by David Mark
I let out a half laugh, feeling bad. “Sorry. Tough love.”
She reaches out for me. “I like it when you love me hard.”
“You’re not allowed to say that any more,” I say, disconsolate, turning her lunge for me into a cuddle. “What about this dreamy new guy, the man who’s going to make it all better? Whatshisname. Beatle?” The name is like a piece of shit in my mouth that I have to spit out, and Kerry notices.
“He’s got something. Plans. He’s a lot like you.”
“Fuck off.”
“No, really. He’s got a bit of style. Ambition. And he wants to take care of me.”
“He’s a dealer, darlin’. He can’t take care of himself.”
“He’s more than that. And anyway, he’s not a proper dealer. He just gets bits of stuff here and there.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot his main occupation. Signing on.”
“You’ve never liked my boyfriends. Beatle’s different. Honestly. You should get to know him. He would make a better impression. He knows what you mean to me.”
“I’d kill him.”
“No, Owen. You’d get on. He’s really funny, and he’s like, got this infectious laugh, and enthusiasm. Sometimes I’m high with him before I even shoot up. That has to be a good thing.”
“You’re in love with him? It’s only been a few weeks.”
“No. Well, maybe.” She sounds shy, like a schoolgirl talking about a boy in chemistry class who saw her knickers when the wind blew. “He says he loves me.”
“What can he offer you, Kerry?”
“He says he’s going to give me the world.”
“Well it’s mine and he can’t fucking have it.”
“He’s better than you think, Owen. He looks after me. He wants me to quit this shit as well. And he’s strong, despite what you’d think to look at him. Couple of days ago we were down Princes Ave and these lads in a Land Rover pulled up and one of them tried to drag him in, and he got away from them. Stood up to them. He wasn’t even bothered. Said it was just some people trying to scare him over some little deal, and they could fuck off if they thought he was scared. Just let it wash over him.”
“Oh he sounds peachy.”
Then: “What have you told him?”
“About what?”
“You know, Kerry.”
“Nothing, Owen. The past’s the past. I would never tell a soul about that. About you. We’ve fallen far enough, I swear.”
Silence again.
Me, thinking about it.
Frowning in the dark.
“Where is he now, then? This Beatle? Is it with an A or an E, by the way? Is he a bug or a walrus?”
“I think it’s with an A, but I think it’s actually supposed to be an E, the way it’s meant. He’s out. Busy bee. Just taking care of a bit of business. That’s what he says. I think he likes to say it.”
“Deal business?”
“Business business.” Her voice cracks, and I realise she’s missing him. Might even be concerned. I make a concession to human decency and don’t push.
“Do you remember that game, Kerry?
“Which one?”
“The gun game. When we were little.”
“You mean the bullet game? Yeah.” Kerry is smiling again. “You’ve got a gun with two bullets in it and you have to decide who to shoot and why. Yeah. I still play it.”
“Me too.”
“I remember you always used to say if you had two bullets you’d shoot Ms Start twice, just to be sure.”
“Yeah, I hated science.”
“Then there was the doctor. Finnegan. You wouldn’t even waste a bullet on him, you said. And if you did, you’d insert it manually.”
“Lovely idea,” I say, laughing gently.
“And that bus conductor who was mean to Mam. And Mam, sometimes.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference. The bullets would bounce off.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Laughing, then wistful. Both in a rainstorm of memories and regrets.
“It’s not so easy, you know, princess,” I say, under my breath, deadening the words on the fuzzy crown of her head. “You don’t get many shots in this life. Shots to change your world. Two bullets in your gun is simple. It’s specific. It’s two wankers who’ve pissed you off. 100 bullets and you climb a tower and just start taking pot-shots. Law of averages, innit? Throw a rock in the air and you’ll hit someone guilty. But imagine six. You’ve got this chance. It’s a Lottery ticket. Three numbers come up and you win a tenner but you’re almost regretting your good luck cos it isn’t good enough. How do you decide? How do you take those shots and take them right? You find yourself not wanting to waste them. So you don’t. You bank ‘em, and you bash somebody’s brains in with a rock or you strangle the bastard, and you keep your gun in your pocket for when you need it. Or when you want to use it. And as long as you’ve got it, you know you’re untouchable.”
Silence.
Said too much. And not enough.
Me tense, waiting for reaction.
Body taut.
Kerry breathing heavily again.
Asleep on my chest.
Rat-tat-tat-rat-tat-tat.
Knock at the door. Businesslike, Practiced.
Pulling on my trousers, throwing the scarf over Kerry.
Rummaging in my coat pocket.
Gun in my hand, soothing the panic.
Upright. Deep breath.
Holding the gun behind my back as I open the door a crack and the light of the hall throws a frame around me.
I look into the face of Detective Superintendent Doug Roper.
26
He’s changed his clothes since this afternoon. Black suit, now, with a barely visible purple pinstripe. Black shirt, open neck. Neat row of surfer-style beads around his throat. Black leather jacket, with barely a raindrop on the lapels. Had a shave, too. Widened the divide in his moustache and pointed the bit beneath his chin.
Young copper from this afternoon behind him, holding an umbrella, giving a wide smile of recognition.
TV crew behind, crowding onto the landing. Black lad holding the boom. Cameraman obscured beneath a giant leather trilby and a hiking coat. Filming merrily.
Five in total.
Bullet to spare?
File the thought.
Roper’s face rippling as he sees me, like he’s sucking a lemon or about to come.
Words dying in his mouth.
Wheels turning in his head as he tries to figure it out. Why. Why I’m here, bare-chested, raising an eyebrow in his face.
“Owen?” Taken aback and not liking it. “You live here?”
“Evening Doug. Y’alright?” Nod to the others. “No, mate. Sister’s place. The fuck you doing here?”
Keeping it light. Laughs in our voices, like two old friends bumping into each other somewhere unexpected.
Then, softly: “You after me?”
Roper shaking himself cool. Pupils expanding, like ink dropped in water.
Runs a hand over his mouth and deposits a half-smile.
“No, no, I’m looking for a Lee ….” stops as realisation dawns. “Ah. Small world.”
“I’ll say.”
A painful, drawn-out pause. It’s all a little awkward.
“What for?” I ask, confused.
“Best we come in.”
Roper can’t decide if he wants a scene. Would make good TV. Already he’s rehearsing his lines in his head. Probably got a script in his pocket. Been practicing his menacing glare and compassionate tilt of the head all day.
“No, tell me why you want her.”
“Is she in, Owen?” A touch of steel to the voice.
Kerry’s hand suddenly around my waist, her face poking over my shoulder. Wearing my shirt and pulling it down.
“What do you want?”
Him, flipping a switch labelled “charm”.
“My name is Detective Superintendent Doug Roper,” he
says, fixing his eyes on hers and attempting to smoulder. “I’m with Humberside Police. Just ignore these people behind me. I need to…”
“Cut! Christ, sorry about this but it’s much more realistic if you don’t mention that we’re here. Just act as though we’re not. Do what you would normally do and we’ll just blend into the background.” An arm on Roper’s elbow as she makes her point.
Roper rolling his eyes, giving me a wink to show he knows this is all bullshit, then turning back to Kerry.
“Sorry about that. Yes, as I was saying...”
“No, Doug. This is fresh. First time. You’ve just knocked on the door. Laddo’s opened it, sister’s come out, you break the bad news…”
“Flora!” he says, disappointed.
“What? Oh, sorry.”
Roper’s head in his hands. Turning to Kerry with a shake of his head. Dismissing any further instructions from the camera crew with a wave of his hand.
“Ms Lee, it really is best if we come inside. I’m investigating two murders and I think you may have some information which could prove useful. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”
“What’s going on?” Me again, squeak in my voice, like a finger rubbed on dry teeth. Goose pimples on my flesh. Breathing fast. Kerry’s hand tightening around my waist.
Both of us stepping back to make room.
Retreating back to the bed.
Gun in my fucking hand!
Looking down at it, then up at Roper.
He hasn’t noticed. Eyes everywhere but here. Drinking in Kerry’s life then burping up assumptions.
I drop the gun gently. Push it under the sofa. Have to give it some welly, as its progress is impeded by a dead body.
Kerry shuffling back on the sofa-bed. Face pale.
Rubbing her arms.
Me perching on the edge, blinking as the young cop switches the light on and we’re bathed in nasty light.
TV crew squeezed in the doorway.
Roper sitting down next to Kerry. Surreptitiously checking he doesn’t sit on anything nasty, then giving her his full attention.
“Ms Lee…”
“Kerry.” Automatic.
Smile of gratitude. Nod. “Kerry, do you know a gentleman called Darren Norton?”
A second’s puzzlement. “Erm…”
“You might know him as Beatle?”
“Oh.” Big smile. It freezes. She’s torn now, a dutiful drug-dealer’s girlfriend and a well-raised gymkhana champ who once won a rosette for growing a sunflower. Not knowing which is the right answer. The right persona. Looking at me and getting a shrug. “Yes? Yes. He’s my boyfriend.”
“Kerry, I’m sorry to tell you this but Darren Norton’s body was discovered in the Humber Bridge Country Park this morning. He’d been shot. I’m investigating his murder, along with that of another man, who was found at the same time. I need your help to try and get justice for Darren.”
My eyes two perfect smoking gun barrels.
Kerry’s searching for mine. Filling with tears. Fingers instinctively clutching at the crook of her arm, longing to fill it with delicious poison. Cake crumbs under her skin.
“What? No! He can’t be…”
“His brother positively identified the body this morning, Kerry. I’m very sorry.”
“No. Owen, tell him he’s wrong.” She’s imploring me to take the pain away, but all the magic’s gone from my wand and I just sit there, looking at the floor, picturing the moment I finally met her precious boyfriend; a patch of shadow in the darkness, falling into mud and leaves, a hole in his head and a bullet in his brain.
Kerry; wiping tears, sniffing, dabbing at her nose with the sleeve of my shirt. Sniffles, but no sobs.
Roper pursing his lips, nodding to the young cop in the direction of the kitchen, urging him to go and make a cup of tea.
Film crew zooming in. Microphone boom snaking across the room above my head like a dinosaur’s neck, peering down at Kerry as she loses herself in thoughts and miseries, cross legged, staring at her lap, tail of my shirt puddling in front of her dignity.
Young cop, staring at the draining board and looking for ingredients. Giving up and pulling a face that suggests he’ll be wiping his feet after he leaves.
“Kerry.”
Roper, soft of voice and watery of eye.
“Kerry.”
Her looking up. Light catching the blackheads on her nose. Putting one of her plaited rat-tails in her mouth and sucking on the end. Spindly legs and arms like twigs stripped of bark.
“Kerry, do you have any idea why Beatle would be at the Country Park late last night?”
Looking at me again, knowing that this is the sort of shit I can wade in without dirtying my socks.
“Tell him the truth, Kerry,” I say, soft as her face. “You can’t drop him in it now.”
Kerry adopting the pose. The dance of grief. Picking it up lovely.
“I don’t know.” Voice like a weeping wound. “He didn’t say where he was going.”
“When was the last time you saw him, Kerry?”
“Yesterday morning, I think.” Face creasing with the effort of recollection. “It might have been the day before.”
Roper moving closer and placing a hand on hers. Me shuffling away.
“Tell me what you think I need to know.”
And she does. Doesn’t even take any charm to pick the lock. Opening up to Roper’s probing like scrunched-up silk.
“I know he was a dealer,” he says. “I know he was a bad lad. But he didn’t deserve this and I’m going to catch whoever did it. You can help.”
She’s his now. Lured into his camp without even a look in my direction.
“He didn’t get scared, y’know,” she says, earnestly, sniffing, taking the cigarette that Roper has produced and ignited without request or ceremony. “But he was excited. Working on something that was going to make it all better. But he didn’t speak about it, I swear.”
“It’s OK. Just tell me what you know.” So gentle. So delicate. Such a fucking pussy. “They tell me you meant everything to him. How long had you been together?”
Kerry smiling, all girly, though the tears. “Just a few weeks, y’know, but it was real. Soon as we met it was just, like, we’d always known each other, y’know.”
“Where did you meet?”
“William Booth House.” Homeless hostel in town. Kerry’s occasional home, when she can’t remember where she lives. “He was staying there for a night and we just got talking and sat together in the park for ages. He was so clever, and really kind to me. He had a real something about him, a real spark. His life hadn’t gone the way he wanted it to, but his Dad used to…”
“Yes, I heard. So it was love at first sight?” Smile in his voice. Might be genuine.
Me, shaking my head and scowling at the floor.
“I think so.” Giggling again. “He said he wanted to make my world spin in the opposite direction. And he did.”
“Wine you and dine you, did he?” asks Roper. I’m the only person in the room who notices the trace of irony at the corners of his eyes.
“It wasn’t like that. But he brought me things. Held my hand. Took me for walks. Looked after me.”
“Gave you drugs?”
Pause.
Kerry testing the edges of the mantrap and deciding she doesn’t fear it.
“Sometimes. But he didn’t want me doing so much gear any more. We only smoked a bit of dope together, took the odd E. But he didn’t go near smack. Hated the stuff.”
“But he sold it.”
Kerry shrugging. Roper accepting her acceptance.
“Did you know he had enemies, Kerry?”
“We had a bit of bother a while back with some people shouting at us but he wasn’t bothered. And the other day… well, some lads in a Land Rover gave him some aggro. But that was nothing. Barely mentioned it again. But I suppose when I think about it he was a bit jumpy. When we were in the pub he used to watch the
door, always sitting with his back to the wall.”
“You noticed that did you?” Roper asks, surprised. Doesn’t seem interested in the Land Rover.
“It reminded me of somebody.” She looks at me for the first time, and I smile automatically.
Roper takes his hand from hers and removes the cigarette stub from her mouth. Extinguishes it on the sole of his boot.
Play-time over.
“You see, Kerry, Beatle had some very dangerous enemies. Beatle had been a very bad boy. He’d started working for somebody that a bottom-feeder like Beatle had no right to work for. Beatle should have stuck to selling barbs and wraps to schoolkids. That was his level. It was his place in the world. He had no right to step into the world he stepped into.”
“What?” Kerry confused now, looking around for a friend, wanting the tenderness back. “What d’you mean?”
“Beatle had stopped being freelance, pet. Beatle was on the payroll for a very bad man. And Beatle, God bless his ignorant fucking cotton socks, didn’t realise what a bad move it would be to cream a little off the top. And today, Beatle has a big fucking hole in his head.”
Kerry’s face twisting into tears, like a sponge being wrung. Me moving forward without thinking. Melting. Arms around her shoulders and pulling her in.
Looking up at Roper.
Glare that could turn a desert to glass.
“Enough.”
“Job to do, laddo. Murder to solve. Two, actually. Bonus. And princess here might be able to help. You know the score.”
“And what, you reckon my sister killed him, do you? Shot him in the woods and battered his mate to death? Christ, she can barely remember her own fucking name most of the time. She can’t raise a glass to her lips without stopping for a rest.”
Wry smile from Roper.
Silence, again.
Tension like fog.
Just him and me staring at each other.
Doug breaking first, giving a nod to the young copper to stand down.
“Fair enough, Owen. It’s a lot for the poor girl to take in. Sorry to have to break the news like this. I’ll get back in touch when she’s had time to digest all this.”
Kerry looking up and half-smiling. Polite, despite herself.
Me and Roper standing up, both still on guard.
He can’t resist it. Gives me a look.
“Seems that you’re your usual well-informed self, laddo. Surprised you didn’t break the news yourself, if you know everything. Must have come as a shock for you too.”