by Greg Elswood
Brandon was haunted by a similar experience at school, where a special marble had become more and more sought after in the playground, so that every time it changed hands it was harder to buy or to beat in a game. He’d coveted it and eventually traded it for all of his other marbles, only to find that no one else wanted it afterwards. He ended up losing it to another ordinary marble, and he still recalled the nausea he’d felt afterwards and his embarrassment at having been tricked into believing what the marble was worth, based on an irrational concept. Perhaps that’s why Brandon didn’t trust Bitcoin.
However, for the purposes of his cyber-financial crime, a cryptocurrency’s illusory value was a perfect way to create real money, and it helped his cause that so many people had been pulled into it through the clever use of familiar expressions borrowed from the real world. His work would be camouflaged by the countless other people doing the same thing, and so he spent much of his evening putting together a complex web of new wallets, accounts and aliases, and one-by-one he loaded the details into his programs for the big day. He may not have liked Bitcoin, but that didn’t stop him using it for his own illicit ends.
As he worked into the night, Brandon smiled at the thought of putting his childhood scars behind him. This time I won’t be left with an overpriced marble when the music stops, and I will decide how much someone else pays me for it.
***
After witnessing the ejection of his comrade from the Barbican, Jacob waited for the security patrol to move on.
He had considered leaving himself and following Mitzy and her owner towards Golden Lane, the nearest other place where he’d be able to find a sheltered doorway. When it was wet, the housing estate became a magnet for those living on the streets, with its sprawling blocks and alleyways, numerous parking areas and covered pavements. Many of society’s forgotten souls would be taking shelter there this evening; people of all ages, races and gender, some with obvious disabilities, others with pets like Mitzy. A real mix of humanity, but all with one thing in common: they had nowhere safe to stay. A pitiful sight, although to those like Jacob it was just another cold, damp night on the streets of London.
But Jacob decided to remain where he was. He felt more secure in the Barbican’s grounds and he was enticed by the prospect of a warm vent in one of the quieter corners. After about five minutes of listening for any sounds or conversation, but hearing none, he crept towards the maintenance entrance. He was about to round the pillar past the last resident stairway, when he saw a plume of smoke billow from the final corner, and he darted back behind the column.
Thank God for vaping! He would never have seen the smoke from a real cigarette, whereas the thick cloud of vapour from an e-cigarette couldn’t be missed, even on this gloomy night. Seconds later he heard the crackle of a radio. From where he was standing, the words and static were indistinguishable, and Jacob couldn’t help smiling to himself that some things were still done the old-fashioned way.
Again, he waited. Given how close he was to the guards, he decided to stay put rather than risk being heard returning to the garden to take cover behind the plants or turning back the way he’d come, and he pressed himself hard against the dark side of the pillar. His ears strained for any sound. After five minutes of hearing nothing but the dripping of water from the leaves and gutters, Jacob decided that the patrol must have moved on, so it was time to take his chance. They couldn’t just be standing there in silence, could they?
With his back pressed against the pillar, he inched round it. The space was empty, and with a sigh of relief he settled himself into the shadowy recess. Maybe he’d be lucky tonight after all.
Huddled, his knees brought up for warmth, he tried to sleep. In truth he never slept on the streets, not properly. The best he ever managed was a doze, as he was constantly alert to sudden sounds and he expected to be moved on or harassed by people far more fortunate than himself, who wouldn’t understand what it felt like to find a few degrees of warmth next to a heating vent. Thankfully, on damp nights like this, fewer people ventured out and the security patrols became lazier, so Jacob was hopeful that he’d be left undisturbed until the morning.
After an hour of nodding off, interrupted by the occasional siren in the distance, he napped. His restless mind returned to memories of his wife and daughter, blessed relief that for once he wasn’t plagued by atrocities of war. Therefore, he didn’t jolt awake to horrific scenes of mass death and destruction, as he usually did. Instead he woke to a different nightmare, something present here and now, and in its own way, just as brutal.
Jacob sensed a sudden change in the light and he opened his eyes to see two men silhouetted in front of him, one of whom leaned in close.
‘Well, well, well, who do we have here then? If it’s not the thieving tramp. Ha, ha, what did I tell you? I knew we’d find him around here.’
The voice cried with glee, mixed with a chilling malevolence, and when the man turned towards his companion, Jacob recognised Nathan’s menacing profile.
‘Right, this is payback time!’
The vile stench of alcohol on Nathan’s noxious breath engulfed Jacob. There was no telling how much drink-fuelled suffering he intended to inflict, but it was not a good sign that he’d come back to the Barbican with a friend to look for him. There could only be one reason. The familiar sensation of adrenaline flooded Jacob’s veins at the prospect of imminent conflict, and he knew he’d be lucky to escape serious injury from these two young thugs.
Nathan grabbed both sides of Jacob’s collar, yanked him forward as if to pull him up, but then slammed him backwards. Jacob’s back smacked against the wall and he heard a sickening thud inside his own head as it bounced off the alcove. His vision exploded momentarily with spiralling light and he felt oddly detached from his body, but he was lucid enough to cover his head with his arms to shield himself from the inevitable onslaught. Deep down, he knew he couldn’t just take a beating, he would have to resist, even though the odds were stacked against him, but he would have to choose the right moment to strike.
‘Ha, not going to fight back, eh?’ Nathan taunted. ‘Good, makes it easier for me.’
Nathan stepped back and kicked Jacob in the ribcage. A sharp, agonising pain surged through his body and he cried out. Nathan looked down at Jacob with satisfaction, then lunged forward and stamped on his leg, and his eyes lit up as the intoxication of his violence overpowered his alcoholic inebriation.
‘Come on beggar, fight, you old coward.’ He aimed another kick at Jacob, this time his boot glancing off Jacob’s arms, still clasped around his head.
‘Hey, Nate, take it easy mate, you’ll kill him,’ said the second man. Jacob had forgotten all about him, but it was clear from his slow, slurring voice that he had been Nathan’s drinking partner this dismal evening.
‘That’s exactly what I mean to do. This is the guy I was telling you about, the one who smashed my whisky this morning. Now Merv is onto me, so this vermin deserves everything he gets. You can either help me as promised or get out of here, like a wimp.’
Nathan looked down at Jacob, curled on the ground as he had been that morning, and in his mind the damp patch next to him was whisky on the hotel tarmac. He was going to pay for that. He leaned forward and grasped the thick lapels of Jacob’s coat, then yelled at him in a fit of uncontrollable anger as he pulled him up.
‘Are you going to fight or not?’
Jacob staggered to his feet. An excruciating pain shot through his chest and he suspected he had cracked a rib, but he was relieved to be upright and out of the corner. He would have struggled to stand unaided, and he felt a glimmer of hope that Nathan had made a mistake by helping him up. That small corner could have been his grave, but on his feet he had a chance.
But then Nathan’s fist pounded into Jacob’s jaw, and he staggered backwards and collapsed against the wall. Jacob’s fingers grasped the brickwork, and through force of will he pushed down hard on his thighs and remained on his feet. He knew the
next blow might send him to the floor, and having pulled him up once he doubted Nathan would do so again. Jacob steadied himself, raised his hands and faced his enemy.
‘That’s more like it, stand up and fight, like a man.’ Nathan smirked at his foe. ‘Not that it’s going to help you much, you’re pathetic, but it’ll be more fun for me.’
Nathan stepped in and released a frenzied attack of punches to Jacob’s body and head. A few of them caught him in the mouth or around the eyes, or on the left side of his chest, where the dizzying agony of successive punches to his ribs brought loud moans from Jacob. However, despite the burning pain, Jacob managed to parry several of Nathan’s blows and landed a few in reply. Slowly, the pace and power of the younger man’s barrage waned, and Jacob stepped forward to inflict some of his own. He felt he had a chance, just a small one, of getting out of this.
‘Are you going to just stand there, Ray?’ Nathan realised that he hadn’t finished Jacob and that it would take two of them to do it. He turned and snarled at his partner-in-crime. ‘Come on, do something. Grab him.’
Ray looked unsure of himself. After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped in, pulled Jacob’s left arm and attempted to clasp it behind his back. Jacob caught him with a couple of blows but Ray held on, and the two men pirouetted, locked together. However, the younger man finally managed to wrap his arms around Jacob and, standing behind him, squeezed his arms against his side. Jacob cried at the crushing pain in his chest, and he knew that he was now exposed, unable to defend himself against a further attack from Nathan.
Nathan had caught his breath and saw his chance to finish the contest. He stepped forward to punch Jacob whilst his arms were trapped by Ray’s embrace. But even through the pain, Jacob saw him coming. He gritted his teeth and used all of his remaining strength to lift both of his legs up, kicked out at the approaching Nathan and caught him in his stomach. Nathan shuddered against the blow and gasped for air. Jacob’s sudden shift in weight caught Ray off guard, he lost his balance and fell back against the wall. Jacob heard a loud grunt and felt Ray’s clutch loosen.
Jacob sensed his chance. He shrugged off Ray and staggered forward into the drizzle towards Nathan, like a tired boxer in the ring close to the knockout blow. Nathan’s energy was sapping, and breathless from his exertions he took a couple of paces in retreat. The two combatants glared at each other.
Ray had seen enough. From the start he had been wary of injuring himself for Nathan’s vendetta against this homeless man. Despite their age advantage and superiority of numbers, he wasn’t convinced they’d win the battle, and he had no appetite for defeat.
‘OK, Nate, that’s enough now. He’s cut up pretty bad and you don’t want any trouble with the police. Leave it now.’
Nathan wiped the back of his hand across his brow, and a glistening streak of Jacob’s blood appeared on his rain-soaked face. He surveyed his adversary. Jacob was still on his feet, but only because he had now stumbled backwards and was supported by one of the pillars. He had an open gash above one eye that had already begun to puff up, numerous cuts on his face and a swelling lower lip. Blood dribbled from his nose and mouth. Nathan was satisfied with what he saw.
‘Yeah, I guess you’re right, I reckon he’s learned his lesson.’ Nathan looked at Ray and nodded towards the exit ramp. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Ray relaxed, turned his back on Jacob and took a step away. Without warning, Nathan swivelled and launched one final, crunching blow to Jacob’s head. He slumped to the floor.
‘That’s one for the road, arsehole. And don’t you ever steal from me again.’ Nathan held his right fist in his left as if he had damaged it from the last punch. He grimaced, but his expression turned to a malicious smirk when he looked down at Jacob.
‘Nate, come on, I think someone’s coming. Let’s go,’ Ray said urgently.
Nathan turned, glowered at his companion and stalked off. Ray looked down at Jacob, shook his head and then backed away into the fog.
Jacob groaned from the pain in his chest and head, and although he kept his swelling eyes open for as long as he could, fearing that his assailants might return, he drifted in and out of consciousness. Between a feverish, trance-like state and blackness, faces of people he had known appeared and then faded; Selma and Leila smiling at him, Orla greeting him at the Refuge, Nathan and Bill snarling and spitting. They fell silent, but before he gave in to oblivion’s welcome embrace, Jacob heard one final voice.
‘Oh, my good sweet Jesus, no Jacob, who did this to you?’
12
Orla arrived at the Refuge as usual at about six o’clock, but when Ginger stepped forward to greet her as soon as she came through the front door, she knew that something was wrong.
Ginger was one of the shelter’s administrators, whose duties included managing the staff roster and approving access to the Refuge’s facilities. Despite his nickname, he had a thick mane of white hair, and it was assumed by everyone at the Refuge that he must have been a redhead when younger. Either that or it was a silly joke that stuck.
He addressed Orla with his customary politeness, although she could tell from his frown and low voice that he wasn’t in his normal good humour.
‘Orla, can I have a quick word please? It’s probably best if we do it in private,’ and he beckoned her towards his office behind the reception desk.
After closing the door, Ginger told Orla about Jacob, that he had been brought to the Refuge earlier that morning after suffering a severe beating on the streets. A parking attendant at the Barbican, who knew Jacob somehow, had discovered him while on her way to work.
‘She wanted to call an ambulance,’ Ginger said, ‘but she said that Jacob grabbed her arm and demanded to come here instead. He refused to go to hospital. By all accounts he was feverish and babbling, and if I’d been her I would have called an ambulance anyway. But he was brought here, old Jenks let them in and then rang the emergency doctor.’
‘Oh Ginger, that sounds awful. Is he going to be OK?’
‘I understand he was pretty bloody when he arrived, but he has cleaned up fine and I’m sure he’ll be alright. The doctor says he’ll have a headache for a while and he appears to have a cracked rib, but she’s happy for him to stay in the sick bay here today rather than send him to hospital. He probably wouldn’t get a bed anyway. The thing is, Orla, the reason I wanted to speak to you about it is that he said your name whilst muttering in his sleep, so I think he wants to see you.’
‘Really? And is it OK to see him? Do we have enough people in for breakfast?’
‘Oh yes, of course you can.’ Ginger smiled at Orla. ‘I can hardly say “no” can I, especially to a regular volunteer like you? In any case, we’re OK at the moment, we’ll manage for an hour or so without you.’
Ginger looked down at a sheet of paper on his desk and shook his head. ‘It’s later this morning I’m worried about, as I’m not sure how it will pan out with the tube strikes today. We always have at least a couple of staff not turn up on these strike days. As usual, it’s the people at the bottom of the ladder who suffer most from these things.’
Orla thanked Ginger and headed for the medical bay, situated in the refurbished block at the rear of the Refuge. When she reached the room, Doctor Fernandez was just closing the door and she updated Orla on Jacob’s condition.
‘Most of his injuries are superficial, other than the rib, but even that isn’t too bad and it isn’t affecting his breathing at all, so I don’t think he needs an X-ray. He’d probably refuse anyway from what I’ve heard. The rest will heal quickly, a few cuts and bruises and a bit of swelling, that sort of thing. It looks worse than it is and it could have been far more serious. He could easily have damaged his eyesight or suffered internal injuries, but I think he’s escaped the worst. He’s either a strong man, or a lucky one.’
‘Oh, that’s such a relief,’ Orla said, and she let out a long sigh.
‘Well, he’s not quite out of the woods yet. We’ll observ
e him here for the next twenty-four hours in case any complications arise. Just to be sure.’ The doctor saw Orla’s furrowed brow, her concern clear in her face. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine, don’t worry. He’s still a little delirious, but you can sit with him now if you like.’
Muffled voices, bright lights, then silence and the dark.
Jacob floated in and out of consciousness. He sensed people around him, felt their touch and heard them, but he didn’t recognise their voices. He knew that he was in a bed from the rub of the sheets on his body, but not where he was.
Dull aches, stabbing pains and agonising loneliness.
His head throbbed, and whenever he forced open his one good eye, he experienced blinding light and dizziness. He tried to say a few words, but his lips were cracked and dry, and only a hoarse whisper emerged.
Searing heat and sweats followed by cold, clammy damp.
He trembled, delirium taking hold, and he stared into the bottomless abyss of his nightmares. But then at the precipice came a voice he knew, accompanied by a tender touch, holding his hand. Was he hallucinating?
‘Jacob, can you hear me? It’s Orla. You’re at the Refuge and you’re safe now. If you can hear me and understand what I’m saying, please squeeze my hand, if you can.’
Jacob gripped Orla’s hand and a single tear ran down her cheek. ‘That’s good. Now all you need to do is rest. Don’t worry about anything and we’ll look after you. I’ll be back again later, at the end of my shift.’
A door closes, then blackness returns, all-enveloping, cloaking like Death.
***
At the sound of the front door closing, Michael opened his eyes. He usually stirred as Orla got ready for the Refuge, but tired from his late-night exertions at the lock-up he had slept through that today. Tempting as it was to turn over and go back to sleep, he forced himself to get up. He knew he wouldn’t sleep again, not with so many devious thoughts swirling around his head, and he still needed to finalise his plan for dealing with Maria and Orla. There would be plenty of time to sleep when it was all over.