Death is the New Black

by Dominic Piper

  Jennison makes a little hand gesture to Wide Chest. This is his cue to start his story. He stands and talks like a policeman giving evidence in the dock and I wonder if he’s ex-police like Blond Hair.

  ‘I was in the grounds at the back having a fag, boss. Then there was a bit of a disturbance down by the fence, which backs onto the park. Birds flying up into the air an’ all of that. I didn’t think much of it, but walked down that way to have a look while I finished my fag. His majesty was just strolling about the place, like he didn’t know where he was.’

  Shortass pushes me down into my customary sofa. Jennison’s mother turns away from Sara to stare at me. Her eyes bulge. Sara moans. I have to focus on getting her out of here.

  Dixon is such an idiot. I warned him to keep away from me, but he couldn’t leave it. I try to think how he ended up being here. He must have decided that it was still a worthwhile thing to keep tailing me. Maybe it was the money. Maybe it was misguided professionalism. Maybe he thought he was being a tough guy by ignoring me. Maybe he was afraid of whoever was employing him.

  When he picked me up again, I don’t know. I haven’t felt his presence since I spoke to him outside that café. It’s possible he was keeping a watch on Maccanti. He could have been sitting in a vehicle outside Maccanti, seen me and Isolda talking in the SUV and tailed us to this place without my noticing. He’d been lucky before, spotting me in Big Shots the other night. I start thinking about Thea. She certainly had a few surprises up her sleeve.

  I feel annoyed I didn’t notice him, but it’s too late for that now. He must have seen the gate security, kept on driving, then discovered another way in. How did he know which house it was? Was he just lucky yet again? On the other hand, there aren’t that many houses in this road. He may have tried a few before he turned up here. I can’t imagine what he’s going to say when he comes round.

  Jennison and Shortass turn him over so he’s lying on his back. He has a deep, nasty-looking gash on the side of his face. Jennison looks at Wide Chest for an explanation. Jennison’s mother powers over for a closer look, hydraulics working overtime.

  ‘Uh, I crept up behind him and whacked him over the head with Shirley here,’ says Wide Chest proudly, pulling a SIG Sauer P226 DAK out of his inside pocket. Now where did he get that? It’s a type of pistol used by several police forces in the UK. Maybe Jennison has contacts. It’s always a risky endeavour, using a pistol like that as a bludgeon. It could go off.

  ‘That didn’t put him out, though,’ continues Wide Chest. ‘He turned around to try and hit me so I punched him in the face.’ He giggles. Yes, giggles. ‘That did the trick!’

  ‘You did well,’ says Jennison. ‘Sit him up against the sofa, then give him a slap.’

  Despite Dixon’s bulk, Wide Chest manhandles him to a sitting position as if he weighs nothing. He crouches down and slaps him across the face a couple of times. No response. He doesn’t look fully unconscious to me and I wonder if he’s faking it. Mummy takes her oxygen mask off.

  ‘Squeeze his balls,’ she croaks, in that strange, manly voice of hers.

  Wide Chest looks dubious at first and glances at Jennison to see if this is a good idea. Jennison nods. Wide Chest crouches down, the fabric of his trousers straining against his enormous thighs. He bares his teeth, spreads Dixon’s legs and squeezes his balls like he’s trying to get every last drop of juice out of an orange. Dixon screams and his body bucks forward in agony. I’m not that sympathetic to his current plight, but I certainly felt that. Mrs Jennison’s eyes crinkle with pleasure.

  Now he’s alert, Jennison slaps him about to get his full attention. ‘We’ve got your mate and we’ve got you. You’re totally fucked, my friend.’

  Dixon looks confused. He moans. He grabs his balls with both hands. He rocks back and forth. He’s sweating from the pain. He looks around the room, his eyes semi-focussed. He takes in Jennison and Jennison’s mother, who peers at him and chortles nastily. He looks up at Shortass, who’s sniggering, his little monkey face pinched and evil.

  Dixon’s eyes widen when he sees Sara in the see-through baby doll. He must wonder what the hell’s going on here. Wide Chest returns to a standing position and the sudden movement makes Dixon flinch. Then he sees me and his confusion turns to panic. ‘Tell them!’

  Jennison looks at me. ‘Tell them what? What’s he talking about, Beckett? Come on. He’s your bloody mate. What’s he talking about?’

  Dixon’s presence here is obvious to me, but a little too complicated to put into words for Jennison, at least in my present state. ‘He’s nothing to do with me.’

  I suppose I should have said, ‘He’s nothing to do with you.’ But it didn’t occur to me. My vision got a little blurry. Just for a few seconds. It’s better now.

  ‘You had his business card in your wallet. What’s the score? Did you hire another private eye to keep tabs on you in case you got into trouble? Or are you working together? Which is it? How many more of you are there? Is this what private detectives do nowadays? Hire other private detectives? Do those private detectives hire other bloody private detectives as well? Does it go on for fucking ever?’

  He turns to Dixon. ‘Come on, Mr bleedin’ Dixon. Who are you working for?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Dixon, without realising what a stupid reply that is. Jennison steps forward, swings his leg back and gives him an almighty kick in the face. It’s the sort of kick you’d use if you were trying to punt a rugby ball over the other team’s crossbar.

  Dixon falls on his side. Blood pours from his mouth and spatters on the floor. They’re going to have to give those terracotta tiles a good clean later on. ‘Maybe that’ll remind you, you pisser,’ says Jennison, his face now warped by a callous sneer. When I first encountered him, I couldn’t square his pension ad looks with the hammering nails thing, but I can now.

  ‘I’m telling the truth,’ mumbles Dixon, who’s starting to look understandably worried. He’s in a bad situation here. He has no friends.

  Jennison thinks, quite reasonably, that Dixon is with me. I gave Dixon a pretty strong warning about what would happen if I ever saw him again, even though it’s probably clear to him that I’m currently in no shape to exact even the mildest retribution. He has no idea what’s going on here. He’s no danger to me but he’s no help, either.

  ‘How much do you know about what’s been going on?’ barks Jennison.

  Dixon, of course, knows nothing, but Jennison won’t believe that in a million years. He wants to hear something fantastic. He wants to hear some good news. He wants to hear that he’s in the clear, that there are not dozens of people like Dixon floating about who know all about his business and what’s been going on with Sara Holt; his little bit of fun for his daughter that had suddenly and unexpectedly turned bad.

  Dixon isn’t going to be able to tell him anything like that, but Jennison won’t be happy until he hears it, even if it isn’t true. He punches Dixon in the face a few times. This is such a sloppy technique. Jennison is far too emotional and stupid to be able to interrogate properly. Dixon spits blood and half a tooth comes out with it. Jennison turns to me.

  ‘Who is this bloke? How many more are there?’

  ‘There aren’t any more. You’re getting the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘The only stick you should be worrying about is the one with nails on I’ll be shoving up your arse if you don’t give me a straight answer. I’ll fucking tear your guts down into a fucking bucket while you watch, you little fucking prick.’

  Shortass stands behind my sofa. He grabs both of my shoulders to keep me up straight while I answer his boss, who I believe is getting a little stressed by everything, if truth be told.

  I take a deep breath. I don’t have the mental energy to lie or to use this to my advantage.

  ‘OK. Listen. Someone hired this guy to follow me.’ I clear my throat. ‘He’s been trailing me for a couple of days. It started before I even met Sara Holt. I caught him this morning and war
ned him off. Obviously, he couldn’t or wouldn’t take the hint and followed me here. I don’t know how he found the house.

  ‘I assume he must have seen us drive through the main gate and realised he couldn’t follow, so he drove past and started looking for other ways in. I don’t know what he did or what he’s doing.’ I take a deep breath and flop back into the softness of the sofa. That much talking has really taken it out of me and I feel a little faint. ‘If I was him,’ I say, ‘I’d have checked every house off the private road until I found the SUV.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Then he could put in his report that I’d come here with Isolda.’

  ‘Why? Why would he be following you?’

  ‘I really have no idea.’ I allow myself another sigh. ‘He was told by someone to keep tabs on me for five days and report back. He’s telling the truth as far as not knowing who it was who hired him is concerned. Well, that’s what he told me, anyway. I have no reason not to believe him. I don’t know what’s going on, to be perfectly honest. Can you stop asking me so many questions? I can’t think straight. It’s exhausting.’

  He points at Sara, who is drifting in and out of consciousness. I’d almost forgotten about her and I’m a little worried about the effect the drug cocktail is having. ‘So he knows nothing about what’s been going on with the girl here.’

  ‘The whore,’ adds Jennison’s mum usefully, her oxygen mask pulled briefly away from her face.

  ‘Don’t call her that, Mummy.’ He has a little laugh to himself. ‘I’m not paying for her. She’s free.’

  ‘What else am I meant to call her? That’s what she is. She’s just like all your other ones.’

  ‘This is not the same, Mummy.’

  ‘Her bastard of a father ruined your life and ruined mine, too. Do you think I wanted to look after your bloody daughter and your slut of a wife? I was sick. Looking after Dolly made me worse. It took years off my life. I’ve only got one lung. I’ve got pulmonary vascular disease. I’ve got Wolff Parkinson White syndrome. Your bloody painted slut wife committing suicide almost killed me. If she’d asked me I’d have saved her the trouble and stuck a knife in her slut back.’

  Jennison looks dismayed. Shortass and Wide Chest look away, embarrassed.

  ‘You were always weak, Tommy. You were a weak, crippled little shit. God cursed me from heaven the day you were born. I must have…’

  Luckily, Mummy starts gasping, has to put the oxygen mask back on and the drivel stops. Jennison’s attention is back on me again.

  ‘So this bloke here knew nothing about me or what I’d been doing. He didn’t even know I existed?’

  I know I’m sighing too much, but I allow myself another one. ‘He didn’t know about you and he didn’t know about Sara. In fact, I thought he was something to do with your lot. I had good reason to think he might be involved. But I asked him if the name Sara Holt meant anything and it didn’t, and I believed him. This is something else. What it is, I don’t know.’

  I can see the cogs turning in Jennison’s brain. ‘But he knows about Sara now, doesn’t he. Any report he writes about you, whoever the balls it’s going to go to, is going to include this address and what happened here. It’s going to include all the people here and what we’ve been talking about. He’s seen the girl. He’s seen me.’

  ‘Well, I suppose so. I don’t know. I don’t really care.’

  Dixon has been listening to all of this and is looking increasingly distressed. I can’t imagine what he makes of it all. He starts talking. He’s looking down, his attention on no one in particular. ‘Listen to me,’ he says, his voice shaking. ‘I can keep my mouth shut about all of this. I don’t know what the score is here and I don’t care. I’m way out of my depth. I do divorce stuff usually. I had no idea that Beckett was a private detective until now. I didn’t know what he was. He was just someone that someone else was interested in.’

  Jennison doesn’t like this for whatever reason. He’s starting to lose his temper again. I just hope he doesn’t get the hammer and nails out. ‘I’ll tell you what the fucking score is, you fucking dish of shit. The fucking score is you’re in deep trouble. Who knows you’ve taken this job?’

  ‘No one. I work alone. I don’t discuss what I do with anyone. I never do. Client confidentiality. ’

  ‘So no one knows you’re here and no one knows you followed Beckett here.’

  ‘That’s right. I didn’t know I’d be coming here until I saw Beckett drive through those gates with the girl. I didn’t know what this place was. It was just another thing that Beckett was doing; another place he was visiting.’

  ‘And he doesn’t employ you.’

  ‘Employ me? Of course not.’

  ‘And whoever does employ you didn’t tell you why they wanted him followed. Is that right?’

  ‘No. Yes. No.’

  ‘You better not be lying to me.’

  ‘I swear it. Everything I told you is the truth. No one knows I’m here. No one knows what I’m working on.’

  ‘Where’s your car?’

  ‘I parked it by the entrance to the park that backs on to your property; the one near the tennis courts and the cherry trees.’

  ‘Which entrance? The one a hundred yards down the road from the main gate into here?’

  ‘Yes. Just a bit before the zebra crossing.’

  ‘What sort of car is it? What’s the registration?’

  ‘It’s a grey Audi A7 Sportback. Registration is PI 999.’

  ‘Where’s the keys?’

  ‘In my pocket.’

  Jennison nods to Shortass who strides over and take some keys on a black Audi leather fob out of Dixon’s front trouser pocket. He puts them in his own pocket.

  ‘Is the car registered to you? Is it your car?’

  ‘Yes. Yes it is.’

  Jennison stares at Dixon and I can see the cogs turning again. He looks at Wide Chest and gives him a little smile.

  ‘Kill him.’

  Before Dixon realises what’s happening, Wide Chest leans down and hooks a brawny arm around his neck. His weight and strength keep Dixon in place, who’s still sitting down with his back against the sofa.

  Wide Chest pushes him slightly to the side so he can get his arm around his throat at a better angle. With a single jerk, he adjusts his position so his bicep is tight against the front of Dixon’s windpipe. Then he just squats there, as if nothing is happening, his mouth slightly open.

  It’s happening for Dixon, though. He’s kicking his legs back and forth, trying to get some leverage on the terracotta tiles so he can change his position and get out of this. His eyes are wide with panic. He knows this isn’t a joke or a threat. He knows this is happening for real. Sometimes it looks as if he’s trying to stand up, but this is impossible.

  He’s trying to speak, but can’t manage it. Instead, he’s making heaving, squeaking noises, as saliva bubbles from his mouth. Jennison’s mother moves in closer to get a good view, while Jennison himself sits back down next to Sara, pulling her close to him and massaging her shoulders. She’s awake now and stares at Wide Chest and Dixon. I can tell from her expression that she doesn’t fully comprehend what’s happening.

  Dixon’s face is red and his eyes are bulging. He’s desperately trying to get away, change his position, anything to take the pressure off his throat. But it isn’t working. He tries to grab Wide Chest’s arm, but this is a total waste of time. Wide Chest is impassive: bored, even. This is just a chore for him. No. Not a chore. There’s a look in his eyes that I missed. It’s a quiet satisfaction. Whether he’s getting off on this I can’t tell. Perhaps it’s the pleasure of practising a skill that he’s very good at. Maybe he likes obeying and/or pleasing his boss. I don’t know or care.

  Jennison has started snogging Sara again, keeping one eye on Wide Chest’s progress. He feels one of her breasts. I realise that he can only do this while his mother’s facing the other way. He must have a thing about his mother watching him gro
ping a woman wearing a see-through baby doll. I know I do.

  Mummy is right up close to Dixon. This is entertainment for her. She’s enjoying herself. She caws away in that terrible voice, stamping her feet up and down on the wheelchair foot rest.

  ‘Lovely. Lovely. Go on. Go on. Do it. Do it. Do it. You dirty bastard. Let him give you what’s coming to you.’ She smacks her lips. Drool pours out onto her lap. ‘Go on. Go on. Squeeze the blooming life out of him. You filthy pig. Do it. Do it. Do it. Lovely.’

  She spits on Dixon then she slaps the oxygen mask back on her face, her eyes fierce and unhinged. She’s leaning forward. Her face is about a foot away from Dixon’s. I’m watching this and I’m thinking, what a way to go.

  To take my mind off things, I speculate about how I’d manage a straight choice between Klementina and Mrs Doroteia Vasconselos. It’s difficult. Klementina, without doubt, has the sort of figure I like and had a healthy sexiness and hunger about her. But Doroteia exuded a sophisticated feral sexuality that would be intriguing to explore.

  Also, the fact that she’d actually gone out for a walk with the express purpose of getting picked up or picking someone up for when her husband was away is pretty exciting. She and Klementina are such a contrasting pair that it’s an almost impossible choice to make. I decide that if I survive this, I’ll just have to have both of them.

  Dixon’s face is dark purple. He’s struggling like the devil, but it’s totally futile. Wide Chest’s mind seems to be elsewhere. He’s indifferent to what he’d doing like only a true psychopath can be. I wonder what he’s thinking about. Girls? Why does he call his gun Shirley?

  Sara pulls away from Jennison and starts to realise what’s happening to Dixon. She looks horrified. Jennison gently brings her head back towards him so he can kiss her again and take her mind off things. She turns her face away like a child refusing bad-tasting medicine. The mask is off Jennison’s mother’s mouth again.

  ‘Go on. Tighter. Tighter. Do it! Do it! Do it! You bastard! Look at him! Look at him! Lovely! Dirty! Dirty! Dirty!’