The Elephant Tree

by R. D. Ronald

  The stench of urine wafted over them as the metal doors shuddered open. Scott covered his face with his sleeve and stepped inside; the smell even appeared to have slightly sobered Twinkle, whose face was now drawn tight in a look of disgust like he’d just taken a bite from a raw onion.

  Twinkle pressed the button, the doors closed and another slow grinding noise before it suddenly lurched upwards. Either no-one else was waiting to use the lift, or no-one else trusted them and it carried them straight to their floor.

  The doors opened out onto a narrow hallway of blistered linoleum which barely covered the concrete underneath. It was dimly lit from single bulbs housed intermittently along the ceiling within opaque plastic shields in an effort to prevent breakage and possibly theft. Twinkle stumbled on ahead searching for the door number he had scribbled on the crumpled piece of paper he’d taken out of his jacket pocket. Scott followed a few steps behind.

  Twinkle stopped outside a door and again squinted at the paper he held and compared it with the number in front of him. He cleared his throat and knocked three times. The door swung inwards and Twinkle walked inside.

  ‘You coming in or not?’ a gruff voice asked, as Scott had hesitated before following.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, went inside and closed the door after him.

  Beyond the doorway was an unkempt open plan living area with yellowed newspapers strewn over the bare floor, and a smell of mould hung in the air. The room was small with a kitchen cubicle on one wall, a bathroom which looked little bigger than a phone box and one other door which Scott presumed led to the only bedroom. A sofa upholstered in a dark green fabric with a paisley design was occupied by Dominic Parish and his accomplice with the earring from the initial drop off. On a matching armchair, with patches of stuffing escaping from it like rising dough, sat a man Scott hadn’t seen before, smoking a thin cigar. He was sharply dressed without straying into vanity or flamboyance. A designer suit and expensive looking shoes, not that Scott was an expert but he’d learned to recognise quality from Jack’s attire over the years.

  ‘Take a seat,’ the man said, waving his hand towards two wooden stools, his tone indicating it was more of a command than a suggestion.

  Scott and Twinkle sat where they’d been instructed.

  ‘I’m Paul McBlane,’ he said in answer to the question that hovered on Scott’s lips. ‘You now work for me.’ There was a pause, presumably to allow time for the sentence to sink in.

  ‘You boys did well on the last job, so tonight you’ll get paid what was agreed, but for now we’ll just relax and have a chat,’ the man said, and steepled his fingers, but there was nothing relaxed about the atmosphere in the room. ‘Firstly, there was no cocaine in the shipment.’

  ‘We never touched it,’ Twinkle stammered, ‘delivered just like we picked it up.’ Scott felt his heart lurch but he said nothing.

  McBlane’s hand holding the cigar casually waved away Twinkle’s anxiety. ‘No, like I say you boys did great but let’s be fair, I’d be pretty stupid to risk such a big investment on two new lads who hadn’t worked for me before,’ he said, and laughed. A short hollow sound that ended as abruptly as it had begun.

  ‘There never was any coke in there, it was just a box of crap, wires and fucking screwdrivers or whatever. But you’ll get paid just the same. It’s not like I’d just say fuck the agreement now, eh?’

  He tapped the ash from the end of his cigar and a coil of blue smoke drifted casually from the corner of his mouth as he watched them. Twinkle fidgeted on the stool beside Scott.

  ‘Can I offer you boys a drink or perhaps something else, while we get comfortable?’ he asked, in a lighter tone.

  Dominic stood and brought some Glenmorangie in an unfamiliar teardrop shaped bottle, and a small case from out of the bedroom. He then went back and returned with only two glasses which he placed beside the bottle within reach of McBlane. The case he took back to the couch, flipped the catch and opened it.

  ‘I hear you don’t partake in those activities,’ He said to Scott, and nodded over to the case Dominic had unzipped and now had his hands inside of. ‘Very wise. That’s why I brought this.’

  He lined up the glasses on a vacant TV stand between himself and Scott and poured the Scotch.

  ‘The vale of big meadows, eh Scott?’

  Scott didn’t understand what that meant and was now growing more distracted as syringes and rubber tubing were withdrawn from the case.

  ‘Shugg,’ Dominic said as he handed a syringe to Earring. At least Scott could now put a name to the face. He held out another to Twinkle.

  ‘Fuck it, alright it’s my last one though,’ Twinkle said, reaching over to take the syringe, smiling despite himself.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Dominic said as he rolled up his sleeve. ‘I knocked these up just before you got here.’

  Twinkle nodded and did likewise. He glanced up at Scott and then quickly looked away.

  ‘I find if you give them what they want, and you give them what they need, then they tend to stay a lot more loyal than if you deny them,’ McBlane said softly, leaning in closer towards Scott. ‘Course sometimes like now the two are one and the same, which makes my job a whole lot easier.’

  When McBlane finished speaking he turned to Scott and winked, then took a sip of his Scotch.

  ‘So what is it that I want and need then?’ Scott asked, trying to focus on what was being said rather than the rubber tubing Dominic was tying around the man he’d called Shugg’s arm.

  ‘Maybe that’s what we’re here to find out, Scott. Why don’t you tell me, I know you do some work for your brother and that you peddle drugs around the streets, so why did you come and do the job for me then?’

  ‘Money, what else?’

  ‘Fair enough, that’s what most people look for to begin with, but money can be a sliding scale, the more you have, the more you want, the more you need,’ McBlane said as he sharpened the ash on the tip of his cigar into a point against the rim of the ashtray. It gave him the appearance of wielding a dagger as he gestured with his cigar holding hand.

  ‘Not for me, I just want enough to make a fresh start and then I’m gone.’

  ‘That’s a shame. So our working relationship will only be short term. Fair enough though, I respect a man who knows what he wants. So is it something you’re getting away to or from then, may I ask?’

  Scott shrugged. ‘Maybe a bit of both.’ He didn’t want McBlane knowing anything more about him than he’d obviously already found out, but the man had an easy-going almost coaxing tone to his voice which made it hard to evade his subtle questioning.

  ‘Sometimes truths are what we run from, and sometimes they are what we seek. Sometimes maybe we don’t know which the fuck it is,’ McBlane said and laughed again. ‘For me, I like to know the truth. To be in possession of all the facts.’

  Shugg and Dominic both shot up and Dominic passed the tubing to Twinkle. Scott looked at the eager expression on his friend’s face. His eyes keen and alert, his tongue flicked over his lips, a few seconds would pass and he’d do it again, looking almost reptilian. Holding one end of the tube between his teeth, Twinkle tied it tight around his arm, then bent and straightened the arm repeatedly, working a vein closer to the surface. Satisfied he’d found an injection site Twinkle squirted just a little out of the syringe pointing upwards to clear any air bubbles, he placed the tip of the needle against his old blue vein that had risen to the surface like an inquisitive dolphin, but then paused. Scott wondered if thoughts of Sharon and the kids were going to make him decide against taking it. He’d said one last time, but would it be?

  ‘What’s wrong Twinkle, getting cold feet?’ McBlane said.

  Twinkle’s hand wobbled slightly but then he slid the needle in and pushed the plunger home. Dominic and Shugg were now slouched back onto the couch, their eyes almost closed. Conscious but in a semi-dreamlike state. Air seemed to escape from Twinkle as he leaned back against the wall like someone sitting down on an
inflatable chair that has been punctured.

  McBlane picked up the whiskey bottle and refilled their glasses. ‘ To future endeavours,’ he said, and clinked his glass against Scott’s.

  Twinkle’s breathing was coming in short rasps, like an old wooden door being opened and closed that didn’t sit flush in its frame. His eyes were closed. Scott turned his attention back to McBlane.

  ‘Is there any point in me asking when the next job will be?’ he asked.

  ‘Someone will be in touch,’ McBlane answered, and grinned over the rim of his glass.

  ‘But it’ll be more of the same, like the job at the docks?’

  ‘It may be, yes, but the operation may vary as well as your level of involvement.’

  Twinkle murmured something and tried to stand up. McBlane’s eyes slid coolly from Scott over in his direction.

  ‘What’s that Twinkle? You ready for another one already?’

  Twinkle attempted to stand, bracing a thin arm against the wall behind him, but tipped forward and fell flat. Scott jumped off his seat and rolled Twinkle onto his back.

  ‘What are you playing at man? Chill out we’ll be on our way soon,’ Scott said.

  Twinkle’s face looked drawn and pale; his eyes rolled upwards, unable to keep their focus on Scott. He mumbled something again that Scott couldn’t understand.

  ‘I can’t hear you Twinkle, just sleep it off or something, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘The old boy isn’t looking too hot, is he?’ McBlane said, swilling the whiskey around in his glass.

  Dominic and Shugg looked more alert now. They’d sat up on the sofa and were watching Twinkle intently, as he lay like a freshly caught fish on the deck of a boat. Even Twinkle’s lips looked pale now, almost completely drained of blood. His eyes closed and his body began to go limp.

  ‘Wake up you stupid fucker,’ Scott said, realising something could be seriously wrong, and slapped Twinkle across the face.

  Twinkle’s eyelids flickered but wouldn’t remain open.

  ‘We have to get him to a hospital or something,’ Scott said, ‘he looks like he’s overdosing.’

  ‘No point in that, if he’s O’D-ing then he’ll be dead by the time you get there,’ McBlane said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. ‘He either shakes it off or he’s fucked. Either way none of us wants to get tied in with heroin or anything like that or we’ll all be up on involuntary manslaughter charges.’ Murmurs and nods of agreement followed from Dominic and Shugg on the couch.

  Scott knew there was nothing he could do. There was no way they’d allow an ambulance to be called and Scott had no transport even if he did manage to drag him outside. Twinkle’s pale face had begun to turn blue, his lips now a grey-white.

  ‘He’s almost gone,’ Dominic observed casually, from the couch. ‘We’ll need to find a way to get the body out, we can’t leave him here.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake he’s still breathing,’ Scott said, looking pleadingly around him, but the other eyes in the room were those of circling buzzards.

  ‘I said almost,’ Dominic said, and tutted.

  ‘He’s right,’ McBlane added. ‘You two see what’s in here to help. Scott you sit with him in case he does pull through.’

  Shugg got up and went into the bedroom, Dominic to the kitchen where he began looking through the small cupboards. Scott leaned in and put his ear over Twinkle’s mouth. His breath was so shallow that at first Scott thought he was already dead.

  ‘I’ve found a suitcase,’ Shugg said, carrying a tattered brown case back into the room.

  ‘There’s not much of him but surely he’ll not fit in there,’ McBlane said.

  Scott’s mind was racing, struggling to comprehend the events unfolding around him. They were talking about disposing of Twinkle like he was a rusty old bike that no-one rode anymore. Scott put his ear to Twinkle’s mouth again but could neither hear nor feel any breath. He pressed his fingers against Twinkle’s neck to feel for a pulse like he’d seen on TV.

  ‘I can’t feel a pulse. Fuck.’

  ‘OK, let’s see that case then Shugg.’ McBlane said and clapped his hands. Shugg tossed it onto the floor beside Twinkle.

  McBlane moved over to the couch to supervise as Shugg began sizing Twinkle up to see if he’d fit in the case. Scott felt sick, it was like watching an amateur tailor fit him up for a suit to be buried in.

  ‘He won’t fit, bits will stick out,’ McBlane said. ‘Have you found anything that might help with that, Dom?’

  ‘Nothing sharp enough but I have found this,’ Dominic replied, pulling something from the bottom shelf of one of the lower cupboards.

  There was a bang as it dragged against the cupboard door before Dominic straightened up holding a lump hammer.

  ‘Alright, see what you can do with that,’ McBlane instructed him, and rubbed his hands together.

  ‘Empty his pockets and take off any jewellery first. Scott, you sit back over here and let them get on with it.’

  McBlane motioned to the armchair he’d first sat in. In a daze, Scott staggered across and collapsed into it. Twinkle was dead, at least Scott thought he was. Dominic had lifted his body and Shugg slid the open suitcase under him. Twinkle’s pale blue hands held up against his chest and head tucked down towards his neck as if in prayer. His arm jerked suddenly, probably a muscle reflex rather than through conscious effort. It looked like a floating branch that had been snagged by a fishing line.

  ‘You’re gonna have to fold him more,’ McBlane said. ‘Use the hammer.’

  Scott could feel the contents of his stomach flip over and over on themselves. He turned to the side and retched, frothy yellow bile spilled out onto the newspaper covered floor, filling the room with the putrid stench of previously ingested alcohol.

  ‘Looks like someone can’t hold their drink,’ McBlane said, and Dominic and Shugg laughed.

  Scott was still staring at the steam rising from his evacuated stomach contents as he heard the hammer fall. The dull crack of a bone splintering under its weight. He couldn’t look.

  ‘Fucking Christ,’ Scott said. ‘We were just talking to him a few minutes ago, we don’t even know for sure if he’s dead.’

  Clunk – the hammer fell again.

  ‘He’s fitting better now,’ one of them said, Scott wasn’t sure who. He was no longer sure of anything.

  Crack – Scott’s stomach contracted and another thin stream of bile spilled out from his mouth.

  Clunk.

  ‘Right, try again now,’ McBlane said.

  Scott turned to watch as Dominic and Shugg rearranged Twinkle’s broken limbs into the case. Arms and legs folded unnaturally at joints he shouldn’t have. Dominic closed the case and pressed his foot down on top as Shugg pulled the zipper around it. He picked it up carefully by the handle, making sure it would hold.

  ‘I think he might be exceeding the weight limit for carry on,’ Shugg said. ‘We’ll have to pay extra.’ They all laughed heartily – except Scott, who began to shake.

  McBlane got up this time and went into the bedroom. He came back out with a small cloth bag.

  ‘Here’s your ten thousand,’ he said, and handed it to Scott, tight rolls of new bills inside. He then took out a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to wipe any fingerprints from the whiskey bottle.

  ‘Give us a while to get gone before you go back out. Put your feet up, finish the Scotch, whatever. OK?’

  Scott angled his chin down slightly and then back up in a nod, afraid that any more movement than that would result in further vomiting. Dominic picked up the glasses and case that had held the syringes.

  ‘Just drink it from the bottle,’ he said.

  Shugg carried the case containing Twinkle’s broken body outside.

  ‘Well he’s definitely getting cold feet now,’ he said; the three of them laughed again.

  ‘OK Scott, and remember,’ McBlane said.

  ‘Yeah, someone will be in touch,’ Scott finished for him.

 
; He looked at his watch as they left, 00:16.

  It was Christmas Day.

  Chapter 10

  Two days later Angela called. Scott didn’t know how long he’d stayed in the flat that night. He’d drunk the rest of the whiskey before going back down by the stairwell. He hadn’t wanted anything to be the same when he left, no jagged reminders of what should have been with him but wasn’t on the way back out. Scott had wandered aimlessly before eventually coming across a taxi rank where he’d taken a cab home.

  ‘Stephanie’s gone.’

  Scott’s brain swirled, uncomprehending.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Scott, Steph has gone. I don’t know where she is.’

  ‘You were both gone. I tried to call and I stopped by your place.’

  ‘No she left the hospital and stayed with me. She was really scared and wouldn’t let me tell anyone she was here, not even you. This morning she went to get clothes and stuff from her place and she hasn’t come back.’

  ‘Maybe she took off on her own.’

  ‘No, she was convinced they were still after her. She was at the window all the time watching in case anyone came here. She promised she’d be right back Scott.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘OK I’m coming to your place, Scott. I can’t be here right now.’

  The line went dead. Scott sat staring at the now silent phone.

  He had done nothing on Christmas day, just wandered around outside in the frozen woods. Hard ground, chill winds and bare tree branches that looked like they’d been dipped in sugar. None of it had seemed real, like walking around in a desolate dream where nothing happened, but one he didn’t want to wake up from. To awaken would mean a return to the realities of his existence.

  He didn’t know if anyone had tried to call, probably Jack would have the day before so they could exchange their obligatory Merry Christmas but Scott had left his phone switched off. Now when turning it back on Angela had called and it seemed he would have to deal with her turning up there. At least she was embroiled in some drama about her missing friend, not like she’d be asking a bunch of questions about him he didn’t want to answer.