Red Mist

by Jan Swick

Then he remembered something Danny had said. Don’t let your last memory of her be ash.

  Cremation.

  He rushed back to his bike, still searching Google even as he dodged pedestrians. By the time he started the engine, he had a list of crematoria on a map. He picked the nearest and aimed for it. Twenty minutes later he was in the right area. He was about to stop and ask someone where the crematorium was when he spotted a BMW like Danny's at the side of the road. Across the road was a florist’s and a place that sold headstones – dead giveaway. A thin gate in a high hedge bore a simple plaque that told him he was in the right place.

  He bought flowers and entered the gateway and followed a thin path alongside a road. Both led to a car park outside the front entrance of a wooden, single storey building. Outside the doors stood four men in suits, one of whom was Danny. They were all smoking. Ten feet closer and he recognised another face. His uncle, Josh, Mum’s brother. And now all their faces and names flooded into his head.

  Danny spotted him, looked shocked, then happy. He fished his wallet out of his jacket and waved it.

  “They prefer donations these days, mate,” he called over. The other three guys turned to look. Matt felt a wave of nerves, like a shy person thrust into a group. But he washed it down with the thought that many of these people would not have seen Karen for years, either. Theirs had not really been a fractured family, but they weren't exactly the Waltons, either. He would not be viewed as some outcast or black sheep.

  He shook hands with men he hadn’t seen in years. They were sorry for his loss. He said he was sorry for theirs, while not believing a word they uttered. Inside, he was introduced to other faces he knew, and hands were shaken. They treated him like a loving brother who had been by Karen’s side every day. Her didn’t correct them. But he was aware that this meant they hadn’t been informed of his seven-year vanishing act. Or they knew and also knew the correct things to say at a funeral.

  After doing the dutiful family member thing, he excused himself and went to the toilet, just to compose himself. When he returned, recorded music was playing and the vicar was approaching the pulpit. Everyone was standing before a chair. The coffin had entered already and sat on a catafalque. He had no idea who had brought it in. He half expected everyone to sneer at him because he'd missed something important.

  The music ended and the vicar bade everyone to sit. Matt saw Danny on the front row, next to a woman in purple and a man in black. His parents. He couldn’t bring himself to approach them. He chose a chair at the back and rushed to sit before he was the last to do so.

  The vicar began a sermon in which he talked as if he’d been in Karen’s life to fill the void Matt had left. But Matt grew tense as he stared at the coffin. He needed to see her face. Realised he hadn't seen her in the flesh in a long time and didn't even know how she wore her hair these days. But the coffin was not open. He feared a viewing would not take place, and was tempted to speak up, or just get up. He was scared about his mind. How would he react if he didn’t see her? He had not seen her face in years. Would this spoil his mind, turn him insane? Or would the same happen if he did see her, pale and dead?

  He turned and left. He didn’t know why. He felt Danny’s eyes on him, and a quick glance back confirmed that his brother had his head turned and was watching him. He realised he hadn’t seen his parents’ faces during this entire event, and unless Danny told them he'd made an appearance, they were going to assume he'd missed yet another important day in their lives.

  He rushed out into the car park and took a deep breath. His mind was in turmoil. He was not good at this type of emotion. But a moment later he saw something that turned his brain to something he was more in tune with. Something he dealt with easier. Danger.

  There was a man in a parked car watching the building. He was twenty metres away, far side of the car park, but even at distance and through a windscreen cloudy with reflected sky, Matt recognised the man.

  He should have turned, gone inside, or just hidden his face. But he froze for a second too long, or maybe just one second that itself was too long. He saw the man’s expression change. Saw recognition, then surprise, then shocked realisation.

  The ghoul from the other night, the one who had given them the casino chip. One of the Watchdogs’ men, watching the committal of one of their victims. He was here and he had seen Matt.

  He started his engine and got the hell out of there.

  He got to his bike and turned a left at the corner just as the car was reversing out through a set of open double-gates. He was prepared to give chase, but the car reversed away from him as it entered the road, which meant it was going to come right at him. He pulled in behind a parked van. A few second later, after a screech of tyres, the car’s front appeared. Matt gunned the engine, max revs, first gear. The bike leaped out into the road, pulling a wheelie that became a somersault as it left him behind.

  To the man in the car, the bike pounced from behind the van like a cobra and he had no time to avoid it. Bike and car collided with a screech of metal, and then brakes as the car skidded to a stop. The bike bounced away. By the time it had cleared the shocked driver’s windscreen, Matt was already pulling open the passenger door. The ghoul was still transfixed by the view from his window and that gave Matt all the time he needed, which was about one second. He slammed a hard fist into the guy’s temple, which propelled his head into the driver’s side window hard enough to crack it. He grabbed the man’s hair with his right hand, yanked the head back, and hooked his left arm in an arc, past the windscreen, over the steering wheel. It was called a ridge hand. A flat surface created by the tucked thumb and forefinger. Good blow for the throat. Matt heard the crack of the hyoid bone giving up. Sometimes a fatal event due to choking. Matt helped that achievement along by yanking the head forwards and down, chin onto chest, and rising to put his weight on the guy’s shoulders. Trapped in the seat, seatbelt on, jammed between his door and Matt’s legs, he had no chance unless some heroic passer-by intervened. But Matt had already determined that there were just a handful of people nearby, and they were staring at the bike laying fifteen metres away in the road. By the time their attention turned to the car, a few of them running towards it, the guy was done. Not dead yet, but no more threat.

  Sitting astride the gearstick, which was in second, Matt stuck his foot on the clutch and twisted the key to start the stalled engine. He got into a position to work both feet on the pedals, still sitting with the gearstick between his legs. In second gear, he slowly accelerated away, building up speed, passing the heroic pedestrians before they got close. He stuck his hand between his legs and jumped straight to fourth gear, holding the wheel with one hand, still crushing the unconscious man against his door just in case he woke with renewed energy.

  He found a quiet side street and stopped. Yanked the guy over into the passenger seat and climbed into the driver’s zone. That was when he saw the mobile phone in the footwell.

  The battery had come loose, thankfully. But the device had clearly been dropped or banged during the crash, which probably meant the guy had been calling in his discovery. Telling his boss that one of the guys who’d just hired them had attended the funeral of someone they killed. Hopefully the call had failed before anyone had answered. Because if the guy had gotten a warning out, it was game over.

  Driving again, Matt used his own phone to call Daz.

  “Good news, Matt,” Daz answered. “An hour ago my watchers just watched two of our watchers pull their Watchdog-ordered watching.”

  “That’s confusing.”

  “I know,” Daz said with a laugh. “I worked on that line for comedy value. What I meant was Lisa and me had two separate guys following us. My guys saw them take phone calls at the same time and then leave. I think we’re good, Matt. No need for you to sneak back through a bloody sewer. The Watchdogs must have decided we’re okay and stopped spying on us.”

  “Well, that would be fine timing, because they wouldn’t have liked seein
g what I just did.”

  “You’re like a two year-old. Leave you alone for five minutes, you get up to mischief. What did you do?”

  “Put it this way: I need your guys to get rid of a body,” Matt said. “And that bike.”

  Silence. He laughed as he realised what Daz must be thinking. Matt had gone to a funeral and now he was asking for a body to be disposed of. He quickly explained what had happened and laughed again when Daz sighed with relief.

  “Is he actually dead?”

  “No, but he needs to be. Or we will be. Queen’s Wood is near here, so I’ll go there. Send some guys and shovels.” He gave the location of the bike. “Don’t tell Lisa that I killed another guy. Sort of promised I wouldn’t.”

  Daz laughed. “Guys usually promise their girls they’ll do more housework.”

  “This was an accident. Sort of.”

  “Ah. One of those. Okay, go there and call me so I know exactly where to send my guys. Listen, you think this guy was following you?”

  “No, not by the shock on his face when he recognised me. I think we’re good, like you said. I think the guy was sent to watch the funeral. Not us. Maybe see who turned up. A precaution thing. After-sales service or something. Or maybe the guy was just morbid. Don’t know.”

  “You know this makes two of the Watchdogs’ men you’ve put down, right? They could start to get suspicious.”

  “Well, both men are missing, so they don’t know anything bad has happened yet. And guy two might not be missed for a while. Maybe he’s only to report in if he sees something he doesn’t like. Or maybe Orbach and Mason will assume the guys went AWOL to go do other things. They'll certainly knows such a thing is possible, given their history.”

  “We’ll see. But just in case they still are watching, I'll pay them their £75,000 right now and see what happens. A way to know for sure. Until I call back, you just stay hidden.”

  Well, with a body in the car, he wasn’t about to go cruising round London.

  Matt didn't have to wait long. Seven minutes later, he got a text message: we’re on! get ready for a memorable day. will call day after tomorrow at 6pm. be ready to go.

  He was puzzled, but then Daz called him to explain. He'd forwarded a message he'd been sent by the Watchdogs, which he'd received just seconds after dispatching his electronic payment to the account number they'd given him.

  “If they were watching, that would have looked very suspicious. We kill one of their then send the money? So they don't know. Your man didn't warn them and nobody saw you do him. The surveillance has gone."

  Matt wasn’t that convinced. “Maybe they watched and have decided to have us killed. Let us keep the appointment, then wipe us out.”

  And now Daz wasn’t convinced. “Too risky for them. We could turn up at the appointment with a mob with guns, or the cops. No, they know nothing.”

  They decided to give it another two hours, just to make sure. Daz and Lisa roamed London, and their watchers watched for watchers, but reported nothing. Matt met two members of MacSec at the edge of Queen's Wood and left them the car and the body and walked away without a word. He hailed a taxi and went back to the crematorium, but by then the funeral was all over. And the bike had gone. Pedestrians were going this way and that as if nothing had happened. There were no cops talking to witnesses. The scene looked inert. Good. He moved on.

  That evening they didn't leave the hotel. Because Daz was paying for the job, he insisted that Matt should treat them all to dinner in the restaurant. Matt was short of money so Lisa paid. Afterwards, they returned to their rooms. The bugs had still been in place after they returned from their afternoon out, because manpower wasn’t needed to keep them there, but a sweep with the bug finder after their meal revealed nothing. While they ate, someone had sneaked back into their rooms and removed them, if any had been there at all, of course. So that evening, Lisa and Matt stayed together in Matt’s room, leaving Daz alone to watch MMA videos.

  She called Adrian.

  She was in the bathroom, using the phone, talking quietly. Matt couldn’t help himself and lurked by the door, listening. He couldn’t make out anything she said, her voice just a low rumble through the thick door, but there was a moment of laughter that pulled at his heart.

  He scuttled into the bed as he heard her finish up in the bathroom. She came out and looked at him, but he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. She was still on the phone.

  “I’ll be there in two hours,” he heard her whisper. “Can’t wait to see you again.” She hung up.

  He continued to pretend to sleep as she got dressed. And as she left the room quietly.

  Matt got up a few minutes later. Got dressed and exited the hotel.

  He drove to his mother’s house and shut the car off. He didn’t know why he was here. He didn’t know why he went to the door and tried it. It was unlocked, although all lights were off. He went up the stairs and into his old room and lay down. Felt like some immature child running home, just because Lisa had scuttled off back to her boyfriend. He tried not to think about that. Couldn’t avoid it. She had made up with her boyfriend and wanted to return to him. It wasn’t abandonment, he reasoned. Her job, she must feel, was done here. But she was part of the upcoming plan.

  He woke hours later, staring at the ceiling. His phone said it was seven in the morning. He got up and went downstairs. Nobody was up yet. He knew the right thing to do would be to wait for his parents to rise. Talk to them. Give some reason why he left the funeral early. Make everything good between them before he left again, maybe for the last ever time.

  Instead, he slipped out of the door.

  He drove around London until the rush hour traffic of office rats became too annoying to allow mellow thought and parked and put his seat back and cleared his head. Or tried to. But he couldn’t shake Lisa from in there, and knew if he did that Karen would appear instead. Or the blank avatar man. He worried about Lisa and he was upset with himself for running out on his mother, and he was still torn up inside about Karen. His life was consumed and ripped at by the women in it.

  He drove on. Found a petrol station and bought a map of Britain. Ran his eyes over it, seeking to attach them to some place that sounded tranquil but might also be cheap. After this, if he wasn’t in jail, he’d need a new place to live. And a new job. And a new name. But it was a cursory glance, because so much could go wrong before then.

  Eventually, around ten, he drove back to the hotel.

  And found Lisa waiting for him.

  There was a suitcase on the bed.

  “Where the hell have you been?” she said, as if she hadn’t been the one who crept out last night. Still in shock, he pointed at the suitcase. Told her he’d overheard her conversation with her ex-boyfriend.

  “Silly idiot thought I was coming back to him,” she said. “I only pretended to so I could pack my things. I’m gone for good. I’m yours for good.”

  He didn't know what to say.

  She stepped closer to him. "Matt, I'm a phase kind of girl. I obsess and then I forget. It's why I don't keep jobs for very long. It’s why I left the army. It's why Adrian, although fun, was never going to figure in my life for long. But around you I feel different."

  His mouth opened, but English was an extinct language right now. The brain couldn't translate for the voicebox. The art of communication had never been invented.

  "When you contacted me the other day, it was the first time I've thought about my future in a long time, Matt. Know when the last time was? The only other time?"

  Of course he didn't. Couldn't possibly. Couldn't have found the ability to say otherwise even if he had known.

  "When we dated back in Cyprus," she said. "I'm beginning to think that must mean something."

  Now she touched his face. And he found his voice.

  “I didn’t see my sister’s face at the funeral, Lisa. That’s going to haunt me, I’m sure. And I didn’t speak to my parents there. And I pissed off my brother. I’
m awful at social things and because of that I messed up, and I don't know what to say to you, and I'm worried that whatever I do say might just go ahead and do the messing things up thing again.”

  She stepped past him and locked the door. “We’ll sort all that. But for now, let’s not worry about it." She took his hand. "And we don't need words for what happens now." And then she pulled him towards the bed.

  Two phone calls came to Daz’s phone in the small hours of the next day. The first was from Matt. Matt’s phone alarm woke him at four. That day he’d napped quite a bit because they’d stayed in the hotel room, staring at maps, imprinting London on their brains, so Matt was all full up on rest and jerked wide awake almost instantly when his phone trilled. He turned off the alarm, called Daz, heard it ring in the next room, then heard Daz groggily speaking into his ear.

  “Send your men now,” Matt said. He hung up and was asleep before Daz had finished the call he made to a man a few miles away.

  The second called came at just past seven. A voice he didn’t know said, “Mr. McKinley, I’ve been asked to tell you that the appointment needs to be delayed. We’ll be in touch in a few weeks on this number –“

  “Wow, no, why?” Daz moaned. "I paid my first half. What’s the problem?”

  The man didn’t want to say, but Daz pressed, and eventually the guy spoke to someone else and got back to him and explained. The driver had had an accident and couldn’t drive. They were seeking a replacement, if he cared to wait a few weeks. Well, he didn’t. We’ll use my guy, he said. Guy’s good. He can drive like a pro. You give him the orders, he’ll come through.

  The guy went off again. Daz listened to faint voices as the guy spoke to someone far from the phone but in the same room. Then the guy was back. Okay, we’ll use your guy.

  “So what happened to your driver?” Daz said.

  “A fall,” the guy said, then hung up.

  No fall at all, Daz knew. He had called his men after the episode at the race track and one had followed the driver, Jenkins, once he’d left. Followed him home. And a few hours ago four of them had paid him a visit. They had tried to break into his car, but used no caution, no finesse, just a healthy dose of clumsiness. The noise had woken the driver and down he had come to ruin their plan, but of course his appearance had been part of their plan. They’d attacked him in his own driveway. A few bumps and bruises just to satisfy themselves, and one broken elbow as per instructions. Don’t go overboard, Daz had ordered. Just make sure the guy’s in no state to drive a car.