Death is the New Black

by Dominic Piper

  I comply with his request and sit in the seiza position. He’ll naturally think that I’m at a considerable physical disadvantage. Now I have to needle him, probably at tremendous risk to my life. Ah well. All part of the job.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have anything to tie you up with while we wait for my colleague,’ he sneers. ‘So I’m going to have to find something to knock you out cold with. Sorry about that, old chum. Can’t spend all day aiming a gun at you. My arm’s starting to ache.’

  ‘That guy you were talking about on the phone. Jackie, was it?’

  He looks baffled – firstly, that I should engage him in casual conversation and secondly that it should be about his phone call and someone he knows.

  ‘What the hell’s that got to do with you?’

  ‘Is he like – you know – in his seventies? Quite rugged looking? White hair? Lined face? Bit of a gut. Swears a lot?’

  Still holding the gun at my head, Black Suit takes a few steps towards me. He looks suspicious, but he’s curious at the same time.

  ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘Well, he’s dead. Sorry.’

  I stop it there. I don’t want to give him too much in one go. It may give him a headache and I wouldn’t want that.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Well, I had him in a lock-up last night and I was torturing him and he died.’

  He chuckles. ‘What a fuckin’ load of shit. You? How were you torturing Jackie? He could beat the crap out of someone like you.’

  I keep my voice calm and soft, as if I’m talking about a visit to the theatre. ‘I’m not saying he’s not a strong guy, but that’s what happened. I think he may have died of heart failure or suffocated or something. I’m not a doctor; it can be hard to tell sometimes. He was tied up and I’d stuffed a wet towel halfway down his throat.’

  He’s getting angry now. He doesn’t really believe me, but he can’t deny that I gave him a good description of Footballer Dad. The tops of my arms are aching from clasping them behind my neck.

  ‘You don’t say things like that. You don’t talk about people like that. Jackie’s my uncle. That’s family. You don’t talk about family like that.’

  He’s waving the pistol at me, but still hasn’t taken the safety off. I’m trying to get his attention away from the gun and onto me. I think I’m succeeding.

  ‘OK. He’s not dead. Everything’s alright. I’m just lying to amuse myself.’ I tilt my head to the side and look him straight in the eye. ‘And I’m a little reluctant to tell you this under the circumstances, but your mate Robbie on the table over there? I’m afraid that was me, too.’

  ‘Yeah. Sure it was.’

  He looks at me as if I’m some nutbag who goes around confessing to crimes he didn’t commit. I have no idea which road this is taking me down, but anything’s better than a stalemate.

  ‘He used to be in the police, didn’t he? Robbie. Carries a knuckleduster. He was on the point of using it on me this morning, but I didn’t really want that, so I broke his elbow over my shoulder. This caused the bone to splinter and rupture a major artery. I think he probably bled to death. To be honest, he should have been taken to a hospital immediately. You can go and check the injury if you don’t believe me.’

  He doesn’t respond. He’s trying to take all of this in and make his mind up whether any of it could be true. His eyes harden and a petulant little pout appears on his mouth. He flips the gun around in his hand so he’s holding the barrel. Excellent. He’s considering pistol-whipping me while I’m on my knees in front of him. I’m controlling him now, but he doesn’t realise it yet.

  ‘I’ll tell you – Robbie there screamed so loudly when I did that to him that I’ve still got ringing in my ears from it. But Jackie…’

  ‘You better shut your mouth right now, friend.’

  ‘Jackie was pathetic. Or should I call him Uncle Jackie. Jackie is normally a girl’s name, isn’t it? Anyway, Uncle Jackie was very tough at first, kept telling me that I didn’t know who I was dealing with and all that sort of threatening crap that idiots like him come up with when they know they’re in deep shit. When they’re pissing themselves with fear, which is what good old Uncle Jackie did.’

  He’s glowering. His face is darkening. I wonder how close he and Uncle Jackie were? Maybe they used to go fishing together. Maybe Uncle Jackie was like a father to him. He’s willing me not to go on. His grip on the gun barrel is making his knuckles white. His body odour is getting worse.

  ‘Then he started crying and begging for mercy.’

  ‘Right, you fuck.’

  With the gun in his right hand he swings it over his left shoulder to get momentum and slashes it down towards my face. If you telegraph your moves like this, you have to expect the worst and that’s what he’s going to get.

  Still on my knees I block his arm with my left hand, grab his elbow, turn sharply to my right and slam him down on the floor, face first, pinning his arm at the shoulder and the wrist. It all happened so fast I didn’t see what happened to his gun, but heard it slide across the floor somewhere. I’ll worry about that later.

  I move in close to him, bring his arm up high behind his back, close my eyes tightly and wrench it towards his head as hard as I can, dislocating his shoulder. I do it so well I can feel the dull thump as the bone pops out of the socket. He shrieks, as well he might.

  I get up and pat him down. No other weapons. I take his wallet and retrieve my money, plus all of his, which comes to a tidy five hundred. He’s panting, sobbing and in considerable pain and distress. He remains face down as he can’t do much else. It takes me thirty seconds to find his gun, which had skittered along the floor and hidden itself under some drawers near one of the ovens.

  I get my jacket back on, stick the gun in an inside pocket and head for the office. I’ve got no time for subtlety, so I take a step back and kick the door hard, about a foot below the lock. It splinters and opens straight away. I turn the lights on and look around.

  I’m looking for two things; the keys to the SUV and something to tie Black Suit up with. He’s coming with me. I’m not going to leave him here to report to whichever gorilla turns up. He’s a loose end and I can’t afford any at the moment. I’ve probably got a little over five minutes to sort this.

  There’s a filing cabinet, but it’s locked. No time for that. I frantically search the desk for the keys but can’t find anything. Did Blue Suit take them with him when he left here? I’m about to give up, then I see what looks like a psychedelic penholder on the windowsill. Two pens poking out and there are the keys, attached to a big purple and green Venture Cars key ring, which is hanging over the side. I grab the keys and drop them into my pocket. Let’s hope they’re the right ones. I think they are.

  I take a quick look around but can’t see anything I can use to tie Black Suit up with. I go back into the kitchen and rapidly open drawer after drawer. Finally I find a ball of white cooking string. Not really what I’m after, but it’ll have to do. In another drawer there’s a small amount of silver duct tape left on a small roll, so I take that as well.

  I manhandle Black Suit to a sitting up position. He moans as my hand grips him under the armpit where the dislocation happened. I squat in front of him and slap his face to get his attention. He’s sweating and shivering.

  ‘This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to use this string to tie your hands behind your back. It’s going to be very painful because your shoulder’s dislocated. But once I’ve finished it’ll settle as long as you don’t move a muscle.

  ‘I’m going to tape your mouth up because you’re probably going to want to scream a few times over the next few minutes. Then we’re going out to the SUV. You’re going in the boot. Getting you in will hurt. Once you’re in there, I’m tying your ankles together. Keep still and the pain will be minimal. Move around and you won’t believe what happens. Got it?’

  He nods his head. He’s defeated. He’s perspiring. He’
s as white as a sheet. I wind a couple of feet of duct tape around his head, covering his mouth. I can hear a low, guttural scream trying to escape from his throat as I whip both arms behind his back and tie his wrists together. This sort of string would be totally useless under normal circumstances, but not when one of your shoulders is as wrecked as his is. I wind it round and round; it looks OK.

  I grab his arms on the bicep. ‘Now you’re going to stand up. It will hurt as I help you up. You will scream. You will not faint. Then we’re going outside. One, two…’

  Another muffled, agonised scream and he’s on his feet. His eyes roll up into his head. We get out of the kitchen and into the antechamber. I hold the back of his neck to guide him as he staggers along. I just hope he doesn’t faint; that would be a real pain. Then we’re outside. I press the control on the keys and the SUV’s lights flash. Thank God for that.

  I check the service road to make sure it’s clear and walk Black Suit over to the SUV. I open the boot and indicate he should get in. He sits down and swings his legs to the left, propping himself up against the side. I tie his ankles together with the string. Again, bloody useless, but I don’t think he’ll get a chance to untie himself.

  I slam the boot shut, get in the driver’s seat and turn the engine over, wondering how long it’ll take me to get to Covent Garden in weekday traffic. That’s the problem with Szymon; he’s never around when you need him.

  23

  LOVERS’ TIFF

  When I get to Exeter Street, I stop at the end of the road and wait. I can feel my heart thumping in my chest. I can hear Black Suit groaning in the back. I hope the string holds. Nothing’s parked here as there are double yellow lines on each side of the road.

  The only visible vehicle is a small van parked up on the pavement delivering stuff to Joe Allen’s. It says Orel Fruit Supplies on the side of the van. A tall girl appears wearing a polo shirt with the same logo on the front. On the right, there’s a woman picking up a load of shopping from the floor, the result of a split carrier bag. On the left, two Chinese teenagers walk along arguing, passing a spliff to and fro and laughing.

  All quiet.

  I get out of the SUV, lock it and pat the side of my jacket to make sure I’m still carrying Black Suit’s Taurus PT 100. I try to avoid carrying guns, but these people seem to find them useful and I don’t want to walk in on one of them without some sort of ballistic assistance.

  The ground floor entrance to my flat is closed, so at least they didn’t smash the door down, if, indeed, they’ve got here yet. On the way up the stairs, I take the safety off the Taurus and slide a bullet into the chamber. I realise now that I could have taken Black Suit when he had this aimed at my head, but I couldn’t have known that at the time, so tough luck me.

  I’m as quiet as I can be under the circumstances. I concentrate on each step I take, putting firm pressure on each wooden tread to avoid any creaking. I can feel my hand sweating on the grip of the gun and I’m aware of each small noise, each alteration in atmosphere. I’m conscious of vague and unfamiliar scents; sour male sweat, cheap deodorant, Sara’s perfume.

  After what seems like hours, I’m standing outside the door to my flat. I place the palm of my hand against it and apply the tiniest amount of pressure, all the while listening for sounds from within. The door is closed. The locks don’t seem to be damaged. Whoever broke in would have to be a pretty skilled burglar; perhaps the same person who got into Sara’s flat.

  I think of Isolda saying how all that burglarising business at Sara’s gave her the creeps.

  Slowly and as quietly as possible, I turn both locks over at the same time and tap the door open with my foot. I stand at the entrance for a moment. The scents I noticed on the stairs are marginally stronger in here. I close my eyes for a couple of seconds, trying to sense a presence inside. There’s nothing, so I walk in, checking each room, negotiating the nightingale floor and looking around for signs of disturbance. I hold the gun straight ahead at eye level, my finger lightly resting on the trigger.

  I tap the bedroom door open with my foot and look inside. When I left here, Sara was lying on the bed. I can still see her shape on the top sheet. Everything looks OK and there seems to have been no sign of a struggle. How did they get in without her noticing? Did the squeaks from the nightingale floor not wake her? How did they get her out of here without it being conspicuous? None of that matters. Bottom line is she’s gone and it’s partly my fault.

  *

  When I get to Maccanti, I get buzzed in and take the stairs three at a time, not bothering to wait for the lift. When I get to reception, I run straight into Melody Ribeiro, almost knocking her down.

  ‘Where’s Isolda?’

  ‘God Almighty. What has that girl got?’

  I’d almost forgotten how attractive Melody was and it was what – a few hours ago that I last saw her? How time flies.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with that. Where is she?’

  ‘She’s in Sara’s office. Look, if you ever…I mean, if you and her…’

  But I don’t stay to listen to whatever it is. I stride down the corridor towards Sara’s office. Her door is closed. I’ve got to control myself and not raise my voice. I mustn’t do anything to distract Isolda while I get the truth out of her.

  I push the door wide open with the ball of my hand. She’s leaning over Sara’s book table. She’s still wearing the maroon wrap-around cardigan and my eyes go straight to her inflammatory cleavage and the wide swell of her breasts. I have to stop this right now.

  When she sees me, she stops what she’s doing, runs towards me and puts both of her arms around my neck, pressing herself against me. I don’t reciprocate, and hold my arms out to the side like it’s a stick-up.

  When she speaks, there a hint of a sob in her voice, but I don’t think it’s connected to what she’s about to say. I think it’s connected to the fact that she knows she’s been found out.

  ‘Oh, thank God you’re here. What’s going on, Daniel? I’ve been so worried. How’s Sara? How’s she coping with all of this? I’m going to have to find out which hospital Rachelle’s been taken to. Do you think they’ll let me see her? What sort of people would do something like that?’

  She gasps with pleasure as I grab both of her shoulders, then looks dismayed as I push her down onto a chair. I lean against the edge of the table. I fold my arms. I make my face expressionless. I look directly into her eyes and I can tell it’s giving her the wrong type of chill.

  ‘Sara’s gone, Isolda. Whoever the hell they are, they’ve taken her. They’ve been in my flat and they’ve taken her.’

  She covers her mouth with her hand. ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘What’s going on, Isolda? I tell you I’ve got Sara at my flat. Ten minutes later I hear my address mentioned by a gun-wielding thug whom I know to have direct links to Sara’s harassment and abduction.

  ‘No one else knew where Sara was. Only you. I rush back to my flat and there’s no sign of her. I don’t think she popped out to watch The Lion King or do a bit of souvenir shopping, do you? Not after some piece of shit had tried to kidnap her.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, I…’

  ‘Listen.’ I spit the word out with enough ki to make her jerk back in her seat. ‘I don’t know why, but I know you’re somehow involved in this if not actually behind all of it. I tell you which gym I’m going to and when I leave I’ve got some bent ex-cop on my tail wielding a pack of bribery money and telling me to get lost.

  ‘I tell you where I’m keeping Sara and people break into my flat and take her away. You’re the only possible culprit. You know where Sara’s going to be the whole time. You know where she lives, you know what she’s like, you know what work she’s doing and you know what it would take to put her off her stride.

  ‘You’ve got to tell me right now. I don’t know what they’re going to do with Sara but I can’t imagine it’s good. Her life is probably in danger. Maybe they want her for something else; something
I can’t imagine. I don’t know. But every second that goes by makes it worse for her. Now you can tell me of your own volition or I can make you tell me. It doesn’t make any difference to me.’

  She starts sobbing, her hand up against her face, her body convulsing. She hyperventilates, trying to catch my eye the whole time, trying desperately to work that magic on me once again, but I’ve already cut her out of my emotions.

  ‘Please. I swear. I haven’t got anything to do with this. I’m just so worried about Sara and Rachelle…’

  ‘Bullshit. You don’t give a toss about Sara or Rachelle. If you did, you wouldn’t be involved in this and you are most certainly involved in it. Do I look that stupid, Isolda?’

  ‘How can you say things like that to me?’ She looks up, her eyes moist, her lips trembling. ‘Even if the last couple of days have meant nothing to you, they certainly have to me. I’ve never felt like this about anyone.’

  Here we go.

  ‘Shut up. Tell me what’s going on. Last chance.’

  Melody pops her head around the door to see what all the fuss is about. She takes a look at the red-eyed Isolda, then observes my dark expression. I turn to look at her.

  ‘Lovers’ tiff.’

  ‘Ah. OK. Sorry.’

  She backs out of the room just as one of the phones goes off. This is too busy here: too many distractions. I grab Isolda’s arm and pull her up to her feet. She looks sullen; she’s given up the faking. We go down the stairs that I went down with Sara on my first day here.

  I remember the moment that Sara tripped and almost fell and I grabbed her. That was when I realised she was on medication. And now she’s gone. I’m still not close to finding out the cause for all of this this, but I’m getting closer.

  I parked the SUV in Manchester Square, with Black Suit presumably still in agony in the boot, if he hasn’t gone the way of Footballer Dad. I march Isolda towards it and we get in. I must remember to let Venture Car Hire know where their vehicle is when I’ve finished with it, whenever that will be.