‘Well, I meant as friends and as an employee much cherished by your son. I didn’t mean in that biblical sense.’
She sighed and shook her head. ‘You’ve got stuff in my house and I want it out. I don’t want anything suggesting you’ve been there or intend coming back. I don’t want you bringing trouble to my house. Sort this bag shit out.’
‘How? I don’t have their bloody bag.’
‘Then perhaps you better find it.’ She grabbed her shoulder bag and stomped toward the door, slamming it behind her.
Chapter Thirteen
Grief packaged in a Bag
‘What’s with this bag?’ Nab said.
‘Grief is what’s with the damn bag. The carcass dumped in that hole,’ I said, glancing through the window, witnessing the vicar locking the gate as the street crew headed for the square and Linda and her soldier mate headed north. Pete remained at the grave site, spade in hand, heaving earth on top of Marvin’s life. The Vicar stood with the mourners, waving as they headed north of the square. ‘Gave me a bag to look after and I lost it.’ Nab spat his butt onto the floor and rubbed at his shadowed jaw. ‘I lost it during the bombing. It didn’t bother me, but now I’m wishing I’d shown the bloody thing more respect.’
‘Your woman is right. You need to find the bag. The Black Hats will be back and they’ll be tooled max.’
‘Anyone could have the bag,’ I said. ‘There were hundreds of people in the town square that night.’
Nab grabbed the tall man by the hair and dragged him toward the back of the pub. ‘Give us a hand.’
Together we dragged the bodies to the back room of the pub and stored them in the snug bar. Nab frisked his man, digging deep into his pockets. I removed a wedge of cash and a phone, a wallet with loose notes and a load of betting slips. In his trousers I found a picture of me and Marvin in the square and the grainy image showed the large dark bag beneath our seat.
Nab grabbed my hand to view the photo. ‘That the bag?’ His pale blue eyes stared at me. They lacked humor. ‘Find it Street Boy. You’re a marked man, so find it fast.’
I shrugged before throwing the photo on top of the man. I tossed the wedge of money in the air and caught it. ‘Halves?’
Nab showed me his own wedge. ‘Get out of here. You got work to do and they’re not far behind you.’
I shoved the wedge in my pocket and felt the piece of paper the vicar gave me. I looked at Linda’s number and wondered if she might help me find the bag.
The door slammed open and Nab and I jumped. We both exited the snug bar and found a tall man in a black satin suit with shiny black shoes. A thin black tie hung long with a carnation in his buttonhole. He brushed at jet-black hair while wiping the bar with a folded handkerchief.
‘I told Tilly I’d organize everything.’ He threw his arms up in the air and twirled on the spot. ‘But can a girl turn pig ugly into glam?’
‘It’s all yours,’ Nab said. He shut the snug door and locked it. ‘Don’t worry about the landlord. He isn’t due to wake for another hour or so.’
‘What about those two?’ I said, pointing at the locked door.
‘Don’t you worry about them, Street Boy, start worrying about you.’
‘Can I use your phone?’
Tilly’s man wiped the bar while chattering into his phone organizing staff for the afternoon. I squeezed past the slumbering landlord and walked to the nook by the rear door leading to the kitchen and dialed Linda’s mobile number. I hoped Linda remained close to town center and we might meet. She answered on the second ring and I smiled as I remembered the soft voice.
‘Linda,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she replied. Her voice sounded wary. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Ben.’ I let that settle for a minute, wondering if she might hang up the phone. She’d offered her number to the vicar hoping to talk to a sane man, not the killer of her husband.
‘Hello, Ben. You left the service early.’
‘Yeah, it got a bit stupid, didn’t it?’ I helped myself to one of Ivan’s small cigars and scratched a match on the rough brickwork. Once alight, I took a deep drag and held the smoke inside, letting it creep out with a low slow sigh. ‘You do realize I didn’t kill Marvin, don’t you?’
‘Didn’t you?’
‘No. If I wanted to kill Marvin I’d have gone for him before he married you. But that happened years ago and I’m over it.’
‘Okay, but did you see him recently? Why did that monk accuse you of killing him?’
‘The man in the frock was no monk. He’s seriously retarded and repeats stuff like a parrot and he’s stupidly deaf, so what he repeats is never what was said, eh?
I puffed on the cigar, pausing in my defense, as I needed Linda to believe me. ‘I didn’t kill Marvin, but I saw him the night he was murdered. After two years Marvin seeks me out and drops a bag of trouble at me feet. He asks for help and gets bludgeoned to death. It was weird, Linda, don’t you think?’
I stopped speaking hoping Linda might dish out the dirt on why she and Marvin split, but she remained silent.
‘He didn’t look well,’ I said.
‘You said he dropped a bag at your feet? Have you got the bag?’
‘Yeah, he did. He wanted me to give it to his mother, just in case something happened to him.’
‘Brilliant,’ she said. Her voice sounded eager. ‘A lot of my stuff is in that bag. We should meet up. I could give the bag to his mother if you like. Not that I want that job, I mean she’s a right old dragon, really. She’s never liked me, not even as a kid.’
‘I was surprised she wasn’t at the funeral.’
‘Yeah me too. Me and Marvin haven’t been getting on too well. I mean… Well… Really. I don’t know why. Shit like that just creeps up on you and really there’s no point laying blame or trying to pick what it is that bugs you about each other. Is there? I mean really? He moved out a while back, so I haven’t seen his mother in an age and that suits me fine.’
‘She must know he’s dead,’ I said. ‘The vicar should have told her.’
‘She hasn’t been well,’ Linda said. ‘That’s what Marvin told me. No really, he said she’d not been coping with stuff and then Mr. Cooper goes missing. She took that really hard. You’ve met Marvin’s old man. So old and he just ups and walks out. Marvin sort of freaked out over that. Really, the boy was a damn wreck and he kept going on and on about his finger. Your old man’s missing and all he cared about was his finger. Try and figure that out. No really does that make sense?’
She took a breathy pause. ‘We should meet up. Give me a chance to get my stuff back before you pass the bag onto his mother. That old dragon won’t let me at the bag after, no way. No, really. Once she’s got it I’ve got no chance. Really Ben, she hates me.’
‘We can meet.’ I wanted to see Linda again, but I really needed to find the bag first.
‘Say the church cemetery. At Marvin’s grave.’
‘Yeah, okay. I guess I should say good-bye to the man properly. Maybe I could explain Pete’s accusation to him. Though my guess is, Marvin knows I didn’t do it, eh? I got stuff to do, but I could be there in a couple of hours, eh?’
‘Say seven. In the cemetery. It’ll be good to talk.’
‘Bit creepy meeting in a cemetery, eh? You haven’t got an empty grave waiting…?’
The line went dead.
Chapter Fourteen
Man plus cat means Trouble
My trek to Tilly’s house encountered no grief. No one attempted to kill me or accuse me of fouling the earth. I kept to the alleys and seedy laneways so as not to meet anyone who might challenge my right to walk the streets of Ostere. Squads of soldiers stomped the high road in search of bombers, looters, rioters and random pedestrians daring to cross their path. High above, helicopters crisscrossed the town, panning for trouble. Reds and blues sped across the empty overpass and the army controlled the major intersections.
The odd car crept past me, but the bombs from
two nights ago appeared to have closed Ostere Town.
I jumped from the low wall at the bottom of Tilly’s street and stopped on my haunches as a loud explosion reverberated somewhere south of town. From the top of Tilly’s road a scream floated on the chill wind, followed by a loud stutter of gunfire.
‘Jesus.’ I fished Tilly’s keys from my pocket. ‘It’s the middle of the bloody afternoon, guys.’ I rattled the keys and a single gunshot caused me to jump. A chopper swept from nowhere, hovering over the houses at the top of Tilly’s street. A siren whined and a police car braked hard and parked across the narrow road. Two officers jumped from the car, their guns out and their bodies hidden behind the open doors. Loud and authoritative voices shouted as more shots fired.
I ran for Tilly’s ramshackle front plot, jumping the low brick fence and cringing within the narrow alcove, my back to the front door. The door swung open behind me, my stance stumbling backward. Tilly never left her house unlocked. She checked the windows twice over, heating, cooker crosschecked before the front door closed. One of her cats appeared at my feet, brushing hard against my calves before entering the house. ‘Huh, have cat, have no fear,’ I muttered as I followed the fearless beast.
I stopped by the coat hooks as the cat padded into the kitchen. It offered its food bowl a cursory inspection before jumping onto the server, rubbing its chin against the stools set flush to the counter. To my left, the sofa lay pushed up against the fireplace and one of the matching beige chairs upended. The vase from the dining table lay broken on the floor, the flaccid flora scattered amongst the broken shards of glass.
The drawers in the kitchen sat on the floor, their contents scattered. I grabbed the packet of cat food and filled the cat’s bowl. He butted my legs, purring hard, before jumping back onto the server, waiting for me to place his bowl within reach.
Tilly didn’t do untidy. Shoes sat beneath the coat hook and the girl had fungal spray if your socks smelt. Beer coasters and plate mats protected the surfaces and the kitchen normally resembled a showroom. ‘Burglars,’ I said to the cat. The cat continued to gorge on the food. I went to pat the beast’s head, but it hissed. ‘Good luck to them, eh cat. Tilly’s got nothing worth nicking.’
I walked the short corridor to Tilly’s small study room. Books lined the wall, as I remembered. The chair sat askew, but Harry didn’t get his mother’s need for order. I tested the lock to the rear door and found it secure. Stone steps to my left led to a cellar, to a fridge full of beer. I wanted a beer, but voices sounded upstairs. I stopped at the bottom of the staircase, my hand on the rail, listening. The hum of her refrigerator sounded loud in the quiet. As I climbed the staircase the cat jumped to the floor and skipped across the wooden boards to take a swipe at my leg. I nudged it away, not keen on putting too much weight on Tilly’s old wooden stairs.
Again voices sounded. ‘How bloody big is this bag?’ The voice sounded gruff and large.
‘Big. Blue. I got no idea except its big like a sports carryall.’ His voice sounded sharp, clipped and in charge.
‘How about this, Mick?’
‘That’s a shoulder bag, Zac; you fool. It’s made of wool and holds girl stuff. What do you reckon?’
‘So how we goin’ to know when we’ve found it?’
‘Cooper said we’d know.’
‘That don’t make sense,’ Zac said. ‘Is it going to curse and run from the room with its handles in the air screaming?’
‘Let’s go downstairs,’ Mick said. ‘It isn’t up here.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Go downstairs and stop being a twat. Cooper gave us this job; we need to get it done. We go back with you talking like a dick, we’re going to get hurt.’
Footsteps sounded and floorboards creaked. I backpedaled searching for a hiding place. Folding my lanky frame behind the sofa bordered on ridiculous and the dining table too obvious. As my eyes fell on Tilly’s rear door the men hit the top of the stairs. The cat scampered out the front door with my sorry arse in pursuit. As the first foot landed on the hallway, I pulled the door behind me, resting my head on the wood, the cat circling between my legs.
I heard the click of Tilly’s old fridge opening. ‘Bad luck, Mick,’ the gruff voice said. ‘She only got one bottle of beer left.’
‘Give it here, you cheeky prick.’
Footsteps approached from the top of the street. I stepped away from the door, crouched low and crab-crawled across to Tilly’s low brick wall. The cat jumped from the wall and skipped across the street. Two men in cheap gray suits approached Tilly’s house. Their jaunty arrogance reeked of copper and my Karma dictated they wanted to pay Tilly a visit.
I crawled back to the door, listening for clues as to the robber’s movements. I pushed the door inward and looked inside the house. Two men, massive blokes in black with the wide-brimmed hats, walked toward the back door. One took the steps to the cellar while the other continued toward the study. I ducked back inside hoping the coppers kept walking. As they opened Tilly’s gate I ran for the stairs, ignoring the noise my boots made on her hardwood floor. I took the steps at pace and hid on the top step.
A fist pounded on the door. Footsteps sounded on the stone of the cellar steps as one of the men returned to the hallway.
‘What do we do now?’ Zac asked.
‘Get your arse in the study. I’ll deal with this.’
‘Is there anyone home?’
The first copper stepped through the doorway and stood in the foyer by the coat hooks. He wore a suit too long, too limp with scuffed cuffs reaching beyond his wrists.
‘Hello,’ Mick said. He stepped into view, his hat pushed back from his head. A long black ponytail hung over the collar of his suit. In his hand, hidden behind his back, he held a gun. ‘Can I help you?’
Good bluff, I thought.
The second copper edged behind his partner and stepped into the lounge room as I retreated upward. He stood tall and wide, the seams of his suit stretched and unraveling.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ the fat copper said.
Mick, clad in a quality well-fitted black suit, stepped into the kitchen and leant against the server. He moved his gun to the front of his thigh, holding the weapon below the counter top, pointing toward the coppers. ‘Who’s asking?’
The skinny copper flashed his badge and for a moment silence ruled. I stepped lower to get a better view, but the creak of the step froze me in mid stride. I lifted my foot upward and crouched against the wall.
‘So who are you?’ The fat copper said. His voice exhibited a slight waver. He stood hidden from my view, somewhere over by Tilly’s fireplace. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Minding my own damn business. Don’t you need a warrant or something to be comin’ in here?’
‘Not when the door’s open,’ the thin copper replied. He forced the words through a long pointed nose. ‘But it does beg the question as to how you got in?’ The man leaning against the kitchen server stretched his trigger finger. ‘I asked you a question. How’d you get in?’
‘None of your damn business.’
He pushed the black hat back on his head and his finger caressed the trigger weapon.
The copper replaced his badge, but his hand remained hidden inside his jacket. Not all coppers carried weapons, but the skinny copper’s coat bulged where his hand rested. Two guns sat in play before me and probably a third in the study.
I felt cramp building in my calves, but I daren’t move. My breathing labored and perspiration covered my back. I worried a random bullet from the skinny copper might take me out, but the tension left me frozen on the stairs.
A shot fired from the back hall. Its retort crashed in the small house and reverberated around the four walls. My man with the ponytail fired from under the server and dropped to the floor as a couple more shots rang out. The thin copper thumped back against the door and the gun pulled free of his shoulder holster. His body settled on the floor and he fired once, twice, the gun droppi
ng lower with each shot.
My ears rang. Acrid smoke clouded my view. A black hat sat on the floor of the kitchen. I watched the hat and waited for the next shots.
‘Guv, you all right?’ the fat coppers voice sounded muffled. I peered around the wall and found him crouched behind Tilly’s sofa.
‘I don’t think so,’ the skinny copper said. ‘Call for back up.’
I looked toward the door. The thin copper sat against the doorjamb holding his thigh, unable to stop the spurting blood from staining the floor. A loud shot exploded from the lounge room and my man in the kitchen returned fire.
‘What you coppers doing here?’ Mick asked. ‘You come to die?’
The thin copper smiled and coughed. ‘Same as you, probably.’
‘The bag?’
The copper nodded and coughed. ‘Bag has to be somewhere.’
The man in the kitchen knelt, the gun hand resting on the floor as the other pressed against his stomach. Blood splattered on the linoleum. Shallow, wheezing gulps of air caused his body to shake and rise with each exhalation.
‘Mick? How you hanging?’ The voice came from the hallway.
Mick, the dude with the ponytail, looked toward the rear of Tilly’s house. ‘Not good, Zac. Not good. The cop by the door is a dead man. Shoot if that fat prick sticks his head above the sofa.’
He picked up his hat as I stepped downward. The hat sat crooked and dented to the side. He struggled to stand, crouching low with his arm held to his stomach, leaving a bloodied trail on Tilly’s hardwood floor. He grabbed at the kitchen server and cried out as he straightened.
‘You all right?’ Again from the back door.
‘Been better. Taken lead in the gut. Fuckin’ hurts.’
He stumbled to a stool and the gun fumbled from his grasp, bouncing against the leg of the stool and clattering across the floor. A groan, long and loud, spoke of the pain as he dropped to his knees, his gaze finding me on the stairs.
No More Heroes-#1 Dystopian Thriller Heroes Series Page 9
