Kings of the Night
Page 26
Chapter 16.
Fat Chef’s coffee has got worse, I’m sure. There’s also a big red sign in the café, that says “No Smoking – All Cigarettes Confiscated” so maybe that’s the reason why. Jane’s not here yet, and for once I am on time, nine in the morning, waiting in the café, in my medical uniform, looking smart and feeling OK even though I didn’t have time to go to bed last night.
Fat Chef’s coffee has got worse, I think, and my head is spinning. It can’t be coincidence really can it, that my brother Mike seems to be Zoltan Draman, and that I seem to have gone through the same sort of – transition? – that they were talking about last night. Here I am, in a new body, most of my memories gone but apart from that I am pretty much OK – sat in a hospital, pretending to be a doctor, drinking bad coffee, back from the brink of death. And my brother Mike, the bad one, the evil one, did he do this to me? It’s funny I hadn’t even realised I had a brother until what’s her name told me, but as soon as I saw that photo, I recognised him, I knew it was him.
I need more coffee to help me concentrate. Fat Chef has poured some into a jug and is bringing it over. He stands over me, looking over my shoulder, breathing through heavy, stilted, wheezing breaths, before putting the jug down. He’s standing so close to me I can smell him, his scent mixed in with the sweetness of the coffee, it’s making my head spin but he won’t move, he’s just standing there holding the jug in his hand.
“Thanks” I try, smiling and I reach over for the jug, but it’s metal and it burns my hand when I touch it and I flinch and he smiles.
“S’hot” he wheezes.
“Thanks” I smile again.
“Y’want sugar?” he asks. “I put lots in but y’want more?”
“Just the coffee”
“Y’got a smoke?” he asks.
“No smoking” I shrug, nodding at the sign.
“S’no one here, we can smoke.” Grateful for some excuse I pull out my pack and offer him one, but instead of taking it he leans forward, pouting his lips, his fat belly touching me, his smell getting close to me and I really want to throw up. I close my eyes and open them again, but he’s still there, so tentatively I place a cigarette between his lips and light it. He rewards me by giving me a smile and putting the jug down.
“Y’se my friend” he smiles and waddles slowly back to the counter. Relieved, I light up. My head may be all over the place, but cigarettes and coffee keep me alive. I reach into my jeans pocket and pull out a folded piece of paper, a copy of the single sheet about Zoltan Draman. I unfold it carefully, smoothing the creases, and try to take it in again. Underneath the picture are just a few words.
Name: Zoltan Draman
Date of Birth: Unknown
Age: Unknown
Nationality: English (to be verified)
National Identity Number: Unknown
Address: Marszalkowska 49b, Warsaw, Poland (to be verified)
Records: Arrest warrants issued but revoked. Reasons unknown.
Profession: Unknown
Family: Parents – unknown. Siblings – unknown. Former girlfriend, deceased (XXXX)
Previous Associations: Appears to have been a member of an organisation known as The Village. Little information exists to verify this or substantiate nature of the organisation. It does however appear to still be active. No current information on membership, no leads.
They know he’s English, they know Zoltan Draman isn’t his real name, they don’t know who he really is. I’m tapping my cigarette nervously, thinking what if they do get him, what if they do found out who he really is, Jason will make the connection with John Paris, and then all hell will break loose.
We’re on for tomorrow, Jason said. Book the afternoon off work, he said. We need to carry on with our plans. All well and good bringing down the forces of evil, but we need to get hold of some serious cash because that’s what makes life fun. I don’t care about money, he said, I’m not materialistic. But a man has to be a realist and understand, and accept, that life is a hell of a lot easier when you have a lot of cash. So I can stop being a mercenary all the time, he said, so I can choose when to get involved, because I want to, he said. So you can give up your sad and empty career, and do something real, he said. So tomorrow afternoon, we’re going to pay a visit to Auntie Patience, and find out all we can about Martin Jelfs. Then we’re going to pay a visit to Martin Jelfs, and put him right on a few things. And relieve him of his money.
Somewhere, somehow, I am slightly worried about this, that this money doesn’t actually exist, and that that may be a bit of a problem when Jason finds out. But what choice did I have, I had to tell him something. And hopefully Jelfs won’t crack, or at least Jason will just think he won’t crack. Come to think of it, maybe it will help, maybe it’ll get me some idea about why I died. Or didn’t die. And whether it has anything to do with Mike. And, Jesus, whether I’m immortal.
“For God’s sake, put the cigarette out.” Jane’s dulcet tones interrupt my thinking and I wonder, quickly, what I see in her. She sits opposite me, looking at me across the dirty plastic table, only the two of us there in the large, dirty, canteen, except for Fat Chef. She reaches across and actually takes the cigarette out of my mouth and stubs into the makeshift paper ashtray in front of me. “We’re in a hospital. Show some respect.”
“You want a coffee?” I ask, but she looks disgusted. “Have you tasted the coffee in here?” she asks, then glances at my cup and mutters “Typical.”
“Right” she says curtly. I really wonder if I am immortal. What does that mean, am I going to get old, I mean older, and older in this body and just never die. Or maybe I’ll be like a vampire and just stop ageing, that would be cool, but if I had known I should have chosen a better body. I mean, you know an athlete’s, or a model’s, someone in their mid-twenties, not this sad middle aged…
“Mark? Are you listening to me?”
I glance up. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” How old am I actually, mid-thirties? Why didn’t I choose better, well I didn’t really have any choice but I mean. I wonder if I could swap bodies again, maybe I could. If Mike is seriously Zoltan Draman, I mean seriously, he was always clever, but I mean. But if he is…
“MARK!”
“What? What? Where?”
“Mark, listen, for God’s sake!”
“Whoa, there, girl, no need to shout.” Maybe I said the wrong thing, because she looks like she’s about to slap me. “Do not call me Girl” she says, slowly, enunciating each word carefully. “Understand?”
I swallow, and nod my head. “Yes, sorry Jane” I feel like a naughty schoolboy being told off.
“Now listen. Please. First of all, your girlfriend appears to be in the hospital. She was admitted on Thursday morning. I’m assuming you were aware of this? Mark?”
Guiltily, I shake my head. She stares at me and puts her head in her hands. “You didn’t know your own girlfriend was in hospital? What is happening to you, Mark? You used to be so together, such… Oh, never mind, whatever it is, sort it out. You better go and see her.”
I smile weakly. “Well, we, erm, split up, like I told you, and, you know, well, it may be a bit difficult…”
“You didn’t tell me you’d split up with her…?”
“Erm, well, I kind of did, I think”
She rubs her eyes and looks back at me, her eyes have gone red and she looks tired. “You look tired” I smile.
Jane shakes her head. “Whatever. I don’t care if you split up with her or not, just don’t involve me in it. Understand? And go to see her. I’m not asking, I’m telling you. I don’t want someone in one of my wards talking about how I stole her boyfriend, especially as it’s not true. I mean, what would people think? Look at you. They’d wonder what I was thinking. And that’s even before all the issues it raises, the conflict of interest, I mean, going out with someone who works for you. So sort it. Understood?”
I glance down, not able to look in her eyes, and nod. She can be
quite a scary lady.
“You do that this morning. She’s on Ward C, room 12. Then you meet me at Ward B station at eleven. That gives you an hour. Then I’ve got some work for you to do. Understood?” Without waiting for an answer, she starts to get up, giving me a final look before turning on her beautiful legs and…
“Oh, Jane!” I shout.
She stops, but doesn’t bother to turn round. “What?” she hisses.
“Is it OK if I have the afternoon off tomorrow?” I say, brightly.
She shakes her head, but says “Whatever” and walks through the double doors into the hospital beyond.
I sigh, drain the rest of my coffee and get up. Fat Chef shouts “See you, my friend!” as I start the uneasy walk to Ward C, room 12 and what awaits me there.