Joe Coffin [Season 4]

by Preston, Ken

  ‘Are you okay?’ Archer said. ‘Did he hurt you?’

  ‘Did who hurt me? Nick, what are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about Mitch, about the fight you had.’ A high pitched buzzing had started up in Archer’s ears. There was something wrong here but he couldn’t work out what.

  ‘What fight?’ Emma said, pulling the dressing gown a little tighter. ‘We haven’t had a fight. Where’s Mitch? What have you done with him?’

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Emma, don’t try and protect him. I know you hit him back, I saw the bruising, but you were protecting yourself. You’ve got nothing to worry about.’

  Emma stood on her tiptoes and looked over Archer’s shoulder. ‘Oh God, is that Mitch in the back of the car? Have you arrested him?’

  ‘He refused to answer my questions, I had to arrest him.’ This conversation was spiralling out of his control. It wasn’t meant to happen like this.

  ‘Nick, let him out of the car!’ Emma hissed. ‘Mitch hasn’t done a thing.’

  ‘What about the bruising and the swelling all over his face then? Huh? How the hell did that happen? And don’t tell me he walked into a door.’

  ‘He was mugged,’ Emma said.

  ‘Did he report it?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Emma looked around Archer, down the drive. ‘Are you going to let him out of the car?’

  ‘No,’ Archer said. ‘I’m not convinced. I want to question you both some more.’

  ‘Fuck, Nick!’ Emma hissed. ‘Do I look like I’ve been in a fight? Do you see any bruises?’

  ‘No, not on your face, but you might have other bruises, I know what these bastards can do. They know to punch their victims on the body where no one can see the bruises.’

  Emma undid her dressing gown and opened it up, pulled it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She stood, completely naked, glaring at Archer. Her skin was pink from the hot water of the shower, soft and unblemished. She turned and showed him her back.

  Archer looked away. He felt sick with desire.

  ‘Satisfied now?’ Emma said.

  ‘Put some clothes on,’ Archer said, his voice thick and heavy.

  ‘Let Mitch out of the car.’

  Archer walked back down the drive, his feet crunching over the gravel. His limbs felt heavy and his stomach turned over, like he was going to throw up. He couldn’t get Emma out of his head, standing naked in front of him.

  Archer let Mitch out of the car. Uncuffed him.

  Mitch threw a punch at Archer. Smacked him in the face and knocked him to the ground.

  Emma screamed.

  Archer lay on his side on the gravel, listening to Mitch walk away. Heard Emma shouting at Mitch, the two of them arguing.

  He hauled himself to his feet, climbed in the car and drove away.

  pumper-upped

  ‘What happened to you?’ Leola said.

  Coffin was standing over the sink, bare-chested, washing dried blood off the back of his head. The water running down the bowl and into the plughole was stained pink.

  ‘Got smacked over the head with a baseball bat,’ Coffin said. ‘Looks like I’m on the Seven Ghosts’ hit list still.’

  Leola took the flannel from Coffin and began bathing the wound. ‘Did you kill him?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Coffin said, leaning over the sink.

  Leola held the flannel under the warm running water and squeezed it, rinsing out the blood.

  ‘I think you need to be more careful,’ she said.

  Leola dropped the flannel in the sink and turned off the water. She picked up a towel and began gently patting dry the wound on Coffin’s head. She finished drying Coffin’s scalp and draped the towel over the towel rail. Coffin stayed where he was, leaning over the sink.

  ‘That’s the second time the Seven Ghosts have sent an assassin after me. The first time was here, at the club. But this time? I was back at the church, at Steffanie’s grave. How the hell did he know I was there?’

  Coffin turned around to face Leola. She was wearing a simple summer dress revealing expanses of inked skin.

  ‘Don’t you ever get cold?’ Coffin said.

  ‘No.’ Leola placed a hand on Coffin’s arm. Looked up at him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m leaving. I’m going home.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon, the next couple of days.’

  Coffin touched her cheek, gently ran his fingers back through her hair. ‘You want to talk about it, tell me why?’

  Leola smiled, shook her head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Talk about it? That’s not you, Joe. You’re not a talker, you're a doer.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right.’

  Leola nuzzled her head into Coffin’s hand, like a cat enjoying the attention. ‘You ever think about talking, Joe? About really talking? You carry a lot of baggage inside of you, anyone can see that.’

  ‘What, you mean like to a therapist or something?’

  ‘Yes, exactly that.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good,’ Leola said. ‘Don’t ever talk to anyone, Joe. All that shit you carry around inside of you, all the crap that’s happened to you, don’t ever talk to anyone about it.’ Leola placed a fist against her breasts. ‘You’ve got to keep it all locked up in here. Without it you’ll lose that rage, you won’t be Joe Coffin anymore.’

  Coffin had been looking at that fist, and now his eyes were drawn to the tattoos running across the top of Leola’s chest and down under her dress. Desire stirred deep within him.

  ‘Why do you need to go?’ he said.

  ‘There’s nothing for me here, I need to get back home.’ She paused. ‘I only came back because of Guttman, because he needed destroying. You’ve done that. There are no more of the old ones left, except those still buried in the ground.’

  ‘You were all for digging them up the other day, you couldn’t wait to get started.’

  ‘I was bored, I’m always bored. Those two vampires left, it’s probably best just leave them where they are. Nobody’s going to dig them up now.’

  ‘We can go do it now, if you like,’ Coffin said. ‘And what about the vampires that escaped the other day?’

  ‘They’re nothing, you can deal with them all by yourself.’ Leola smiled and placed a hand on Coffin’s chest. ‘Oh Joe, I’m not even sure why you want me around. Do you even know?’

  Coffin pushed past her, out of the bathroom and into the office. He poured himself a whisky. Drank it down in one. Leola followed him.

  ‘Are you angry?’ she said.

  Coffin put the empty glass down. ‘Why would I be angry?’

  ‘I think I know how you feel about me.’

  Coffin thought about having another drink. Decided against it.

  Leola said, ‘You enjoy me, my body. I can give you what you need. But you hate me, too. Sometimes when you look at me, I know it’s not me that you see.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Coffin said.

  ‘Yes,’ Leola said. ‘You see Steffanie.’

  Coffin said nothing.

  Someone knocked at the office door.

  ‘Joe?’ It was Shaw. ‘You’ve got visitors.’

  ‘Yeah? Who?’

  ‘Those two freaks, Stump and Corpse.’

  ‘Shit,’ Coffin muttered. And then, louder, ‘I’ll be right down.’

  He pulled on a T-shirt. Looked at Leola.

  ‘You coming?’

  They headed downstairs. The club was empty apart from two girls gyrating on the stage to a pounding beat. The music echoed around the big, empty space. Corpse was standing by the front of the stage, his head titled up as he stared at the girls. One of them, wearing nothing but a G-string, was teasing him by leaning over him and giving him little flicks of her long hair in his face.

  Corpse had a vacant grin on his gaunt face, his head bobbing up and down on his scrawny neck as he followed the girls’ movements. As usual he was wea
ring his stained, threadbare suit, the sleeves and legs too short for his lanky frame.

  Stump stood a little further away from the stage, watching Corpse, not the girls. She had on her long, black leather jacket and her wraparound sunglasses.

  ‘Hey, can someone turn that shit down?’ Coffin shouted. ‘I can hardly hear myself think!’

  Shaw flicked the music off completely and the two girls stopped dancing.

  ‘Aww, we were enjoying that,’ the one girl said.

  ‘Quit moaning,’ Coffin said. ‘We’ll be opening up soon and then you’ll be complaining about being on stage all night.’

  The girl who had been teasing Corpse bent down until her breasts were level with his face. He didn’t look up at her, just stared at her naked breasts.

  ‘I’d like to say you’re cute,’ the girl said. ‘But you’re not, you’re just creepy.’

  She straightened up and the two girls ran off the stage, giggling.

  Corpse watched them until they had disappeared through the back and then he turned to face Stump. He had a stricken look on his face as though he was in pain. His trousers bulged at the crotch. Seemingly not knowing what he was doing he shoved a hand down his trousers.

  ‘Stop that, Mr Corpse!’ Stump said. ‘This is neither the time nor the place.’

  Something switched on in Corpse’s face and he removed his hand from inside his trousers.

  ‘What do you two want?’ Coffin said. ‘I’m opening up soon and I need you two off the premises. You’ll scare the punters away.’

  Stump’s head slowly swivelled towards Coffin, as though she was a robot. ‘Really, Mr Coffin, after all the hospitality we have shown you.’

  ‘Yeah, and you’ll be making me pay for that,’ Coffin said. ‘So cut the crap, tell me why you’re here and then get lost.’

  ‘If that is how you want to be, then this is our favour,’ Stump said. ‘Mr Corpse and I need you to kill someone.’

  Coffin thought about this for a moment. Leola and Shaw watched him, along with Stump and Corpse, waiting for his reply.

  ‘It’s not that simple, is it?’ he said, finally. ‘You want someone killed you could do it yourself. Why me?’

  ‘It’s a vampire,’ Stump said.

  ‘I don’t do that anymore,’ Coffin said. ‘Go and see the Old Bill, I’m sure they’d be more than happy to talk to you.’

  Stump began stroking her mannequin’s hand with the tips of her fingers. The plastic was shiny and yellow with age.

  ‘But Mr Coffin, you are so much more skilled in this area than the police,’ she said.

  ‘And what about you?’ Coffin said. ‘There’s no reason you can’t go using that blade you have hidden inside that plastic hand. Is it true? Do you really have a knife attached to your stump? Why don’t you show us? We’ve been wondering about that for years, haven’t we fellas?’

  There was a soft murmur of assent from the others.

  Coffin stepped a little closer to Stump. ‘But there’s something you’re not telling me. You could call in a bigger favour than this. What’s going on?’

  Stump kept stroking her plastic hand. Corpse was pulling at the crotch of his trousers, readjusting himself.

  ‘Mr Corpse and I dug this particular vampire up,’ Stump said. ‘I believe her name is Chitrita.’

  Leola groaned and tipped her head back.

  ‘What?’ Coffin said, swivelling around to face her.

  ‘Chitrita is one of the old ones,’ Leola said. ‘She was with Guttman and the others when I first met them, back when they turned me.’

  ‘Great,’ Coffin said, and turned back to Stump. ‘You’re telling me you dug one of those monsters up and then, what? Kept it as a pet?’

  Stump said nothing. Just looked back at Coffin, her pudgy face impassive, her eyes hidden by the dark sunglasses.

  ‘When Guttman was pulled out of the ground, he was weaker than a newborn kitten and looked like a bag of bones. I’m guessing this, what did you call her? Chitrita, I’m guessing she looked the same. You fed her, didn’t you? Let her build her strength back until she could escape. Shit.’

  Stump said nothing.

  Corpse was looking at the bulge in his trousers as though utterly perplexed by it.

  ‘We took you in, Mr Coffin, when you needed help,’ Stump said. ‘We found you medical care when you needed it and nursed you back to strength.’

  ‘Yeah, and I’m grateful and everything, all right,’ Coffin said. ‘In fact, I’m so fucking grateful you get a lifetime’s free entry into the club, both of you, and the drinks are always on the house. But I’m not killing vampires anymore. Now go get yourself one of those free drinks or fuck off out of my club.’

  Stump stared at Coffin. Pursed her lips together.

  Coffin wanted to snatch those sunglasses off her face, see her eyes for once.

  Stump was still stroking her plastic hand, but her movements were quick and insistent. She stopped and gripped the mannequin’s hand.

  Coffin braced himself. He’d never seen the blade rumoured to be hidden beneath the false hand. He wondered how long and sharp it might be. If the blade was clean and shiny or stained brown with the dried blood of all her victims.

  Stump relaxed her grip and let go of the hand.

  ‘Come, Mr Corpse, I think we have outstayed our welcome here,’ she said.

  Corpse looked up at Stump. He had his hand back down his trousers again. He looked as though he might be in pain.

  ‘The dancer girl, she pumper-upped my pencil, Mrs Stump,’ he said. ‘It’s hurting.’

  ‘Joe?’ Shaw said. ‘We need to open up.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Coffin said. ‘Do it, these two freaks were just on their way out.’

  Stump turned and headed for the exit without another word. Corpse followed her, shuffling awkwardly as he tried to catch up, his hand still down his trousers.

  ‘I think you lost a couple of friends there,’ Leola said.

  Coffin grunted. ‘They were never friends. Definitely a problem though.’

  ‘You’ve got a bigger problem than those two,’ Leola said. ‘And its name is Chitrita.’

  julie

  She had been surviving on the blood of rats and stray cats. It wasn’t enough; it didn’t satisfy the need for more blood, for fresh, warm, human blood. But it helped.

  She knew she had to keep a low profile, that if she was discovered she would be caught and possibly murdered. But, despite this, she had taken to wandering outside in the evening, late enough that it was dark but early enough there were still people around.

  She couldn’t explain it, why she did that. The risks were obvious, the benefits not so. And yet here she was every evening, wandering through Brindley Place, beside the canal. Up and down the towpath and then through the pedestrianised streets lined with restaurants and bars and art galleries.

  The hardest times were when she could smell blood. Someone might have cut themselves earlier that day, a plaster placed over a finger or a thumb. Or a woman might pass her and she was menstruating.

  And the blood lust would wash over her and she had to hold tight and resist the urge to pounce, and to bite and rip and shred and drink.

  She had to hold her head a certain way, so that her long hair hung slightly over her face, masking the deformity of her teeth and jaws, hiding them from view.

  The way she walked, the way she held herself, nobody ever paid her any attention. Young people, old people, couples, groups, they all did their best to act like they couldn’t see her, like she was invisible. And yet they still managed to see her well enough that they got out of her way on the paths and the streets.

  She was just like the homeless people she saw every evening. At least they saw her. Noticed her.

  They were outsiders too, just like she was. But there was no loyalty within their ranks. She saw the drug and alcohol fulled fights, and the arguments over possessions.

  She made no attempt to make friends with any of them, and they kept their
distance from her. Apart from that one old man, his beard a filthy matted grey, his long hair plastered to his scalp, his face lined and pockmarked.

  But his eyes, they were a startling blue, and she had a feeling he had been handsome once.

  It had been obvious what he wanted, and she had let him lead her away, somewhere out of sight of the couples and the groups of people out having a good time. She had thought about sinking her teeth into his throat, feeding on his warm blood. She changed her mind when he began clumsily groping her. Up close the stink of his unwashed flesh and the cheap alcohol on his breath turned her stomach. When he exposed himself to her she snarled at him and he turned and fled, stumbling along the towpath as he zipped up his trousers.

  That had made her laugh.

  There had been one young man, sitting on the towpath under a bridge, a sleeping bag and a tiny rucksack his only possessions who didn’t look like the other homeless. He was still clean shaven, hair trimmed neatly. He looked like he might have lost weight recently, but he didn’t appear to have been on the streets as long as the others.

  She used to pass him every night, along with the tide of humanity that managed to walk within feet of him and yet still ignored him, pretended that he was not there.

  She thought about him a lot. She wasn’t sure why.

  It seemed to her that since she had died and then returned to the world of the living not only her senses had sharpened, but her view of life too. She could now see the absurdity of how she had once lived, of how the cattle she surreptitiously mixed with were still living. The futility of their days made her laugh.

  But when she saw the young homeless man in his sleeping bag, she experienced a pain in her chest and her stomach. At first she couldn’t explain it, but as the evenings passed, and it happened every time she saw him, even every time she thought of him, she began to remember.

  She had desired him.

  Not his blood. Him, his presence, his touch.

  That first time she had approached him and tentatively sat down next to him her heart had pounded as though she was on a first date. He hadn’t said anything, not at first. He had given her a smile. Let her have time, space to make the first move.