Kings of the Night

by Mark Z. Kammell

  *****

  I absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent, planned to go to bed when I got home. Crash out for a few hours, get myself sorted, have a shower, turn over a new leaf. Mineral water and a salad for lunch. You know, I had been thinking, I mean it’s all very well drinking all night and stuff like that, but I have responsibilities, I have things that I need to do. I mean, I can’t just go drifting on forever. Not now that I’m responsible, I’m a doctor, you know I have to take these things seriously.

  First thing I’ll do, I decide, sitting on my brown sofa in my brown living room, is write a list. Things that I have to do. That’ll be good. Then a shower and then a few hours kip.

  Okay, so maybe I’m just having one beer, you know, to clear my head, pen in my hand and paper in front of me. That’s it though. Apart from a few cigs but that doesn’t really count. So I start writing

  Clear all Van’s crap from my flat. I mean, there is so much of it, I’m finding make up and stuff in the bathroom and her clothes in my bed. There are these really kind of, well, arty photos on the wall, landscapes and horses and stuff like that. So I’ve got to sort it. I didn’t write all that last bit down, just kind of thought it, I stopped at flat.

  I need another beer.

  All right, so I’m not so good at lists. But I’ll sort the flat, get some proper pictures and furniture and everything. Oh yeah, that was the other thing I wanted to write down. Find out who killed me. Right, just one more beer and then I make the phone call. Martin Jelfs. Whoever the hell he is. It rings out five, six times before there’s a click and a strange, rumbling sound and then a hissing and some panting and I’m thinking maybe I dialed the wrong number, maybe this is some sort of sex chat line, so I’m about to say “hello sexy” when a man’s voice says “Yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah, hi” I mutter

  “Who the fuck is this?” says the voice

  “Erm… well, I wanted to talk to you about…”

  “Yeah? Why d’ya want to talk to me? What about?”

  “Erm… about, well about, John. John Paris.”

  Silence.

  “You still there?”

  “Who the fuck did you say this is?”

  “Erm my name’s Mark, Mark Forth.”

  “Why do you want to know about John?”

  “Well, it’s complicated, maybe we could, erm, meet?”

  “Where do you live?”

  I give him my address. And he hangs up. I’m thinking maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. Never mind. I light another cigarette and drag the last beer out of the fridge. Just this one, then I’ll have a nap then I’ll be right as rain. Right, mustn’t forget, have to meet Jason Saturday for the next stage of the plan. Don’t know any more than that. I lie back on the sofa and take a deep drag, closing my eyes for a second. I think I’ll leave it with Jane before asking her out for a drink again, not sure she was that happy this morning, in fact she didn’t even say goodbye, just walked out of that office and headed off. Nice guy though, that professor. Very understanding. I’m thinking that…

  There’s a noise somewhere and I open my eyes to see the front door of the flat opening. What the hell? I thought this was my flat, I hope to god it’s not… It’s not. Vanessa stands in the entrance, open door behind her, her hair’s let down by her sides and it even looks quite good, in a fussy way. And oh Jesus, she’s crying. This isn’t going to be pretty. I’m not sure why but something about her makes me pull myself up from the sofa, stub my cig out quickly, self-consciously, and sit up. She stands there, not saying anything, just staring at me for ages and then slowly, very slowly, she pushes the door shut, walks over and perches herself on the sofa next to me, only a foot away. I glance down nervously.

  “Mark” she says softly.

  “Erm, hi” I try but I don’t look at her.

  “Mark, it’s time you told me the truth I think.” Tears are trickling down her face. Her hands are resting on her knees and at least she’s making no attempt to touch me.

  “Er… the truth?”

  “Mark… you’ve changed. I can see the signs. I’m not stupid. You’re…” and she takes a deep breath, “you’re seeing someone else aren’t you?”

  I swallow. “At least do me the courtesy to look at me whilst I’m talking to you!” she shouts and I jerk my head up.

  “Sorry” I mutter.

  “Tell me… it’s true isn’t it?”

  What the hell. I nod slowly.

  She sighs. “It’s her isn’t it?”

  I could just nod, but it might help to know who. Give her a call. You never know. “Her?” I ask.

  “Don’t insult my intelligence!” she shouts. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. That woman at the hospital. It’s Jane this and Jane that and isn’t Jane intelligent and… oh god, to think that I trusted you.” She starts sobbing, loudly and uncontrollably and I even find myself putting a hand out to her, but she pushes me away angrily.

  “It is, isn’t it!” she shouts, “admit it.”

  Well maybe there is a better chance with Jane than I thought, I’m thinking. I nod, and smile.

  “God, you’re even smiling about it! How could you!” There’s more crying and she puts her head in her hands. I leave her well alone this time, and eventually she looks up and asks something that I don’t understand.

  “What?”

  “How long?!” she almost screams.

  “Oh… erm… two years” I say the first thing that comes into my head

  “Two years? You haven’t even known her that long!”

  “Yeah, no, sorry, I meant, erm, six months” I say quickly

  “You haven’t known her that long”

  “Yeah, I know, I didn’t mean six months, I meant, erm, a week and a half.” Got to have known her that long.

  She gulps, pauses, looks at me. “Mark, you’re making no sense. I know it’s been going on longer than that. Why can’t you at least be truthful, now, because of this. Why can’t you do that, at least that, for me? How long has it been? It’s been three months hasn’t it? It started at that stupid party didn’t it. I knew we shouldn’t have gone.”

  Grateful for an answer, I nod.

  “And…” she looks at me steadily. “Do you love her?”

  I almost laugh. Jesus, who started talking about love. Of course I don’t love her, for Christ’s sake. I nod, slowly, sadly.

  She looks down. “Then it really is over between us.” We sit there in silence for a long time. I really want another beer but there’s none left and I don’t want to get hit again by her, not that I’m a wimp, not at all, but she caught me bad and it does hurt I have to admit. So I’m not going to just up and leave and go down the offy, not yet. But, I mean, how long’s she going to sit there.

  “Look love, I’m really sorry but…” I start

  “Don’t call me love!” she shrieks and jumps up, heading to the door. Well that was easier than I thought. As she’s about to storm out, she turns and points at me. “Don’t think this is over yet. This is far from over.” Well, hey, two out of three ain’t bad. Time to stock up on beer.