by Ayre, Mark
“You gunna order or what?”
Getting desperate, James reached into his pocket and found three twenty pound notes, placing them on the bar. He saw the eyes of the round man glint, but the landlord remained disinterested.
“I just need a little help,” said James.
The bartender didn’t even look at the money.
“Out.”
Annoyed, but with no remaining tricks up his sleeve, James reclaimed the money and folded it. Started to turn from the bar.
“Woah, hold on.”
The large man had shifted from his seat and reached for James and the landlord, massive grin on his face, eyes flicking from bartender to money with alarming regularity.
“What?” said the bartender with the dry tone of someone who already knew the answer.
“Well, this here fella, uh—”
“James.”
“Right, James, my good friend James, owes me a drink, and you can’t kick him out before he’s bought us a round.”
The bartender gave him flat, dead eyes.
“Order the drink,” said James’ new, round friend.
“Well I’ll have one of those fruity ciders, please,” said James, trying not to enjoy the look on Mr Landlord's face. “And whatever my good friend is having.”
At first it seemed the landlord might kick them both out, then good sense triumphed, money changed hands, and drinks were poured, though the bartender looked the whole time as though he were being forced to serve a couple of Nazi officers.
Drinks served, they took a table towards the back of the room. James placed fifty quid and change for a ten beside him as incentive and watched his new friend—apparently called Craig—drink half his pint in one go.
“So, you want to find someone?”
“I do.”
“And you’re willing to pay for the information?”
“Yes.”
“Whether you find him or not?”
“Not a chance.”
Craig held up his hands in mock surrender.
“Fine, fine, you find him you pay, you don’t you don’t. No win, no fee, I’m good with that. Tell me about your mystery man.”
James did, describing the guy as best as he could. Despite Craig’s confidence, James had been sure this would come to nothing. However, as his poor description unfolded, he saw Craig’s smile widen, and his hopes grew.
“I know the guy.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Well, I know someone who fits the description. You say he saw you getting mugged?”
“I think so.”
“Right,” said Craig. He didn’t believe James, but that was okay. He’d turn a blind eye to murder for fifty and change. Throw in an extra tenner, he’d probably help.
“That all you got?”
“I can throw on another twenty,” James said. “That’s it. And I verify it’s my guy before you get paid.”
“You musta lost a lot of dough in the mugging, make this worth your while.”
James said nothing. Craig watched him a little while, then shrugged.
“Guy’s called Kev. Regular. Not so friendly but we all know him. Sits in that corner over there every weeknight and Sunday from seven till close without fail. Well, sometimes misses Tuesdays.”
James turned and saw the corner in question. A quiet booth out of the way. Perfect for someone wanting to sit and have a quiet drink without being disturbed. It was where the mugger had sat the other night. A positive sign.
“Thank you.”
“Cash?”
“After I’ve spoken to him.”
Craig’s look suggested he wasn’t a trusting person. James peeled off the extra twenty and placed it in front of him, then rose, taking the remainder.
“You’ll have the rest when I’ve spoken to him. If I try to leave without paying, you can tackle me and steal it, can’t you?”
Craig smiled at the thought, left for the bar without another word.
Kev was a punctual guy. James’ phone read 18:59 when the door opened, and the man who had attacked him and Nina came in, looking almost as uneasy as he had last time James clapped eyes on him.
From his position one booth down from Kev’s chosen seat, James watched him hit the bar. Craig looked up, and James thought he might say something, then his head dipped. Mr Trust, the bartender, had not wanted to hear the description of Kev, so had no idea this was who James sought.
Good.
Gripping his drink hard as he waited, head down, James thought it over. Seeing as this was the mugger he doubted it was the killer. James was looking at a stooge. A fall guy. Which was not to say he couldn’t point James towards the mastermind.
Kev ordered his drink, said a few friendly words to the bartender as it was poured, then wandered over. James dipped his head as far as it would go, hoping Kev wouldn’t look at him.
Next door, James heard the booth seat compress. James gave him half a minute to get settled, then stepped from his booth to Kev’s dropping into the seat opposite his mark.
“Hello.”
The muggers’ eyes widened in horror at the sight of James, and he went to stand.
“If you leave, I’m calling the police,” James said. “I’ll tell them someone called Kevin who frequents this pub mugged my girlfriend and pushed me in a river a couple of nights ago. How long do you think it will take them to find you?”
Kevin hovered halfway between sitting and standing, then slumped into his seat, unable to meet James’ eyes.
“Thank you,” James said, and Kevin’s eyes flicked up. There was fear there, and James wondered if this was how he had looked when Mel forced him to sit.
He tried not to feel bad. After all, James had only threatened Kevin with the police, not chopping him into little pieces. He wasn’t even holding a weapon.
James finished his pint. He had made it last a long time, guessing the bartender wouldn’t serve him again. Now he looked at Kevin’s drink with some envy. He could have used the confidence boost.
“What do you want?”
James realised he had been hovering, not speaking, too long. This was not the intention, but it clearly wound Kevin into a state of fear, dwelling on what was going to happen.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he said.
“Not really. You have your information. You know my name and where I like to drink. You could have had the police waiting for me, but you’ve not. You’re here. So you must want something extra.”
“Very perceptive,” James said. He thought about it. How to play it. “Let’s start with this. I have no intention of seeing you locked up.”
“Because you want to meter out your own justice.”
“No.”
Kevin didn’t look convinced.
“Then what?”
James wondered how much to tell him. He didn’t want to give anything away to anyone who might matter, but he didn’t think Kevin did.
“The night you mugged us, someone was murdered,” James said, deciding on the fly to risk it. “You may have seen it on the news. Harris Chappell?”
Kevin nodded.
“Well, the girl I was with was Harris’ aunt.”
He went white. The Chappell’s were well known in the local area. To learn you had pissed one off induced fear in many braver than poor Kev.
“I didn’t know,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“I can tell,” James said. “Like I say, I don’t want to get you arrested, and I don’t want Jane to know you mugged her little sister. What I need to know is why you mugged us.”
“Why?”
“You’re in no position to ask questions.”
He flinched as he said it, remembering how Mel had been with him. He sat back.
“The night Harris was murdered his boss, Tahir, received a text. The text requested his presence at the bar where the killing took place. It looks like an attempt to set him up.”
“Tahir? I know that name.”
“He’s dead too.
”
“Oh, God. But I still don’t—”
“It was Nina who text Tahir. Except Nina didn’t have her phone. It was stolen earlier in the day. By you.”
Kevin released a long, pained moan, and put his head in his hands. James didn’t say anything. Watched as Kev shook his head in his hands as though he could shake away his poor actions. He stayed this way for some time before forcing himself to look at James, his eyes wide and red.
“I knew I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Mug someone? Well, no.”
“Not that. I’ve never done anything like that. I’m not a crook, I’m not a criminal. I’m an ordinary guy who’s fallen on hard times.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I know, I know, it’s a pathetic excuse. Pathetic. But it was meant to be no harm done. I was told to push you in the river and take the girl’s purse. I know it sounds stupid to say that wouldn’t hurt anyone, but I was told you were rich folk. That a lost phone would mean nothing to you.”
James waited, giving nothing away, allowing the stupid rationalisation to wash over him until Kev broke and carried on.
“I regretted it immediately. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“Who made you do it?”
He shook his head.
“I’d never met her before. Honestly.”
James considered, but Kev’s eyes were frightened, honest. James decided to believe him.
“How did it come about?”
Kev looked into his drink but didn’t take any. He clasped the glass, and his hands trembled. James maintained his quiet, letting Kev do the work of frightening himself. He glanced around the bar then gave a pathetic smile.
“They probably told you I sit here every day. I’ve always come here, but not always so often. A few years ago, I lost my job and had to take a significant pay cut to get back into work. Then I lost my wife and, after that, I started coming almost every day.”
“Except Saturday’s and some Tuesdays,” James added, helpfully. Kevin smiled a little, nodded.
“Right. Well, I came here a couple of weeks ago, and this girl is sitting in my booth. Usually, I’m quite possessive about this seat. Don’t like it when someone else sits here but I couldn’t begrudge her. She was beautiful. Younger than me. Your age, I’d guess. I decide to take another seat. Somewhere I can see her. I’m no fool. I’d never find the courage to talk to her, but if I can see her, I can dream. Sometimes, that’s enough you know?”
James wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical, and wasn’t interested in answering either way. He played with a beer mat, waiting for Kev to go on.
“Anyway, I’m about to sit down when she waves me over. I think this has to be some kind of dream, but she keeps doing it, so I sit with her. We get talking, and I think it must be some cruel trick, but she doesn’t seem the nasty sort. She’s quiet, though she speaks a lot, and nervous too. We get on really well, and she asks if I’ll be back tomorrow. I say yes—no shit, even if I hadn’t planned to come back I would have. I can’t wait to see her again, though I suspect she’s lying. She won’t be here. But she is, waiting again and we talk again and—“
“Skip the romance,” James said. There was nasty churning in his stomach he was attempting not to entertain. Kev saw the serious look in his booth buddy’s eyes and skipped to the critical events.
“I’d seen her a few times when she asked for a favour. Said a couple would be coming here soon and described the girl. Asked me to follow them once they’d left. Push the guy in the river, get him out the way, then steal the girl's bag. Once I’d done that, I was to chuck the purse in a bin down the road and walk away. Simple as that.”
Lifting his hand, he began biting his nails. James heard the click and tried to ignore the disgusting scene, focusing on the story.
“She say why she wanted the purse?”
Kevin closed his eyes. There were tears at the corners of his eyes.
“You didn’t ask.”
Kevin shook his head.
“Cause you thought you liked this girl and allowed yourself to believe she liked you back.”
“Dumb, right?” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“Beyond dumb,” James said, though he understood. It could be intoxicating for a lonely guy to believe someone was interested in him. Especially someone beautiful and out of his league. He must have known the truth, but didn’t he have to try? In case it was real.
“I suppose you haven’t seen her since?”
Another shake of the head. James gave a sigh, but it wasn’t in anger. More sympathy for this pathetic man in front of him, now sobbing, trying to restrict the noise.
“I’m sorry,’ he said. “I was fooled. I’m an idiot. A stupid waste of space.”
“Forget it,” James said, knowing to dwell on it was pointless, and if it was punishment he wanted, the man was already punishing himself enough. “What’s done is done. But this girl likely had something to do with Harris Chappell’s murder. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your name out of it, but I need your help finding her. Can you describe what she looks like? Did she give you a name?”
“I’m not great at descriptions,” Kev croaked, and James could sympathise, “but she was slim, stunning. Blonde hair past her shoulders, shining blue eyes. Gorgeous lips and smooth, tanned skin. Amazing body. Her chest was—“
“Okay,” James said, cutting him off. “And a name? Did she tell you her name?”
“Yeah, uh, yeah, she did.” He nodded dumbly and ruined James’ life.
“Her name was Megan.”
19
Forget the investigation. Forget everything. A dizzy spell rocked him, sending him to ground as he burst from the pub like so many drunks before. Only difference being he’d had a single pint.
At last, he called Owen back. They arranged to meet at Jane’s bar. James needed distraction. There was the fear of Davis and Mel but what did that matter if Megan was the killer? Who cared, if the fantasy he had constructed of him and the girl he was falling in love with had been just that—fantasy. Over a drink, he could ask Owen to help him gain the footage Mel was after, but as he pulled into the bar, he couldn’t have cared less.
“You’re distracted,” Owen said. “Let me guess. Something to do with murder?”
Owen had heard the screams following Tahir’s stabbing and had come running. He had been caught up in the crowds but had stuck around until the police arrived, giving a statement to say he had come in with James and to put on record his belief James would not have killed Tahir. As it was, the cops had not suspected James anyway, but he appreciated the thought.
“I want it to be over,” James said.
“So find the killer. Easy.”
Was it? His fear was he had closed in on the truth. All this time trying to protect Megan by finding the truth only for the truth to be her. Had she been sleeping with Tahir as well as Davis and Harris? Had she wanted revenge on them all?
“What if finding the killer would ruin your life?” he asked. “That is if you don’t get killed anyway by one of the at least two people who want you dead. What would you do?”
“I—“ Owen said, picking up his drink. “Would get very very drunk, pass out, fail to find any answers, and wake up one day in time to have my throat cut.” He nodded. “Yeah, that’s me, but I’m no role model, nor someone to aspire to.”
James smiled, drank.
“Who is a good role model in these situations?”
“I don’t know. We are all a mess. We stumble through life hoping nothing goes wrong and, for some, it doesn’t. Some of us get ever so lucky.”
“And for you?”
“Oh, my life’s perfect.”
Owen smiled. Ducked his head. James waited.
“I got the same mistakes as anyone. Broken hearts, lost friends, disappointed parents. Sometimes I think I have nothing to live for, then I remember—”
He rose his glass, stared lovingly into it.
�
��There’s always something.”
“We are a mess,” said James, and they cheersed to that.
“If I can help with anything,” Owen said, but James waved him off.
“Nah, let’s forget it. Let’s drink and pretend life is okay. Pretend our hearts weren’t broken and I’m not going to be chopped into pieces by a crazy bitch. Let’s pretend life is fair. Besides, you already saved me from a kidnapping. Think you’ve done enough.”
They drank and chatted about other things. Pretending to have forgotten the darkness behind them, but it was clear pretending. Not enough to fool either of them. James’ mind kept drifting, and as he watched Megan flit between the bed with Davis to stabbing Harris to death, he saw Lars step out onto the bar floor.
“And then I said — what you looking at?”
James barely registered Owen’s voice. He let his head turn, following Lars as he stepped closer. The lighting was low, but he had been right. Had seen what he thought he had seen when Lars first stepped into the bar.
The bartender swept past, working his way through the crowd towards the metal steps, heading to the mezzanine. James watched but didn’t realise he had stood until he looked down and saw his seat too far below.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Owen. “I’ll be right back.”
Though he felt terrible, he couldn’t stop. He made his way through the crowd as Lars had done, rushing to the stairs and jogging up them as Lars disappeared into the staff area. Tripping on the top step, he drew the attention of those sitting there and looked for a moment to where Megan and Harris had sat. Then he was moving again, sliding through the door and down the corridor into the little staff area.
“Lars.”
His target turned to see James and tried a little smile that did not quite carry. Not so genuine as those he had dished out the previous night.
“Hey, man, how’s it going? You doing another shift?”
The door swung shut. James stepped into the room, closing the space between them. On one side of the room was a surface with the microwave on it. To the other were three chairs. James was fairly sure Lars had been about to take one, but he remained standing, and James did the same.
