DEAD UNLUCKY: A Joe Box Story

by Jim Reeves

  He chanced a look back up the street. His tail was still there, standing thirty yards away, looking down the street towards him. Suddenly the man moved forward, he was hurrying with a new urgency about him. Joe froze. He had enough evidence in the bags to convict himself three times over and he was about to be nabbed by the law. He turned and pushed his way through the glass doors leading into the crowded store. He pushed people out of the way as he tried to get deeper inside. He was trying to remember if there was another exit from the store. Maybe he should just dump the stuff where he stood and run. He wouldn’t get far but he had cleaned everything. He could deny all knowledge of it. A lot of circumstantial evidence but they would find it difficult to prove he had ever had it.

  He glanced back to check on his pursuer. Outside on the street, the big guy came face to face with a young woman who had just stepped off a bus. They hugged and kissed and turned to walk back towards the city centre.

  Joe stood feeling slightly dazed, still clutching the two bags. A frowning security man approached him.

  ‘Are you all right Sir?’ he asked warily.

  ‘Never better,’ gulped Joe. ‘Sorry, I thought the sales were on.’

  ‘Not here,’ said the man, giving him an odd look.

  ‘Right,’ Joe said, retreating towards the doors. ‘I’ll be off then.’

  Joe located the bus he wanted and, again took the back seat on the upper deck. The bus was almost full but, by this time, he was fairly sure he wasn’t being followed. The bus pulled away from the stop and headed north-east. Its route would take it right under Spaghetti Junction. Joe intended to dump the gun in the canal under the motorway. Meanwhile, he tried to calm down after his recent attack of paranoia.

  He kept an eye on the other passengers but they just seemed intent on getting home as soon as possible. Nobody gave him as much as a second glance.

  He had a sudden thought and pulled the briefcase out of the bin bag. He was still wearing the rubber gloves so he had no qualms about handling the case. He screwed up the bin bag into a tight ball and stuffed it into his pocket. The seat next to him was empty so he put the briefcase down and lifted the lid. He was going to leave the case on the bus. He would leave it wide open so that it wouldn’t cause any security scares.

  Traffic was bad and progress was slow, which didn’t help Joe’s fraught nerves, but eventually they approached the bus stop a few yards short of Spaghetti Junction. Joe left the briefcase, ran down the stairs carrying the plastic carrier bag and jumped off the bus.

  It was raining slightly but he welcomed it for once. The cold air and rain on his face made him feel better after the clammy claustrophobic fug of the crowded bus. The pavement was wide, quiet and deserted. Few people walked here which was why he had chosen this place. He was as alone as he could be in the middle a big city rush hour. The road alongside him was busy with buses and cars shunting their way home, but nobody would pay any heed to a lone pedestrian through their rain spattered windows. The elevated motorway bounced down the seemingly never ending resonant sound of passing traffic. Nevertheless, Joe felt relaxed as he turned to walk towards the canal bridge.

  ‘Hey mister!’ a voice called loudly. Joe heard running footsteps. His heart skipped a beat as a hand grasped his shoulder and spun him sharply round. He was facing a young man. Early twenties, skin head, bad skin, bad breath, teeth not much better. The man emitted a malodorous smell of stale sweat. He was not like any policeman Joe had ever seen. Unless he was under the very deepest kind of cover. Joe doubted that and relaxed slightly although he didn’t like what he saw.

  ‘You left this on the bus,’ said the young man, breathlessly. He offered Joe the briefcase.

  Shit. Joe groaned inwardly. He considered denying all knowledge of the case but the lad obviously knew it was his. Joe remembered he had been sitting on the seat in front of him. ‘Thanks very much,’ Joe said, trying to sound like he meant it as he took the case.

  The young man stared expectantly at him for a moment. ‘Ain’t there no reward. That’s a good case that is.’

  Joe hesitated then put the case down, took out his wallet and offered the young man a five pound note. The youth stared sullenly at it. Joe thought he was going to start haggling for a moment, but he finally took the money and turned away.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Joe as he continued on his way towards the canal bridge. He hadn’t expected it to be so difficult to get rid of the stuff.

  He reached the canal bridge and looked back in the direction his would-be benefactor had taken. He was about thirty yards away and receding rapidly. Joe stared over the parapet down into the darkness. The canal was a long way below but he could see streetlights reflecting on the inky surface. It looked black and still.

  ‘Christ save me from bloody do-gooders,’ muttered Joe. He glanced quickly around. Nobody was close. He had his back to passing traffic so, hopefully, they would hardly notice him when he dropped the gun over the parapet. His nerves were jangling as he fished the gun out of the bag. Even with the rubber gloves on, he handled it nervously. He kept it at arm’s length and held it over the parapet. He wasn’t sure how deep the canal was but it was very unlikely that the gun would be found in the near future. Even if it was found, it could never be traced back to him.

  Joe was about to let go of the gun when he heard footsteps approaching. He snatched the gun back and pushed it into his pocket. Then he turned to see that the spotty face yob had returned. He was just a few feet away, watching Joe.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Joe, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

  ‘That case must be worth a couple of hundred quid, at least,’ the youth said truculently as he drew closer, ‘and you give me five bleeding quid. Come on. I want more than that.’ He held out his hand, beckoning with well chewed fingers.

  Some kind of madness suddenly overcame Joe. Maybe the stress and pressure was finally getting to him. Maybe it was just the disappointment of being thwarted at this critical moment. After his ultra-cautious efforts to travel across the city undetected and unnoticed for the last hour, what he did next beggared belief. As the youth stood defiantly with his hand outstretched, Joe pulled the Webley gun from his pocket and pointed it at his chest.

  ‘Fuck off out of here,’ Joe snarled. ‘Now!’

  The kid didn’t need asking twice. He looked terrified as he stared in open mouthed disbelief at the gun. He backed slowly away a few feet before turning to run. He kept running and ducked between the crawling traffic to get across the road. When he was finally out of sight Joe returned the gun to his pocket, wondering about the wisdom of what he had just done. He looked around quickly. Nobody was about. He was pretty sure nobody had witnessed the confrontation in the darkness. Even so, he couldn’t dump the gun there now. The kid might decide to tell the police he had been threatened with a gun. It was unlikely but just possible that a search might be made. Joe would have to come up with a Plan B. For now, he just wanted to get back home.

  He turned away and looked for a way to cross the busy road. He needed to get a bus for his return journey. He used a pedestrian crossing and continued walking in the direction of the city centre. This was the way the kid had run but Joe didn’t expect any more trouble from him. He was disappointed at not having got rid of the gun as that was a definite connection to the shooting of Vince Kent. Also, he still had the briefcase and a wallet to dispose of as well. The rain increased slightly but it helped clear Joe’s head. He felt safe for the moment because nobody knew where he was. Still, however, he looked over his shoulder every few seconds. On a sudden impulse he pulled the wallet out of the plastic bag and threw it away into the darkness. This time, nobody came running after him to claim a reward.

  He got on a bus towards the city centre and took his customary seat at the back. The bus was quieter heading in this direction. Most people travelled the other way at this time of day. None of the few people on the bus paid him any heed. Even so, he eyed each one in turn, trying to deci
de if they posed any kind of threat. He decided not, and relaxed a notch.

  Nobody was sitting close so he opened the briefcase again and put the gun inside it. Just to be sure, Joe left his seat and ran down the stairs but, instead of leaving the bus, he took a seat on the lower deck. Nobody followed him from above. He got off the bus near the end of the Expressway. Two stops early. No one else left the bus. The street was quiet, no pedestrians here. Most of the traffic was on the fly-over above. He hurried across the road and ran quickly towards home swinging the briefcase as he went. After a couple of hundred yards he slowed then came to a halt, coughing and wheezing. He screwed up the plastic carrier bag and stuffed it together with the bin bag into a litter bin. He peeled off the rubber gloves and dropped them in the next bin that he saw. He starting humming Singing in the Rain as he continued on his way, laughing out loud at the absurdity of his situation. He’d thought the nightmare was nearly over but, still, it wouldn’t go away. He saw a pub near the University and decided to stop off for a drink. He was still laughing when he entered the pub, which earned him a few odd looks. He scanned the blackboard menu and ordered a mixed grill. Not the healthiest option but after the hazards he had survived recently, he decided he would risk it. He bought a pint then chose a table in the corner and pushed the case underneath.

  After he had eaten, he spent some time in earnest conversation with a couple of students, generally putting the world to rights. He probably wouldn’t remember much of what he’d said later, but it served as some kind of therapy, a cleansing process and a return to something like normality. He left the pub just after ten, in a near stupor, and started the long slow trudge towards home.

  The long walk and the cold night air cleared his head a little. He still felt a little inebriated but it was a pleasant, warm feeling, like he was floating. He spent his time trying to work out a viable Plan B but didn’t come up with anything he was happy with. He finally reached home. It was quiet in the street as he typed the security code to enter the building. No bogeymen were waiting to jump out and greet him. He smiled as he stepped into the lift, remembering Gerry Harper’s faux pas a couple of nights earlier. He lurched forward unsteadily as the lift doors opened at the third floor and grinned at the stain that still adorned the carpet in front of him. At least he wasn’t going to add to it.

  He was still smiling as he turned the key and pushed his door apartment open. He put the briefcase down and turned immediately into the bathroom. His bladder was threatening to burst. After an urgent pee accompanied by a couple of loud farts, he washed his hands and splashed cold water onto his face.

  He turned off the bathroom light and returned to the hallway. He was wondering if there might be anything worthwhile on television, when he saw the glow of a light under the door leading to the living room. His nerves were suddenly taut again.

  ‘Christ,’ he muttered softly. He didn’t think he could handle any more of the rough stuff for a while. What now? It couldn’t be the police. He doubted that they would come in uninvited. Maybe Bruno had tracked him down. He hadn’t looked too healthy when Joe had last seen him but maybe he was a tougher nut to crack than Joe had realised. Maybe more of Bishop’s boys were on his trail. Maybe Chinese Pete had a brother. All of those thoughts and more ran through Joe’s mind as he stood transfixed in the darkness. He wondered if he should turn and run but, he was tired, he’d done enough running. He had no place to hide. He looked around for a possible weapon but there was nothing.

  He flinched as the living room door suddenly swung open flooding the hallway with light. Eileen Pearson stood there smiling at him. She stepped back allowing him to enter the room.

  ‘What the bloody hell are you doing here?’ asked Joe.

  ‘That’s not very friendly,’ Eileen pouted.

  ‘I don’t feel very friendly,’ Joe snapped. ‘You scared the shit out of me.’

  ‘I came for a progress report,’ Eileen smiled.

  ‘How did you get in?’

  ‘I told the little man downstairs I was a friend of yours.’

  ‘What little man?’ Joe asked.

  ‘He was in the entrance hall when I arrived. Some kind of security man I think.’

  ‘Len,’ groaned Joe. ‘He let you in?’

  ‘I persuaded him,’ she smiled coyly. ‘It wasn’t difficult.’

  ‘Didn’t know he had a key,’ Joe frowned. ‘I’ll be having words about that.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on him,’ pleaded Eileen. ‘He really couldn’t help himself.’

  ‘I bet,’ grunted Joe. His heart rate was slowing after the initial scare but his mood was deteriorating. His place wasn’t exactly a castle but he resented the invasion of his privacy. He glanced nervously up towards the gallery where the bed was. He couldn’t tell if it had been disturbed. ‘How did you get my address?’ he asked.

  ‘Fish gave it to me. I told him I needed to see you urgently.’

  Joe didn’t respond. His displeasure was practically tangible.

  Eileen smiled and looked around the sparsely furnished room. ‘This is a nice place, but did you ever think of buying a little more furniture?’

  ‘I’ve got all I need,’ he said. ‘I don’t like clutter.’

  Joe looked Eileen over. She was wearing a shimmering midnight blue dress that looked like it had been put on with the proverbial spray can. It exposed tantalizing glimpses of tanned flesh in places that should never be seen in public. Her blonde hair tumbled carelessly around tanned shoulders. Her make-up had obviously been applied with great care and was designed to break down even the fiercest resistance. She was wearing the same expensive perfume that had unsettled Joe at their last meeting. The way she looked, she would have aroused feelings in a tailor’s dummy. If what Bishop had said was true, then she probably knew her husband’s fate. For a grieving widow, she was bearing up pretty well. She looked pretty good and very expensive. Either she’d robbed a bank or she had a sugar daddy somewhere. She was dressed to kill, Joe decided. In his current state of paranoia that was enough to worry him. He circled her warily.

  ‘Like what you see?’ she asked, enjoying the attention.

  ‘You said you want a progress report,’ Joe said.

  ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘I spent the hundred,’ he told her.

  ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure your husband is dead,’ Joe said flatly. He looked for a reaction, some sign of grief, but saw nothing.

  ‘Only pretty sure?’ Eileen raised her eyebrows.

  ‘OK, very sure.’

  Eileen nodded and considered his answer. Joe was still finding it hard to equate her with the tearful woman he had met at the Blue Parrot. It was difficult to believe that she had been intimately involved with Bishop. He wasn’t going to say anything that would connect him with Bishop. He just wanted her out of his flat and out of his life.

  ‘To be honest, I pretty much knew already,’ she said.

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘George Bishop told me he wouldn’t be coming back.’

  ‘Bishop!’ She knows about Bishop.

  ‘He told me he’d sent you off to Austria as well,’ she said. ‘I don’t think he expected to see you again.’

  ‘That didn’t bother you?’ asked Joe.

  ‘I thought it was a pity,’ Eileen told him. ‘You seemed interesting.’

  ‘What about your husband?’

  ‘What about him?’ Eileen asked.

  ‘You let Bishop send him on a one way trip.’

  ‘He was getting on my nerves,’ said Eileen, pouting slightly. ‘He wouldn’t let me do anything. Wouldn’t let me go anywhere. I felt like I was wearing a straitjacket half the time.’

  ‘You let him get killed because he got on your nerves? Didn’t you consider divorce?’

  ‘That could’ve been messy.’

  ‘And murder isn’t?’

  ‘I’d have ended up with nothing,’ said Eileen. ‘He had a very nasty streak.’
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br />   ‘I don’t get it,’ Joe said. ‘Why did you offer me money to find your husband?’

  ‘I was acting like a concerned wife would. Telling people how worried I was.’ She shrugged. ‘I suppose I overdid it. I ran into Fish and he told me about you. Before I knew what was happening, I’d agreed to talk to you. Besides, I didn’t expect you to actually find anything out.’

  ‘You were very convincing,’ Joe told her. ‘You should get an Oscar for that performance.’

  ‘I thought you were going to burst into tears,’ Eileen smiled. ‘You were very nice.’

  ‘So, why are you here now?’

  ‘I heard what happened to George and his boys. Thought you might want to tell me about it.’

  ‘What would I know?’ Joe stared impassively at her.

  ‘You arrive home unexpectedly and George and two of his boys suddenly come to a very sticky end.’

  ‘Could be coincidence,’ Joe said.

  ‘You must have been pretty angry after he set you up.’

  ‘Not best pleased,’ Joe admitted. ‘You don’t seem too upset about George, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  ‘Life goes on.’ Eileen shrugged.

  ‘Can I get you a drink,’ Joe asked.

  ‘That would be nice,’ Eileen smiled.

  ‘Whisky okay?’

  ‘With lots of ice, please.’ She watched as he went to the small kitchen. He got ice cubes from the freezer and a bottle of Malt whisky from the fridge

  Joe poured two drinks and handed a glass to Eileen. They both sipped their drinks. ‘Just the way I like it,’ she smiled.

  Joe eyed her speculatively. ‘I still don’t see why you’re here. I don’t know what you think you know but I hope you’re not thinking of blackmail,’ Joe said, looking around his flat. ‘This is all I own.’

  Eileen put her glass on the coffee table. Then she took Joe’s glass out of his hand and put it down as well. ‘I thought it might be fun to see you again,’ she smiled, moving up close to him and peeling off his raincoat. ‘Be nice to me,’ she whispered in his ear.