Raising Lazarus

by Aidan J. Reid

  “Thought we would celebrate. What do you fancy?”

  “I’ve quit my job, not sure if it’s worth celebrating!”

  “You were miserable there, Mol! You’ll get another one soon. I fancy pizza. Lazarus fancies…”

  “Kebab for me,” he said.

  She took the menus, immediately removed two of them and dropped them back on the table. Chinese writing was scrawled across their cover. Another followed, this time an American burger and fries eatery. She inflated her cheeks, letting little bursts out through her lips, nodding her head from side to side; she dropped two more on the table, leaving two in her hands. She looked at Lazarus who was watching the news on TV, and then at Louise who was looking down at the brochures in her hands. Molly waited until she looked up and when her flatmate did, she apologised and threw the pizza menu on the table.

  “No!” Louise cried, covering her head in her hands. “I hate kebab!”

  “Sorry Lou! They have other dishes as well, you know? Nachos, burritos, salads…”

  “You’ll only catch me eating a salad if it’s between two beef patties.”

  They settled on their choices, with Louise making the phone call while Molly went to her room to change into her pyjamas. Lazarus opened the door just as she had removed her top and gave a wide smile as he crept up behind her. His arms reached around her waist and when they touched her belly she gave a little jump.

  “You OK?” he said, holding her close to his chest.

  “Yeah. Just a bit jumpy. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  Molly gave him a serious look to suggest it wasn’t a throwaway question.

  “Seriously, I’ve never felt better. I know my own body.”

  “You would tell me if you weren’t feeling right wouldn’t you? I mean the doctor’s said- “

  “Mol,” Lazarus interrupted. “Look at me. I couldn’t feel better. Everything’s going to be fine. You worry too much. We’ll be OK.”

  He gave her a playful squeeze on the breast and she slapped away his hand. A play of mock hurt crossed his face and he stumbled away with a wounded hand. She turned and threw the shirt at him which he caught in the doorway and threw back. He had already slipped out the room and closed the door when she followed up with her return effort.

  When Lazarus returned to the living room, he saw Louise seated on the floor beside the TV. She was riffling through DVDs, turning the plastic sleeves and looked up when he was on the couch.

  “Bored yet of the chick flicks?”

  “Can’t get enough of them,” Lazarus said and smiled.

  She laughed and pulled out four CDs, throwing them like Frisbees to the open space on the couch. He picked them up and read their faces, names in thick red marker.

  “Listen, I’m happy with whatever.”

  “You’re a tough one to read,” Louise said, shaking her head.

  He shrugged and placed the discs on the table, took the remote and flicked through the channels. It landed on a 24-hour news station, with Lazarus turning the volume up and watching scenes from a country in the middle East. Explosions on the streets, crowds dispersing under rat-a-tat gun fire. Women wearing burqas running for cover, pulling young boys by the arm. Louise looked at the monitor and then at Lazarus.

  “Where’s that?”

  “Syria.”

  “Have you ever been there?”

  “Many times.”

  “Is it anything like that?”

  “Not when I was there, but that was a long time ago,” he said, staring at the screen without blinking. “Things have gotten out of hand now.”

  Molly walked into the room, asked Louise if she had placed the order, which she had and sat on the couch. She reached out for Lazarus’ hand.

  “What are we watching?” she asked, looking to him but his face and hand didn’t acknowledge her, so she turned to Louise.

  “Syria.”

  “Oh.”

  They sat in silence watching the images. Buildings were reduced to rubble with missiles that blazed the sky. The camera shuddered under the force of the impact. The news crew were suddenly in a hospital, desperate parents, faces covered in ash were carrying bundles in their arms, babies and children, faces wet with bloody bandages, lifeless limbs dangling helplessly from the parents’ clutches. Corridors were full with people as children were lifted and passed from hand to hand toward the entrance, for all the world looking like they were in the deepest of sleeps, not even the urgency and handling of their bodies by strange hands enough to stir them.

  Molly squeezed Lazarus’ palm gently but there was no reaction. She curled up closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder, watching as the footage showed a reporter speaking into the camera, a night sky behind. It was live and flashed back and forth to an anchor in the studio. She tried to follow the report but couldn’t understand the names of the various militia groups, politicians and regions and soon lost the thread. Eventually, the live feed ended and the host addressed the audience and smiled as the camera panned back to show a sleek panoramic of the studio, busy bodies in the background, moving between computers and monitors. The next image on screen was a TV commercial of a woman whose moans in the shower suggested she was having an orgasmic experience.

  There was a knock on the door and they looked around at each other with confused faces. Louise got to her feet in instalments, using the chair for support.

  “Must have been buzzed in downstairs. Cough up time.”

  Molly handed her two bills to cover their side, joining it with the other that Louise teased out of her pocket.

  “I’ll get the plates ready,” Molly said and slotted in behind Louise, veering off to the little kitchenette on the left while the other one went to the door.

  She took three plates off the plate rack, gave them a quick rub down with a burnt hand towel that was inserted through the handle of the oven, and walked over to the table and set them down. Molly turned to see her friend walk backward into the room.

  “We forgot to order drinks. Sure we… What’s wrong?”

  Louise looked over to them with a panicked expression on her face. She hurried away from the doorway and turned when she had joined the others. Lazarus had now noticed and together they watched as two strangers entered, one huge with a shoulder span sloping to a tiny waist that made him look like an inverted pyramid. He was bald and even from their distance they could see the veins pop on his forehead, fat worms wriggling a route across his face. He stood behind the man like his looming, uglier shadow and the relatively smaller one, who was still bigger than most, greeted them with a smile. They were both in dark jeans, the front man with a big buckle like a padlock on the front of his. He wore a light grey cardigan covering his arms. He had a face as interesting as a thumb pad, a short back and sides framing his thin face. Behind him, the ogre was looking around the room, smacking his lips and drying them with a club hand. A tight red T-shirt stretched across his broad chest. Tight muscles rippled below. The T-shirt looked like it could split with one tense of his pectoral. The shirt sleeves seemed to be stitched over his upper arms, cutting blood supply which only seemed to engorge the loose biceps. As he dropped his hands to the side, the muscle danced up and down his arm like it was trying to swallow a rock.

  “Just in time for dinner, are we?” Beauty said.

  Lazarus stood up and motioned for the two women to slot in behind him. Louise took his place on the couch and curled up to her friend.

  “You’ve got no business here,” Lazarus said. “You can tell him that I’m done.”

  “Don’t seem that way to me,” Beauty replied and took a step closer, allowing Beast to look inside the kitchen area. “Not when he’s getting abusive calls it’s not.”

  “What? Listen. What is it that you want? These girls have done nothing. Let them go.”

  “No shit. We don’t have any problem with them. It’s you we want, mate. The girls can clear off.”

  Lazarus side stepped and paved the
way for them to leave. Louise looked up and received a head nod from Lazarus. She scrambled onto her feet and took tentative steps toward them, leaning close to the wall. When she had pulled level, Beast slapped a foot forward a step on the ground and shouted, ‘Boo.’ Louise fell to the ground in a heap and brought laughs from the big man. Beauty slapped him in the chest with the back of his hand and reached out a hand and managed to pull her up.

  “Christ, you’re a fat one, aren’t ya?” he said when she was back on her feet again. “Phone.”

  She turned to her flatmates and then looked down at the hand the man held out between them.

  “I’ll give it back. Don’t want you being stupid and calling anyone now.”

  “But Gaz…”

  Beauty slapped the chest of the man behind him again. It was like punching a concrete wall and the man showed no reaction on his face.

  “I told you not to…” Beauty shook his head and turned back to the woman who was standing on unsteady legs.

  Lazarus had turned and picked up her mobile phone from the table and reached it out to her. She placed it in the man’s hands, and he motioned her into the corner opposite the doorway.

  “Doubt she’ll get very far on those chubby little legs. Can’t be too careful though. You.”

  Molly was behind the outstretched hands of Lazarus, still on the couch and looking out at the two men. Beauty signalled for Beast to hold his position close to the doorway.

  “I don’t think your girlfriend wants to see how bad we’re going to fuck you up mate. Best get her out while there’s still time.”

  Lazarus turned around and reached for her hand. Molly remained seated, eyes still locked on the man who opened a new grin and shook his head.

  “Come on Molly. Please,” Lazarus said. “Take Louise and go next door. I’ll handle this.”

  “Yes,” Beauty said. “Wise words. Like the man said. He’ll handle it.”

  He took a step forward and unbuckled his belt, wrapping it around his fist. Appearing to take that as his cue, the man behind gave a wide smile, mostly pink gums. He took one giant step into the kitchen, opened a drawer and stepped back out again – a rolling pin in his hand which he slapped down onto an open palm.

  Molly got to her feet, trying to control her rapid breath. Her legs were shaking and, moving close to Lazarus, she felt his hands tremble as they held each other. Beauty looked around at Beast to check if he was also seeing the same scene, and the big man seemed abashed at the show of affection. Beauty looked back and shook his head, a derisory smile on his face.

  “Very well. Two for the price of one,” he said and moved forward.

  “No! Wait!” Lazarus shouted.

  The men stopped and Lazarus unhooked himself from Molly and pushed her away. She protested but he was stronger, emotion in his voice imploring her to move. Louise was in the corner, breaking into soft sobs and Molly looked from Lazarus to her friend and took a step toward Beauty.

  “Molly don’t!” Lazarus called.

  “What do you want?” she asked him. “We don’t have much money. I can get it. It was me that said those things to Marcus. I shouldn’t have done it. I was stupid. I’ll call him and apologise if you want. I’ll say I’m sorry.”

  Beauty looked up and around the ceiling, all the while shaking his head at her appeal. He waited until she was finished and then looked down at her. There were tears in her eyes, seeking some kind of answer in his face.

  “We know it was you. He’s not interested in you. He wants him,” he said. “To teach him a lesson.”

  “No. Please!” Molly protested and moved to his chest, hands locked in a prayer, looking up at him and begging.

  “Christ almighty,” Beauty said, looking away as if it were a stray dog that had jumped onto his lap. “Take her away. Take them both away.”

  Beast pulled Molly off the man, grabbing her wrist. She slapped it with her free arm, pounding on the forearm which was as thick as a baseball bat. Beast pointed to the woman in the corner who had sloped into a pool of her tears. Louise reluctantly rose, and he grabbed her arm forcefully, practically heaving her off the floor and trailed them into the corridor, kicking and screaming.

  “Peace at last,” Beauty said and took a step forward, flexing his fist as it squeaked under the padded leather knuckle pad.

  Lazarus stepped forward and knew he was a beaten man. He looked around for an object to defend himself but found nothing, and when the first blow landed he was surprised to hear it wasn’t on his body, but on the front door.

  FORTY-SIX

  A female officer was sitting on the single chair, an open pad on her lap taking statements from the three who were huddled on the couch. A brown paper bag was on the table, the base of it suggesting that the contents of their kebabs had already shifted in transit with grease and sauce slipping through the cracked foil coats.

  “OK,” the woman said and screwed her hat on tighter. “So, just to recap. None of you made the call. Neither of you knew the intruders. None of you have any idea what they wanted or why they were here.”

  Molly nodded for the group and looked to either side and received confirmation on their faces.

  “Well, whoever called, you’re damn lucky they did when they did.”

  “What’s going to happen to them?” Louise asked.

  “Well, we’ll take them down to the station and see what’s what. Let you know in the morning what the story is. Probably come back and take a statement if there’s something you’ve forgotten.”

  “OK.”

  They thanked the officer and when she had left they gathered together and hugged each other.

  “Come on,” Molly said. “Let’s eat.”

  Soon after they had pecked at their delayed dinners, Louise went to bed. Lazarus suggested the same, but Molly wanted to stay up a little longer and watch the TV. He gave her a kiss, delaying talk of what she had said to Marcus, parking it for the morning.

  Molly waited for them all to turn in and heard their soft snores, before she reached for her house key and slipped outside. Taking the lift to the ground floor she left the apartment complex, found a gap in the traffic and crossed the road. As she approached the late-night coffee shop, she looked through its big open window, and scanned the people inside. Entering, she placed her order at the counter for two coffees and walked over to a table near the front and sat down opposite the woman.

  “Sorted?”

  “Yeah. Thanks. You really saved us.”

  “Didn’t do it for you, love,” the woman said. She jabbed out a hand and clapped the fingers open and shut like a Venus fly trap.

  Molly had thrown a long coat over her to hide most of the pyjamas. She reached inside the top pocket and pulled out a few bills and placed them in the woman’s hand. It clapped again without her even looking at what was placed in her palm.

  “Expenses.”

  “What?” Molly cried. “Next you’ll be invoicing me.”

  The woman shook her head. The bright, unforgiving light gave a better indicator of her age where the dull glow of houselights along the canal hadn’t.

  “Won’t be a next time.”

  “OK. What expenses?”

  “Coffee. Travel. Mobile phone charges. All adds up.”

  “You serious?”

  “Did I save your ass or didn’t I? Christ almighty. Blood from a stone with this one,” she said, facing the window and gave the traffic an incredulous look.

  The woman’s face had hardened to a conker. Her raven black hair was last weeks’ dye job, white straggly roots beginning to show in the centre. Her face was still blushed with colours too bright for the daily grind. Pale white skin was a thin tarp pulled over her face, violets and lilac smudges in place. Molly looked down to the hand again, weak on a thin wrist, long yellow fingers where the nicotine had stained it from decades of use. Reluctantly she pulled out a final note and placed it in her hand and it shot back across the table inside the woman’s coat pocket.

 
; A middle-aged woman, sagging pools of skin on her face that could have been pinched back with clothes pegs approached and dropped their coffees on the table. Molly turned to thank her but she was already doing the zombie shuffle back to her station, faded jeans that fell straight down from her waist without an ass to pad it out. The prostitute reached in and pinched the heads of a group of sugar sachets from a holder. She ripped their tops off, turning them upside down and watched them flow down their paper slide into the murky black coffee. She thought twice about scrunching the remaining paper into balls, and instead folded them and put them in her pocket.

  “Might make good skins for a smoke,” she said when Molly looked up at her.

  For her part, Molly ripped one of the sachets heads off and gave the wrapper to the other woman.

  “Did you recognise the guys that went in?”

  “Like you said – anyone suspicious. I saw them go in ‘bout thirty minutes after you. No one else in, no one else out.”

  “So you didn’t recognise them?”

  The prostitute raised the cup to her lips and took a sip of her sweetened coffee. Molly noticed the lipstick didn’t mark the rim or fade, suggesting the rosy lip colour had been tattooed there.

  “Seen them floating around. Rent-a-muscle.”

  “Part of Marcus’s squad?” Molly asked and received a nod.

  “I don’t want no blowback, you hear?”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “Don’t want no one snooping around or it getting out that I called, else I’m done for,” she said and she gave Molly an intense stare.

  “We haven’t said anything. Don’t worry. No one else knows.”

  The woman seemed appeased and took another sip, looking beyond to the traffic. Some older teens walked past the window. They were drunk and stopped suddenly at their table and rapped on the window. One of them pulled a face, moving up close to the window. His wide eyes looked into the face of the prostitute who stared right back unblinking. His friend who was beside himself, roaring with laughter tried to pull the clown off the window. He gave a final slap of his forehead, rattling the window pane before allowing himself to be dragged away. The prostitute kept watching, a little smile on her face. Molly had snapped back, nerves still jittery and spilled some of the coffee across the table. She grabbed a napkin and blotted the spill then wiped the side of her cup.