Dark Harbour: The Tale of the Soul Searcher

by Joseph Kiel

  At least Jake had been dependable and as solid as ever. Good old Jake. He started to worry how his operation might be going, remembering that he’d sent him to see to Devlan.

  Grabbing his phone out of his pocket he speed dialled his number. He slowly walked back towards the main warehouse, away from the stench of raw death. His mouth began to go dry as the phone continued to ring. Maybe it was a stupid decision sending them after that creature. What had he been thinking?

  The call connected.

  ‘Hey, Henry.’ It was Jake.

  ‘Hello. How’s it gone?’

  ‘All sorted, mate.’

  Henry went silent for a moment. As he lowered his eyes he saw Floyd’s body at his feet.

  ‘How about you?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Floyd’s dead. I don’t know about Eddie and Larry. One of them was killed. I think we got the other one out.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Vladimir finally turned up. I think he rescued him, then came to get me.’

  ‘Good old boy. So where is he?’

  ‘I… I don’t know.’

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Henry said as he crouched down to look at Floyd. ‘We argued.’

  ‘He gets wound up sometimes. Always calms down again.’

  ‘Yeah. So you really… You really got Devlan?’

  ‘That’s what we wanted, wasn’t it?’

  ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘He’d been working with Floyd. Been working for him for ages. Two peas in a pod.’

  Henry looked around the warehouse at all the old rides: the roller coaster with the tunnel that was clearly too low, the pirate ship with the carpet of sharp spikes beneath it. The place was an evil hellhole, and Henry knew that Floyd couldn’t have made this place on his own. Devlan was the mechanic.

  ‘Yeah. Good work, Jake.’

  ‘Want to meet back at H.Q?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Henry replied but then immediately he heard some distant police sirens. Who the hell had called them? ‘Scrap that, the police are coming. Looks like I’d better hang around.’

  ‘Okay. You call them?’

  ‘No. But I think I know who did.’

  ‘Who?’

  Henry didn’t answer as he continued to put the pieces together in his mind.

  ‘Okay, look, I’m going to hang up. I’ll let you know what happens.’

  ‘Okay, Henry.’

  ‘Wait, what about Clint? Is he still with you?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s here. I think he’s going to make it.’

  ‘Good. Speak to you later, Jake.’

  He hung up. The police cars were now right outside the warehouse.

  There was no point running. He knelt beside Floyd’s body sprawled out over the cold concrete. His trench coat was open and Henry noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the inside pocket. He took it out and immediately noticed the red wax blob on it.

  Idly rubbing the Halo of Fires seal with his thumb as though he was feeling dried blood, all he could say to himself was: ‘Shit.’

  Clint continued to hold his head as he sat propped against the helter-skelter. Jake sat next to him as he checked his own cuts and bruises. It felt like a maniac had gone at him with a Stanley knife. He took a deep drag on the cigarette and then offered it to Clint.

  ‘You’re a silly tosser,’ Jake said. ‘Getting yourself knocked out while he goes all Freddy Krueger on me.’

  ‘Thanks! I could have been dead here!’ Clint took the cigarette and inhaled.

  ‘Well, what? You’d want me to be arranging your funeral instead?’

  ‘Took your sweet time, didn’t you?’

  ‘Hard work when everyone else is having forty fuckin’ winks.’

  Clint shook his head. ‘Tosser.’

  ‘You the tosser.’

  ‘Want a drink?’

  ‘Right behind ya. Come on,’ Jake said as he got to his feet, flicking the cigarette away. ‘I think we need a celebration.’ He pulled Clint up.

  ‘Before we go, I want to see your work. I have to see this for my own eyes.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And I’ll be taking a picture on my phone. I remember that time you threw a one-eighty but, lo and behold, no one was actually around to see it!’

  ‘He’s right over there on the merry-go-round.’

  Clint slowly began to shuffle over there. He still felt dizzy - he still looked dizzy, and so Jake hovered around him in case he needed a prop.

  ‘You were just going to leave him there? Let some poor kid find him when he gets on one of the horses tomorrow morning?’

  ‘No, I was going to take him to a goddamned taxidermist.’

  ‘You could put his head on a plaque. Hang him in your living-room. That would be different. Make a lovely talking point for you and your ladies.’

  ‘Yeah, because I take them home to talk to them.’

  ‘Don’t kid me, Jake. I bet all you ever yap about is Oprah’s book club and what new shoes you just bought.’

  ‘How hard did Devlan hit your head?’

  They arrived at the carousel. Jake helped Clint to climb the steps and then he walked through the speared horses.

  ‘I think the real question is,’ Clint began, ‘how hard did he hit yours?’

  Clint could clearly see that there had been a fight here, and he could clearly see that Devlan’s body was nowhere to be seen.

  Part 15: Endings

  Chapter 15.1

  In Daedalus Fields, amongst the arching willows and the empty cider cans, is a boulder the size of a car. Now a place for young lovers to scratch in their everlasting romantic conjugations, the rock is the only thing that remains of Dark Harbour castle, which was demolished during the Elizabethan age, the stone being used to build the town hall and other such buildings.

  Samuel Allington sat huddled against the rock waiting for The Reaper to arrive. He clutched the leather briefcase, partly because it offered him a small degree of protection from the cool midnight breeze, but mostly because it was filled with fifty thousand in notes.

  It had taken him longer than anticipated to get to this point, but in a matter of minutes the deal would be struck. Stella had moved out. He assumed that she would move in with that student, but that hadn’t happened, at least not yet.

  She’d been continuing to rendezvous with the tosser, of course. Having obsessively tracked them, Samuel spied on the joyous couple as they’d walked down the river. He saw him hold her hand. And kiss her. She was evidently in such awe of her new toy as she gazed into his eyes, laughing at all his jokes, twiddling her hair.

  The day after that riverbank stroll he’d seen her go to the student’s flat to deliver a letter. After she left, Samuel noticed that it was still caught in the letterbox, and so, wearing his black beanie hat, he crept up to the door and snatched it. Once he’d read it, he then knew that there was no way she would ever come back to him.

  The slut. That’s all that women were. How could she be engaged to him one moment and then frolicking around with some random student the next? How could she suddenly be in love with him?

  That had always astounded him with women, how they never mourned the death of their romances. They just jumped into bed with the next guy and everything was like an episode of goddamn Hollyoaks. They never gave a shit about the guy they left behind and the devastation they caused him.

  That’s why Samuel had to seek this other revenge, this better revenge. The ever dependable Fires had seen to it the first time, but unfortunately that wasn’t enough. After going back through his father’s contacts book, he found The Reaper’s number. As he searched, he also looked to see if his father had a gun. Maybe he could do the job himself.

  It was better in the hands of a professional, someone who wouldn’t lose their nerve. The Fires had done the job on that student, and now The Reaper would exact a delicious revenge on her, something that would scream in her face of the terribly cruel thing she’d done to Samuel. She’d be sorry
then, the bitch.

  ‘Do I find your name on here, anywhere?’ came a grating voice. ‘Sam and Stella in the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.’

  A short man with a lopsided trilby resting effortlessly on his head came walking around the rock. Duffy went on in his dry tone: ‘And they say that once you write your names on here your love will last forever.’

  Samuel shook his head. ‘And I say you write your name on a ruin, you’re asking for it.’

  ‘My, oh my,’ The Reaper said as he put a hand on his hip and leaned against the boulder. ‘What an evil thing is love. All those broken hearts. All those unplanned conceptions. All those Westlife records. What a bane it is.’

  Samuel looked away from the psychopathic motormouth as he suddenly thought about their song. With or Without You had been playing on the jukebox when she’d walked in the room. He’d only just selected it and there she appeared, like the angels had sent her to him.

  And right then their eyes had met for the very first time.

  And instantly Samuel had known that he was in love.

  ‘I don’t suppose you ever fell in love,’ the young man said.

  ‘Who says? You should hear my verses. I like to describe my amorous liaisons. There once was a girl from Nantucket, who had a twat like a…’

  ‘No thanks!’

  Duffy shifted off the rock in mock offence. ‘De-diddly dee, de-diddly dee,’ he muttered, trying to bait him, but Samuel was silent. ‘Even a horse she would fuck it! I’m still working on it. Got some lines missing.’

  ‘It’s beautiful. How about she met The Reaper and he had a small peeper?’

  Duffy slowly cocked his head. As his eyebrows were halfway up his forehead, Samuel figured he was carrying on with his act, but then the assassin reached into his jacket pocket and brought out his SIG Mosquito.

  ‘Hey!’ Samuel cried. ‘Calm the hell down!’

  Duffy laughed. ‘Oh wait. Is that why she left you? Always the same. Women are such shallow creatures.’

  ‘Yeah, like you’d know,’ Samuel muttered to himself, burying his head in his arms.

  Duffy put the gun away. ‘Anyway, I guess the fact you brought the dinero means you want to go through with this.’

  ‘He’s not so dim after all.’

  ‘Want to open that up for me?’

  Samuel raised his head slowly and then opened the briefcase. Duffy peered inside and picked up one of the wads.

  ‘Fifty… One hundred… One hundred and fifty…’ he said in a slow, childlike voice.

  ‘Fifty percent now. I’ll be able to get the rest together for when you do it. Are you listening, dipshit?’

  ‘Two hundred! Two hundred and fifty…’

  ‘What, you think I’m trying to rip you off?’

  ‘This will go a lot quicker if you’ll stop interrupting me. Where was I? Two hundred and fifty… Three hundred…’

  Samuel rolled his eyes. ‘Jesus!’

  Duffy put the wad back in the case and slammed it shut. ‘You got the facking directions for me, Romeo?’

  Samuel explained it all to him very precisely, where and when and how he wanted it doing. Surprisingly, he even knew what clothes the target would be wearing. The ‘Dim’ Reaper just sat looking at him like a nodding dog. Samuel wondered if he was actually taking it all in, or if his mind was just composing crude limericks.

  ‘That sounds agreeable, my friend. Drummond Road is quiet that time of night. I’ll park up early.’

  ‘And remember,’ Samuel went on, ‘no matter how much he pleads with you to spare his life, no matter what he says, you shoot him. You got it?’

  ‘I hear ya! Jees, what the hell do you think I am? You coming to watch me do it to check?’

  ‘Yeah I’ll be there.’

  ‘Good. I’ll get the other fifty then.’

  ‘You will.’

  On that, the troubled young man stood and began ambling his way through the willows, melting into the night.

  Chapter 15.2

  Larry hardly said a word on the train journey back home. He sat opposite Danny and Michael holding the order of service, his crutch rattling against the armrest. A fortnight on and he was still severely shell-shocked. His leg burned with pain every time he put any pressure on it.

  ‘You don’t have to move out, you know,’ Michael said. ‘We don’t mind you staying. We’d prefer you to stay.’

  Larry looked up briefly, before his eyes fell back to the picture of Eddie on the front of the order of service. ‘No, thanks.’

  There hadn’t been a coffin. No mortician could have made Eddie even remotely presentable again, but then it turned out that Eddie had been cremated anyway. Somehow, later that night, the warehouse had magically caught fire, even though the police had turned up beforehand. Having been out of town since then, Larry hoped to find out what the hell had happened that night.

  After he’d read the eulogy in a thick voice, and as they’d sung Abide With Me, Larry had reflected on the events in that warehouse and realised that he was now making the same journey as his fallen friend.

  ‘Come on, Diamond,’ Danny chipped in. ‘Where are you going to go?’

  The train was slowing as Larry glanced out of the window and saw the Dark Harbour sign. ‘It’s sorted,’ he said as he began to prop himself up.

  He shuffled himself into the aisle as the other train passengers began to get out of their seats.

  ‘What about your things? Your DVDs? You’re going to lug all them out of the flat?’ Michael asked.

  ‘I’ll be back later in the week.’

  ‘Okay.’ Michael was running out of things to say. ‘Do you want to play pool on Friday?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Larry said in such a weak way that he may as well have said no. The passengers began bustling up to Larry and so he began hobbling away on his crutch.

  ‘We’ll see you later then.’

  ‘Yeah, take care, Larry,’ Danny added.

  ‘Yeah. See you later.’

  And then he was gone. Swallowed by the crowds. Just another stranger again.

  Once the aisle had trickled clear, Danny and Michael made their way onto the platform. It was a comfortably warm day here as it had been in Eddie’s hometown. The sun glistened down and the air smelt rich with summer. Another year of college would soon be over and the town would be alive again in the merry carnival of seaside holidaying. More moving on.

  Danny loosened his black tie. ‘Just you and me again. We’re not really going to see him anymore, are we?’

  Michael knew exactly what he meant, but he didn’t want to agree. He’d felt that feeling before, when friends move on. One day that connection would be there, that interchange of energy that happens as each person gives to the other, learns from the other, and then one day it’s all over. Suddenly the friendship is dead, served its purpose. The ink run dry and the paper run out.

  Thinking over their friendship, Michael realised he’d spent too long squabbling with Larry, telling him to tidy up or to help him out round the house. Is that what you would really call a friendship? Even so, Michael was already beginning to miss him.

  ‘They always come back,’ Michael muttered.

  The café was almost empty when the wounded Guardian hobbled in. The only customer was some guy in the corner buried in the local newspaper, the front page headline: ‘Youth Attacks Man With Cricket Bat’. Behind the counter, Nigel was refilling the sugar pots. It seemed it was a slow Friday afternoon at The Cheshire Cat.

  Larry delicately propped himself on a stool at the counter and Nigel began pouring him some tea. He needed something to revive himself after the day he’d had. What better than a cup of tea? That was all the Fires seemed to do when they were sitting around. The tea was too hot to drink but Larry was going to have to wait anyway.

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Just like a funeral,’ Larry said bleakly.

  ‘You know,’ Nigel began in his customer chit-chat voice, ‘I heard that a couple of hundred years ago there be
came this fashion amongst the rich that they wanted their bodies to be broken up. All cut into pieces. They believed it helped in the release of their soul from their body.’

  ‘I guess they did that to them after they died.’

  Nigel nodded meekly. ‘Souls know when they want to go. When their time is up there’s nothing we can do about it.’

  ‘Where did you hear that?’

  ‘Vladimir. He’s always going on about such things.’

  Larry hadn’t seen or heard from Vladimir since that night in the warehouse. Precisely what had happened to him next, nobody really knew. Nobody except Henry, that was. All they knew was that Vladimir had arrived there in time to rescue him. Floyd, the author of that fake letter, had been killed.

  Larry expected the police to come knocking on his door asking for a statement. He expected there to be sensational headlines in the Harbour Gazette for months, Hollywood on the phone wanting to buy his story.

  But so far there’d been nothing. What a mystifying town this was.

  Perhaps Henry had pulled his strings to make it all quieten down. Or perhaps it was the work of someone else.

  ‘Where is Vladimir?’ Larry asked

  ‘You’ll one day learn that time is better spent not trying to solve that mystery,’ the man behind the newspaper said. Larry turned round as the man folded the paper down and he saw that it was Henry.

  ‘Hello,’ Larry replied, slightly bemused. ‘So you don’t know?’

  ‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ the spirited Seraph replied as he rose and made his way over to him. There seemed to be a stronger beat in his gait, a renewed focus in his demeanour. The windows had all been opened and an invigorating breeze of air had freshened his inner palace. Perching himself on a stool, he said reassuringly: ‘Vladimir can look after himself. That’s exactly what we taught him to do.’

  ‘This is the longest he’s gone missing,’ Nigel said.

  ‘He’s been missing all his life. But he’ll return to us. He knows nothing else.’

  ‘What happened, Henry?’ Nigel went on. ‘Why do I get the impression that there’s more to it than you’re letting on?’