The Devil Among Us

by Ramsay Sinclair

  “Tip?” The delivery driver’s eyes shone in excitement. My door slammed rudely in his face.

  “Robbing bastard,” I muttered and carried through the sizzling carrier bags. Abbey’s almond-shaped eyes widened in greed, barely waiting till they were set on the table to rifle in there and grab a prawn cracker “Oi, greedy. Save some for me.”

  Abbey grinned, crumbs littering her chin and glistening lips alike. How could anyone be grumpy for long when they’re greeted with a puppy dog stare as adorable as that? After sliding the DVD into its slot, the opening credits started up. Abbey dished out the takeaway onto separate plates and we tucked in.

  “E.T.?”

  I’d picked up the first DVD possible. It wasn’t exactly the romantic film I’d quite imagined it was going to be.

  “Crap, I didn’t really see what film I’d chosen,” I protested with a mouthful of egg fried rice. As I heaved my body up off the comfortable, leatherette sofa, Abbey yelled out.

  “No!” she said a bit over-enthusiastically. “I think E.T. is rather cute. I used to watch it over and over as a kid.”

  “You always know exactly how to surprise me,” I grinned fondly and relaxed.

  Images flashed on and off screen whilst we ate, most of which wouldn’t be retained by us tomorrow. Aliens, blah, blah, blah. Elliot. Blah, blah, blah. E.T., was, in its entirety, an excellent film. A cinematic masterpiece, way ahead of its competitors. But no matter what film we chose, nothing could disguise mine and Abbey’s romantic tension. I tried to put one arm affectionately around her shoulders once the plates were discarded, but I ended up looking like a wooden puppet. Laughing, she lay her head onto my chest affectionately.

  “How did the people get shot today?” she randomly spoke up. “I thought CID didn’t handle weapons.”

  “We don’t, normally. Our team didn’t shoot them, it was armed response,” I explained, loving that she showed interest in my career. “The criminals were carrying guns though. Guns, drugs and money.”

  “A dangerous combination,” she noted, innocent eyes distractedly glued to the screen. If I had my way, we’d forget all about the film.

  The discussion of today cast my memory back to DCI Reid’s office and to our gala subject talk. I’d have to tell Abbey before I forgot, which was plausible. These days, my memory is severely lacking.

  “Abbey, I have something to ask you--” She turned apprehensively. Wherever someone mentioned that sentence, it could be taken negatively. “It’s nothing bad. Well, I hope it isn’t to you. I actually think you’ll quite like the idea--”

  “Finlay,” Abbey interrupted, tossing her dyed red tresses behind her petite shoulders, displaying the collar bone that juts out. “You’re rambling.”

  “Thanks. Well, DCI Reid is hosting a gala in a couple of weeks. All proceeds go to the force. Our station specifically. Anyway, I wondered if you wanted to come with me?” I waited nervously for a reply, uncertain why asking filled me with a sense of dread. Tenterhooks, rather.

  “Are you asking me out on a proper date?” She glanced up, hair tickling my arms from where it was spread out.

  “If you wanted it to be?” We shared a moment of silence.

  “I’d love to!” Abbey suddenly squealed excitedly, threatening to pierce my eardrums. “I’ll get to meet the rest of the team I haven’t already! McCall’s going, isn’t she?”

  Woah, I didn’t expect quite a huge reaction. DCI Reid had been right with this hunch.

  “Yeah, we kind of have to.” The two of them got along like a house on fire.

  “This will be fun,” Abbey assured, placing a chilled hand on my cheek. “I never thought we’d get to do something like this together. You hate these kinds of things.”

  “It’s your lucky day.” The position we were entangled in was surprisingly soothing. Closing my eyes, I listened intently to her breathing. “DCI Reid is on all accounts, forcing me to go.”

  “Then I’ll thank him when we see him.”

  6

  We awoke with a start at the sound of my phone vibrating on the coffee table. Blinking through the haze of sunlight peeking through the living room window that emphasised the dust flying around, I saw our plates of finished takeaway were still there too.

  Abbey stretched out, as we’d stayed cramped together on the sofa, presumably having fallen asleep there last night. The television static sounded, as the DVD had long finished and images of aliens gone blank. Her body was heavy from tiredness and we yawned groggily in unison. I picked a piece of her hair from my tongue, which must’ve gotten there as a result of our tossing and turning.

  The scent of strawberry-scented shampoo filled my nostrils, and the phone rang out due to my sluggishness.

  “What time is it?” Abbey groaned and fluttered her heavy lids which had thick black makeup smeared all over them. Looking down, I saw the same stuff had coated my decent shirt, from where I’d been a makeshift pillow for the long hours.

  Stacks on stacks of container boxes, some filled with cold rice, others completely empty, taunted us to finally get up and clean except neither of us fancied moving.

  “I don’t care,” I whimpered and covered my sensitive eyes from the impending light. It took a second for yesterday's event to come rushing back to the forefront of my mind, filling me with a second of dread. “Crap, that’s probably work.”

  “Good morning, I suppose,” she giggled at the newfound burst of energy. Gently inching her body from mine, I shuffled in order to pick up the phone. It had been overloaded from messages, mainly McCall teasing me about yesterday's office scene. But the most recent ones were of her informing me they’d had word from the hospital.

  “And?” Abbey poked my ribs, warranting an unexpected yelp.

  “It was work.” I scrolled among the rest of them. “They want me at the hospital, pronto.”

  “About the officer who got shot?”

  “No, Flynn Jones. The criminal,” I specified. Trust Abbey to think so… humanely. “Though we should probably check in on Ryan whilst we’re there. It would be a decent thing to do,” I humbly corrected.

  “Yeah, it would.” Abbey finally sat up straight and took a moment to orientate herself. “That’s our wake up call.”

  Following by example, I sat up and sniffed the air hesitantly. As feared, there was a pungent smell of musky sweat, Chinese food and a general whiff of men.

  “I stink, don’t I?”

  “I wasn’t going to mention it.” She patted my chest.

  “I’ve got to get in the shower,” I frowned, “and iron a new set of clothes in the nick of time before McCall kills me for being late.”

  “You get in the shower,” Abbey got to her feet, stretching for the fifth time already. “I’ll clean up, iron you a work suit, and make you a cup of tea.”

  What did I do to deserve a woman such as her?

  “Are you a superhuman?” I joked, planting a peck on her adorably chubby cheeks.

  “I just might be,” she humorously agreed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. I’m sure we looked as dishevelled as each other after our long sleep. It was actually the best I’d had in a while. “Go.”

  “Yes, miss.” I did as I was told and exhaustedly stomped upstairs to find a clean towel of some description. The shower steam rose up and covered the mirror’s reflection in a dusting of condensation. A fresh dousing of water was exactly the wake-up call I needed, and my hair flattened over my forehead from the drenched weight of it.

  Getting out, I roughly towel dried it and smiled at the sight of Abbey’s spare toothbrush next to mine. Being so involved with a woman would’ve scared me a couple of years ago, but having her by my side now made me realise that I needed someone. To calm me, to show me a new side to life.

  “It must be my lucky morning,” she hinted when I resurfaced, wearing only suit trousers.

  “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it,” I grinned at the sight of the marigold gloves that crept up to her elbows, deep in washing
up liquid and crockery. Spotting my work shirt on the ironing board, I deftly picked it up and slipped it onto my torso. Buttoning it up proved a trickier task for the buttons were too fiddly for my larger hands.

  Padding over to her curvaceous figure, I had the element of surprise. She didn’t see me, too busy scrubbing the dishes to within an inch of their lives.

  “Are you listening to me?” I easily picked her up, leaving Abbey squealing.

  Yelling in bouts of laughter, she flailed around. “There’s water everywhere. I thought you had to go!”

  “Spoilsport.” Grumbling, I did as told and pecked her rosy cheek. “I could get used to waking up like this.”

  “Me too,” Abbey said sincerely, about to say something else but stopped. “Your tea’s over there.” Abbey showed me, her hair put up into a messy bun, that only enhanced her naturally gorgeous features. “Your hair’s wet.”

  “I know. Work needs me, I couldn’t let it dry.” I lifted up the cushions in search of my keys. The water dripped unpleasantly onto my shirt collar.

  “Looking for these?” She held the keys up in the air.

  “You’re a star,” I took them eagerly. “You’re alright here, aren’t you? You’ve got your--”

  “My own set of keys, yes,” she finished the sentence, practically pushing me out of the door. “I’ll lock up when I leave, don’t worry. Now go before they tell you off, or cut your wages.” Although she was only joking, I hoped they couldn’t do that.

  “Anyone would think you’re trying to get rid of me.” Taking a thick coat from the hook, we exchanged a farewell kiss.

  “What gave you that impression?” Abbey grinned, not letting me get away so easily. She wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me in for a few more pecks. “Have a great day.”

  “Great days don’t exist at CID,” I joked, reluctant to leave. I’d rather be paid to stay home all day. Abbey waved me away, waiting until there was an appropriate amount of distance between us to retreat inside.

  Having soaking wet hair made the Scottish weather hit worse, and I was simply grateful that I’d driven the work Volvo home last night. It made the journey to the hospital quicker and shielded me away from the chill.

  An awfully friendly receptionist greeted me upon arrival, overly cheery for the surroundings we were in. A brief set of instructions led me towards the ward Flynn Jones resided in, where both McCall and DCI Reid were already waiting outside for me. A policeman stood guard to keep intruders out and Flynn in, though not a familiar one I recognised.

  “You took your time,” McCall teased. She was dressed differently to normal in an all-black suit. It was on the eighties side, with some shoulder pads sewn in. Interesting, to say the least.

  “Good night last night, Cooper?” DCI Reid joined in, sipping a hospital cup of tea in their plastic cups. He smirked and remembered our prior conversation. Was he on the alcohol again?

  “You could say that,” I hinted, earning a boisterous slap on the back from him. “Are we standing out here all day, or do we actually have an appointment?” I stared at Flynn Jones through the window that separated us. He seemed frail and trembled in the hospital bed alone, so much so, that he barely noticed us three staring.

  “Your tardy arse only just got here. Now you’ve arrived, we can actually begin,” McCall pointedly mentioned as she showed us the way through. The police guard stood aside politely, greeting us formally.

  Flynn lay limp, and his face was stitched together for some of the worst cuts. For the others, small plasters covered them. Our clear footsteps echoed, destroying the silence that once surrounded the man.

  “Flynn?” McCall gently coaxed the injured man to respond, for Flynn’s eyes barely flickered open properly. He lay facing the bare ceiling, and a few sparse tears flowed onto his scuffed chin. A great sadness hung like an obnoxious grey cloud over the tiny room.

  “Flynn Jones.” DCI Reid attempted a different approach to McCall, by snapping loudly. It worked, for he suddenly shot up in shock. At first, he stared towards me, then McCall and finally, DCI Reid.

  “How are you doing, Flynn?” McCall opened the questioning lightly, full of sincerity. “It’s better to see you without the gun. It didn’t suit you.”

  His dodgy lip hung open in fear, whimpering constantly at the sight of us. We didn’t get a recognisable reply. I found a visitors chair and sat down on one side of Flynn’s bed, McCall the opposite. DCI Reid preferred to pace around; it gave him new ideas, he would claim. McCall carried on, taking over the questioning for she was better at soothing people.

  “We know you’re in shock about what you saw yesterday Flynn, we understand it must've been hard for you--”

  “It’s their own fault though,” DCI Reid interrupted. “They’re the ones shooting and getting involved in the drug business.”

  “Guv,” I quelled him with a look.

  “So just talk to the best of your ability, okay?” McCall ignored our separate interaction. Flynn’s small body didn’t budge an inch, and he still didn’t reply.

  DCI Reid huffed, easily wound up. “We shouldn’t be kind to him. He’s a criminal at the end of the day.” He paced in circles, heavyset frame shaking the floor slightly. The glass of water on Flynn’s bedside table shook from the movements.

  “A criminal in shock,” McCall established, mouth set into a grim line. “What were you doing there yesterday, Flynn?” McCall made an effort to appear soft and gentle.

  The man lying down didn’t reply, but the quivering gave him away. Everything we said was being heard.

  “You remember us, don’t you? I’m DS McCall and that’s DI Cooper. We helped you out last time, got you sorted out--”

  “Or so we thought,” I interlaced my fingers upon my stomach and crossed my legs to sit comfortably. We’d be here a while, I guessed.

  “If you tell us what happened yesterday, we can help you. Who were you three working for? Where did the shipment come from? Where was it going?” she hissed through gritted teeth, shooting daggers at us two.

  There wasn’t any reply, but a few incoherent whimpers. Obviously, McCall’s attempts weren’t working as well as they did the last time we confronted Flynn Jones. DCI Reid got involved, fed up with listening to the noise.

  “Oh, stop whining, Flynn, you’re giving me a headache. You, a gun, drugs and money. Tell us, how did that happen?” DCI Reid’s approach was a bit more… brash. They were bolder accusations, and he had little patience for criminals, especially those who had been caught in the act and shot one of our own. Whether by accident or not.

  It seemed to work, for Flynn was frightened by anyone who wasn’t the soft-spoken McCall. “I-I-I--” he attempted to talk but stuttered all the while.

  “One of you left, who isn’t talking. How convenient.” DCI Reid heaved an unimpressed sigh, lapping up this ironic timing. “Was this the first shipment you guys have worked on?”

  “You’ll go to jail for a long time if you don’t help us out, Flynn. Talk to us. I don’t believe you would do something like this without reason to. I saw the hesitation you had when handling the gun.” McCall filled him with her faith, reaching out to touch his hand gently. He flinched at first, scared out of his wits. “It’s okay, Flynn. I won’t hurt you.”

  “I-It was our first,” he finally gulped. “There’s been more, by others too.”

  “Who are these others?” I wondered.

  “I don’t know. They’re just- just rumours.” He clamped his nervous eyes shut. “We received the-the drugs on our side of the borders, by people in balaclavas. They gave us the guns too. We didn’t see their faces.”

  “So all you had to do was transport them from the borders onwards.” I nodded to nobody in particular.

  “There are different people for different things. Our--” He took a deep breath. “Our job was to transport them to the bay.” Flynn was starting to become like he was all those years ago: loose-lipped.

  “And sell them where?” DCI Reid presse
d, his shirt buttons gaping as a result of his bulging stomach.

  “I don’t know. We didn’t get that far. They were going to tell us once they were sure that the drugs were safely here. We were given a time to receive a call from them, at a specific phone box,” he explained, jumping when a trolley was pushed by the door and the wheel squeaked.

  “And that’s when we caught you,” McCall finished up so Flynn didn’t have to. Her bright disposition contrasted with Flynn’s gloomy one.

  “Yeah.”

  We descended into silence, thinking about the information we were armed with. Overall, it wasn’t entirely useful. We still didn’t know anything else.

  “How did you get involved in this?” I asked to break the silence. “The other two you were with didn't seem like your sort of people. Or what I thought were your sort of people. Then again, it seems we don’t know you all that well.”

  Flynn had clammed up again, but I wasn’t entirely sure why.

  “Flynn?” McCall tapped his hand softly.

  “They offered me money,” Flynn objected, breathlessly. “I was told they’d pay me lots of it.” His eyes flicked to the left shiftily. There was something he wasn’t telling us.

  “How did they offer it to you?” McCall pressed. “You have money. You have a job, we know you do.”

  “Do you have children?” Flynn changed the subject on a whim, and McCall replied with a reluctant, “No.”

  Flynn thought about the answer momentarily, a glint of sadness evident in his shining eyes; they were still wet from tears.

  “They always want more,” he rambled for no real reason. “I wanted what’s best for my daughter and wife. New shoes instead of hand-me-downs and second-hand charity shop toys. For her birthday, all I could give her was a purple balloon. It was all we could afford.” The memory made McCall smile in sadness. “But she wasn't disappointed. She loved it. Kept it safe, day and night. One day, it burst, and she was in tears.”

  Flynn Jones held an element of adoration in his eyes, reserved especially for his daughter and family only. A wave of fondness for the child washed over him, sending Flynn melting like hot lava into his hospital bed.