Midnight's Door

by Robert F Barker

  As for the rest of the team, to be fair to them, they were nothing less than professional, even if they were simply going through the motions while wondering how much longer they would have jobs. And I made sure I was in the lobby to see Vicki on her way when it was time to leave. We didn't say anything, but the look I gave her as she walked out the door was loaded, not least because underpinning it was a depressing thought. Is this the last time I'll see her out?

  We closed up at the usual time. Before they went I told the team to keep what had happened, 'in house', until the storm settled. Some hope. Even Eric, who doesn't usually get wound up, was threatening to strangle someone. He didn't care who, just someone. After they'd gone I did what I normally do, then reported to Frank, as usual.

  By then the talking was all done, so as I dropped the main set of keys on his desk all I said was, 'There are some things we'll need to talk about. Practical stuff. Handovers. That sort of things.'

  'Right.' He didn't offer a time or place.

  I thought, ‘Fuck you, Frank,’ and headed home.

  When I got there I went straight to the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a new bottle. I didn't open it but just sat on the couch, staring into space, until I got Vicki's message.

  Home safe. Hope U R ok. x

  I sent back, OK. And don't worry. Things will work out.

  I had no idea how they would work out but I thought I should at least try and give an impression I was still upbeat. That particular sentiment wasn't to last long. I waited a minute in case she came back. When she didn't, and knowing she was safe, I leaned back and settled in for some serious drinking.

  I spent the next two hours, between refills, going over things. There was plenty to think on. Could I have handled the night's events differently? I didn't think so. Every alternative scenario I could think of still ended badly, one way or another. I thought about my guys, how many we might be able to hold onto, how many we'd have to let go. I thought about what might happen if Charnley had the door, though I probably knew the answer. Most of all there was Vicki, and how could I protect her if I wasn't there? The more I thought about things, the more I recognised the direction it was taking me. Everything led down the same road, to the same inescapable conclusion.

  At one stage I got up and wandered the room, looking for a distraction from the slump that had me in its grip. Mistake. My gaze lit on the shelf where all my OU stuff lay, waiting. I stared down at it. Another dead end. 'And what a joke that is,' I said. Picking up the booklets, papers and study guides, I carried them out to the kitchen, trod on the pedal and dumped them in the bin. I went back to the couch.

  Eventually, it must have been just before I passed out, I finally managed to give voice to what I was feeling. Turning my empty glass upside down so the last drop of forget-juice ran down to the rim where my probing finger captured it and directed it between my nearly-numb lips, I put my head back and shouted to the ceiling.

  'You've fucked-up Norton.'

  CHAPTER 44

  The Man Who Likes to Watch is staring out of the window of his bedroom. Across the surrounding fields, the first signs of the approaching dawn are seeping over the horizon, glimpses of glowing red already showing. It looks like it is going to be a nice day.

  It has been a long night, not least because he has spent the last half of it lying on his bunk, thinking about what has happened, how it will affect his plans. When he first heard about what had happened, his reaction was he would have to ditch his new project altogether. But when it became clear that she was sticking to her plans - he'd been right, she is a cold bitch - he began to wonder if what had happened might not actually work in his favour. Later on, after things had calmed a little, he had managed to engage her in conversation, though casually, so she would not think anything of it.

  At first it was difficult, she was tight-lipped and reluctant to talk about it. But bit by bit, as he probed for information, he began to see that, as far as she was concerned, it was business as usual, and that included her podium duties. Sure enough, at the allotted time she was there, looking fantastic and doing her thing as if nothing had happened and it was just another normal club night. It made him glad that his particular technique doesn't require that he spend time beforehand trying to foster any sort of 'relationship'. He is sure if he ever had to put up with her long-term, he would soon discover she is the sort whose main interest is herself. One of those who lacks the ability to empathise with the plight of others. And though the conversation was only brief, one especially good thing came out of it. The new strategy he was looking for.

  It was only a chance remark, a reference to future intentions. Nevertheless, as soon as she mentioned it something clicked and he saw exactly how, if he could incorporate it into his plans, he could use it to achieve his aims - albeit in a way that was different to the others. It had cheered him to the point where he had actually got quite excited just thinking about it. By the time he left the club he could hardly wait to get home and indulge his imaginings in the way he did most nights. Only this time he had a whole new scenario to fantasise about.

  It was this new 'scenario' that had kept him awake through the night, thinking on possibilities, options, adding layers the way a painter does with a blank canvas. Now, with the sun about to rise, he thinks he has it all worked out, and is pleased with himself.

  The good thing is, he won't even have to wait long.

  CHAPTER 45

  Sunday

  I woke up thinking it was Remembrance Sunday. The Village Parade passes the end of my close and I always hear the Boys Brigade drummer banging out the pace. It was a few moments before I realised it wasn't the drummer, but my front door. I lay there waiting to see if it would stop, if whoever it was would go away. It didn't. They wouldn't.

  I prised open an eye. When it focused, I was still looking at the fire, lying on the couch, still dressed.

  'Fuuuck!'

  I prised myself up into a sitting position. The banging moved from the front door to inside my head. I hadn't felt so bad in a long time. You get back into a regime, you tend to put a brake on the benders, even when you think you're giving yourself a night off. It hadn't applied the night just gone. I breathed slowly, gauging if I could stand without throwing up. I could, though it was close. After several more long breaths I stumbled to the door. It shows how bad I was that I didn't even bother trying to guess who it might be. I didn't care. I should have.

  It was Vicki. All she said was, 'Oh. My. God.'

  I turned and shuffled back inside. She followed me in, shut the door. I went back to the couch, collapsed onto it. My stomach started doing weird things so I shut my eyes and breathed slow again. When I opened them, she was staring down at me.

  'Are you alright?' My face made some sort of non-committal response. I was still waiting for my brain to start processing information. She must have realised. 'Coffee.'

  Ten minutes later the hot dark brown liquid was starting to do its stuff. I lifted my head to find her still staring. I thought I should say something. 'How are you?'

  'I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about.'

  'I'll be okay.'

  'Hmmm.'

  I went back to the coffee.

  Eventually I made it up to the bathroom and into the shower. I dressed in my most comfortable sweats, then returned back downstairs. She was in the kitchen, doing clearing-up stuff. I poured myself another coffee, then went back to the couch. She finished running water in the sink then came and joined me, sitting in the chair opposite, mug of lemon tea - hers, not mine - in hand.

  She gave me another couple of minutes before she started.

  'What are you going to do?'

  I decided to play dumb. 'About what?' She gave me the look she'd given me that first Saturday night only worse. Like, now I was being really stupid. I shrugged. 'What can I do? The job's fucked.'

  She didn't say anything, just drank from her mug. But the look stayed, staring at me over the rim. It did it's job.

  'W
hat?'

  'You know what.'

  'No, I don't.'

  She sighed. 'If you're going to carry on being like this, I'll go. Shall I?'

  I went back to my coffee, but held her gaze as I drank. Eventually I said, 'There's only so much I can do. If Frank wants us off the door, I can't stop him.'

  'IF, he wants you off the door.'

  'That's what he said. You heard him.'

  'And you believe him?'

  'What's the difference whether I believe him or not? It's done.'

  'The difference is whether you walk away with your tail between your legs, or stand up and fight.'

  'Fight? With what? As from Tuesday I won't even be able to get back in the club unless Charnley allows it. And that's not likely.'

  'Maybe not. But if you need an in, I'm still there.'

  'Thanks for the offer, but I think I've fucked up enough people's jobs without risking yours. Frank may love you to bits, but if he thinks I'm trying to use you in some way, you'll be down the road as fast as he can say it.'

  'You may be right. But if I'm prepared to take that risk, then you should too.'

  I thought on it. It was the same argument she'd used when we talked about her acting as bait for the killer. Her decision. I shook my head. It was time to enlighten her

  'Yashin's putting pressure on Frank to buy him out. He's made threats against his family. But he wants me off the door first. That's why Frank was so adamant last night. He saw it as his chance.'

  Her head went back and she nodded, slowly, the way someone does when the fog begins to clear. 'Right.'

  'This murder charge the police are trying to pin on me is some of the same. They all want me out.'

  'Who is all?'

  'Frank, Yashin, Charnley. Whoever's setting me up for Ged Reilly's murder.'

  'And that justifies you rolling over does it? What about Eric and the others? What about the club? What about everyone who goes there because they know that while Danny Norton's on the door, it's the safest place in town?'

  'They'll manage. They did before. Besides, the way things are right now, they're probably better off without me.'

  'I see.' She hesitated, then hit me with, 'And what about me?'

  I looked up. 'What do you mean?'

  She waited, holding my gaze. 'I mean what happens when I need my White Knight?' I stared at her. 'Dave Charnley doesn't exactly fit the bill.'

  'I- I..' But I had no answer to that one. I went back to my coffee.

  A minute later she went, 'Hmph.' I looked up at her again. She was giving me a sad look. She shook her head, 'Whatever happened to Danny Norton, the hardest man in Warrington? The man who's not afraid of anything?'’

  'He's a myth. He never existed.'

  There was another moment's hesitation before she said, 'I think you're wrong. And I'm not alone.'

  'Yeah, well. Like I said...'

  Eventually she got up. I looked up at her. She pointed an accusing finger at me. 'You, need to get your shit together. And when you do, call me and tell me what I can do to help.' Seconds later the front door banged.

  I sat on the couch a while longer, nursing my mug and staring down into the muddy coffee grains as I replayed our conversation. It worried me that for all her cajoling, I'd not even pretended to try and rally myself. I've always prided myself on my ability to remain positive, no matter how bad things may seem. But that particular quality seemed to have gone AWOL. I sat forward on the edge of the cushion. I ran a hand over my scalp, as if doing so might get my brain working again. But the only thoughts that came were of Vicki, and how I'd finally managed to reveal myself to her as the loser I am.

  As I sat there, cringing inside, stomach churning and cursing myself for a stupid bastard, her words came back to me, 'What happens when I need my White Knight?'

  I stopped rubbing my head. I sat up. White Knight. I thought back on all the conversations we'd had the past week. For all that I'd imagined myself playing that particular role to her damsel many times, fantasised about it even, I'd never mentioned the fact to her. I'd have been too embarrassed. But she had used the phrase without any prompting. I thought about what it said about her, her feelings towards me. Something stirred in my stomach, like it may not be dead after all. Was that how she saw me, her White Knight?

  At that moment my stomach growled, calling for food. It hadn't seen any for over sixteen hours. I stood up.

  Heading for the kitchen, I passed the shelf where up to the night before I'd kept my OU stuff. As I passed something registered and I stopped to check it out, to make sure I wasn't mistaken. All the books, papers and guides were laid out as close as damn to the way they had been before. I peered closer, wondering if maybe I'd dreamed about dumping them in the bin. But as I saw the grease stains on a couple of the papers, the patch of damp on the cover of one of the guides - confirming evidence of their night in the bin - I realised. She must have come across them while tidying the kitchen and put them back where she had seen them the week before. Now, as I looked even closer, I could even see where she'd had to clean off some of the food waste which, if it had lain much longer, would have ruined it all completely.

  'I'll be damned,' I said.

  Then I saw it. On top of the Assignment Sheet, the one about Heart of Darkness that was giving me so much trouble, was a yellow post-it note. Written on it in red biro - not by my hand - was the instruction, Finish me!

  I was still staring at it when my phone rang. Thinking it was her, I grabbed at it. But it was Winston.

  'Yo doin' baazz?'

  'If you're ringing to ask what's happen-'

  'So'kay, baaaz. Jus' letting you know. Didn't get a chance to speak las' night. The Brothers. They did the deal. Jus' like you asked.'

  'What?' With everything that had gone on the night before, I'd forgotten completely about the matter involving Winston and his brothers. 'When?' I added, trying to force my brain to kick into gear.

  'Las' night. After your little trouble with the Russian and Mr Frank.'

  'But-' I started again. 'I'm sorry Winston, I must have missed all this. Are you telling me your brothers met with Yashin?'

  'That's what I'm ringin' for is’nit? You awake baaaz, or should I ring you another time. Like when you gotcha head on?'

  'No, I'm with you.' I shook myself, took a breath, returned to the couch. 'Tell me what happened.' Not that it's any good now.

  To begin with, I was only half listening as Winston gave his account. The arrangement with Winston's brothers depended on me having control of the door. Now that I didn't, the whole thing was dead in the water. And though what Winston had to say was interesting, the greater part of my brain was still occupied imagining Vicki, fishing around in the kitchen bin, writing her note. Part of me wanted to think about what other messages I could take from it all. But as the detail of what Winston was saying began to register, my thoughts began to turn. Winston had done well. More accurately, his brothers had. It was just a shame that it was all wasted. But then another slice of my conversation with Vicki jumped back out at me. My brain was beginning to kick in again, at long last. It was the bit where she'd said, '...If you need an in, I'm still there.'

  I was on the phone to Winston for another twenty minutes.

  CHAPTER 46

  On Sunday mornings, the lounge bar at Warrington Golf Club serves excellent bacon butties. I was halfway through one when my partner, Mike, came through the door above which the sign reads, 'To the Changing Rooms.' Seeing me, he headed across, pulling off his glove. As he dropped into the armchair opposite, he didn't look best-pleased.

  'Whatever this is,' he said, 'It better be worth it. I was three-up at the twelfth when you rang.'

  'Sorry. I didn't realise it was a competition.'

  'You wouldn't, not being a golfer.' He decided to give me some of his attention. 'So what's so important?' It was then I noticed he was eyeing my breakfast like he had half a mind to order one himself.

  'We've lost Midnight's.'

>   'WHAT? HOW THE FUCK-' He stopped, looked round, struggled to compose himself. A golf club lounge on a Sunday morning isn't the place or time you want to be seen throwing a fit, especially if you're manoeuvring for the next captaincy. But after a quick glance round, people were already returning to their papers and butties.

  He pulled his chair closer, leaned in.

  'What the hell happened? I thought you were sorting it?'

  'I was. Frank obviously didn't feel he could wait.'

  'What changed his mind?'

  I told him about everything we'd seen and heard the last few nights, ending up with the confrontation with Yashin, then Frank blowing his gasket. As he listened, Mike eased back into his chair. The concerned look stayed in his face, but I could see he was still eyeing my sandwich. At one stage a young waitress dressed in black wove between the tables.

  'Get you anything, Mike?' she said as she passed.

  He nodded at my plate. 'I'll have one of those, Evey. And a coffee, please.'

  Evey looked at me. 'Something else, darlin?'

  I ordered another coffee as well.

  By the time I got to where I'd tried getting Frank to change his mind - without success - Mike had calmed a little. The bacon sandwich seemed to be helping in that regard.

  'So that's it?' he said. 'We're out and Charnley's in?'

  'That's the way it's shaping up.'

  We talked over options. There were still a few. They ranged from calling a meeting with Frank, to consulting our lawyer, to seeing if Jamie Carver could have a word in Frank’s ear and get him to see sense. But as we talked, I was surprised to find Mike more negative than I'd expected.

  'This has been on the cards a while,' he said. 'I suppose it was only a matter of time.'

  'I dunno about that,' I said. 'Another week and things may have changed in our favour.'