by Sam Millar
‘Come on, lights.’ The red traffic light seemed to be stuck, its glow washing over his fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel.
Glancing out the side window, he could see three scantily dressed women gathering at the corner of Victoria Street, studying him studying the red light. They seemed an apparition in the swampy snow.
It was then he recognised her, and did a quick and illegal U-turn, pulling up alongside the trio, before cranking the window down.
‘Lipstick?’ he said, to the youngest of the three whose skin was practically a pale blue hue from the cold. Her face was covered in make-up and bright red lipstick. To Karl, the lipstick looked like a bloody mouth wound.
‘Hey, handsome. How about you and me doing…? Oh, Karl…’ The young girl’s forced smiled quickly disappeared.
‘Get the hell in!’ snapped Karl.
Lipstick’s face went serious while reluctantly easing her slight frame into the car.
‘Arse is frozen off,’ she managed to say, shivering slightly, forcing a smile of sorts.
‘Never mind that bollocks. You’re out on bail, and only because Naomi was willing to go guarantor and say you wouldn’t do any more solicitation. You promised her you’d quit – at least for a few months, until the weather turned and nights got a lot brighter.’
‘I’m skint, Karl. I’ve bills to pay, and no money.’
‘Your excuses are getting old very fast. We all have bills to pay, Lipstick. Stop feeling so bloody sorry for yourself. Do you want the same thing that happened to you during the summer to happen all over again?’
Lipstick looked away from Karl. ‘No…never…’
Karl first met Lipstick – Sharon McKeever – six months ago, finding her cowering in the doorway of his office/apartment, late one night. She had been horrendously beaten by a pimp, but had managed to crawl into the first available doorway, seeking shelter. Thankfully, Naomi took control of the situation, and managed to do essential first aid until an ambulance arrived. The first aid probably saved her life, said the medics. Afterwards, Lipstick was unable, or unwilling, to bring charges against the wannabe tough guy, and so Karl – the genuine article of tough guy personified – decided to teach the scumbag a lesson in tough guy etiquette. The thrashing the pimp received wasn’t as horrendous as the one apportioned to Lipstick, but it did leave him needing twenty delicate stitches on his palm tree and coconuts.
The next time, I’ll cut your balls off, rather than simply battering them, hissed Karl, into the semi-conscious pimp’s ear. Only next time, there won’t be a next time. Here’s twenty quid. Get a bus ticket back to whatever rock you crawled out from under. If I even hear your name being whispered in Belfast, I’m going to come looking for you with a few friends of mine who aren’t too friendly…
Ever since that fateful day, Karl had become a protective father-figure to the young girl.
‘Still using the protection I gave you?’
Lipstick nodded. Smiling a genuine smile, she put a hand inside her purse and removed an item.
‘My knight of the night. Isn’t that what you called it, Karl?’
It was a Smith & Wesson Centennial Airweight .38 Special, 2-inch revolver with snag-free configuration, specifically designed for women to pull quickly from handbags.
‘You haven’t had to use it, I hope?’
‘No, just like you said, Karl: poking it in the face of a troublemaker is enough to make him trouble-free. I only wish you’d have given me more than one bullet. I’d feel a lot safer.’
‘One bullet is defence, even in the crooked court of Belfast law. Anything over that, and you’re looking at conspiracy or worse. Anyway, once they see that in your hand, they’ll run like hell – and that’s before they shit their pants.’
Lipstick laughed. To Karl, it sounded rusty, unused, and it almost broke his heart. She was no older than Katie, and he wished he had the magical power to help her leave this seedy world of no-hope and daily danger.
‘You called it my knight of the night, but you’re really my knight, Karl.’
‘You’re such a bullshitter, Lipstick. Worse than me,’ said Karl, turning the car back into the roadway.
‘Where’re you taking me?’
‘I’ve a proposition to make to you.’
‘A proposition?’ Concern immediately registered on Lipstick’s face. ‘Normally, I’d be happy to, Karl, but you…you’re different. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Naomi.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s nothing like that.’ From his wallet, Karl removed three twenties, and held them out.
‘What’s the catch?’ asked Lipstick, suspiciously.
‘No catch. You come back with me, right now, stay in our spare room for a while – at least until the weather warms up a bit.’
‘I go back to your place, and get paid for it, without doing anything?’
‘I didn’t say the money was free, did I? You do some office work, make coffee, and answer the phone. The sort of shit Naomi can’t be bothered to do anymore. You get paid weekly – not a lot – but you also get free rent at my place. What’d you say?’
‘You sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure.’
‘You’re the greatest, Karl.’ She kissed him on the cheek and quickly put the money in her faux leather purse.
‘Greatest mug, you mean? Just don’t get all mushy on me, kid.’ Karl turned the steering wheel and made a left into Hill Street.
Halfway up the street, he came to a silent halt at his office. The snow was thickening with each passing minute and he was grateful to be home.
Exiting the car with Lipstick, he prayed that Naomi was sleeping – or at least on talking terms. He doubted both. Bringing Lipstick back, though, was an unintentional inspiration. Hopefully, it would soften Naomi up.
‘Strange hours you keep, Kane,’ said a voice, somewhere directly behind. Karl turned to see a man emerging from the shadows.
‘Who let you out of your cage, McCormack?’ said Karl. ‘Good to see you’re still creeping about in the dark like a sneaky bastard. Old habits die hard, I suppose.’
McCormack was a six-three pillar of brick-hard, shit-house muscle, baptised in the fire of broken-bones, strap-your-balls-on street fights of Belfast. His leathery face was as welcoming as a kicked-in door, and his bald head gleamed with lamplight sheen. In his right hand he held a large tin of Red Bull. The blue tin was not as tall as McCormack’s hand was wide. In his left hand he had a half-finished hot dog.
‘Oh, I’m not sneaking anywhere, Kane. I’m here for all the whole world and you to see.’
‘Well, I certainly feel a lot safer in bed, knowing you’re outside freezing your nuts off,’ said Karl, handing Lipstick the keys. ‘I’ll see you inside, Lipstick. Make yourself something to eat.’
Lipstick stared at McCormack nervously, before taking the keys and hastily making her way to the building. Seconds later, she was gone.
‘You’re old enough to be that young girl’s father, Kane. Have you no shame?’
‘Jealousy will get you nowhere, McCormack.’
‘You’re one very sick individual, Kane. Know that?’
‘What I do know is this weather is fit for neither man nor beast. Then again, looking at you, I guess the beasts must be able to handle it.’
‘Fuck you, Kane,’ snarled McCormack.
‘With my haemorrhoids? No thank you.’
McCormack swallowed the remains of the hot dog, and then drew the can to his large mouth, downing the contents in two greedy gulps. Seconds later, he scrunched the empty can into a wrinkled mess, and threw it into a cushion of snow.
‘That’s a fifty-pound fine, McCormack. We don’t tolerate litter bugs in our swanky neighbourhood.’
In reply, McCormack freed a loud belch of gas into the night air.
‘Manners, McCormack. You’ll wake the neighbours with that impersonation of a hippo. Is it any wonder your job must be the only one in the world where you start at the bottom and work your way
down?’
‘You think you’re so smart, don’t you, Kane? Having a smart mouth isn’t the same as having a smart brain.’
‘Really? Someone once asked me how I defined ignorance and indifference. My response was I didn’t know and didn’t care. Sums up my thoughts perfectly regarding you.’
‘Well, I think that’s all going to change.’ McCormack smirked. ‘Now that I’ve been posted to city duties, I’ve access to numerous cold cases.’
‘Cold cases? Is that your idea of a joke, here in the middle of winter?’
‘I’m reading the case of two detectives, murdered by some scumbag who thinks he got away with the perfect murder.’ McCormack’s words hung in the air like a meat hook. He inched closer to Karl. ‘In my book, there’s no such thing as the perfect murder, Kane. Just an imperfect investigation.’
Karl’s chest suddenly tightened as taut as a mousetrap.
‘I’d really love to stand here, McCormack, wasting my time conversing with you, but I’ve a lovely warm bed and even warmer body calling. So, as the “Two Ronnies” would classically say: it’s goodnight from me, and it’s goodnight from him.’
‘For now, Kane. For now…’
Inside, Karl leaned against the door he had just closed, his breathing laboured. His heart was racing madly. He tried calming it. Thought he was on the verge of a heart attack. Thought he could hear McCormack moving about in the snow. He pictured the gorilla, smiling. Waiting…
CHAPTER EIGHT
AN UNFINISHED LIFE
‘Is there no way out of the mind?’
Sylvia Plath, Apprehensions
Heatherdale Nursing Home looked a perfect winter picture as Karl drove up its long and winding road, by-passing manicured trees, lawns and frozen fish ponds. Yet, no matter how picturesque it looked, Karl could never quite erase the trepidation gnawing his stomach each time he entered the great hall of the Victorian structure, waiting to visit his father, Cornelius.
The cold air had a savage bite to it as he stepped out of the car, before making his way towards the front entrance of the enormous building.
Inside, an eerie quietness patrolled the corridors, tightening the claustrophic atmosphere even further. Karl hated the tranquillity of deafening white noise. It forced his brain to ask questions; questions he would much rather avoid, even though he knew their looming inevitability stalked him like a shadow.
After signing in, he made his way towards his father’s room. Just as he was about to tap on the door, an elderly nurse came into view, emerging from a corridor opposite him.
‘Karl! Good to see you,’ said the woman, loudly, ignoring the ‘Silence’ signs dotted everywhere. She had the cheerful face of a well-loved aunt, and the body of a well-fed one. ‘Cornelius is expecting you.’
Karl smiled at the established lie. The relentless Alzheimer’s permitted his father little memory of any visitor, family or friend, coming or going. A scan of the brain, taken three months ago, revealed significant shrinkage and rapid deterioration of cells.
‘How’s he doing, Sister Margaret?’
‘Ignoring staff and instructions, as usual, the old villain.’ Margaret smiled cheerfully. ‘Got his appetite back, I’m glad to say. Eating like a horse. When were you here last?’
‘I…’ He thought of lying. Couldn’t. ‘Two weeks ago. I tried getting up last Tuesday, but–’
‘You’re here now. That’s all that counts. We all have lives to live. Stop feeling so damn guilty, Karl.’
Her comforting words made him feel like a child lost, now found. The guilt eased. Slightly.
‘Thanks, Sister…’
‘Don’t be silly. I see you’ve brought more coffee.’ Margaret smiled. ‘He must have twenty jars sitting in there.’
Karl’s face reddened slightly. ‘I’ll try anything.’
‘I know. I read the same research article about coffee reversing some of the damages of Alzheimer’s. Always worth a try.’
Karl smiled, embarrassed. He couldn’t think of any response. He doubted very much she believed the article. In all truth, neither did he.
‘Thanks for all the great work you’ve done for him, Sister Margaret. It’s very much appreciated.’
‘Just doing my duty.’
‘No, you’ve gone beyond that – you and all the staff.’
She smiled at the words. ‘Call in and see me before you go, if you need to talk. We’ll have some tea.’ She touched his shoulder, before walking towards another corridor and out of sight.
Karl waited a few seconds before tapping meekly at his father’s door, almost as if he didn’t want to be heard.
No reply.
He opened the door and entered, waiting for the stomach-churning smells to rush him: urine, excrement, boiled unimaginative food, and the most salient of them all, loneliness.
Cornelius was sitting, his head leaning against the window. The breath from his nose kept making cones of haze on the glass. Other than that, there was hardly a movement from his body. A once tall and well-built man, Cornelius had now been reduced to a desiccated husk whose only flesh was prominent on his neck in small accordion folds of skin.
‘Hey, Dad,’ said Karl, touching his father’s arm gently.
‘Is it medicine time, sir?’ asked Cornelius, glancing from the window, looking directly at Karl.
To Karl, his father’s eyes appeared glazed over, as if in a trance. He seemed to have shrunk physically from the last time he had set eyes upon him. Karl looked at the weathered face, now an aged canvas of rough lines and creek-bed wrinkles. Oval creases were forming in dark folds around the eyes, giving them the sunken look of a corpse.
Oh god, Dad… ‘It’s…it’s me, Dad. Karl. Your son,’ said Karl, kissing the top of Cornelius’ full head of grey hair.
‘Son…?’
‘Yes, Dad. Karl. Remember?’
‘Karl…I remember a Karl…it’s hard remembering…’
‘I…know, Dad. It isn’t easy. Don’t…don’t be worrying about it.’
‘Karl was…he was a good boy…made a promise to me…’
Karl’s stomach felt like it had just been kicked. ‘I know he did…’
‘Karl…’
‘Yes, Dad?’
‘Karl…’ repeated Cornelius. ‘He…he was a good boy…a very good boy…’
‘And you’re a good father, Dad. The best in the world,’ said Karl, feeling something uncontrollable welling up inside.
Suddenly, Cornelius gripped Karl’s arm, pulling him downwards, closer, whispering, ‘Karl made a promise to me. Said he wouldn’t let…let me live like this. Not like this. Didn’t he understand? He broke that promise. I hate him.’
Karl tried pulling away, but his father’s grip was incredibly strong.
‘Said he wouldn’t let me live like a vegetable in the dark…’
‘I…I know…’
Karl wrapped his arms around his father, gripping him tightly, remembering the time a million years ago, of a young boy crying, fearful of the dark and hiding in the ironing cupboard from the monster with a knife; the same monster that had just brutally raped and murdered the young boy’s mother. The same monster that molested and left the young boy for dead.
There is no monster now, son, assured his father, hugging him tenderly. He’s gone forever. I’ll never let him touch you again.
Promise, Dad?
I promise, son. I’ll keep the darkness away from you…
‘I…I won’t let the darkness come to you, Dad…’
Cornelius’ eyes suddenly became bright and clear, the glaze dispelling if only for a moment.
‘Promise?’
‘Promise…’
It was late when Karl arrived back at the apartment, haggard and defeated with guilt.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked a concerned Naomi, as soon as Karl entered the living room.
‘Besides everything, you mean?’
‘Besides that. How was Cornelius?’
‘Not good. His ment
al health is deteriorating rapidly.’
‘Oh, Karl…’ Naomi walked over to Karl, wrapping arms around him. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘He hardly recognised me, and I feel so bloody helpless watching his deterioration. He’s…he’s like a stranger, lost in a strange world.’
Naomi tightened her grip. ‘Oh, Karl…’
‘I’m glad I asked you not to come. You wouldn’t have recognised him from the giant of a man he once was.’
‘He’ll always be a giant. You’ve got to be strong for him, now. That’s how Cornelius would want it.’
‘I can still feel his big hands, warm on my head, when I left him sitting there in that damn room, all alone.’
‘Let me make you some coffee and something to eat,’ volunteered Naomi, heading towards the kitchen area.
‘A Hennessy would go down a lot smoother.’
‘Get some food in you first,’ said Naomi. ‘Then a bit of rest.’
‘Where’s Lipstick? Don’t tell me she’s flown the coop after only one day? Have we really become that boring, Naomi?’
‘She said she’s away to meet a friend, and that she’d be back by four.’
‘Seeing that’s it’s almost seven, I guess she’s disappeared again.’
‘We’ll, she knows where we live, if she needs a roof over her head,’ said Naomi, disappearing into the kitchen.
Karl sat down without removing his coat. Bone tired, he could sleep forever.
He could still hear his father’s petrified voice, somewhere in the recess of his head. Promise?
CHAPTER NINE
ON THE WATERFRONT
‘Slice him where you like, a hellhound is always a hellhound.’
