Philian Gregory

by Simon J. Stephens

  They settled and chatted about the most trivial of things. The weather, their journeys, their new accommodation. It was the safest course. They certainly weren’t going to reminisce about the last time that they had been together. For all they say about recidivism, time and age and the price they’d paid had all contributed to quashing the shared passion that had been a part of their past. Nor were they too keen to discuss life inside. It had had its good moments and its bad. For the most part, it had been a long and weary swim through the grey and murky waters of time. But now, it was over.

  “Perhaps we should move this on a little.”, Sutherland chose his moment and leant in closer to his friends, “As you know, our getting together is not something that the authorities are keen to see, so our time is limited. For now, and for as long as we have these tags on our ankles, face to face meetings are out. I’ve spoken with K about this one. He wasn’t happy but has said he’ll square it off for us. I don’t want to keep calling in favours though, so let’s get down to business.”

  “Carrington?”, Roberts asked.

  “Who else?”, Sutherland replied.

  “Okay, well I’m in.”

  “Me too.”, Wilkins added.

  “Good. Then the Three Hombres are back.”, Sutherland whispered his response, “And I’m glad that none of us have forgotten. All the other stuff, I’m happy to move on from. There were times when I plotted and planned revenge against dozens of people. But those feelings always went away. I’ve lost twenty years of life. I’m not going to give up any more for petty retribution. Carrington, though. That’s something different.”

  “Every time I empty this damned bag,”, Wilkins added, pointing to the bulge in his trouser leg, “I remember that face. Every time I stand in a mirror and look at my Action Man crotch, I picture his smile as he worked. You’re right, the others can go to hell. But Carrington has to pay. Paul?”

  “Man, you don’t need to ask me,”, he sighed, “at least you guys got some use out of yours. Me, I could be out there now sowing my oats, even thinking about marriage and a family. Not with what Carrington took away from me though. I’m in. Believe me, I’m definitely in.”

  “Good,”, Sutherland replied, “but we do it on one condition. Once it’s done, we move on. That’s the end of it. Agreed?”

  They nodded their agreement.

  “In the short term, we have a bit of waiting to do. Carrington’s disappeared. I had people tracking him but they lost him in Scotland. Since then, not a sight or sound from him. But we’re not completely lost yet. Certain old acquaintances have offered us their help. Actually, I had to persuade them, but it’s the same difference. And that leads me to the other condition we have to agree to. Once Carrington’s sorted, we yield up everything we possess and cut ties completely with the past. We can’t find him without their help and that’s the price their demanding.”

  Again, the others agreed. It wasn’t hard for them to do so. The leverage they held in the data that they’d stashed away was as much a liability as a comfort. Like reluctant handgun owners, they felt safer having it but had always dreaded having to ever use it. If giving it all up was the price they paid for their final act of revenge, it wasn’t a problem. They would then be truly free to start their new lives.

  “Until next time then.”, Sutherland stood shakily and waved goodbye. They watched as he shuffled to the lost property office and came out five minutes later with a small suitcase. Wilkins followed. Then Roberts. Each boarded a train to a different destination, looking forward to opening up their presents and to the day when they would do to Carrington what he had done to them.

  Chapter Five

  Life carries very little certainty with it. It has a habit of throwing a curve-ball just when you least expect it and everything changes. We find it easy to remember the moments when it hits us with the things that we count as negative: the moment of death on the motorway, the fall into adultery, the wrong word said that can never be taken back. It’s often less easy to remember the times that our fortunes change for the better: the impulsive lottery ticket purchase that pays off, the chance meeting that offers a new job, the nudge at a nightclub that leads to marriage and children. Good or bad, chance happens. Uncertainty silences the most carefully planned schemes and the road we thought we were travelling on yields to a diversion.

  To Philian Gregory, October 15th was just another day. It was a day that was pre-filled with things to be done and anticipated outcomes, and a day that promised nothing in the way of surprises. Things were going well. He’d never been more content in his work and in himself. He was still under forty, had a good job and was in good health. Just the sort of time when chance chooses to act.

  The morning had gone well. Consolidation of his month’s trading to date had left Philian with a feeling of job well done. He had a number of strong leads for his afternoon’s work but hit a natural break at lunchtime as he waited for some additional information to come through the pipeline. Fresh air and his good deed for the day beckoned him and he walked out into a bright and pleasantly warm day that saw many of his colleagues out on the plaza. He bought the two lunches that had become his staple, chatting briefly to his still-acquaintance-but-almost-friend Terry as he prepared the food. Theirs was an unusual friendship. It had begun as a bit of customer service banter from the kiosk owner, but had developed into something more as Philian became a regular and Terry understood why he always ordered for two.

  “You think he’ll ever get himself straight?”, Terry asked.

  “Not sure.”, Philian sighed as he replied, “I barely know the guy at all, even after more than six months. There’s something he needs to tackle and more than the booze. But, that’s the problem. The booze is his only escape.”

  “He seems to be smart.”

  “Oh, he is. Trust me, even from the little I know, he’s no fool. Underneath the alcohol, there’s a very clever person. But, as I say, as long as he chooses to hide in the bottle, we’ll never see the best of him.”

  “There but for the Grace of God.”, Terry said as he passed over the food.

  Not just the Grace of God, thought Philian as he crossed the plaza. A few wrong choices, a little bit of bad luck and any of us could be there. What he’d learnt more than anything was that homelessness, vagrancy, whatever you wanted to call it, was, for some, a state of mind. Not quite a choice, but something that didn’t have to be unless you gave in to it. Whatever Nathan’s background was, Philian remained convinced that the booze was only a part of the problem with him. He was a man who had given up. Someone for whom the constant beating of bad fortune had finally forced him to submit. He was no expert, but that’s where he was in his thinking that lunchtime, more certain in his diagnosis for having learnt a little more about him.

  “Nathan.”, Philian nudged the beggar’s sleeping form, “Lunch.”

  “Aye.”, he replied, “Lunch. Thank you. Sorry, I dropped off. Here, crack open the top of that for me will you.”

  Philian felt the familiar click as the seal on the bottle of whisky gave way. He handed it to Nathan who struggled into an upright position and took a long draft.

  “It’s been a while now.”, Nathan smiled at Philian, exposing a troop of rotting teeth, deeply stained with tar, “You and me. I’m grateful you know. I really am.”

  “It’s been my pleasure,”, Philian replied, “and you’ve helped me a lot. I guess that sometimes two people meet and it becomes a mutual thing.”

  Nathan devoured the lunch offering with the dignity of a wild animal. Even with an audience, he always chose to forsake the social niceties for the practicality of sating his needs. That’s why he so often shuffled a few feet from his cardboard base and relieved himself in full view of his host. And why he belched and farted without any concern for others. Something about it always seemed to be an act though. A defiance against the conventions that were part of a world that had rejecte
d him.

  “How’s the foot?”, Philian asked.

  “Better. Still rotten but doesn’t hurt as much. Thanks for the stuff.”

  Philian nodded. He couldn’t think of much else to say. That was why he liked these meetings so much. It was as much a time of silence as anything.

  Nathan finished his food and passed the wrappers to Philian. The bottle was emptying quickly now. He would need another one tonight.

  “I’ll go back then.”, Philian rose to leave, “Maybe see you later, or tomorrow.”

  “Aye.”

  A few paces later, he heard the shout.

  “Stop!”, for a man who was usually barely understandable or audible, the cry was something different.

  “What?”, Philian turned his head back.

  “Come here.”, Nathan tried to stand as he beckoned with his finger, “Come here and tell me, what have you done?”

  “Done?”, Philian was surprised at the venom in Nathan’s voice.

  “Yes, what have you done? Look, over there. The two men at the kiosk. Why have you bought them here?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”, Philian protested.

  “Shush! You can’t let them see me. Help me pack up my stuff. Quickly.”

  He did as he was told and covered Nathan as he packed his meagre belongings into a holdall and began to walk away.

  “What is it?”, Philian asked, “Just tell me.”

  “This is no coincidence.”, Nathan replied, “Look, they’re going into your building. You’ve bought this on me. And you’re not safe either.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Shuffling to a seating position behind the wall of the flowerbed, Nathan beckoned him nearer.

  “Listen to me and listen good.”, he whispered, his voice clearer and alcohol-defyingly more lucid than ever, enough to override Philian’s attempts to intervene, “This is the last conversation we have. So just listen, right?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Now, I’m a Catholic and I’m a drunk. I tell you that because you need to know what I am. As a Catholic, I can’t kill myself. As a drunk, I can take the next best option. My life ended a while back. I did things that I hate to admit to but which I would do again. I hurt people. I paid back an eye for an eye and I made enemies. That’s why I’m where I am. I’ve got to live out this life but I can’t ever be a proper person again. I use the booze to drug my way through. To escape from life and to escape from my enemies. Those two men, they are amongst my enemies. Look, they’ve just gone into your building. Is that a coincidence? Think it if you will, but let me tell you, if you’ve done anything to lead them to me, then my life is over. They will kill me. That’s all I’ve got to say. But don’t believe you can take them on. It’s your choice now, but for all the help you’ve been to me, if it’s because of you that they’re here, then you’ve made your own bed. Goodbye.”

  With that, he slipped quietly into the shrubbery and was gone, leaving Philian more than a little confused. He’d read a few books on alcoholism and homelessness over the Summer, in a bid to see if he couldn’t help Nathan a little more. He’d read the passages about paranoia and delusions, noting how they were often both a symptom and a cause. This was a side of Nathan that he had never seen before. But then, the clarity of his words and actions jarred with any notions that this was some sort of mental ‘episode’. And, despite his protestations and denials, there was a truth that he knew and that he’d kept from Nathan.

  Only a month or so ago, he’d tracked down his friend to the ramshackle squat in which he spent his nights and had returned during the day to explore it in more detail. It was a wretched and filthy living space, long ago abandoned by any other humans and destined at some point to be demolished. Old newspapers were scattered across the floor, a pit in the crumbling backyard identified itself by its rank smell as his toilet, and where there was any other free space, it was filled with empty whisky bottles. It hadn’t taken him long to poke around but it had yielded him some information on the man he was trying to help. In one corner of the room, a small wooden box looked out of place. He’d opened the box and seen the stacks of paper inside, glimpsed the photograph of a young family and read the name on an envelope that he didn’t have the courage to look inside. Nathan was Nathan Carrington. That was the information that he wanted. He wanted that name for all the right reasons. It was that name that allowed him to open a savings account and transfer a fair proportion of their joint gains across. The money would be a surprise for Nathan. It would give him a chance to get back on his feet. It would pay for treatment if necessary. How was he supposed to know that Nathan Carrington had enemies? And how was he supposed to know that his good deeds might lead those enemies to him?

  Surely though, this was all the stuff of television thrillers and dystopian novels. It was a coincidence. It had to be. And if they talked to him, he’d stay quiet about it all. But then, would that be possible? He couldn’t lie when they could track the account against his own. Even if he came up with an explanation, could he keep Nathan out of it? And as to the power that the two guys had, did they really have any authority?

  There was only one way to find out. Brushing himself down and returning to the office building, Philian resolved to be open-minded but cautious. He arrived on his trading floor and watched carefully as the same two men they’d seen at the plaza talked with his immediate boss, their words muted by the thick glass walls of the office. He skirted around to his desk, pocketed anything incriminating, searched his drawers for any essentials, and then walked discretely to the other side of trading floor. Casually standing at a fax machine, he knew that he was hidden from sight enough to be able to listen to what was being said in the office. The tone was hushed. He saw badges being shown and he heard the words, ‘offence’, ‘questioning’, ‘Gregory’ and ‘money laundering’. It didn’t sound good. He had to make a decision and he had to make it quickly. If he stayed, he could justify all that he had done, but he wouldn’t be able to protect Nathan. If Nathan was guilty, that was fine, but the words he’d heard implied a plot against himself and not the beggar. That didn’t make sense. The other choice was flight. A sudden onset of a migraine? But even then, they’d have his home details. That was when it struck him. He couldn’t escape them.

  He wasn’t like Nathan, anonymous and off the radar. He was there and in the mainstream and as easy to track down as any other self-respecting citizen. He heard the words that indicated the end of the conversation and watched as a pointed finger indicated towards his own cubicle. The time for a decision had arrived. Despite all that he was and all that he had, he made that decision more quickly than he’d expected and it was a decision that shocked him.

  He slipped away from his hiding place, walked briskly behind some newly-installed cubicles and found the fire-exit door. He looked back briefly as the door closed behind him, saw the two men begin to search through his belongings, but put it all behind him as he ran down the stairs and out into the plaza.

  “If anyone asks,”, he whispered to Terry as he passed the kiosk, “do me a favour and tell them I finished early. Even better, that I’d told you I was going to the Odeon, Leicester Square to catch a film. And thanks for everything.”

  The kiosk owner was agreeing even as he saw Philian turn and head away. He shook his head as he watched the young trader jump into a cab and disappear into the traffic. Returning to the burgers he was cooking off, he looked up at the two red-faced men appearing at the entrance to the office and shook his head again at the mystery of things unknown and unfathomable to him.

  “Funny old world.”, he chuckled to himself, his chuckle fading a little as the two men walked towards him.

  ******

  “What do you mean, you lost him?”, Sutherland raised his voice over the line as loudly as his broken lungs would allow, “You had him right where we wanted him and you just
let him slip away. You’d better get P on the blower to me as soon as, because I’m running out of patience here.”

  The call from P was duly received ten minutes later. It wasn’t a friendly call. P was one of those people who hated to be talked at and for whom submission was not a natural trait. It stuck in his craw that he had to be nice to these people, but he didn’t have a choice. They controlled him more than he cared to admit. Or, more accurately, the information that they held on him meant that they controlled him. It was a subtle difference, but an important one. It meant that if P could gain access to that information, their hold on him would be broken.

  “Mr Sutherland,”, P spoke with in a gentle and conciliatory tone, “may I say how good it is to hear from you. I trust that you received our small gifts and that you are beginning to settle back into life outside?”

  “Yes, thank you, but that’s not why I want to talk to you.”

  “I know,”, P interrupted to gain control of the conversation, “and believe me, we are as disappointed as you. But these are early days. You didn’t really think we’d be able to secure Carrington so quickly, did you? We were lucky. It was an early break. Trust me, there will be plenty more.”

  “But you had him,”, Sutherland raised his voice a notch, “you had him and you let him slip away. What makes you think you’ll have another chance?”

  “The man he seems to have befriended. This Gregory. That what makes me confident. He’s not a part of this and he’s not the sort of person to want to be a part of it. He’s a city trader, cautious in everything. We’ve been through all his records and everything tells us that he is nothing special. A patsy, he knows he’s stepped into a darker world, but he hasn’t got the guts to stick it out. He’ll come through for us. Trust me.”