Ben knelt and touched his fingers to Ivan’s neck, pushing at the flabby flesh for a pulse. Ivan snorted and swatted at his hand, rubbed his cheek on the carpet and resumed his slumber. Ben found a blanket and shoved a pillow beneath his head. He took the opportunity to scrub his teeth and offer his privates and underarms a quick wipe with a soapy wet cloth. He splashed water over his face and wet his hair, massaging and ruffling the locks for his favored distressed look.
In his room he looked out at the street below. Traffic was minimal on Church Lane. The pub sign with the old boy in the top hat and cane swung in a gentle breeze. A mist-like drizzle shone in the outside light. A cry sounded and a shadow moved at the base of the crooked yew tree growing in the left corner of the graveyard.
He stepped back to the door and killed the light, allowing the dark of the room to hide him from the street below. As he chastised his paranoia, a figure entered the graveyard from the square. The gate squeaked and the face turned to the pub, looking with intent at the front window. Ben stepped further back into the room, not wanting to be seen by PC Baker.
He changed his shirt and undershirt and then pulled his hoody back on before completing the ensemble with his black coat. Tommy had the car and the Lowlands beckoned. He also wanted to detour via a public phone box to check in with his mother. Her letter had disturbed him and he wanted to reassure his mother that all was well, that he wasn’t a murderer and steps were being taken to prove his innocence. He also wanted his mother to smooth over his father’s issue with him. His father was a big deal in the army, but had lost face when Ben ran from conscription. He was hoping his mother could convince his father to get the authorities to back off. He needed time. Ben was struggling with the law’s new maxim: Guilty Until Proved Innocent.
On his way back to the bar he heard a familiar voice barking orders to Tommy and Loubie. Ben retreated to the first floor, running for the front windows in Ivan’s bedroom. An army jeep sat outside the church with a Police car parked further up the road, the reds and blues glittering in the damp darkness. Ben ran to the back of the building, looking out the kitchen window at the dark of the narrow alley. A tall figure stood in the dark, the bleak lighting from the Ladies’ Lounge reflecting on the white face and stock of his rifle.
Ben eased the door open to the flat roof above the toilets and slid his body along the side of the wall. He jumped into the derelict lot next to the pub and crouched low in the undergrowth. He inched into the alley, dodging the bags of refuse lining the dirt path. The soldier hadn’t taken his eyes off the back windows to the pub. Ben was halfway to Ostere road when he slipped on a burst bag of refuse and kicked a can to clatter across the alley. ‘Bugger.’
A shout sounded as he put his head down and sprinted. ‘Not today,’ he muttered. ‘You’re going to have to try harder if you want to catch the Street Boy. I own the fucking streets of Ostere.’
***
Loubie had dropped the hatch on Barney’s entry. The smelly man remained by the hatch, one hand gripping the bottle and the other tipping the glass to his lips.
Barney paced the length of the bar, turned, and retraced his steps. He held his baton and smacked it into his hand with every turn.
‘You people dicked me about this morning. It made me angry, that did. PSO Webster tells me she didn’t know the individual she questioned was Ben Jackman aka Street Boy, but you two…’ He exhaled with a snort. ‘You two did.’ He slammed the hatch back against the wall and stepped behind the bar. He pushed at Loubie and knocked her to the ground. ‘Stand up!’
Tommy approached the hatch, but one prod to the chest with the baton and he, too, fell to the floor.
Barney picked Loubie up by the thin singlet, bent to her face and sneered. ‘Now, you’re going to give him up, or you’re mine, girl. And you don’t want to be mine.’
Loubie shook free and snarled. ‘He’s not here, that’s for sure.’
Barney slammed the hatch upward and forced Loubie out of the bar, pointing the truncheon at Ivan’s seat. She stuttered in reverse, and knocked her head against the wall as the truncheon jabbed her into the seat. He turned to Tommy and pointed the weapon at the seat opposite Loubie. ‘Sit.’ Tommy hurried forward, keeping clear of Barney’s ire, and sat.
‘I have you two for aiding a known felon. This isn’t a petty thief we’re talking about here. This man’s wanted for the murder of three bodies. Two coppers are dead. And one citizen battered and buried.’
He paced the floor, stopping at the fire, swiveling on his heels and returning. The truncheon slapped at his palm. ‘You are hiding this man. I know this to be a fact.’
He stopped and pressed against the table with the truncheon hovering between Loubie and Tommy, ready to strike. ‘He murdered his best friend, so don’t kid yourself that you’re doing something righteous. You should fear this man. Most of Ostere does.’
Loubie reached for her tobacco. The truncheon struck the table and Loubie dropped the tobacco pouch. ‘He’s a killer who will turn on you and cut your throat while you sleep’
He pushed back from the table and turned his attention to Tommy. ‘Ben the bloody Butcher you guys call him. Likes to cut does our Ben. Took his knife to a body outside the arts and craft classroom at Ostere Academy he did. You are going to give him up.’
He shoved his thin snout into Tommy’s face. ‘You will give him up so stop dicking me about.’
‘You got Ben wrong,’ Tommy said. ‘He’s no killer.’
‘So…’ Barney noticed the man at the bar, cocked his head, before approaching. ‘Who are you?’
The man shook his head. ‘Stranger in town and new to this bar, but the man you was looking for is upstairs.’
A soldier slammed the rear door open and called to Barney. ‘He’s running for the square.’
Barney glared at Loubie, then Tommy, and ran for the back door. The third soldier joined the pursuit.
Loubie grabbed her fur trimmed coat and ran for the front door. ‘Fuck this, Tommy. I’m not hanging about for this.’
Tommy buttoned the leather buttons and followed.
‘Where’s your car?’
***
Tommy and Loubie sat in a large, white car with serious chrome. Fat bulbous fenders covered black tires with white trim. They crawled along the gutter of Ostere Lane heading toward the square with a deep grumbling purr.
‘If he come out of the alley, then he’s headed for the square,’ Tommy said.
‘But I reckon he’d have run for the river. There are so many bars down there Barney would never find him,’ Loubie said.
Tommy stopped the car and pulled the long handled brake up high. ‘Ben never goes there. He doesn’t like the river bars. He reckons they’re too loud and expensive, and too many drugs. You can’t go to the toilet in those bars without getting propositioned or made to buy a bloody pill. No way would Ben go to the river.’
Loubie perched sideways on the big seat. ‘Exactly. That’s why. Barney won’t suspect the bars along the river because he doesn’t use them.’
‘But Ben don’t think like that, and Barney doesn’t know Ben’s haunts.’ Tommy put the car into gear, revved the engine before letting the clutch out slowly. The car hopped, stopped with a shudder and stalled.
‘What about Sylvia’s?’ Loubie jumped from the car, pulled her hood up, and ran across the road. She poked her head inside the Coffee House and smiled at Tilly sitting with Sylvia at the counter. The industrial sized coffee machine hissed clouds of steam into the room. Sacks of coffee sat against posts with deep brown beans overflowing on the floor. The intoxicating aroma offered succor and demanded you sit, relax, and indulge.
Loubie stayed at the door, but called out to Tilly. ‘You seen Ben?’
Tilly shook her head. ‘He’s keeping his distance. He’s afraid I might bite. And he should be because my fangs are sharp.’ Sylvia laughed at Tilly’s threat.
Loubie turned to leave, but stopped and called to Tilly. ‘Did you know old Ivan’
s looking for help? For sure he is. That’s if you want some shifts.’
‘Not while Ben’s living there.’
‘He’s not. He’s moved out today. It’s a Ben-free zone, and will remain that way, for sure.’
Loubie found Ben sitting on the seat between the Undertakers and the Ostere Gazette. He was watching Sam the snake charmer trying to master his whistle and entice the snake to dance. Vendors called out their wares and diners toting plates of food searched for a vacant seat. Loubie flopped beside him and pushed his hood off his head.
‘You think this is a good spot to hide?’
‘It was until you turned up.’
‘Yeah, no one’s going to suspect the Grim Reaper isn’t trouble. Look at you hulked down with your hood up. All you need is a scythe and your guise is complete.
‘Jesus, Ben. Look around you. People are having fun. There’s dancing, live music, and singing. People are chatting, dining and drinking, and you’re practicing the art of skulking. You stand out, babes.’
‘You got your hood up.’
‘Yeah, but my hoods trimmed with fur and looks good. And I’m not being chased by Ostere’s finest law enforcers.’
‘I’ve got nowhere to go.’
‘I thought you had a job?’
‘I don’t want the job. The Lowlands, eh? Serious, it isn’t a nice place.’
‘You’ve been there?’
‘Well no, but I’ve seen the news, and it looks like dire.’
‘Come on, Tommy’s nicked a car and it’s really cool. It’s got leather seats and a wood dash and a cigarette lighter for cigarettes, not phones. And ashtrays and an old AM radio. Can you still get AM radio? I don’t think there’s an ounce of plastic anywhere. And I can’t go back to that pub, for sure. Dead right. That copper wants to lock me and Tommy up for keeping quiet about you being in the pub. He touched me again. There’s something seriously sick about that copper, for sure.’
‘Where’s Tommy?’
***
The cars growl turned to a loud roar the moment they hit the overpass overlooking Ostere town center. A part of the car’s arse dragged on the road sending sparks into the night sky.
‘Are you serious, Tommy,’ Ben said. ‘Why don’t we call the emergency line and tell them where we are and where we’re going. Perhaps we could put a neon arrow on top of the vehicle and give that copper a call. Let’s make it a night for the lads in blue to remember, eh?’
Tommy pulled to the side of the road and jumped out of the car.
Ben looked at Loubie and shook his head. ‘Did you grab the bottle of vodka from the bar?’
Loubie’s mouth dropped and she clutched her hessian bag to her chest.
‘Don’t get shy on me now, girl. You like to steal and it’s not like he pays you often. So give it up, I need a drink bad, eh?’
The clear bottle with its foreign script glinted in the streetlight. She passed it to Ben and hung her head, waiting for the rebuke.
‘Vessels for drinking?’ he said. Again she reached into the depths of her bag and produced a stacked pack of plastic tumblers. ‘Good girl.’ Ben filled a tumbler and handed it to Loubie. ‘Why can’t Tommy ever steal a car with a warranty?’
Loubie and Ben stepped onto the road and leant on the high guardrail looking at the red beacon glowing on the town hall tower. Lights flickered in the church. A line of monks with books in hand paced the worn track between the monastery and graveyard. Two jeeps remained parked at the Poet’s front door. And deep in the gloom the furnace glowed bright by Blacky’s shed.
‘That building used to be my home,’ Ben said. He pointed at the corrugated tin roof covering Blacky’s shed. ‘Me and Tommy and Tommy’s brother, little Billy Two Guns, snuggled up in the loft most nights.’
‘Tommy’s got a brother?’ Loubie asked.
‘Tommy did have a brother. He got killed just before Christmas, eh? Some bad old boys in Black Hats were looking to do us all a mischief because we’d witnessed them killing Nab.’
‘I never met Nab. Ivan talks about him a lot.’
‘Yeah, Nab was hard, but these guys were harder.’
‘Your girlfriend took over Nab’s shifts, didn’t she? She’s nice, Tilly is. She’s got balls, dead right she has.’
‘My ex-girlfriend. I’d hardly say she took over from Nab, but she started working after Nab copped it.’
‘I wondered about you and her, and then I wonder about you and that Wynona. She’s dead cool, and she got a right buzz patting you down this morning. I almost pissed me pants when she whacked you with her baton. You like your women hard, for sure.’
She turned around to look at Ben, grabbing the vodka from his grasp. ‘You didn’t protest too hard.’
‘Wynona’s nice.’
‘Ooooh. Just nice?’
‘Wynona smells of moss and burning ash, and there’s a heat radiating off her body, eh?’ Loubie smiled and nodded. ‘You’ve noticed?’
‘Yeah, Wynona rocks.’
Tommy returned from the back of the motor. ‘What you guys talking about?’
‘Just reminiscing about the good old days,’ Ben said. ‘Remembering little Billy Two Guns, eh.’
‘You didn’t come to his funeral.’
‘You didn’t invite me, did you? I’m not psychic. And I don’t like funerals no more. The last funeral I attended I got accused of murder, eh?’
‘Yeah, well, it was just me coz mum was sick, but the vicar said some nice stuff.’
The familiar throb of a helicopter sounded and its spotlight shone on the riverside establishments. They watched the black speck with its bright spotlight hovering above the town square. Ben pushed Loubie into the car and called for Tommy to pick a gear that might move the vehicle. The car accelerated with a deep growl. Ben looked at Tommy and shook his head.
‘Cool car, Tommy. Noisy, but cool. Well done.’
Chapter Eight
Police on the Beat
Barney paced the floor of the Old Poet, swiveling on his heels at the pool table. ‘Someone here knows where Street Boy has gone and I’m not leaving until that location is shared.’
He retraced his steps and stopped at the entrance to the ladies lounge. His truncheon tapped on the worn wooden bar top as he turned to look at his captives. Ivan cowered, his huge frame bent over the bar and his hands gripping the stool. Charlie sat beside him, the two men staring forlornly at the array of alcohol. Both men wanted the drink. Charlie concentrated on the puddle of dregs in the drip tray. Ivan chatted to the unopened bottle of Island Malt. He and the bottle dreamt of a life together. It would be a simple life, like when Nab worked the pub. Ivan missed Nab. When Nab lived at the Old Poet he didn’t suffer visits from the police. His new man, Street Boy, wasn’t working out so well.
The two soldiers with the prosthetic arms sat at the end of the bar in the Ladies’ Lounge looking glum. Their pool game had been terminated when the squat squaddie potted the black with the butt end of his rifle.
The smelly man took a sip at his drink and raised his hand. Barney stepped toward him and pointed his baton at him. ‘Speak.’
‘He’s working for a bad man called Max Meldrum.’
‘Good,’ Barney said. ‘Now we’re getting places. And where might I find Max Meldrum?’
‘He lives in Old Ostere on the Golden Mile.’
‘And what should I know about Max Meldrum? Is he legit? Living on the Golden Mile suggests he has a shekel or two.’
‘He’s a very bad man. He runs Discretely Discreet Escort Agency. Trust me they’re discreet, but only because what they offer is sick and no one wants to be caught doing that stuff in public. I minded one of his girls for him a couple of months back. She was well young and the clients didn’t treat her so well. I stopped minding the girls to take the job your Street Boy’s now working. He also has a rundown Gym in Ostere Bottom where he trains thugs to man the doors of the bars on the riverside and extort money from businesses throughout the West End.
&nb
sp; ‘He don’t do drugs because the Slotvaks are mad, and he don’t like dealing with the insane. And he has his hands in kiddy stuff. I don’t know what he does with the little blighters, but he’s always got children hanging about.’
‘Jesus. Good work. And you know this because you worked for him?’ Barney took out his notebook and scribbled notes while nodding his head. ‘Serious, serious stuff, that’s for sure.’
He wandered back to Charlie and Ivan. Charlie had lost control of his hands, the trembling turned to uncontrollable jerks. His head kept sitting back and dropping forward. Ivan no longer muttered to the bottle, but sung a low, growling lament of life on the Island he and the Malt had once inhabited.
Barney slapped the baton on the bar. Both men jerked back and sat straight on their stools. The lads moaned and kicked at the bar. ‘Now why couldn’t you have told me that,’ Barney said. He looked at the lads, pointing his baton at their pool table. ‘Me and my boys could’ve been gone an hour ago. You could’ve been drinking, playing pool, and doing whatever else it is you do in here.’
Barney looked about the pub. The bar wore sodden mats with beer logos from a distant past. One ashtray sat by the hatch and overflowed with butts and cigar stubs. The floor – half dirt, half slate – wore a swirl of muddy patterns. And the building was ice cold. Morbid cold. ‘My God this place is an embarrassment. What happens if a tourist comes in here?’
Charlie and Ivan cast glances to their left and right. The two lads exchanged confused looks. No one understood the question.
‘You’ve got a church across the road.’
‘No,’ Ivan spluttered. ‘We’ve got a graveyard across the road. It’s home to some of my finest customers.’
‘Gentlemen, I’m gone. What do you do if Street Boy should return?’
‘Call you,’ they chorused.
‘I can’t hear you.’ He whacked the baton on the bar, splashing Ivan and Charlie with stale beer.
‘Call you.’ Their reply lacked the fervor required, but Barney smiled and put his hat on his head.
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