‘Yeah, so, awkward situation,’ Thomas says as though embarrassed. ‘We heard your neighbour is beating on his wife.’
A look from the man to his wife who tenses and swallows. ‘We er…we’ve not heard anything,’ the man says.
‘Hey, I’m sure we’re wrong,’ Thomas says. ‘Just that domestic violence is a big thing now. Folks go to jail and get done in the ass in for that…’
‘What?’ the man asks.
Thomas laughs. ‘You know, bend over in the showers…get a big guy called Buck whacking it between the cheeks, huh?’ he motions a thrust while laughing too loudly as Bear smiles dumbly.
‘I’m sorry,’ the man says in a tight voice. ‘I don’t think that’s appropriate to…’
‘Joking buddy,’ Thomas says, patting the big guy on the arm. ‘Lighten up…it’s not like you’re beating on your wife, now is it?’
‘What? No! Course I…she’d…we’d never do that…’
‘Good to hear, Sir. Only pussies beat women. You know, cowards…I mean real yellow-bellied shit eating maggots…say, can you show my colleague where your property overlooks your neighbour.’
‘I don’t think…’
‘You’ll be doing that now, Sir.’
‘I really don’t think…’
‘Thank you, Sir. Knew we could count on you. Go with officer Bear now and I’ll get your wife’s measurements…ha! I said measurements. I meant details. But say, she is pretty.’
‘Show me please, Sir,’ Bear says, nodding for the man to lead on.
He goes unwillingly, wanting to argue but the mad glint in Thomas’s eye makes him comply, walking off with officer Bear while casting looks back at his wife.
‘Nice house,’ Thomas remarks.
‘Thank you,’ she says quietly, her head still lowered, her arms across her chest but he spots the bruises on her wrists and leans over to look down the hall, making sure they’re not in hearing.
‘The police can help you, Mary. They have refuges and support services. Your sister can put you and the kids up for a few days…’ A sharp inhalation of air. A tensing of her body. ‘Get a lawyer, he’s a wealthy man.’
The man leads Bear through to the kitchen, his pride prickling, his sense of public duty fighting against his knowledge of the law and what the police are allowed to do. ‘Listen, officer…I don’t think you should be…’ he turns as he speaks, yelping out and trying to jump back from Bear being right there, gripping his neck to take him off his feet across the kitchen table, knocking bowls and plates that smash on the tiled floor.
‘What the…’ Mary tenses by the front door, hearing the bangs and crashes coming from the kitchen.
‘That’s officer Bear,’ Thomas says happily. ‘It’s fine…’
It’s like the sound of a dry twig breaking. Distinct and crisp and the man would scream out but Bear’s hand over his mouth prevents it as he grabs another finger and snaps it.
‘You ever touch her again, I’ll kill you…’ snap. ‘You ever hurt her again, I’ll kill you…’ snap. ‘You ever threaten her, and I will kill you,’ snap. ‘If you do anything other than be nice, I will kill you,’ snap snap snap.
‘Seriously, you don’t have to endure abuse,’ Thomas says softly. ‘Get help, get support, you’re worth more than this…’
‘All done,’ Bear says brightly, walking back down the hallway.
‘You have a good day now, ma’am,’ Thomas says pleasantly. Walking out the door after Bear. A few moments later Mary slowly pulls a heavy skillet from the metal hook while eyeing her husband writhing and crying on the floor from his fingers all being bent the wrong way. She kills him with the skillet but is later acquitted of murder by using the defence of a battered wife. The case gains international coverage and Mary tours the country to speak out against abuse. She visits a high school and meets a man doing his own talk on abuse and anger and depression. She listens to his story. He was abused too. He was angry. He was planning on taking an assault rifle into his old high school. Mary joins him for coffee after. They marry six months later, and the golden lines stretch forever on.
‘I love Monday mornings,’ Thomas says as they head off down the street from Mary’s house.
‘Yeah?’ Bear asks. ‘Why?’
‘Pancakes,’ Thomas says, holding his thumb up. ‘And we only get easy jobs on a Monday morning…did you know Marco’s handler puts him into war on a Monday morning.’
‘That’s bad,’ Bear says.
‘Bad? Who wants war on a Monday morning? You’ve got to warm up to a war…’ they walk into the rear yard of an abandoned house and through the grass to the rear shed. Pulling the door open to step into room one and then out into planning office and across the hall to Zara’s office.
‘Go alright?’ she asks, double taking at the sight of them in uniform. ‘Ooh, you both look good like that.’
‘Holy shit,’ Sally says, dropping her folders while walking past the office. ‘He’s a cop…Bear’s a cop…’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Bear groans as Thomas bursts out laughing at the women of the office peering round the edge of the doorframe.
‘What’s next?’ Bear asks Zara.
‘Back into normal clothes…no hang on, stay like that…’ she starts rifling through the folders as the phone rings and snatches the receiver up. ‘What? No! Sod off and get back to work…how much?’ she looks up at Bear and Thomas. ‘I’ll think about it.’ She puts the phone back and carries on going through folders.
‘Think about what?’ Thomas asks.
‘I just got offered a hundred dollars to find a fireman RLI for you two…ah no, the other cop one was given to Larry. Get changed, you’re in London for the next few until lunch…we’re meeting Jacob and Pete at Covent Gardens 2016 for a bite…well go on, chop, chop, work to do…’
21
THE DAY AFTER CARPE DIEM
He wakes as before. Flat on his back with the emotional vestiges of the rage still strong while immediately detecting his body is calm and relaxed. His heart rate spikes a little, but he has died many, many times before so this is nothing new.
A concrete ceiling above him and whatever he is lying on is hard and solid. He lifts his head to see three concrete walls and one made of bars and deduces he is inside a cell.
‘You’re in a cell,’ the man sitting on the wooden chair on the other side of the bars says. A deep voice, gravelly and harsh with a trace accent that hints at European. Grizzled and weathered. A thick beard streaked with grey and a pump-action shotgun resting across the crook of his muscular arms bulging from his police issue shirt. ‘I’m Lars.’
‘Sheriff?’ Bear asks.
Lars nods once but stays otherwise unmoving while Bear’s mind suddenly fills with a stream of images and memories. He was with Zara and Thomas. They were in New York, then London, then New York. The RLI. Carpe Diem restaurant. Robert. The people in black. The firefight. Roshi! His heart booms and his senses come to the fore as he twists lithely from the wooden bench to gain his feet, hardly noticing he is back to barefoot in the blue coveralls. He was in the restaurant. Roshi was shot. He went mad…what happened?
‘Roshi?’ he asks quickly. The sheriff doesn’t answer but just stares impassively. Roshi? Is she…what happened?’
The sheriff rises smoothly to his feet with the shotgun still held across the crook of his arms. A pause as he studies Bear then he walks to the water cooler at the end of the corridor, places the shotgun down and slowly fills a paper cup while Bear thinks and tries to remember. He killed them all. He reacted to Roshi being shot. He killed Robert. It’s all there in his mind.
‘What’s happening?’ he asks as the sheriff walks back.
Lars studies him again and lifts the shotgun one handed, bracing the butt in his hip while reaching out to hold the paper cup out in a steady hand. Bear takes the cup and drinks it down in one, relishing the cool waters cascading down his throat. ‘Roshi?’ Bear asks.
Lars shrugs.
22
A beautiful autumnal dawn and each blade of grass stands stiff and frozen with the moisture hardened to ice that glitters and sparkles. His footsteps track across to the point he stands every morning. His breath misting fast from the run down here and he drops to a crouch, lays it down with the others, sighs heavily then pushes up to run on back to Main Street and the intersection that he takes at speed.
He passes the big houses, work hard to a decent position and one day get a house down here. To the junction. Up the hill to the top. To his home set back from everyone else. To his bar and the pull-ups and press ups.
Discovery tea. Discovery toast. A hot shower, shave and he dresses for the day while believing that if he inhales deeply enough he can still smell her.
He isn’t greeted or acknowledged when he heads to Thomas’s house. Sometimes he’ll see some of the women from his office. The ones that smile at him at work that look away when they’re with their boyfriends or partners.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ he tuts at Thomas yawning in his boxer shorts.
Another late finish and it was full on night when the three finally left the planning offices. They were the last ones out too, but they’re always the last ones out. Dinner was courtesy of James in the diner before they trudged up the path to bid good night with Bear retiring to stare at nothing and listen to nothing.
‘Morning, Zara,’ James says, greeting them with a smile as the three head into the diner. Monday was Thomas’s favourite of pancakes. Tuesday is fruit and yogurt. Thomas’s least favourite, especially when Zara nags him for trying to pour pancake syrup over his otherwise healthy food while knowing fully well that he and Bear will go straight for a café or diner on their first RLI to eat bacon and eggs.
‘How was the run?’ she asks.
‘Fine,’ Bear says.
‘All good?’ Thomas asks, glancing at him.
‘All good.’ Bear knows they’re not asking about the actual run but the thing he does on the run. But it’s okay, it doesn’t matter.
‘Ooh,’ Zara says, waving her spoon at them. ‘Might have an overnighter coming up Thursday.’
‘Wednesday to Thursday or Thursday to Friday?’ Thomas asks.
‘Duh,’ she says with a look. ‘Thursday to Friday…if I meant Wednesday, I would have said we might have a double coming up on Wednesday…’
‘Gee okay, Grumps,’ Thomas says.
‘I hate that,’ she says with a mock glare.
‘Okay,’ Thomas says. ‘Grumps,’ he adds in a mumble.
‘Grumps,’ Bear mumbles.
‘Idiots. First World War…we haven’t got the details yet, but I think it’s a protection job.’
‘Ah, man, I hate that war,’ Thomas grumbles.
‘Everyone hates that war,’ she says.
‘Get Marco to do it, or Keith, or…’
‘It’s our turn…I’ll keep you posted…’ she says, trailing off with a wince. ‘Don’t,’ she groans.
‘Our door is always open,’ Bear says.
‘We operate an open sky ceiling thing,’ Thomas says.
‘We think outside box.’
‘We give it legs and let it breathe.’
‘We’ll get our ducks in a row,’ Bear says.
‘Run it up the flagpole,’ Thomas says.
‘Keep me in the loop,’ Bear says.
‘Idiots, the pair of you…’
From the diner to the weird dynamics of the planning office and the strained disquiet of the operatives prep room while they wait for the handlers to sort the daily jobs lists out and assign rooms.
That they undertake time travel is never really mentioned. That they do a thing of a magnitude it makes the mind boggle at the mere thought is glossed over and instead they do what human beings have done throughout time and history and become bogged down in the details and facilitation of it all.
Besides. It’s far more interesting to talk about who isn’t pulling their weight, or who is in trouble for pissing about. Who messed up. Who did well. Who is fucking who and the intricacies of living rather than the concept of changing the course of humanity. They share news of places where the best meals are, the nicest beaches, the best time periods with enthusiasts discussing cars, technology, sights, architecture, art and every other manner of interest and the forever ongoing discussion of where the most beautiful women and men are from.
‘New Jersey,’ Thomas tells the room, nodding earnestly. ‘Dude, I’m being totally serious…she was hot…then we went out the church and like…every direction there was just hot women…New Jersey…’
‘Was that after Bear killed the priest?’ Marco asks.
‘And, before he killed everyone else?’ Keith adds.
‘HEY, FUCK YOU MAN,’ Thomas shouts as the room once more erupts into an all-out verbal brawl.
‘Dear god,’ Martha groans, shaking her head in Zara’s office at the noise coming from the far end of the corridor. ‘I’m sick of telling them…’
‘I’ll do it,’ Zara says bluntly.
‘Know what,’ Martha says, ‘go for it…maybe they’ll listen to someone else for a change.’
‘Happy to,’ Zara says, walking out from behind her desk to stride down the corridor while Martha goes to walk off then stops with a sudden change of mind.
‘Zara…’ she calls out.
‘Be fine,’ Zara says, calling over her shoulder. She reaches the door, pushing hard to send it slamming against the wall with such a bang it snaps every single head over. ‘WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?’ she thunders with a brutal raw authority that makes even Martha flinch in surprise.
The young woman strides deeper into the room, her expression furious. ‘The whole bloody place can hear you…it is embarrassing and it ends now…if it happens again you will get suspensions and docked pay…ALL OF YOU…problem, Marco?’ she asks, seeing the look on his face.
‘No,’ he says quickly, ‘sorry, Zara…’
‘Good. Get to work…’
‘Fuck me backwards,’ Martha mumbles, sharing a look with Allie. ‘Remind me never to piss her off.’
‘Don’t piss Zara off,’ Allie says helpfully. ‘Can we get docked pay?’
‘No idea,’ Martha replies.
‘All done,’ Zara says, walking back to her office. She goes in, sits down and dives straight back into the folders.
Zara’s methodology is sound. Starting each day with easier RLI’s and making sure to put feel-good and positive jobs in with the negative ones to balance it out while keeping an eye on weather patterns, times of year, seasons and places. She learnt the hard way how taxing it can be to have a series of jobs all in mid-winter New York with that biting freezing wind.
Her Tuesday rolls on with slightly more complex and involved RLI’s for Bear and Thomas to deal with.
An infiltration of a water company in America to access the control panel to drain the storm tanks of a small town before a flood hits that evening.
Stop a Saudi Arabian prince bidding on a Picasso at an auction.
Prevent the robbery of a cash-in-transit van in Brooklyn.
Commit a robbery of a cash-in-transit van in Queens and throw the millions of dollars from the window of a high-rise in the city centre to clog traffic to divert the local news networks away from a controversial movie premiere that portrays Nazi Germany as the victims and denies the holocaust. She helps out on that one. Carrying the bags of money from the deployment position of a cupboard to five levels up and helping throw the banknotes from the window.
After that she returns to Discovery while the other two disrupt a cocaine deal in a warehouse, posing as undercover cops to make all the dealers run off so they can corner and convince a young man not to embark on his criminal career.
They pick a fight with a street gang terrorising an inner-city London borough, well, Thomas picks the fight then stands back as Bear actually does the fighting. She watches that one on the monitor in her office. Holding a mug of tea in her hands while tracking ev
ery move Bear makes while ignoring Sally and some of the other woman peering round her door. Bear’s abilities are staggering, the way he moves. Fluid. Graceful and so utterly brutal.
Her team are now processing four times more work than anyone else, hence Allie being allocated to help but still, there is a nag in the back of her mind that Bear is merely treading water, like he is waiting for a thing that will never happen. That’s okay now, but what happens when he realises, the thing he is waiting for will never happen?
What then?
23
THE DAY AFTER CARPE DIEM
Lars comes back. Walking down the corridor to stop at the cell door. A uniformed woman behind him holding a pump-action shotgun. Asian, maybe Indian or Pakistani. Slight and feminine but looking every inch the professional law-enforcement official.
‘I’m deputy Prisha,’ she says politely as Lars unlocks the cell door and moves in to stare down at Bear sitting on the wooden bench.
‘Taking you to see the Old Lady,’ Lars says, swinging the cell door in. ‘You do anything, and we’ll shoot you…then you reset here…’
‘Okay,’ Bear says.
‘We got shackles,’ Lars says, standing in front of Bear, unafraid, unflappable and entirely stoic in manner. ‘We need shackles?’
Bear shrugs, shaking his head. ‘No…what’s happening?’
‘Not for us to say,’ Lars says after a second of silence.
‘It’s been hours,’ Bears says quietly. ‘Where’s Roshi? Zara? Thomas?’
‘Come on,’ Lars motions for Bear to go out, stepping in behind. ‘Saw what you did in the restaurant…’
‘Were you there?’ Bear asks. ‘is Roshi okay?’
‘Playback,’ Lars says.
‘Playback?’ Bear asks, getting more confused.
‘RLI’s can be watched,’ Prisha says from in front of him, leading them down the corridor through a door into a large room lined with desks and filing cabinets. An oversized map of Discovery on the wall and Bear instantly takes it to be the sheriff’s office just off Main Street in the town centre. He looks to the windows, hoping to see out but the blinds are closed, bathing the room in muted light.
A Town Called Discovery Page 22