Tattoo

by J G Alva

  Sutton tried to tell himself that he did not like to fight…and on occasion he almost believed it. His one concession was that, should the need for violence arise, then he would not spar; instead, he would incapacitate. Sparring was what you did when you wanted to clean out the glands, when violence was its own end, when you liked the fight. Sutton’s experience had taught him that any fight that went on for more than ten seconds was more like gambling, was a mug’s game: any number of factors could mean that a fight whose outcome seemed certain could turn as swiftly as your luck at a roulette table. He had once been friends with a former Karate champion, and had picked up some useful tips to finish a fight quickly: stamping on a kneecap, dislocating a shoulder, breaking a nose, all of these moves could and usually did disorientate an opponent, at least enough for you to get away…or knock the guy out. And of course a blow to the throat worked just as well, putting the larynx in that V between the thumb and the index finger with a quick, sharp jab that came up from the back of your shoulder; you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think. It was a disturbing, incapacitating injury.

  It was a fat neck, and Sutton’s hand, in that gap between his index finger and his thumb, sank into it to the depth of a couple of inches, and as, in a reflex motion, Frank’s free arm went up to it, Sutton spun him around and threw him into one of the chairs. Frank sprawled awkwardly atop it and it rolled back on its wheels until it hit the wall, where it dislodged one of the tall mirrors. The mirror came down, bouncing not very gently off of Frank’s head, and then on to the floor, where it exploded into a thousand pieces with an almighty crash.

  Frank was oblivious to all this, and was still trying to draw breath through his bruised throat, his hands scratching at his Adam’s apple as if he could somehow get to the damage and fix it himself.

  There was a phone on the wall above the till, and Georgina was frantically dialling the police on it when Sutton rushed forward, took the phone out of her hand, and with a yank tore it from the wall.

  Georgina yelped and flinched back against the wall, backing herself into the corner by the counter.

  There was a clatter, and Sutton turned to see that Tanya had dropped the broom and was making a dash for the front door. Sutton ran after her, reaching out and catching that long dark hair and pulling on it. She screamed, her feet went out from under her, and then she fell on her back.

  Sutton bent down and picked her up by the front of her black top. There was a ripping sound, and looking down he could see the edge of one creamy white bosom exposed. Tanya tried to hit and scratch him, but holding her at arm’s length, she couldn’t quite reach him. In one easy motion, he picked her up and deposited her in one of the chairs in front of a mirror. It slid back slightly, stopped.

  There was silence, except for Georgina’s mewling, and Frank’s gasps.

  Tanya stared at him like he was a wild animal.

  “Now, where is he, Tanya?”

  She shook her head.

  “Tanya?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Loyalty’s admirable,” he commented. “But on this occasion misplaced. I’m not going to hurt him, I just want to talk. Where is he?”

  She stubbornly shook her head.

  He didn’t want to have to hurt her, not really, but he wasn’t sure if anything else was going to work. Unless…

  He spun around, as if in a rage, and ripped one of the industrial hairdryers from its mounting and threw it across the room at another mirror. There was a stupendous crash, and Georgina yelped in fright.

  “Where is he?” Sutton roared at her.

  “Tanya, tell him!” Georgina said desperately.

  Tanya was crying.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know!”

  “Don’t fuck with me. I haven’t got time for games. Either you tell me where he is or-“

  “His house! Ee’s at his house!”

  Sutton shook his head as if he was a school teacher and she a particularly dull pupil.

  “I already tried there. And guess what? He’s nowhere to be found. Now. You’re his girlfriend. You must know where he is. Maybe he’s working somewhere? Or he’s out with friends? Just…tell me. I only need to speak to him.”

  “I don’t know!” She squealed, half in defiance, half in terror.

  Sutton spotted something, and reached down. Tanya, obviously afraid that assault was going to turn into rape, fought him with all the desperation of a virgin bride.

  But he was only after the mobile phone in her denim jacket pocket.

  “I want you to call him,” Sutton said, holding the phone up to her face. “I want you to call him and tell him to come and pick you up.”

  Her terrified eyes stared at him…but still he saw a small spark of defiance.

  He slapped her, hoping to knock the defiance out of her. The red mark of his hand began to come up on her left cheek.

  “Here,” he said, slapping the phone into her hand. “Do it. Ring him.”

  She looked down at the phone, and then resentfully began dialling.

  It seemed to take her a long time. She dialled, stopped, dialled again. Sutton grew impatient. She was stalling for some reason. No teenage girl anywhere ever took this long to call anybody, let alone her beau.

  “Tanya?”

  She did not look up.

  “I’m getting impatient.”

  “Ee aint there!” She suddenly shouted, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “I’ve been calling ee all afternoon and ee aint there!” She looked at her phone as if it had betrayed her. “Ee don’t answer. It just goes to voicemail.”

  “Then where is he?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t, honest! Ee just…”

  “What, Tanya? What is it?”

  She hesitated and then said tearfully, “ee said ee knew a way ee could get us some money. There was some guy ee could blackmail. The guy who abducted that girl – ee said ee knew ee. That ee delivered to his place once. Somewhere in Clifton. Ee said ee was goin’ to call ee up and make ee pay, or ee’d go to the police.”

  Jesus Christ. Sutton felt momentarily stunned. If only he had pushed Mike harder the first time…

  “Who was it, Tanya? Who was he going to blackmail? What was his name?”

  She sniffed, wiping the tears from her face, her eyes darting everywhere but at him.

  “Tanya? Don’t fuck with me on this. I’m not in the mood. If you know-“

  “I don’t know, awright! I don’t know! Ee never told I! Just some guy who was rich, who lived in Clifton! That’s all I fuckin’ knows!

  Sutton stared at her, not sure if she was telling the truth, and then reached out with one hand and grabbed her throat. He started to squeeze.

  “Don’t,” she managed, struggling against his hold on her.

  “Is that the truth, Tanya?”

  Tanya’s face was starting to go red.

  “Tanya?”

  “Please…”

  “Tanya?”

  Tanya struggled harder, hitting him, kicking, but he held on.

  “Tanya, is that the truth or-“

  “Stop it!” Georgina screamed. Her face was red with a mixture of misery and terror. “She doesn’t know! Stop it, or you’re going to kill her!”

  Tanya’s struggles were getting weaker.

  Sutton stared at her, a not too bright teenager that probably didn’t know anything.

  He had no interest in torturing her anymore. He suddenly felt sick with himself.

  He let go of her throat.

  Tanya flopped back on to the chair, taking in great lungfuls of air, like a struggling asthmatic; her face was covered in a light dappling of sweat, and as he watched, the red began to leak out of it, except for the mark on her cheek.

  Sutton stepped back.

  She stared at him, her eyes gone dull with exhaustion.

  He believed her, was convinced that she was telling the truth, that she didn’t know the identity of the man that Mike was going to blackmail…


  But he had been fooled twice today already.

  Losing your touch, Sutton, he thought. Losing your touch.

  Getting old.

  He looked at Georgina who, at his gaze, flinched and took a hesitant step back, as if afraid he was about to turn on her next.

  He turned and walked away from them, to the front of the shop, stopping in front of the chair in which he had deposited Frank. His breathing was better, but he was coughing and clutching at his throat. He would be alright. He eyed Sutton warily.

  Sutton moved to the door to leave but before he could open it he saw Robin outside, looking in.

  Watching.

  *

  She had seen it all.

  Intellectually, she knew the consequences of violence, knew that violence begets violence, saw it on an almost daily basis through some of her clients, the toll that was wrought from spousal abuse, or the abuse that her clients had suffered growing up, the effect it had had on them, the effect it was continuing to have on them…Violence never solved anything, only bred more violence, a never ending circle.

  Morally, it was simply wrong. There were no shades of grey, no instances where violence, however restrained, however controlled, could ever be a solution, a deterrent, or a force for good. One human being striking another human being was an end to any constructive solution making, not its inevitable next step, and no amount of debate could change Robin’s mind on this. It was abhorrent to her.

  But she had watched Sutton at work through the windows of the salon and felt no sense of wrongness, no outrage, no dismay, no disgust.

  Because for Andrea there was no time, and if violence was all they had left, if it was the only way to save her sister, then Robin could condone it. Would condone it. God help her, but she would have them all smashed and beaten to save Andrea.

  Robin drove through the darkening streets of Bristol, deep in thought.

  It started spitting rain suddenly, so she put the wipers on.

  “Where am I going?” She asked eventually.

  She could feel Sutton’s eyes on her.

  After a moment, he said, “back to Ellie’s, I suppose. See if she’s home.”

  “It feels like we’re going in circles.”

  “Well…”

  “What?”

  He shrugged.

  “Sometimes it’s like that.”

  They were crossing the bridge on their way back to the city centre.

  “Are you going to tell me what you found out in there?”

  Sutton sighed, shifting in his seat, but hesitated before speaking.

  “Mike’s girlfriend said that Mike knew the man who had abducted your sister.”

  Distracted, she inadvertently pulled on the wheel, and the car swerved toward the curb.

  “What?”

  “Jesus Christ, Robin-“

  She got the car under control again, but the same could not be said for her heart.

  “He knew him?” She said.

  “Apparently.”

  She shook her head, for the moment completely baffled by human beings; the irony of a Psychotherapist admitting to this, even only to herself, was not lost on her.

  “Then why didn’t he tell you-“

  “He thought he could blackmail him,” Sutton said. “And he didn’t like the police.”

  “Then where is he? We should be going there now to-“

  But Sutton was shaking his head.

  “Tanya doesn’t know where he is. She’s been trying to reach him all afternoon. I’m assuming he tried to blackmail this guy, and it went wrong somehow.”

  “What – you think he’s dead?”

  “I think it’s safe to assume that, yes.”

  Robin thought.

  “Did she know who it was? The girlfriend? Did she know the name of this man that Mike was going to blackmail?”

  “No. Mike didn’t tell her. Just said that he recognised him from one of his deliveries, that he lived in Clifton.”

  “Then can’t we go to the company he works for? Go back through the records, look at all the addresses he delivered to in Clifton?”

  Sutton shook his head again.

  “It would take too long. If we knew when he delivered it, then it might be relatively easy, but we don’t, so that would mean going back through all the records. And what if one of the records is missing? We’d never know. No, we’re better off getting the name out of Ellie.” He paused. “Assuming she hasn’t disappeared as well, of course.”

  Great, Robin thought. Something else to worry about: that Ellie had made a run for it, and they might never be able to get the name from her.

  “So he knew,” Robin said. She still couldn’t believe it.

  “Yes.”

  “He knew when you went to visit him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And…you didn’t suspect anything? That he might be holding something back?”

  Sutton shook his head, just once, quickly, but his expression was uncertain.

  “I knew he was holding something back, but when we spoke to him, he told us…” Sutton cleared his throat, glanced at her. “He told us that he soiled himself. That the tazer the Head Hunter zapped him with-“

  “Don’t,” Robin said curtly, closing her eyes briefly.

  “Sorry. The tazer your sister’s abductor used on him made him lose control of his bowels.” He shook his head again. “I thought that was the secret he was hiding.”

  “Obviously it wasn’t,” Robin said.

  “No.”

  “That’s twice you’ve been lied to.”

  “I know.”

  “I thought you were good with people.”

  Sutton didn’t answer.

  “If you’d only pushed a little bit harder…”

  “Robin, I know, alright. I know. I fucked up. You don’t have to berate me about it, I already know how much I’ve fucked up.”

  “I’m not going to berate you,” Robin said, and she could feel the tears in her eyes, “but if my sister dies because you fucked up, I’ll never forgive you.”

  “Robin-“

  “Never.”

  He stared at her, silent, and she felt his eyes on her.

  After a moment he turned away from her, and stared out of the front passenger window.

  They did not speak again until they had reached Manilla Road.

  *

  Ellie Mason’s house was dark.

  Sutton did not get out, and Robin did not drive away.

  They didn’t know what to do, and they both knew it.

  The atmosphere in the car was decidedly chilly. With no streetlights, and no lights from the dashboard of her car, Sutton was just an amorphous shape in the darkness.

  “I’m sorry,” Robin said eventually.

  Sutton looked at her, and then looked away.

  Speaking to the passenger window, his eyes on the house, he said, “you don’t have to apologise.”

  She looked down at her hands. She had bitten three of her nails ragged, and the skin around the edges of most of them had split; this always happened when she was run down.

  She was about to speak when Sutton’s mobile phone began ringing. He took it out, answered it.

  He listened in silence.

  “Okay. Well…thanks for trying Freddie. No. Yeah, sure. I’ll call you. No, I will. Okay. Take care.”

  “What?” Robin said.

  “Freddie,” Sutton said. “He spoke to his nurse friend. She didn’t remember Arthur Tinman.” He sighed. “We knew it was a long shot anyway.”

  More silence. A car came up the road, and with a stiffness to attention they both watched its progress, watched it as it passed them, watched as it pulled to the curb at the end of the road and a young man in a long black coat got out. He stood a moment at the car, lit a cigarette and then went on his way.

  They both relaxed back in their seats.

  “I liked Freddie,” she said.

  Sutton nodded.

  “I think he liked you.” />
  “You have interesting friends. I’m quite jealous.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, they’re the only things worth keeping.”

  “Fin was talking about you,” she said. “You know. Earlier. Back at the library. When you were on the phone to Sean?”

  “Right.”

  “He said that you have a lateral mind.”

  Sutton did not reply.

  “That you’re a whiz with lateral thinking puzzles,” she continued. “He told me he had found a new one, and that I was supposed to test you with it.” She looked at him briefly. “Do you want me to test you with it?”

  He did not turn from his inspection of the house. He shrugged.

  “Sure. If you want to.”

  She nodded to the back of his head, cleared her throat.

  “A deaf man crosses a road. He’s wearing a long black coat, a black hat, and black shoes. No streetlights are on. A black car comes along the road toward the man. It has no headlights on, is totally black, but manages to stop just before hitting the man crossing the road.” She looked at the back of his head briefly. “How is the driver of the car able to see the man in time to stop?”

  “That’s easy.”

  “Oh?”

  Sutton turned, and his face was creased with a small smile.

  “It’s the middle of the day.”

  “Oh.” She smiled herself. “Of course.”

  There was silence a moment in the car.

  Sutton said to the window, “a hundred feet up in the air, it lies on its back. What is it?”

  “What?”

  “It’s a puzzle.”

  “Oh. I’m not good at puzzles.”

  “Well. Think about it. It’s not that hard. The trick is to look at the problem from another angle.”

  “Okay.” She paused, looking down at her nails again. “Fin also said there’s only two things you take seriously.”

  “Did he now.”

  “Women and Art.”

  Sutton looked at her, his expression unreadable.

  “Fin talks too much.”

  “Is he right?”

  He paused.

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re a Player.”

  Sutton shook his head but did not respond.

  “No.”

  “Then what?”