DEAD UNLUCKY: A Joe Box Story

by Jim Reeves

  ‘You’re too young for horror stories.’ Joe closed the pizza box and put it on the table. ‘Stay away from my place until you hear from me.’

  He was out of the door before Penny could answer. She started to go after him but thought better of it.

  Just a few hundred yards from Five Ways, Joe approached a smart looking apartment building. One of many that had sprung up in the area in recent years. He studied the list of names alongside the column of bell pushes, pressed a button and waited for Sally, his friendly hooker to answer.

  ‘Hello,’ said a female voice.

  ‘Sal, it’s me,’ Joe whispered into the microphone.

  ‘Come up,’ said Sally as a buzzer signalled that the front door was open.

  Joe entered the building. It was similar to where he lived, although maybe a little more sumptuous. The carpets and décor had an expensive feel about them. A welcoming warmth enveloped Joe. He felt a little guilty as he walked gingerly towards the lift in his squelching shoes. Fortunately, no one was around. The lift was all carpet, brass and mirrors and was ready and available. Joe stepped in and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

  ‘You look like shit,’ said Sally when she opened the door to her apartment and saw him.

  ‘People keep telling me that,’ Joe said. ‘I could get a complex.’

  Sally opened the door fully and Joe entered.

  ‘What’s been happening?’ asked Sally as she closed the door.

  ‘Best if you don’t know,’ Joe said. ‘There could be more trouble to come. I could do with drying out though.’

  ‘I’ll run a hot bath. If you give me your clothes I’ll put them in the drier. Might crease them up a bit though.’

  ‘Good for my image,’ Joe smiled. He eased off his wet shoes and left them by the door.

  Within five minutes he was lying back in the bath. Luxuriating in water as hot as he could take it. It felt so good he almost abandoned his plans for the rest of the evening.

  Sally walked into the bathroom carrying a large glass of whisky which she handed to Joe. She gathered up his clothes from the bathroom floor. ‘These clothes stink,’ she grimaced. ‘What’ve you been up to?’

  ‘Had a swim in the canal.’

  ‘’I won’t ask why.’

  ‘Good. ‘Cause I won’t tell you,’ smiled Joe. ‘Expecting any customers?’

  ‘Bit early yet,’ Sally told him.

  ‘OK. I’ll be gone soon,’ he said as she carried his clothes out of the room. He sipped the whisky. It was an expensive malt that felt good as it warmed him inside. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the bath. Hot water lapped around his chin. A few more hours of this kind of treatment and he would be almost back to normal. Whatever normal was.

  Joe had dozed off when Sally returned a little while later with his clothes. He woke with a start when she touched his shoulder. ‘What?’ He started to sit up.

  ‘Joe,’ she said gently. ‘It’s only me.’ She took the whisky glass from his hand. ‘Do you want to stay? You look done in?’

  ‘What about business?’

  ‘I can take the night off.’

  ‘You’re a good friend Sal,’ Joe said. ‘You fancy a week in the sun sometime soon?’

  ‘With you?’ she smiled.

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  He eased himself up and climbed out of the bath. She passed him a towel and he started to dry himself.

  ‘But first, I’ve got a man to see,’ he told her.

  ‘Anybody I know?’ asked Sally.

  ‘Like I said, best you don’t know.’

  ‘Does he owe you money?’

  ‘Owes me something,’ Joe muttered quietly.

  ‘Your clothes still smell but at least they’re dry now.’

  Joe took the bundle of clothes from Sally. They were still warm from the drier. ‘Feel good to me,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t do much with your shoes,’ said Sally. ‘They’ll need to dry overnight.’

  ‘Wet shoes, I can live with for now,’ Joe said.

  Sally left Joe to get dressed and went through to her living room. When he was dressed, Joe went looking for her. She was sitting on the settee drinking coffee. She looked up at him and smiled. The lighting was soft, Tony Bennett was whispering soft words of love on a CD. Everything was so right.

  ‘Ready to go,’ Joe said.

  ‘Do you have to?’

  ‘I really do,’ Joe said, regretfully. ‘What I’ve got to do won’t wait.’

  ‘You need a coat,’ Sally said. ‘It’s cold outside.’

  ‘I’ll pick one up from my flat,’ Joe said moving towards the door.

  Sally got up to follow him. There was an awkward silence and a moment of longing as they stood by the door. Joe coughed involuntarily and it broke the spell.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ he told her, stifling his cough.

  ‘Be careful,’ whispered Sally.

  ‘Careful, is what I do best,’ Joe smiled.

  She kissed him gently at first, then more urgently, holding him tight around the neck. Joe wanted more but resisted. This was the right place but the wrong time. He hoped he would be back for more, later. He gently eased Sally’s arms from around his neck. Their lips brushed once more then he opened the door and was gone.

  The cold air cut through him as he stepped onto the street, snapping him back to reality. Reminding him that he had a lot to do before the night was over. He dug his hands deep in his pockets and turned back towards Five Ways.

  Lying in the bath, Joe had considered all possible scenarios but didn’t like most of them. He could go on the run. But where to? For how long? What would he do when the money ran out? He had crossed that idea off the list.

  The only one that worked for Joe was for him to take out George Bishop. A frightening prospect but the time for talking was past. Unfortunately, that probably meant a tete-a-tete with Vince. Joe knew the odds were stacked against him there. He would just have to play dirty.

  Chapter 36

  Joe walked warily along the towpath. He was fairly confident that Vince wouldn’t be lurking in some dark doorway, waiting to pounce. But he could be wrong.

  Bishop would, most likely, want Vince at the club during opening hours. It was eight in the evening now so, hopefully, Vince would have abandoned his post at least for the moment.

  Joe reached the bottom of the steps where he had taken his early evening dip. He stood and listened. There were no signs of life apart from a few illuminated apartment windows across the canal and the sound of music drifting from a nearby club or bar.

  Joe went up the steps very slowly, every nerve was jangling, his breath wheezed softly in his throat. He raised his head slowly above the wall at the top of the steps and looked down the street. The Jaguar had gone. The street was empty and quiet. Many of the windows in his apartment building were lit. He located his own apartment window on the third floor. It was still in darkness.

  Very slowly, he straightened fully and stepped onto the street. He stopped again and waited for several seconds. Nobody stirred, so he walked slowly down the street until he was opposite the entrance to the building. Trying to stay in the shadows, he looked up at the windows of his apartment again and wondered if Vince was up there waiting for him to appear. He dismissed that thought as very unlikely. It would have seemed like too much of a long shot to Vince. His plan was almost certainly just to keep regular watch and pay Joe a visit when he got finally home.

  Joe crossed the street slowly, looking in all directions as he went. Maybe the Jaguar was hidden in the parking area waiting to pounce. He would be an easy target for a speeding car, mid-way across the street. But the car didn’t appear. Bishop wouldn’t want it to be used in a hit and run. He would want a clean hit with no come backs to him.

  Joe reached the entrance to the building, still looking around, half expecting some sort of welcoming committee. He typed the security code into the keypad by the door, then pushed
the door open and stepped inside. The entrance hall was dimly lit by economy lighting. Several potted plants were placed around the hallway. The floor was carpeted. The central heating seemed to be working overtime and the warmth enveloped him. The lift doors were to the left. A stairway alongside the lift led to the floors above.

  Joe opted for the stairs. He didn’t want the sound of the lift to give advance warning of his arrival if anybody was waiting up above. He crept slowly upwards, sideways on to the stairs, back close to the wall, eyes constantly darting backwards and forwards as he went. The stairs and landing were illuminated with the same economy lighting as the entrance hall and had the same heavy duty carpet. When he reached the first floor landing he paused waiting for his breathing and pulse to calm down. All was silent. As his breathing settled, he continued slowly up the stairs to the second floor and then on to the third floor where his apartment was. The walls of the stairway were pebble dashed. Joe became aware of his sweatshirt dragging on the rough surface as he pressed his back to the wall. Suddenly, in his fraught state, the scraping sound it produced, coupled with his ragged breathing, was a deafening crescendo to rival any orchestra. Anybody waiting for him on the landing above would be well aware of his approach. He eased away from the wall at the foot of the last flight of stairs and waited for his breathing to settle again. Although it now seemed a futile exercise, he continued his slow ascent cautiously, away from the wall, holding onto the hand rail. His shoes, still damp from his earlier dousing in the canal, squeaked agonizingly with each step. His whole body tensed as he waited for some unspeakable ogre to leap out to greet him. Nothing happened. As Joe neared the top of the stairs he had a view of the door of his apartment about twenty feet down the corridor.

  In the dim light Joe stood on the top step of the stairs and leaned forward to peer in both directions up and down the corridor. There was no one to be seen. His heart was racing as he stepped onto the landing. He leaned back against the wall, trying to regulate his breathing. All was quiet. Too quiet. The silence was oppressive, closing in, threatening to crush him. The only sound was Joe’s breathing whistling in and out of his lungs. He felt suddenly nauseous and light headed from the sheer relief of reaching the top of the stairs unscathed. He swayed unsteadily. The floor danced up to meet him then receded as he leaned back and steadied himself against the wall. A great weariness descended on him. The rigours of the last few days were finally catching up but he still had things to do. He tried to move but nothing happened. He felt like he was pinned to the wall. With a great, effort he lurched forward dragging his leaden feet slowly towards his apartment, his eyes were focused only on the door. After all the flak of the last few days, he had to keep going. He couldn’t quit now he was so close to home. He was sweating in the cloying warmth of the building. His face felt wet and, despite his caution, it occurred to him that any would-be assailant would probably smell him coming long before he reached the apartment. He felt totally drained, like a runner in the last few yards of a marathon. He just had to reach the door.

  He jumped like a startled rabbit when a door suddenly opened further down the corridor. A well-dressed stocky man appeared. He was in his thirties and judging from his clothes, he was obviously off out for a night on the town. He saw Joe and smiled cheerfully.

  ‘Hello Joe,’ he said breezily.

  ‘Hello Lee,’ Joe said dispiritedly. The last thing he needed right then was inane chat with a neighbour.

  ‘Haven’t seen you around lately.’

  ‘Been busy,’ grunted Joe.

  ‘You don’t look too rosy, Mate,’ said Lee, looking concerned. ‘You coming down with something?’

  ‘Flu, I think,’ Joe told him, anxious to end the conversation.

  ‘Nasty,’ Lee grimaced as he backed away towards the lift. ‘How’s the job hunting going?’

  ‘Still looking,’ Joe told him. ‘Thought I had something but it fell through.’

  ‘Bloody pain in the arse for you,’ said Lee. He pressed the button to call the lift.

  The lift bell pinged immediately. It was already on that floor.

  ‘Just a bit,’ Joe nodded.

  ‘Something’ll come up soon,’ Lee assured him as he stepped into the lift. ‘See you.’

  Joe watched as the lift descended to the ground floor. Then he turned back towards his apartment and walked the last few feet at a quicker pace. Any attempt at a furtive approach was pointless now. Lee’s sudden arrival on the scene had jerked Joe out of the trance that he’d seemed to have slipped into. Surprisingly, he felt more alert and relaxed. He was pretty sure now that his apartment would be empty.

  Something about the apartment door didn’t look right. Joe pushed the door and it opened without resistance. The small hallway was dark and silent. The door that led to the living area was open and the street lights cast an eerie glow across the wall. Joe stood in the doorway, without entering, for several seconds. No sound emitted from inside. No sign of Vince. Silence greeted him. Joe pushed the door further and stepped across the threshold into the hallway. The door frame was split and the mortise lay on the floor.

  Nothing subtle about Vince, Joe grimaced. He must have shouldered the door in.

  The bathroom door to his right was wide open. The room looked empty but Joe stepped inside to get a better look. All clear there.

  Joe stepped forward into the living room. The room was silent and, as far as Joe could see, undisturbed. That made sense. George Bishop wasn’t after Joe’s life savings. He just wanted his life.

  Joe heard a car in the street below. He quickly crossed the room and looked down just in time to see a small car pull into the residents’ car park. He relaxed a little. It was still only nine o’clock. He probably had three, maybe even four hours before Vince might call again. More than enough time for what he had in mind.

  Joe heard a soft footfall. He turned to see a shadowy figure leaping towards him from the foot of the gallery stairs. A foot hit him in the chest before he could react. He fell backwards over the low coffee table. His assailant must have been hiding on the upstairs gallery. Joe didn’t know who he was but he was too fast and agile to be Vince.

  Joe rolled onto all fours and looked across the room. The street lights cast an orange glow on the smiling face of a young Asian man. Probably Chinese, Joe guessed. Must be another of Bishop’s boys. Instead of moving forward, the man was waiting for Joe to get to his feet. Joe obliged and stood up a little shakily, looking questioningly at his attacker.

  The man executed a flying leap towards Joe and the sole of his foot slapped against the side of Joe’s head, sending him tumbling to the floor again. Joe, again on all fours, shook his head groggily and looked on as the Chinaman who executed a series of leaps around the room, accompanied by grunts. If his intention was to worry or impress Joe, he succeeded on both counts.

  After a few seconds, the Chinaman stopped his antics and smiled at Joe. He assumed a fighting pose and beckoned Joe to get up.

  This could go on all night, Joe sighed. Or at least until Vince turns up. That bloody swim in the canal could have all been for nothing.

  ‘You got a name?’ asked Joe, wheezily.

  ‘For the last few moments of your life, you can call me Pete,’ the man smiled. His voice was soft and gentle, almost friendly. Joe tried to think of a suitably witty response, but for once, even he was lost for words. The guy probably didn’t have a sense of humour anyway.

  He eased himself to his feet again, using the wall for support. Pete moved closer, grunting and slashing empty air with his hands. He feinted again. Joe flinched, expecting another kick and Pete laughed. He jabbed Joe in the gut then chopped him across the throat. Joe fell to the floor again, clutching his throat and gasping. Pete, still smiling, stepped back a couple of feet and looked down at him.

  Joe should have known better but he pulled himself up again using the settee for support. Pete moved in and delivered several short jabs to Joe’s body with rigid fingers. Joe tottered backwards aro
und the room like a boxer almost out on his feet until he tripped over the coffee table again and fell.

  Joe took his time getting to his feet. Pete was in no hurry. He was toying with Joe and was probably just prolonging the agony for the fun of it. He wore a grin like a Cheshire Cat. Maybe Bishop had put a price on Joe’s head and this Bruce Lee lookalike was about to collect.

  Joe finally stood swaying slightly, wondering what his next move might be. Pete caught Joe on the jaw with the heel of his hand. Joe staggered backwards but hit the wall and stayed on his feet.

  Pete raised both hands high in the air as though conducting an orchestra and moved slowly towards Joe. Instinct and the look of deep concentration on the man’s face told Joe that he was moving in for the kill. Joe suddenly remembered his new found weapon, the head butt that he had used to good such effect in Austria. He deliberately leaned back against the wall and let his knees sag. His left knee touched the floor. He lowered his head as though in silent submission. Pete lowered his hands and gripped Joe by his shoulders with his thumbs either side of Joe’s throat. Joe sagged a little further then, just as his attacker started to increase the pressure, he dug his foot against the wall, straightened his legs sharply and drove his head upwards into Pete’s face with all the power he could muster. Joe’s head crunched into Pete’s face.

  A satisfying gasp of pain and surprise emitted from Pete as he released his grip and flew backwards across the room. He lay spreadeagled on the floor looking in bewilderment at the blood on his hands that ran from his nostrils. Joe moved forward with a speed that surprised even him and drove his foot deep into Pete’s groin.

  Pete screamed in agony and jack-knifed, clutching himself, on the floor. Joe winced as he looked down at the squirming Chinaman. ‘Beats the shit out of your Kung Fu Chop Suey crap any day,’ he muttered.

  Joe moved quickly to the door of the apartment and closed it in case any curious neighbours decided to come calling. He propped a chair against the door then he searched through a drawer and pulled out a couple of large rolls of brown heavy duty adhesive tape. A left-over from his move to the flat. He wrapped tape tightly round Pete’s ankles several times. Then he taped his wrists tightly behind his back and taped his arms tightly to his side, using most of the first roll. Finally he wound tape around Pete’s face, covering his mouth.