Death Calls

by Al K. Line

  There were no easy answers to such a mess, but all I knew was there was something seriously wrong with the country, with the world, if we let this happen.

  We should do something. And yet, I wasn't here to help. At least not the majority. I was here to pay off a debt so one man could be freed. And I absolutely expected him to be ungrateful and to get into trouble again. That was his problem. I'd free him, tell him it was a one-off, and be done. This was for Penelope, my beautiful, innocent Penelope. My wife-to-be. I caught myself smiling and quickly put on my game face. Can't be happy in a place like this, it broke the rules.

  Time for action.

  I checked the faded number on the door, knocked as it seemed like the polite thing to do, and readied for trouble.

  Somewhat Impulsive

  "What?" scowled a dude in his twenties with lank blond hair and a mean face, wearing baggy jeans and a t-shirt with what I assumed were designer rips judging by the fact they were so well placed. He was clean, his white retro Nike's were boxfresh, and he wore more jewelry than a white rapper.

  "Hi, I'm The Hat," I said before I punched him in the face with all the might I could muster. Turns out that was quite a considerable amount, as I was still somewhat Death-charged, my magic boosting my actions even without it being called upon.

  I winced as cartilage crunched and blood spurted over the peeling, damp flock wallpaper, improving the decor somewhat.

  "Damn, that has to hurt," I said brightly as I stepped over his prone body while he moaned and screamed, clutching his nose.

  The hallway stank of stale urine, bleach, and the sweat of a thousand bad trips. I knew it would be worse the deeper inside the building I got. I hated it. The carpet was gone, just patches of sticky underlay stuck to scuffed floorboards. The banister had been torn out, the steps looked ready to collapse, and the walls were punched through in various places revealing old lathe and plaster and a glimpse into the other rooms. Old mattresses, piles of blankets, bits of cardboard for people to collapse on and see out their high. Random empty cable spools, planks of wood, or breeze blocks all acted as makeshift tables. All were covered in cigarette burns, overflowing ashtrays, spoons, needles, tubing, cotton wads, and more drug paraphernalia than I either understood or wanted to.

  The air was thick with stale cigarette smoke, the light was low as blankets were draped at grubby windows, filtering the already poor light until it was as though I'd stepped into Hell itself. Bare bulbs cast a weak, sickly yellow glow over the whole sorry place, and all I wanted to do was leave. That, or burn the building to the ground, preferably with the lowlife scum who dealt this crap still inside.

  First Jake, then we'd see.

  Freedom

  I wandered down the hall past the living room on my right, heading to the rear where the kitchens always were in these small places. There was a tiny dining room, door missing again, same signs of it being a hangout while people got their kicks.

  The dude from the door was shouting as he staggered to his feet: I didn't even bother looking around.

  Two guys came from the kitchen, fierce looking small machetes with duct tape around the grips held expertly.

  "Hi, I'm The Hat. I've come for Jake. I understand he's here?"

  "Who the fuck are you?" said one guy, a small skinny dude all wiry and street-hardened beyond his years. He wore a tracksuit with retro stripes, more boxfresh footwear.

  "This isn't her," said the other one. Tall, close-cropped hair with a lot of product, plus another tracksuit. What was with the tracksuits?

  "How very astute," I said. "I am not her, I am him. The fucking Hat, so where's Jake?"

  The two men eyed each other, unsure what to do or how to proceed.

  "Look, guys, I've just come for Jake. I don't want any trouble, but I warn you now, do not mess me about. Don't try anything funny, don't try to pull a fast one. Just give me the lowlife and you'll get your money. Fair enough?"

  The small guy stepped forward, blade at the ready, and I knew he knew how to use it. A cockiness returned, and he stepped up and said, "Did you say you were The Hat? What kind of stupid fucking name is that?"

  "It's my name, it's all you need to know. If you knew anything beyond this sad existence you live, then you'd know who I am. All the players know, but I assume you aren't one." I eyeballed him, showed I wasn't scared, and it unsettled him. His eye twitched. He didn't like me facing off to him. He was used to dealing with junkies and weak people, or hard men like his suppliers, but not men like me. Honest criminals.

  "Fucking Hat," he grumbled.

  "Yeah, what a joke," said the other guy, bravado rising as the leader tried to show off.

  Both men were in front of me now, too close, not respecting personal space, thinking they had me at a disadvantage. Their eyes darted to their buddy coming up from behind, like I was too stupid to be aware of his footsteps and labored breathing.

  Why is it that people can't play by the rules? They wanted their money, they would get it, but they were itching to mess with me. I wasn't in the mood.

  "If your buddy behind me tries anything, if any of you do, then this will not go well." I stared at the leader and he nodded to the guy behind me, who stopped moving. "Great. Now, I have your money, let's do this and we can all get about our business. Do not screw this up," I warned.

  Typically, I felt the air currents change as the guy behind made his move. He'd been warned, by me and his boss both, but his pride was hurt, understandably, so I let him off lightly.

  As he plunged for a kidney with his blade, I turned aside, and his knife sliced through the air before hitting the boss right in the chest. Luckily, his thrust had lost most of its momentum, but the blade still tore a hole in the guy's shirt. The manmade white material stained red as he drew blood.

  "You fucking idiot, you stabbed me," snapped the boss as he glared at the fool.

  "It was an accident. It was meant for him," whined the guy with blood still pouring from his nose.

  "And you missed," I said, before slamming a fist down on his knife arm and breaking his forearm.

  As he doubled over clutching his arm, I sighed and said, "Can we please get this over with? This place stinks and I don't like the company. Where is he?"

  "In the back," said the boss, rubbing at his chest. Lucky for him it was just broken skin, but I was dangerously close to killing them all. I was trying to be good, didn't make a habit of murdering drug dealers as there was always trouble if you got involved, so I kept my cool.

  I followed the two men into the kitchen, leaving the other to moan about his arm and nose.

  "Good God, how can you stand it? Look at the mess."

  It was, and I'm not exaggerating, the worst kitchen I'd seen in my life. I had a thing about kitchens, always kept them spotless. It went back to my childhood when I spent hours cleaning ours in the vain hope my parents would notice and think to buy food, or even cook for me. It never worked, but the obsession remained, and it gave me immense pride to have a sparkling room, knowing the cupboards were well-stocked and the fridge was full.

  I stood and stared in horror at the disgusting space.

  The lino was beyond tacky and had morphed into an almost glue-like substance. I was amazed these guys even stepped foot inside the room, what with their pristine branded footwear. Cheap Formica counters were chipped, dented, peeling, and utterly filthy. The sink was green and orange with slime, the tap dripped, and the ancient cooker was black with grease. Mold grew out of mugs, disposable plates were stacked everywhere, food wrappers and cartons had been dropped without thought or concern, and the small bin was overflowing.

  "How can you stand it?" I asked the boss again, genuinely interested.

  He shrugged. "We don't eat here! Are you kidding? It's for the scum, the druggies. If they don't wanna clean it that's up to them. We just give them their gear. We let them use this place but they have no pride. Disgusting." He frowned, like we were on the same page.

  "Why don't you clean it then?
Make it nice for them, give them some respect back?"

  "They're animals, filthy."

  "Strung out, desperate, off their heads."

  "Yeah, their choice. Filthy animals, making a mess."

  I was about to argue, but held my tongue. What was the point?

  It was then I acknowledged Jake for the first time. He was secured to a chair with duct tape, looking all kinds of messed up.

  "This him? Jake?" I asked, thinking it best to check.

  "Yeah. You don't know him? Where's his cousin, the woman?"

  "Not here," I said. "No, I don't know him. I'm just the guy who's come to get him out of the mess he's made."

  "I didn't do anything wrong. These guys tied me up and held me hostage."

  "Shut up!" Both I and the boss said at the same time.

  "Don't speak unless you're spoken to," I growled, giving him a Hat glare special.

  "He owes us," said the boss.

  "I heard. Why'd you let him get five grand into debt?"

  "Said he could pay. Bought a large amount, said he'd pay us back with the requisite interest after he sold it to some rich dudes he knew. Figured he was on the level." The boss shrugged.

  "Man, you are some kind of world-class dipshit, aren't you? You let a junkie have five grands worth of product?"

  "Four. It was four," said Jake.

  "I said shut up," I ordered.

  "Don't call me a dipshit, you freak," said the boss, face reddening. "He took four grands worth, was gonna pay back five. But he disappeared, and never paid. We found him, the idiot, and he owes us."

  "Where's the gear?" I asked Jake.

  "Lost it," he mumbled.

  "Twat got high on it then lost the rest. His junkie mates probably took it and he can't even remember where he was or who he was with. Fucking scum."

  "I said shut up, all of you." My head began to hurt. I couldn't cope with this. I had to do the deal and get out or I'd do something I would regret. Okay, I wouldn't, and I knew that meant I was becoming dangerous.

  "Are you okay?" I asked Jake.

  "No, they beat me. I'm killing here, man. And I would have found their money, or their drugs. They didn't give me a chance."

  "Let him go," I said.

  "Money first," said the boss. The other guy moved into the corner, watching, ready for any unpleasantness although he seemed less than keen. Don't think they dealt with many forty plus year olds who could kick their asses.

  I pulled a fat envelope from a jacket pocket and handed it over. "Count it."

  "I trust you, man. Don't sweat it."

  "I said count. Now, in front of me. Then release Jake. Then we're good."

  "Whatever." The boss threw the envelope to the other guy who pulled out a chair and sat at the small battered table. He counted it out slowly, nodded, said, "All there. Five grand."

  "Let Jake go," said the boss.

  The other guy used his knife to cut the tape and Jake moaned and grumbled about the marks and it hurting, then got up on shaky feet. He was a wreck of a man, eaten away by the drugs. Emaciated, like a skinny mouse, and I knew he couldn't be trusted. Already he was showing signs of withdrawal, and after what, a few hours? He was strung out, utterly addicted, and dangerous because of it.

  "Come on, let's go."

  I grabbed him by the arm and led him out of the room. The boss asked, "What's in the backpack?" as we got to the kitchen doorway. Damn, I'd forgotten all about it.

  "Nothing you need, or want, trust me on that."

  I expected him to try for it, but he shrugged and said, "Whatever, dude."

  We left. Nobody tried to stop us. I was quite disappointed by that.

  What an Annoying Man

  "Cheers, dude. Those cats were way crazy." Jake half skipped half ran to keep up with me as my long legs ate up the streets.

  "Yeah, whatever." I kept the gangster face and swagger in place but I moved fast, just wanted this over with.

  "Hey, I said thanks, what's with the attitude? And those were some serious moves you pulled on those dickheads. Nice. Where'd you learn? You army or something?"

  "Do I look like I'm in the army?" I asked, not even glancing at Jake.

  "Nah, man, just asking. Making conversation."

  I grunted in reply. I did not like this man.

  "So, yeah, appreciate it. Thanks for coming to get me. And, er, who are you again? Friend of Penelope's?"

  "A friend. Boyfriend. She lives with me now."

  "Oh, is that right?"

  I stopped and turned to face Jake. He grinned at me, bruised face oily and scratched, scrawny arms covered in track marks sticking out of his raggedy t-shirt, looking about as wrecked as I'd ever seen anyone.

  "Don't get any ideas. She's with me, she's the one, and I repeat, this is the one and only time you get bailed out. Next time, you'll be left to get killed. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Sure, no problem. It won't happen again. Promise."

  "Don't make promises you can't keep," I warned. "If you want help, then ask, and I mean ask now. I'll get you in somewhere, rehab, a place to stay, but you are not coming to my home, you are not to call Penelope for money, and you are not to screw up her life. So, what'll it be?"

  Jake scratched at his belly, the ribs showing through his t-shirt. He was in a rough way, no doubt, but I knew how this would go if he was allowed into our lives. Was that self-centered? Yes, it was, but I had my own life to live, and it was complicated enough, and this character was bad news through and through.

  "Well?"

  "I'm thinking, Jeez. Don't rush me."

  I began to walk.

  "Hey, hey! Where you going?"

  "That was all the answer I needed. If you have to think about if you want help or not, then you already made your mind up. Go back to the gutter, go get a fix, get high, get killed, whatever. I did what I said I'd do."

  "That ain't fair, dude, what was your name?"

  "I'm Arthur, they call me The Hat."

  "Who does?"

  "Everyone. My people."

  "Your people? What are you, a mob boss or something? How come those guys acted like that with you? Normally they'd have roughed you up, given you a good hiding even if you had the money."

  "So you thought it was a good idea to get Penelope to bring you five grand, even though you knew she'd have to deal with those men? Wow, nice."

  "Hey, what choice did I have? They would have killed me."

  "That was your fault. You put Penelope at risk. You're bad news." I sped up, keen to get away from this place, from this man. I felt bad for treating him like this, but some people are simply not nice, and people who aren't nice and are addicts are even worse. They poison your life, tear everything apart, and I would not let him ruin everything.

  "She's tough, she could have handled it."

  "Whatever. You get to say thank you to Penelope, I'll drop you somewhere, then we're done. Understand?"

  "Sure, man, whatever you say."

  Jake babbled incessantly for the next few minutes as he scurried along beside me, looking sicker by the second. He was scratching at his arms, rubbing at his face, and I knew he was gonna ask.

  He did.

  "Look, um, this is a bit embarrassing but don't suppose you have any cash, do you?"

  "I bailed you out for five grand! That was my money. Penelope doesn't have that kind of cash." I saw the pound signs register behind his eyes. Thinking he could milk me. "Don't even think about it. You get nothing else. No matter what happens this was a one-time deal. Either change things or not, but you're on your own after this. I did it for Penelope, but I know this life, know this world, and if you don't get out now you never will. It'll eat you up, and you'll wind up dead. Your choice."

  "I only wanted a few quid, you know, for food."

  "Just food?"

  "Sure, I'm starving. Haven't eaten in days it feels like."

  "So I'll get you a meal, then you can do whatever you want. But no cash."

  Jake s
hrugged. "Suit yourself, but cheers. Yeah, a nice burger and a big fizzy drink would be awesome."

  "Hurry up then, I have things to do." If only he knew. My life made a junkie's nightmares seem tame by comparison.

  Darkness approached, I could feel practitioners of the dark arts closing in, looking for the book. There were others too, something else, a man coming, searching for me, and he'd find me soon enough. Jake had to be gone, Penelope had to be home and safe, and I needed to hide somewhere until I could figure out what to do with the book.

  And where the hell was Sasha? I needed her, needed to talk to her and figure this mess out.

  We stopped at the garage. I opened it up and Penelope smiled when she saw me. Then she frowned, eyes full of sadness when she saw Jake and the state he was in.

  "Oh, Jake, what have you done to yourself?"

  "Hey, cousin, long time no see. I'm fine, just got in a bit of a mess, that's all. Thanks for bailing me out. Both of you."

  "Let's go," I said, wary of the streets now we were exposed.

  After they hugged, they got in the car and I drove us away from this nightmare. I hoped I'd never have to return, nothing but bad memories here.

  Food, Glorious Food

  We arrived at a generic burger place on the outskirts of the city. There was a long queue of people in cars waiting for the drive-through, but I didn't like eating in the car, and besides, having Jake in the back made me edgy. I kept expecting him to do something, like puke on me, and he kept leaning forward and talking, which was more annoying than listening to Vicky on the phone.

  Penelope was quiet, and tense, so I gave her knee a squeeze for reassurance, parked up, and we all got out.

  "Behave," warned Penelope.

  "What do you think I'd do, cuz?"

  "I have no idea. But you're strung-out, you're super fidgety, and you're acting more weird than normal."