific. I’ve been looking forward to a burger, fries and Coke for very long time.” He looked at the name on the badge pinned to her chest. “If you don’t mind my saying, you have a very pretty smile, Judy.”
Her greying golden-brown hair was tied back and tucked under a McDonald’s baseball cap. Fischer guessed she was in her late forties. She had a good figure, full around the hips the way he liked, and she looked after her appearance. He watched her hands as she collected the packaging from his meal and placed it on a tray. She wore several rings, but no wedding ring. “Thank you, Judy,” said Fischer.
Judy gave the table a brisk wipe.
“It’s just a shame I ate it alone,” Fischer went on. “The sad truth is, a meal might taste good, but sharing it with someone is what makes a meal truly memorable. Eating alone is no fun. The meals we remember are the meals we share with someone special. Sometimes, I look around and it seems everyone has someone.” He dabbed his mouth with the napkin. “Listen to me rattling on to a complete stranger,” said Fischer apologetically. “I’m sorry – I’m keeping you. I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about.”
For a moment Judy was unsure how to respond. She held the tray out in front of her and leaned against the table. “I do know what you mean,” she said at length, smiling politely. “‘Happiness quite unshared can scarcely be called happiness; it has no taste.’ Charlotte Bronte said that.”
“That is so true,�
� said Fischer. “‘The trouble is not that I am single and likely to stay single, but that I am lonely and likely to stay lonely.’”
Judy tilted her head, her brow furrowed. She put the tray down and leaned on the table. “You know Charlotte Bronte? You are a surprise.”
Fischer leaned forward and looked deep into Judy’s eyes. “Finding myself alone for many years has given me time to broaden my mind. Literature is the purest form of escapism. Don’t let this rough exterior fool you, Judy. I have many hidden depths. My name’s Fischer.” His strong hand, with a scar two inches long from thumb to wrist, reached out, and a finger teasingly touched the back of her hand.
Judy’s face blushed faintly. Fischer saw it. He relaxed into the seat, twisting around in his booth and bringing his knee up on the seat. He put his elbow on the table and took a long look at Judy. “What sort of crazy world are we living in when a fine, educated and extremely attractive woman such as yourself finds herself lonely? It’s just that you look, to me, like a woman no man would ever let out of his sight. Not for a second.”
“You do speak your mind. I’m not used to that. Most people talk around what they mean. They never just come straight out with it.”
“Was I being too personal? Forgive me.”
“I like it. It’s refreshing.” Judy touched behind her ear. No strand of hair was straying, but her fingers checked. “My husband, ex-husband, hit fifty and traded me in for a younger model: long legs, tight arse, tits that give men whiplash.”
“Great tits can do that,” joked Fischer.
Judy laughed along. She then said soberly, “He took my son with him. I got the house and lots of memories. I live alone. I say alone – I have a cat called Darcy. Even he rarely visits these days.”
“I’m sorry. Your ex-husband is a fool. He’ll come to see that, eventually.”
