The Society Of Dirty Hearts (A crime thriller novel)

by Ben Cheetham

  A hand touched Julian’s shoulder. He jerked around to find himself facing Kyle. “I thought it was you,” Kyle said. He was grinning his usual idiot grin, but it disappeared and he took an instinctive step backward at the sight of his friend’s face. “You okay, bro?”

  “No,” slurred Julian, swaying, his eyes barely open. “I’m not fucking okay. I’m all wrong.” he stabbed a finger at his temple as if to indicate where the wrongness lay within him. “I’m no good. No good to anybody. I should do the world a favour and end this shit.”

  Kyle wet his lips nervously. “Come on, dude, things can’t be that bad.”

  Julian laughed – it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “What the fuck would you know about it? What do you know about anything, except getting stoned?”

  “No need for that, Jules, I’m just trying to help.”

  “If you wanna help, shut the fuck up and buy me another drink.”

  “I think you’ve had enough already. Look, why don’t I give you a lift home?”

  “If you’re not gonna buy me a drink, fuck off,” Julian said, loudly enough that he drew uneasy glances from nearby drinkers.

  Kyle’s tongue flicked over his lips again, which trembled now with anger. “You’re right, Jules, you are all wrong. That poisonous bitch has fucked you in the head, just like I warned you she would.”

  “Shut up, Kyle.” Julian’s voice was quieter, less slurry, more menacing.

  “No, I won’t fucking shut up. You want to know something, I hope the little whore has jumped off the bridge. Good fucking riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say. This town’s better off without her. And I’m not the only one thinks so. Ask anyone in here, they’ll tell you the same. ”

  Kyle’s last word came out in a gasp as Julian shoved him in the chest, sending him reeling. “Say another word about Mia and I’ll spread your fucking nose over your face.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” retorted Kyle, fists balled.

  Julian took an unsteady step towards him, catching hold of a table for balance. He shook his head as if trying to clear it and flapped a hand at Kyle. “Ah, fuck you.” He raised his voice so the whole bar could hear. “Fuck all you pricks. She’s worth more than the lot of you put together. She’s worth more than this whole shitheap of a town.”

  “I think you’d better leave,” the barman said to Julian.

  “Don’t worry, I’m going.”

  Staying upright with difficulty, Julian made his way outside. Kyle followed him as far as the door. “Julian,” he called after him, the anger gone from his voice, concern taking its place. “You’re not going to do anything stupid like kill yourself or anything, are you?”

  Julian glanced back at him, eyes swimming. “No, but maybe it’d be better if I did.”

  Relieved, Kyle let out a breath. “And what about us?” he asked tentatively. “Are we still mates?”

  Julian stared at Kyle a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. Bye, Kyle.”

  After fumbling the key into the ignition, Julian pulled away with a crunching of gears. He didn’t think about where he was going, he only thought about where he wasn’t going. I’m not going home, he told himself, all this shit has got to end, and end tonight. He kept slamming the heel of his hand into the steering-wheel as, in a kind of drunken trance, he drove out of town to Mr X’s place. As usual, the dog was waiting for him. His face twisted with irritation at the sight of it. He snatched up a stone and flung it with all his strength, scoring a direct hit on the animal’s muzzle, whooping triumphantly as it yelped and skittered away. He reeled backward himself a second later as it thrust its nose between the bars, barking.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Julian yelled, stooping for another stone. The dog sprang away. It loitered at a safe distance with malicious intent in its eyes as Julian pressed the intercom button. “No more fucking around,” he hissed into it. “I’m here to cut a deal.”

  As usual, silence roared back at Julian, closing in around him, beating against his eardrums. He pointed to the car. “That’s worth ten thousand at least. It’s yours. And there’s more where that came from, much more, as much as you want. My family’s rich. Just tell me how much you want.”

  Julian knew he sounded desperate, knew he’d lost all pretence of self-control, but he didn’t care anymore. “Look, I’m laying it all on the table here. This is everything I’ve got to offer. Just give me Mia. I know you’ve got her, otherwise I’d be in jail, wouldn’t I?” After a moment’s more silence, he continued in a pleading, pathetic voice, “Oh God, give me her, please give me her, please, please…” He trailed off, hanging his head, his eyes filling with tears. The silence seemed to be getting louder and heavier by the second, as if it was trying to browbeat him into giving up.

  Wiping his tears away savagely, he glowered at the security camera. “I won’t give up. Do you fucking hear me? Call the police, kick the shit out of me, whatever. I’ll keep coming back. I’ll never stop. Never!” With this last word, he hammered his fist against the intercom hard enough to crack its casing. Static flared, then the hiss of the intercom died. As it did, the gate began to slide open – not all the way, just far enough to let the dog through.

  Heart lurching, Julian ran for his car. He might’ve made it, if his reactions hadn’t been dulled by alcohol. As he yanked the door open, the dog’s teeth closed around his right ankle. He screamed as they sank into his flesh. The dog ragged his leg from side to side, trying to drag him away from the car. He clung to the door and kicked the dog in the head. For an instant, its jaws loosened. Jerking his leg free, he dove into the car and slammed the door shut. The dog howled and scrabbled at the window, its breath misting the glass. Julian examined his leg. Blood leaked from two half-moons of deep looking puncture wounds on either side of his ankle. He pulled off his shoe and tied his sock around the wound in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding.

  The dog, seemingly realising the futility of trying to force its way into the car, stopped howling and sat on its haunches, eyeballing Julian. He stared back at it, his eyes wet with pain and hate. He stared into the darkness beyond the gate, crazy thoughts rushing through his head. He imagined running the dog over, smashing through the gate, fighting his way into Mr X’s house and rescuing Mia. He shoved the thoughts aside. Likely, all such a course would achieve would be to get himself and her killed. “I’ll be back, you fucking sick fuck!” he shouted, almost screaming in his rage-spitting impotent frustration. Then he shoved the car into reverse.

  Julian didn’t go home. A low groan escaping his lips every time he needed to brake, he drove around town until he found an all-night chemist, from which he bought a bandage, gauze pads and antiseptic wipes. Teeth gritted, he cleaned the bite and bandaged it as best he could.

  Still, Julian didn’t go home. He parked in a side-street and sat staring at the night, his leg throbbing as painfully and relentlessly as his heart. He tried not to think about Eleanor. He tried not to think about Mia. He tried not to think about the consequences his loss of control might have on them. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He sat trapped between the desire to escape his thoughts through sleep, and the desire to escape his dreams by staying awake. He felt like shouting his lungs out, he felt like tearing the car apart, he felt like tearing himself apart. The pain throbbed on and on, like pulses of electricity. And at that moment he was glad of it, he immersed himself in it, kept himself sane with it.

  Chapter 20

  Somehow Julian got through the night. Somehow he drove to the factory. He limped to his office and sat behind the desk, staring dead-eyed at the computer monitor, thinking, what the fuck am I doing here? Why did I come in today? Where else have you got to go? his mind asked. I should be out there, he replied silently. Doing what? I don’t know, something...

  Julian gave a start when his dad entered the room. “Where did you get to last night?” Robert asked.

  “I went to see Eleanor.”

  “How’s the website going?”
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br />   Julian blinked his sore eyes. He’d forgotten all about the website. After what’d happened, it was a fair bet to assume it wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t about to tell his dad that, though. He didn’t have the heart or energy to face his disappointment and questions. “Fine.”

  Robert raised a smiling eyebrow. “When are you two going to get back together?”

  Julian winced, not because of his leg. “I don’t know, probably never.”

  “That’s a shame. She’s a great girl and you’re really good-” Noticing his son’s increasingly pained expression, Robert broke off. “You’re upset aren’t you, I can see it.” He hesitated, looking like what he was – someone on unfamiliar terrain – then asked a little awkwardly, “Want to talk about it?”

  Julian shook his head. Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have known how to talk about it, not with his dad. “Well you know where I am if you change your mind,” continued Robert, with a flicker of something in his eyes that might’ve been disappointment or, more likely, thought Julian, relief.

  He nodded. “Thanks.”

  A moment’s silence passed between them. Robert scratched at the base of his neck and cleared his throat. “Listen, Julian, you remember that guy from the other day? The buyer from the high-street store. Well, he’s coming here again this morning. I was going to ask you to sit in on the meeting, but you’re obviously in no state for it. You look as if you haven’t slept a wink.”

  “I haven’t. I was up…working most of the night.”

  “In that case, why don’t you go home, get some sleep?”

  Sleep. The word sent a shudder through Julian. Along with a guilty sense of duty, it bound him to his desk. “I’ve got a ton of work to do. The overheads-”

  “Can wait until tomorrow. I know you’re eager to get on with things, Julian, but you’ll be no good to anyone if you don’t take care of yourself.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Julian admitted reluctantly. Robert stared at him as if waiting for him to get up and leave. He didn’t move. He didn’t want his dad to see his limp. He felt faintly nauseous at the thought of having to come up with another bunch of lies to explain it away.

  Robert put his hands together as if he was about to pray. “Right, better get to it. Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck, Dad,” Julian said, and he really meant it. He was, he realised, starting to believe that maybe the change in his dad wasn’t an act put on for the benefit of Christine. Maybe it was for real. The thought pricked him with guilt, but he also drew comfort from it, even hope – hope that as the emotional distance between them closed, he might come to understand his dad, and in doing so, come to understand himself too. Perhaps then he’d be able to put his demons to rest, live his life without fear, have a future with Eleanor. His thoughts returned to Mia, and his hope died like a snuffed candle. He could never have a future, not while she was missing. He was stuck in this moment, this nightmare.

  When Robert had left, Julian rose and slowly made his way to his car. He drove to the nearest off-licence and bought a quart of whisky. He drank enough to take the edge off the pain, but not to kill it completely. All morning, he limped around the town centre, peering vaguely this way and that, wandering aimlessly through shops, occasionally swigging from the bottle. In a backstreet antique shop’s window he caught sight of something that brought his eyes into focus. He went in the shop for a closer look.

  “Looks like a medieval torture device, doesn’t it?” said the shopkeeper.

  Julian nodded. “What is it?”

  “It’s a mantrap. Gamekeepers used to use them to catch poachers.”

  “How does it work?”

  “Wait there and I’ll show you.” The shopkeeper disappeared through a curtain at the rear of the shop, returning after a moment with a thick length of wood. He placed the mantrap on the carpet, carefully pulling apart its spring-loaded steel teeth. “Stand back,” he warned, placing the length of wood’s tip on the pressure-pad at the device’s centre and pushing down. The teeth snapped shut breaking the wood in two. “Just imagine what that’d do to your leg.”

  Julian could well imagine. “How much is it?”

  “It’s not for sale.”

  “Name your price and I’ll double it.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t sell it at any price. These things are illegal. What do you want it for anyway?”

  Julian made no reply. As he turned to leave, he noticed a black-bladed, wooden handled knife. He picked it up and thumbed its blade. “That’s a jungle survival knife from World War Two,” the shopkeeper told him.

  “How much?”

  “Twenty quid.”

  Julian handed over the money. “There’s a sheath to go with it somewhere,” said the shopkeeper, stooping to root through a box.

  Julian wasn’t interested in the sheath. He left the shop. On the high-street, the pubs and bars were opening their doors. He headed into one and bought a pint. He sat by the window, watching passersby. It made resentment surge up in him to see them going about their business. He wanted to yell at them, there’s a young girl missing and you carry on as if nothing’s wrong. What the fuck’s the matter with you? Am I the only one who gives a shit? Part of his mind knew it was illogical, but he felt the resentment nonetheless. Like an invisible boil, his rancour towards his fellow townsfolk festered and grew as he drank his way through the afternoon. By the time early evening drinkers began drifting in for a post-work pint, his eyes were beady with alcohol and hate. “Sick,” he muttered to himself. “Sick and tired. No good for nobody. Nothing you can do for her. Nothing anyone can do. Nothing, nothing…”

  “Excuse me, are you okay?”

  Julian looked up blurrily at the speaker. It was a girl about his age, maybe slightly younger. She was slim with a pale face and sharp blue eyes. She had black hair with a purple streak going down her bangs. She was dressed in black too – black leather jacket, black t-shirt, short skirt, tights and boots. He blinked and, for one heart-wrenching instant, he saw Mia. He blinked again, and the phantasm was gone. “Are you okay?” the girl repeated.

  Julian’s head bobbed, partly in reply, but mainly because of the drink. “Mind if I sit down?” continued the girl. Julian shrugged. The girl sat opposite him. He stared into his drink, hoping to shut off anymore attempts at conversation. “I’m Nikki,” she persisted.

  Julian heaved an irritated breath, lifting his gaze to hers. “Do you know me?” he asked, each word slurring into the next.

  “No.”

  “Then why are you speaking to me?”

  “You seem upset. I thought maybe you might need someone to talk to.”

  “Do I look like I want to talk?”

  “Yes, I think you do.”

  “Well I don’t, so leave me alone.”

  “Okay, whatever you say,” Nikki said, but she made no move to leave. Julian took another look at her from under his eyelids as she sipped her drink. Superficially she bore a resemblance to Mia, but under her clothes she was athletic rather than skinny, and her cheeks showed blotchy through her pale makeup. There was a blemish under her right eye that might’ve been a bruise, although it was difficult to tell. A silent minute passed. “I don’t suppose-” she started to say.

  Julian cut her off. “Jesus, what do I have to do to get you to leave me the fuck alone?”

  “I was just going to ask if you know anywhere I can get a room for the night, that’s all.” Nikki’s tone was hurt. Shaking her head, she started to stand to leave.

  Little creases of disquiet appeared between Julian’s eyebrows. “You not from around here?”

  “No, I’m just passing through.”

  “On your way to where?”

  “None of your fucking business.”

  “Are you on your own?”

  Nikki stared at Julian, perplexed, hostile. “Why the sudden questions? I thought you wanted me to leave you the fuck alone.”

  “I do…I mean, I did...” Julian sucked in a breath, trying t
o clear his drink-fogged mind. “Look, will you sit down.” When Nikki remained standing, he continued, “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you just now. I’ve had a shitty day. In fact, a shitty week.”

  The hostility left Nikki’s eyes. She sat back down. “What’s been so shitty about it?”

  Julian shrugged. “The usual stuff – work, women.” He changed the subject. “What about you? What’s your story?”

  “I guess you could say I’m just kind of drifting around.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Not much, that’s kind of the point of drifting.”

  “Don’t you think it’s dangerous to travel alone?”

  “Not really, if you know how to look after yourself. Anyway, I’m thinking about hanging around this town for a while, maybe even trying to find a job.”

  The creases between Julian’s eyes deepened until they were like cuts. “I’d keep going, if I were you. Take it from me, this isn’t the kind of place you want to be.”

  “Why not? Seems like a nice enough town to me.”

  “Yeah, well appearances can be deceptive.” Julian rolled his eyes around the room as if to make sure no one was listening, before going on, “There’s something very wrong with this town.”