Submersion

  Agnes knew instantly that something was up and so I confessed it all with little resistance. And later, after I had bathed, whilst we were eating and she told me about Papa Harold’s suspicions, I knew there would be no sleeping on anything.

  And I knew that Jessie and I had to act that night; that we needed to see Monty.

  What I didn’t know was how the evening would play itself out, and just how deep in we were about to get.

  What should I tell you about Monty Harrison?

  Ronan described him as a nasty piece of work, but not to his face.

  Penny and Jimmy referred to him as that Mr Harrison – an expression that captured their fear dressed as respect. In the days when they had run a shop in the city, Monty had run his own business, offering security – his description – to small entrepreneurs, who might otherwise be exposed to exploitation or crime. So, they had direct experience of his persuasive sales techniques and were right in their approach – even if it was unnecessary to keep it up in front of family.

  Jessie, Agnes and I were blunter in our views – he was an evil crook, full stop. We didn’t care who knew, or who heard us express these views and – to date – we hadn’t come to any harm.

  Even before I knew Agnes, I was aware of Monty Harrison – his crime lording territory stretched to all four corners of our city. The different facets of his criminal enterprise – protection racketeering, loan sharking, money laundering – were widely known. Rumours of more sinister crimes – human trafficking and mercenary hire – were all discussed in fearful whispers, but I had seen no evidence of these. His illegal businesses were hidden behind legitimate ones and, that night - once I’d roused Jessie and convinced him we needed to act there and then - I dragged my good friend and boss along to one of those very establishments.

  They say that every person, every venture, every city has a place where the road splits and you have to choose your direction. The same could definitely be said of our town and the geographical point for us was far North, beyond the dump, where the river roads became shallower, although there was still no dry land in sight. An actual fork in the road, it was known locally as Destiny’s Point. The lane to the right led you down a righteous path – police and medical services headquarters were in that direction. The left-hand track took you to Monty Harrison’s lair – clubs and pubs for those who had currency to spare on gambling and other expensive entertainments that he denied any knowledge of on the occasions the authorities raided his properties. This was not the only area that Monty’s empire occupied – he had buildings all over the city, including a handful mixed amongst the government’s floating warehouses near the Black Sea, south-side. But this northern part of our landscape was where he had majority rule, and it was where you went looking for the man, too.

  Breakers was not only one of Monty’s public fronts for his illicit businesses – it was also the most likely place where we were going to find him. His unofficial headquarters.

  Jessie had not been entirely sure that we should act so rashly and go straight to the man. We need to think it through, need to think about what we’re going to say. And we need to go in the daylight. You want to take us straight to him – on his territory, with his heavies around us, under the cover of dark? But I felt we needed to act instinctively, and act as if we didn’t suspect Monty at all. Any delay would suggest doubts, put us in a weaker position. Okay, we’ll go with your plan, but I need to take the lead. I know him better than you. Know how to handle him.

  Breakers was a five storey building with a bar on the first floor; neon signs from an old age flashed at the windows in electric pink and blue. The next two floors up were occupied by snooker, pool and billiard tables and low lighting that gave it a seedy, smoky atmosphere. You entered the fourth floor by invitation only – there was a room with card tables, a roulette wheel and a private bar where Monty entertained his friends and individuals who wished to keep their connection with him undercover. Bent coppers and dodgy politicians, was Jessie’s interpretation of this and I wasn’t in disagreement myself. It probably explained why the man was able to run a business that had easy access to alcohol supplies without coming under much scrutiny. Needless to say, I’d never received a personal invitation.

  The only way in and out Breakers was via a set of external metal steps that spiraled up the side of the building and had originally served as a fire escape. The original ground floor entrance was bricked-over. Despite the lower water levels on the north side of the city, it was still flooded. Rumour had it, Monty had cleverly adapted the old ground floor as a swimming pool area where he only took people he had a very special interest in; rumour also had it that they didn’t tend to do very much swimming.

  The point of entry for us was a double fire door on the first floor. Flanked by two of Monty’s own security meatheads – more muscle than human, and dressed in black protective gear that served to highlight their menacing size and purpose. The steps to the upper levels were chained off. The security guys recognised Jessie even through his face mask and opened the doors for him, waving him through. I was stopped and padded carefully, before also being admitted. Once inside, we were instructed to remove our own protective gear and hand it in to a cloakroom assistance, who gave us in exchange a black plastic tab with a number on it and a pair of indoor pumps to wear on our feet.

  Inside, it was exactly as I had imagined. A long bar stretched across the length of the room, with a mirrored backdrop, festooned with bottle after bottle of illicit spirits, fixed upside down and ready to release intoxicating shots at the push of a glass. A neon sign – in pink and blue like those in the windows – was fixed above the bar and flashed each individual letter of Breakers in sequence, before flashing the word twice in its entirety. It was crass and luxurious at the same time and was a reflection of the proprietor’s own style and attitude: he had it and he was going to flaunt it, if only to highlight the fact you didn’t.

  Opposite the bar were little booths with high backed, plush seating and generous round tables. Jessie indicated that I sit there, whilst he approached the bar. He came back with two glasses of something I hadn’t seen, let alone tasted, in a long time.

  ‘Cider,’ he said, placing two pints of golden liquid on the table.

  In other circumstances, I would have received the drink with the excitement and sense of celebration it deserved. Whilst we did on rare occasions procure alcohol from Jessie’s contacts on the black market – contacts I suspected occupied the very building we were visiting – it was usually cheap wine that had been crudely and hurriedly manufactured. Something about the colour and the sparkle of the liquid Jessie brought to our table spoke of quality, of a flavour to savour. Yet, we were not here because we could afford the entertainment and liquor on offer – we were here to find out if we would ever sleep safely in our beds again.

  ‘Taste it,’ Jessie insisted, sensing my reluctance to enjoy it. ‘Just a sip.’

  I did as instructed, but it wasn’t quite the flavour I expected.

  ‘Made from pears,’ Jessie said, sensing my surprise. ‘Can you believe it?’

  If this had come from someone else, in this situation, I would have been worried. It might have suggested we were distracted, so wowed by the rare wonders on offer that we were in danger of forgetting why we were there. In danger, too, of forgetting the gravity of the immediate situation. But as this was Jessie Morton, who was always on the ball, no matter what you saw on the surface, I had no fear of that.

  ‘Others might be tempted by access to all this,’ I said, voicing my thoughts, before taking another sip.

  ‘It would take more than a pint of cider – no matter how desirable – and a few bright lights to put me off course,’ Jessie responded, just so there was no doubt. He sat down, just across the table from me. ‘He knows we’re here, so this is just to pass the time. And it’s not a sweetener, either. I paid with my own money.’

  ‘In that case, I won’t waste it then.’

  We were ab
out two-thirds through our pints, when a man dressed in what was clearly the uniform at Breakers – black t-shirt, black slacks and black pumps – approached the table and spoke quietly in Jessie’s ear.

  ‘He’s on the third floor,’ Jessie said, standing, indicating with a nod that I should bring my drink along. ‘He’s happy to see us both.’

  The third floor was occupied, like the second, with games tables. There was a small bar as well, with the trademark neon signage. The room was pretty much empty apart from around one pool table, where a match was going on. And that’s where we saw Monty. Leaning against the table behind, watching a game, surrounded by a mix of terrified sycophants and paid heavies.

  From the minute you clapped eyes on Monty Harrison, you could see why he had got where he had. He was big in character, big in swagger and nerve, big in voice and a big physical presence too. Monty was huge man, with swept back, short black hair and a thick beard to match, and big arms that looked as if they would hurt you, rather than muscles for show. This night, his loud, bellowing laugh drew you in as much as his bright orange, florid shirt, which accentuated his equally large gut. In fact, his presence was almost comical. Almost. There was an underlying sense of menace – something in every word spoken, every look thrown. And, no matter how far ahead you thought you were, Monty was always ahead of you, by several steps.

  Noticing our appearance, Monty signaled us over.

  ‘So tell me how the job is going,’ he insisted, once the obligatory handshakes were done with. ‘Desmond tells me you’ve salvaged some things of great value.’

  Desmond was Jessie’s usual contact on Monty’s team, the guy he signed the goods over to, and from whom he collected payment. All this I discovered during a crash course on how to conduct business with our shady associate on the way to the club that night.

  As Monty spoke, he held our eyes, as if his look alone was drilling deeper. And his choice of words – salvaged some things of great value – left me no less suspicious that he knew exactly what had triggered our impromptu visit.

  ‘We have, it’s been good business for us both,’ Jessie confirmed, the clack of balls smacking into each other in the background. The game came to an end and the players placed their cues across the green felt of the table and walked away. ‘But today we found something unexpected, Monty. Something I couldn’t remove from the site and something we decided couldn’t wait another day.’

  ‘We?’ Monty echoed, a thread of amusement in his voice, as if the we was comical, represented something different altogether. Seeing no reflection of this amusement in our faces, he signaled for the remainder of his companions to leave. Then it was just us, Monty and one of his henchmen, guarding the exit. ‘Go on.’ His tone was shed of any hint of humour.

  ‘We found a mass grave of dogs, at the very rear of the property, under rotten floorboards. But these weren’t necessarily old graves, Monty. The bodies were still intact.’

  Monty pondered Jessie’s words for a minute or so.

  ‘But that place was old, abandoned, right?’ he questioned, those drilling eyes penetrating into Jessie’s head again. ‘You confirmed that, right, when you did the original recky for me?’

  I wondered where this was going. The words confirmed something I hadn’t realised: that Jessie had been the original source of this deal. He had approached Monty, not the other way round.

  ‘I’d been watching it for a long time, Monty. Had never seen anyone so much as approach it. It’s one of several abandoned government buildings out that way. No one bothers with them. And the external state of the place confirmed without any doubt that no one had put so much as a foot in that place in years.’

  Jessie’s voice remained serious throughout and measured. I could tell he was watching his words – they were rounded, carefully pronounced and he had slowed down the pace, so as not to betray his passion with speed.

  ‘How do you think they got there?’ Monty asked next.

  The question was for Jessie, but the big man’s eyes moved to me. As he listened to Jessie’s reply, he was monitoring my response. And it unnerved me, I have to admit. Much as I was fearless in the face of many things – had little choice about that matter in the past – being more or less alone with this calm yet brutal man in the long echo of his dimly lit games room, burning under his silent relentless glare, was beginning to worry me. In a fight, there was at least the certainty of violence; in a chase, the chance you might outrun your enemy. Here, certainty was lacking and its opposite was an invisible fog, choking up the room.

  ‘I don’t think someone put them there recently, if that’s what you mean, Monty,’ Jessie replied.

  ‘Is that what you think I think?’ The tone was suddenly sharper, the eyes moving back to Jessie.

  ‘Monty, I have no idea what to think, which is why I’m bringing this to you.’ Jessie had shaped his words into a compliment, without overtly flattering him. A brief smile quivered at Monty’s lips – a motion we were not meant to see – suggesting he approved of Jessie’s approach. ‘The building was practically sealed in undisturbed dust and cobwebs, and yet, underneath it all, we found fresh bodies of creatures supposedly extinct. On government property.’ The three word annex was to signal where Jessie was assuming guilt.

  ‘Recently dead?’ Monty asked, eyes back on me, but still expecting Jessie to respond. I kept my silence – my pal was evidently in control.

  ‘We’d have to examine them.’

  ‘We?’ Again, a flicker of amusement in those cold, penetrating eyes.

  ‘We didn’t look closely enough, Monty. We checked as much as we felt was safe, adding up the bodies, and then covered up as best as we could. They did smell bad, though, but not of decay, and nothing about the look of those pale bodies suggested decomposition either.’

  Monty mulled over these words for a moment or two, before speaking again.

  ‘So, Jessie my friend, you find this old building full of treasures, talk me into sponsoring your venture, make a few bucks along the way, aiding and abetting my involvement with stealing from the government, realise you haven’t quite done your homework – whatever you say, it clearly wasn’t quite as abandoned as your analysis suggested – and now, without a clue as to what to do next, but with full awareness that you are over your head in some very dark brown stuff, you come straight to me, doubtless bringing the unbearable stench of your trail with you, expecting me to have the answers.’

  A pause this time from Jessie. All the while, throughout every word of Monty Harrison’s speech, his eyes remained on me. Working me out, calculating my fear, my nerve, my defences, my strength and physical ability.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m doing, Monty.’

  Jessie’s answer activated a sudden, aggressive response I wasn’t expecting. Monty leapt forward in one swift, agile movement I wouldn’t have anticipated from such a big figure. Within seconds, he had Jessie on the pool table behind us, his left hand squeezing Jessie at the throat, the bone of his elbow digging into his ribs, the fat of his large gut pressing against him. Monty’s strength surprised me as much as his speed: Jessie couldn’t move.

  ‘So you thought you’d just land your ssshit on good on Uncle Monty, did you? Thought you’d bring all your ccrrap back to me to sssift through? You buggerrrup and you just come knocking at good old Monty’s door?’

  Monty’s face flushed purple, veins pulsing on his neck and temples. Spit bubbled at his lips, spraying Jessie’s face as he spat out his words. All sense of calm was gone from Monty, but it remained elsewhere in the room. His bodyguard remained by the door, unflinching and mute. Jessie was also strangely composed. His eyes turned to mine: don’t make a move, don’t say a word, they silently instructed; just wait.

  ‘Ever think I might just get sssick of weak little ssshits like you? Coming to ssscavenge off my sssuccess, coming to sssteal a piece of good old Monty’s glory! You mmmess up and it’s Uncle Monty who has to sssort it all out! You ssstupid fffucking idiotsss!’


  And as quickly as the fury had taken hold, it dissipated. After letting Jessie go, Monty appeared instantly calm and picked at his clothes, as if the interaction had left him with loose threads about himself.

  Jessie remained in position on the pool table a few moments longer, as if our host still held him in place. Then he pulled himself up and stood beside me again.

  ‘Did you come in that speed boat of yours?’ Monty asked and I sensed that we were getting a third version of Monty Harrison. We were also going to get one of the things we had come for: help.

  ‘Moored just outside.’

  ‘Let’s get going then,’ the big man added, heading for the exit, where the door was opened for him. ‘It’s best you show me exactly what you’ve found.’

  And just like that – we were off. It was like the previous minutes, the threat of violence, hadn’t occurred at all.

  Monty followed on in a speedboat of his own, with three of his employees on board, whilst Jessie and I led the way. We moved at a slow, steady pace and kept an eye out all the way for signs of police patrolling. The last thing we needed was to be questioned about our late night activities. Granted, we had Monty following up at the rear and he did at least appear to have certain arrangements with the authorities. But still, this was an operation that required as little attention drawn to it as possible.

  It was early hours when we reached the old laboratory and, despite the dark and my nerves about what was up ahead for Jessie and me – Monty’s schizophrenic-like snap at the bar had amplified my anxiety levels – I took in the details of the journey I had once been blind to.

  With our starting point further north than Jessie’s house, we took a river road that avoided cutting back from the train graveyard and its surrounding landscape of debris. Instead, we sailed around its outskirts, steering away from the residential areas where our friends and family were no doubt sleeping. I prayed that Agnes was sleeping, but I had my doubts.