*****
“Let’s have a look then” Stan says. But I can’t seem to let go of the piece of paper I’m clutching, folded, holding tightly against my skin. It’s really bright in here, they must have turned the lights up, too bright, way too bright. “Do you have any sunglasses?” I ask.
“What?” says a dark, fuzzy shape. It’s so bright that he just looks like a silhouette against the sun. Maybe the sun’s in here. My head is pounding. Maybe I’ve got sunstroke. Not surprising if it’s in this room. That could be dangerous.
“He wants some shades, Stan. Get the man some shades.” Jim’s talking slowly and calmly, he’s almost too bright to look at. Maybe the sun’s just behind him. “But I don’t have no shades” Stan replies. “Then turn the lights off” says Jim.
The dark shape that is Stan seems to drift over to the far corner and do something. The light’s still bright, but slightly better, slightly more bearable, though the pain in my head seems to be getting worse. “I need to sit down” I say.
“What?” the voice comes from somewhere, I’m not sure where.
“I really need to sit down.” My words sound wrong, like they’re slurred, I have to close my eyes, the pain in my head is so bad.
“I think the man needs to sit down” says a voice. “Come on.” I can feel myself being moved somewhere, feel myself doing something, being put somewhere, I think it’s a chair, God that’s a relief, but the pain is still there, I can’t open my eyes. “Here” says another voice, or maybe it’s the same voice, it’s hard to tell, “here, open your mouth, swallow this.” I try to open my mouth, it feels like my lips are glued together, and I can feel something being forced in between them, like it’s ripping through them, ripping their flesh, making a hole in them into my mouth, a hole that I’ll have forever, and I can feel blood gushing from my lips, pouring into my mouth with whatever’s there, and I feel sick, I want to throw up, I want to
“Don’t throw it up, just swallow” says one of the voices, “just relax, just swallow.” It’s kind of hard to relax with the sun in the room next to me and a pile driver crashing through my head every second, but I concentrate and I try and I think of good things, like beer, sex and money, and not of the blood in my mouth, why do I have to swallow whatever it is with blood, with my own blood, why can’t they just give me something normal like gin, or vodka, but I mustn’t think of the blood, I have to think of something else, and somehow I manage to swallow whatever it is
And the pain stops
And the lights disappear
And the sun goes out
And I open my eyes.
And I get up and smile.
“That was intense.”
Jim and Stan are there, standing next to me, staring at me, and they’re back to their normal colours now. “Are you all right?” asks Jim. I stretch my arms out. “Fine. Why?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen such a violent reaction before. Sometimes people, they get a bit dizzy, sometimes they say weird things for a while, but you, you were…”
“You were burning” says Stan. “I touched you. Your skin was so hot. Like it was on fire. What did it feel like?”
I shrug. “It was fine. Had a bit of a headache, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“Wow.” Stan reaches forward, “so let’s have a look at what you drew.” He gently takes the paper that I am clutching out of my grasp. I wonder what I drew. “It’s wet” he says.
“Be careful, son” says Jim. “You don’t want to damage it.” Slowly, carefully, using just the tips of his fingers, Stan unfolds the paper, then unfolds it again and holds it out so that he and Jim can see it. “Fucking hell” says Stan. “Oh dear sweet Jesus” says Jim. “What?” says me.
“This is fucking awesome” says Stan. He looks at Jim. “I want one of these. On my back. Yeah. This is so fucking awesome.”
“I’ll not do that for you” says Jim, shaking his head. “This is our man’s here. This is personal. I can just tattoo this straight away, don’t even need to redraw it. This is unbelievable. How did you do it in colour, I only gave you a pencil…”
“Can I see?” I ask. Jim and Stan both look at me.
“What the fuck” says a voice behind me. “Who are you?” asks Stan. “What do you want?” asks Jim.
“Jesus fucking Christ Mark, I’ve been looking for you for ages. What the fuck are you doing here?” Jason’s voice sounds kind of angry. Shit, that’s what I was doing. I turn. “Listen, I just need to get a quick tattoo done and then…”
“For Christ’s sake. We’re on a schedule here. We’re late. I say wait outside while I make this call, and then you’re nowhere. You don’t answer your bloody phone, you’re not around, nothing. I was just about to give up when I saw your reflection in here. We have to go. We’re going now. Get your tattoo done some other time.”
“Is this man bothering you?” Jim asks me. “Want me to fuck him up?” asks Stan.
“Oh for Christ’s sake” says Jason. He pulls an automatic out from his jacket, he doesn’t point it at anyone but then he doesn’t really need to. “Let’s just go.”
I shrug apologetically at Jim and Stan and say “I’ll be back for my tattoo, OK?” and follow Jason dutifully out of the shop and back onto the bright street.
Jason’s car is parked outside, and we slide in. “You’re a liability, you know that, Mark? You never used to be like this. Always could rely on you.” He’s glancing at me as we pull away smoothly into the traffic, and I guess I should say sorry. “Sorry.”
He sighs. “I don’t know. Anyway. I’ve sorted you a lawyer for tomorrow, you just do exactly what he says, all right. You do what he tells you to do, you say what he tells you to say, understand? He’s going to spend today digging around into the case, finding out what they’ve got on you, and he’ll meet you tomorrow morning, seven am at the café next to the police station. I’m going to drive you there, so you do turn up. Got it?”
“Seven am? Are you sure? Does the world exist that early?”
He laughs. “Yeah, Mark, it does. It surely does.” And we drive in silence until we pull into a quiet road, full of old Victorian terraces, half of them boarded up. We pull up next to one that looks in half decent shape, you can tell the owner’s made a bit of an effort, the front lawn is cut, though not very well, and there are even curtains across some of the windows. “This is her” says John. “Patience Barranger.”
“Great” I smile. “Let’s go and break a few heads.” I start to get out of the car, and Jason grabs my arm. “Listen, Mark. We’re not here to hurt her. We just want to find out Jelfs’ address, all right? Calm down.”
I smile. “You can rely on me.” Jason mutters “Jesus.”
We knock on the brown, broken door, and wait. No reply so I knock, harder, and eventually we hear a strange, shuffling sound coming from inside. There’s a rustling behind the door, which opens slowly to reveal Patience’s huge frame, filling the doorway. She’s wearing a strange, blue, flowery dress, that makes her skin look pale and deathly. She’s out of breath, from carrying her enormous bulk down the stairs I guess, and she scowls at us. “What do you want?”
Jason nudges me. “Ouch!” I cry. “Oh. Yes. Hi, Patience, do you remember me? Mark. The doctor from the hospital.”
“Which hospital?” she asks suspiciously. “I ain’t been to no hospital. I don’t owe you anything.”
“No, no, no, Mrs. Barranger” Jason interjects smoothly, “we’re not after any money, we just…”
She visibly relaxes. “Oh” she smiles. “Oh, well that’s OK then. And it’s Miss, not Mrs.”. She smiles coyly at Jason and he gives her a huge smile back. “My friend, here, Mark, he was the doctor that looked after your poor nephew, John, when he died.”
She glances at me. “Oh! Oh, yes, I remember. Mark. I mean Dr Mark! I remember you. You came to his house. And you went to his funeral. Really sweet you were, looked after me. Come in, come in, darling boys” and she turns and w
addles down the narrow, dusty corridor to the back of the house.
We follow, uncertain, treading carefully on the threadbare carpet, and the hallway gets darker and darker as we get towards the end. On the right we come out into a cramped living room, dominated by two tatty, broken leather sofas. There’s a table in the corner with bottles balanced on it, next to an old television set that’s blaring out noise over a static screen.
Patience is sitting on one sofa, and she smiles at Jason and pats what’s left of the seat next to her, he smiles and chooses to sit on the other sofa, and I sit down next to him, falling into it as it threatens to suck me in.
“Would you like a drink?” she asks, waving the half full glass in her hand. “Oh, yeah, great…”I start, but Jason puts his hand on my arm. “Oh. Er, no, thanks, Patience” I sigh.
“Oh. Never mind, dear. We can go out for a drink later. It’s lovely to see you” she smiles. “Haven’t got a ciggie have you?” I dig out my cigarettes and hand her just one, lighting it for her. We smoke in silence for a couple of minutes. “Well, this is nice” says Patience. “Was it just a social call?”
“Yes” I say. Patience smiles. “Well, yes” says Jason, “but Mark here also wanted to know if you could help us out. You gave him the number of a friend of John’s, last time you met… erm, Martin, I think it was…”
“That’s right! Yes, I remember, John’s old friend, Martin, Martin Jelly or something like that…he was a strange one too, I think that’s why they got on. Kept themselves to themselves, didn’t hang out with the other kids. They was thick as thieves, they was. John, he was a strange one, but he was a good boy, not like his brother, Mike. Mike was wild, but not just wild, he was… anyway, you don’t want to hear about his brother, do you, you just came for a social call, isn’t that lovely. Would you like a biscuit? I have some lovely biscuits. Those ones with icing on top, you know, different colours, square and round, with a hole in the middle. And some have jam inside too. They’re lovely, I mean…”
“Erm, no, thanks, Mrs, I mean, Miss Barranger” Jason interrupts. “Call me Patience, please, dear” she says, putting a huge, flabby hand on his knee, and I can see his body tense, but he carries on. “Oh, yes, thanks Patience, but well, Mark here tried to call Martin, you know, to tell him about John, and to tell him about the funeral, about where he was buried, in case Martin wanted to pay his respects…”
“Oh! The funeral! Yes, lovely affair, so many of John’s friends were there. I wore my best dress, you know… And I did my hair, lovely it was, wasn’t it, Dr Mark…”
“Erm, yes, of course, I’m sure you looked beautiful” says Jason quickly, “but the thing is, Martin Jelfs, it looks like we couldn’t get through to him, so we were wondering if you had an address, or anything like that…”
“Oh. Yes, maybe. Poor John. He was good friends with Martin. They spent a lot of time together, they did. Mind you, I think there was something wrong with John, he looked upset when I saw him.” She pushes herself forward on the sofa and the cigarette falls out of her mouth onto the floor, and starts smouldering on the carpet. I stare at it, fascinated, as she talks in a whisper. “You know, I think it may have been a girl. I think it was love” she whispers.
“Love?” asks Jason. He glances at me, confused.
“Yes, I really do” sniffs Patience, shifting in her sofa, which has dragged her down into it, its old springs not able to cope with her vast weight. I’m not sure how she’ll ever get up, but then I guess that’s not my problem, not yet at least.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, my darling, I’m a woman, I know these things. Call it my intuition, but I can tell these things. I used to pop round to his place, from time to time, you know, his great aunt Patience, he used to call me. I was such good friends with his mother, his dear, sweet mother, she was driven to drink you know. It was Mike I blame it on. Always out, always in trouble, even from an early age, had an evil glint in his eye, that one, you know. I can tell. I can always tell. I used to say to her, my love, I used to say ‘Pru, my love, be careful, that one’s trouble you know, that one will be bad news, when he grows up’, even when he was a child you know. I could tell. You mark my words.” She wags her finger, fat as a Cuban cigar, at us.
“And, er, John?” asks Jason, a slight edge to his voice.
“John, oh poor dear John, such a sad boy, never had a girlfriend you know, poor boy. Kind at heart, he was, though they never said so, always called him a little loser, a little piece of shit. That’s what his dad used to call him you know, a useless little piece of shit, his dad Jack, he was a brutal man. You mark my words. You wouldn’t want to mess with Jack. But he looked after Pru you know, it wasn’t his fault she died, it was those kids of hers.”
“John” Jason says a little bit more aggressively. “What, love?” asks Patience, picking something slimy and green out of her teeth. She studies it for a moment and then flicks it away.
“You were telling us about John, and this girl.”
“Poor John, never had a girlfriend you know, never really knew how to get on with the fairer sex, always a bit shy and into himself.”
“But he met a girl?” prompts Jason, a real edge to his voice now. She doesn’t seem to notice. “Well love,” she starts, leaning towards him as much as she can but falling back into the sofa, “well, that’s just it. A few months ago, I popped over to see him at his flat, lovely flat it was, wasn’t it Mark, I mean Dr Mark, and he was there, sitting in his chair, doing nothing. The telly wasn’t even on, he didn’t even have a drink or nothing. I asked him what was the matter, and he didn’t want to say, but you know, a woman can tell. There was this faraway look in his eyes, you know, that I’ve seen before. I’ve seen it in men when they been thinking about me, so I know. I never got married you know, but it wasn’t because there wasn’t a man that wanted me. I used to have lots of men, but none of them was good enough, really, you know. There was always something wrong, and of course, they were all only after one thing, and I don’t need to tell two suave gentlemen like you what that is. I can see, in some men, it may be different, in you, Dr Mark, maybe, you’re a doctor, you can rise above these things, and you, what is it you do my love?” She’s looking at Jason.
“I’m a mercenary” he replies, ice in his voice.
“Ohhh, that’s impressive, a mercenary. I used to know someone who was one of them. He died, though, was blown up in a helicopter over Cuba. Such a shame, he was such a lovely man. Anyway, you don’t want to know about him, do you love, you want to know about John and his problems, don’t you”
“Yes, yes I do.”
“So kind of you to be interested. Fetch me another drink, would you love?” She waves her empty glass at Jason, and reluctantly he takes it, holding it with his fingertips, as far away from him as possible, and walks over to the drinks table. “What do you want?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Oh, don’t worry love, just chuck whatever’s there into it. I can’t afford to be fussy at my old age” and she laughs. “Anyway, I asked him a few times what the matter was, I’m not nosey, I don’t like to pry, but I was worried about him, love… oh thanks love, that’s lovely” she takes the glass from Jason and swallows half of it. “So I asked him a few times, and he says, well he kind of confessed, not in so many words, you understand, but a woman knows, he sort of confessed, that he had fallen for this girl, but, poor John, she wasn’t really interested. She was kind to him, but that was it. Poor man, I don’t think anyone was really kind to him. Except me, of course. And his lovely mum. Anyway, he said he’d saved some cash up, and that he was going to see Martin, because Martin knew people, and Martin knew how to get things done, and he’d see him through, and he’d find a way to help him.”
“How much?”
“What, love?” asks Patience, confused.
“How much cash had he saved up?” growls Jason, glancing at me.
“Oh, dear me, love” laughs Patience, “I didn’t
ask him that. I don’t know how much, maybe a bit, you know, he lived a simple life and he’d always been careful with money, so maybe a bit, you know. And…”
“And he went to see Jelfs with his cash?” interrupts Jason, angrily. “No need to shout, love” sniffs Patience, “I’m just telling you what I know, that’s all. I guess he did, from what I’m telling you, yes I guess he did.”
“And he never asked you to hide anything?” Jason asks, slowly.
“Hide anything? Oh, dear me, no. Why would he ask me to do that?” Jason looks at me, questioningly. I clear my throat. “Do you have Martin’s address please?” I ask. “Oh, yes, yes love, of course I do” she says, giving me a big smile. “Let me just get up and get it.” She starts to heave herself out of the sofa, and falls back into it. She tries again, falling again, and a third time, whilst we look at her. She’s starting to breath heavily now. “Maybe I could get it for you?” I ask, and she beams at me. “Oh, yes, love, that would be great. It’s just over there, on top of the telly.”
I find a dusty, dirty book black book with a faded Addresses note on the front and bring it back to her. She smiles gratefully and starts leafing through it. “Oh, so many addresses, so many friends” she mutters, though the pages all look blank to me. She spends a couple more minutes doing this, and I keep my eyes on her, kind of conscious that Jason is looking at me all this time. “Ah! He we are!” she smiles, “he we are. Martin Jelfs. I’ve got his phone number…”
“We have that already, thanks”
“Oooookay, and I have his address. Fourteen Belvoir Terrace. Oh! That’s only four houses down from me, just on the left there. That’s some good luck for you, you won’t need to move your car.”
Kings of the Night Page 31