Remix

by Lexi Revellian

  “Here?”

  “Yes. That’s good, it’s gone through, can you move it sideways?”

  “Like this? Ugh…” The glass had got me again.

  “Careful…okay, jabbing the point was better, go back to that.”

  I could hear distant tyres on the gravel, and an engine noise quite different from Phil’s Audi; the laboured din of worn components, plus the rattle of elderly body panels. My van.

  “He’s back.”

  Time had run out.

  Chapter

  29

  *

  The noise got louder, and for an instant lights flashed past the windows; my gearbox crunched and complained, then sudden quiet and the familiar sound of my van doors opening immediately outside. Phil had backed the van up to the French windows. The pale oval of his face appeared, lit by the light from the room as he looked in, then it was gone. I sawed feverishly with the glass, careless of my fingers. A minute later, the front door banged and footsteps ran down the hall. Phil burst into the room, holding his shotgun up to his shoulder.

  It was like one of those awful dreams where you strive to do something and are constantly defeated. This hellish night was now my life; it seemed I would be trying to escape, and Phil would be thwarting me till the end of time. I wanted to howl like a wolf. Phil shoved me on to the sofa, put down the gun and reinforced the tape around Ric.

  Ric said, “You need help, you sociopathic shit heap. Emma’s running rings round you, and you’re too stupid to see it. If you think she gives a flying fuck about you –”

  Phil stuck tape over Ric’s mouth, then came and did the same to me. Ric’s eyes were dark and snapping with fury. I mustn’t cry, I won’t be able to breathe. Emma walked through the door, trim in jeans, her hair pulled back into a pony tail. She took in the smashed vase, and spoke to Phil as though we weren’t there.

  “What took you so long? They might have escaped!”

  “Well, they didn’t.” Hurriedly, Phil started searching through Ric’s pockets. He kept his head down, avoiding Ric’s glare. “I couldn’t get the van to start. I was afraid it wasn’t going to.”

  Emma said sharply, “What are you doing?”

  “He came here on a motorbike. I’m looking for the keys. I’m going to leave them in the ignition so someone will steal it.”

  “This is rural Berkshire, not the East End. The police might find it first. Can’t you take it somewhere rough?”

  “No, I can’t!” Phil straightened up, the Harley keys in his hand. “I don’t know how to ride a motorbike.” He got a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his forehead and dabbed at the corner of his bad eye.

  Emma made an impatient noise. Phil was not coming up to scratch. “Well move it in the van, then. You can’t leave it near here.”

  “I suppose you’re right…it’s heavy, you’d have to help me. There’s a ramp in the van.”

  Emma went to the French window and opened it. “You’ve made tyre marks on the lawn – Christ – what’s that?”

  A brown and cream shape shot past her, ran to Ric, jumped on to his lap, and licked his face. Dog. When he got no response he keened softly and pawed at him.

  “Damn. He’s Ric’s, he was in the van. I put him out on the road.”

  Emma’s voice went up a notch. “You put it on the road? The road outside your house? Are you deliberately trying to get us caught?”

  “I took his collar off first. I didn’t know he’d follow the van. Without a collar he’s just a stray.”

  “You should have run it over. We can’t leave it wandering around here.”

  “We could take it in the van and drop it off somewhere else…”

  “Too risky. That’s the sort of thing people would remember if they saw it. We need to kill it.”

  No! Not Dog too…

  “Surely not…we’d have to bury it…”

  “Yes. So? And why is Ric still alive? He’s looking at me.”

  “Emma, please, I’m doing my best. If I can’t find the diamonds and the papers I’ll need Ric to tell me where they are.”

  If Phil was not going to kill us until he had the passport and diamonds there was a flicker of hope. If he failed to find my hiding place (and how I wished I’d taken everything to the bank and paid for a deposit box) then we might last till James sprang into action. I couldn’t see Phil being much good at getting the information out of us. He was going to kill us the way a person kills mice; reluctantly and with distaste, not because he wanted to, but because we had to be got rid of. He was flustered, out of his depth, and not naturally violent. On the other hand, Emma was beginning to seem capable of anything.

  She surveyed Ric, coolly. “I’ll make him talk, if you can’t.”

  “I hope that won’t be necessary.”

  Emma said nothing for a few unsettling seconds, looking Ric up and down. Four brown eyes stared back at her.

  She turned to Phil. “Perhaps we shouldn’t kill the dog yet.”

  It seemed to get darker and colder. My ears buzzed. My breathing had gone funny and I wondered if I was going to faint. Phil took in what she meant. “Oh…surely…no…” He shook his head. “No…”

  “Why not? We’ve got to kill it anyway. Remember, it’s for our future together. I bet it’d be the quickest way.”

  “Yes, but…I just don’t think it’s…I’m sure we won’t have any trouble – he may well have left them lying around. If not, people hide things in obvious places, usually. If we do a thorough search…” Emma’s expression was not encouraging. His voice tailed off.

  After a moment she shrugged. “Have it your own way, if you’re going to be squeamish. I suppose we’ve got his girlfriend.”

  She walked towards me, and behind the sofa. Through the blackness round the edge of my vision, I saw Ric move convulsively against the tape holding him to the chair. Dog whined. I strained to see what Emma was up to. She seized a hank of my hair and twisted it painfully, forcing my head over the back of the sofa till I feared my neck would snap and I’d die. I heard a muffled sob before I was aware of making it. When she let go of me and rejoined Phil she was smiling. “It’ll work. He’d tell us now if he hadn’t got tape stuck over his mouth.”

  But he couldn’t because he doesn’t know…it would be my decision, God help me, and as soon as I tell them they’ll kill us…I can’t cope with this, I don’t know what to do, maybe I should tell them about James after all, but then they’d be waiting for him…

  Emma’s manner became businesslike. “Right, so first we’ll finish off the dog. Then put them in the van, and I’ll help you load the motorbike, and we’ll go to the outskirts of Slough to dump it. If we don’t hang around we can get there while it’s still nearly dark. After that we’ll go on to London.”

  “There’s no need for you to come.”

  “Oh, I think there is. You’re too soft. Now get the dog.” She looked around, and picked up a silver candlestick, testing its weight.

  Phil approached Ric’s chair cautiously, arms out. Dog, streetwise from his days in Marseilles, eyed him thoughtfully, and hopped on to the floor. Phil made a grab at him; Dog dodged, speeding up, paws a blur. Emma swung the candlestick with deadly intent, but he swerved out of reach, sped round the room and bolted into the shadowy garden.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Phil said, gazing after him, not seeing Emma’s look of scorn. “He’ll wander off.”

  At that moment the doorbell rang. Ric and I looked at each other. I expect my eyes held the same desperate hope I saw in his. For an instant Phil and Emma didn’t move, then she turned off the light while he gently closed the French window, turning the handle so it made no sound.

  Dear God, get us out of this and I’ll believe in you.

  The bell rang again; a pause, then someone kept a finger on the bell push for a very long time.

  Emma unhooked the tasselled tie-backs, and drew the curtains over the windows. Phil picked up his gun. The bell stopped.

  Please G
od, don’t let whoever it is go away.

  Seconds ticked by; maybe a minute or two, maybe longer. My eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness. Some of the tension went out of Phil and Emma; he lowered the gun, and she moved towards the door.

  “Where are you going?” Phil’s voice shook.

  “To see who it is.”

  “Don’t let them see you.”

  “Of course I won’t. I’m not stupid.”

  He opened his mouth to say something more, and was interrupted by a small scratching outside that seemed loud in the hushed room. They both froze. After a moment Phil turned to Emma and whispered, “It’s the dog. He’s come back.”

  Then the silence was split by a yell like charging cavalry, and a crashing, splintering noise as the window burst in. Something shoved against the curtain, a hand pulled it up and I saw Jeff Pike extricate the patio chair he’d used as a battering ram, drop it with a clang on the stone flags and jump into the room, covered in splinters of wood and glass. Simultaneously, the French window opened. Dog scooted through it and over to Ric, keeping the opposite wall from Phil, then James’s blond head appeared between the parted curtains. A quick glance round, and he hurtled towards Phil, bringing him to the floor with a bone-crunching rugby tackle. When he stood, he was holding the shotgun. Phil staggered upright and leaned against the wall, blank-faced.

  “Stay there,” said James curtly. Emma backed towards the door. “And you, please. Don’t move.” He walked to the nearest lamp and switched it on, his eyes searching the room. “Caz!” I could see he was shocked to the depths of his civilized soul.

  At the same time Jeff said, “Ric! Shit!”

  James laid the gun on the sofa and gently pulled the tape off my mouth. His concerned gaze met mine. “Are you all right?”

  Tears poured down my face. In my entire life, I have never been so glad to see anyone. He was so sane and solid, the embodiment of safety and normality. I nodded. He got out a penknife and cut me free. When he’d finished, Jeff took the knife and cut through Ric’s tape, with Dog jumping up and wagging his tail. It took Jeff some time; Phil hadn’t stinted on the tape. I’d have needed an hour to hack through it with broken glass behind my back. Phil watched, pallid and irresolute, his face more lined than I remembered, facing total disaster. Emma stood a little apart from him, biting her lip, eyes darting about. Two people bereft of power, who’d had our lives in their hands only minutes before. No one said anything to them.

  James gave me a quick, comforting hug, then got out his mobile and dialled 999, keeping an eye on Phil. “Police, please…” He told them his name and telephone number. “I’d like to report two attempted murders…and false imprisonment, assault, theft of vehicle… Jeff, what’s the address?”

  “Rowan House, Cookham. Off Sutton Road.”

  James repeated it. “Phil Sharott’s house. Can you come quickly? No, we’re not. Yes, I’ll be here. He is. I’ll do that. Bye.”

  As Jeff removed the last bit of tape, Ric got to his feet and strode across the room to Phil like an avenging god.

  “Give me my Harley keys.”

  As soon as Phil had handed them over, Ric punched him in the face. He slammed against the wall, slid down it to the floor and lay still. Ric faced Emma. I thought for a moment he was going to hit her, and so did she by the way she blenched; but he turned and came over to me.

  “Caz…”

  I wrapped my arms as tight as I could round him. Locked in his embrace, feeling his warmth, smelling his skin, the relief I felt was inexpressible. I didn’t ever want to let him go. The nightmare was over, and we were alive. A minute or two later I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, James and Jeff standing side by side watching us. Jeff put his hand on James’s shoulder.

  “Tough shit, mate.”

  “Indeed…” James replied, pensively, his eyes still on us. “My sentiments exactly. Commiserations to you, too. Do you suppose it’ll last?”

  “No chance,” Jeff said, hopefully.

  James sighed. “You’d better have a drink, before the police get here.”

  “Hey, I’m sober, man! More or less. You saw me driving, I was fine.”

  “Just in case. Let’s all have a drink.” He went to the drinks cabinet, got out four glasses and poured generous amounts of brandy into them. Jeff walked to where Phil lay and kicked him, muttering obscenities. Emma shrank away.

  James brought the drinks over. “I know how you feel, Jeff,” he said, over his shoulder, “but that’s probably not a good idea. Come and have some brandy.”

  One last hefty kick, and Jeff joined us. “Cheers.” He took a swig, and lit himself a cigarette. “Well, this is nice.”

  I let go of Ric, and reached to take my glass. Maybe if I looked I might find some salted nuts… No one paid any attention to Phil supine on the ground, and Emma immobile against the wall; it was as if they weren’t there. Myself, I’d have preferred them to be in another room – especially Emma – but we’d have had to tie them up, and the police would arrive soon, so it wasn’t worth saying anything.

  “Caz, your hands…” James sounded appalled, and I could see why; they were covered in blood. “Did he do that?” For a moment I thought James might assault Phil too.

  “No, I tried to cut the tape with broken glass.”

  “Finish that drink and I’ll find something to bandage them with.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” I said. “Just surface cuts. Stings, though. Jeff’s are worse. Shouldn’t we put a tourniquet on his arm?” He had jagged cuts from wrist to elbow dripping dark blood on to the carpet, and another on his chin.

  James took hold of his wrist and examined it. “Some of these are quite deep. Let me put something round it.”

  “Can’t be arsed,” Jeff said. “I’m not going to bleed to death.”

  “Why did you go through the window?” James asked, curiously. “You should have tried the door first, old chap. It wasn’t locked.”

  “Boring. I like smashing things. What shall we do now? Trash the place?”

  “Nah,” said Ric. “Could be it belongs to me.”

  “I’m not sure I should drink this,” I said, swirling my brandy. “I don’t know what Phil injected me with. I still feel a bit funny.”

  “He injected you?” James frowned. “I’d better ring for an ambulance.”

  “Hold on.” Ric put his glass down, crossed the room and crouched by Phil. He yanked his head off the floor by the front of his polo shirt and slapped his face a few times. Phil groaned.

  “Wake up. Listen to me. What did you inject into Caz?” When there was no reply he shook him, hit him again, and repeated the question.

  Phil’s eyes opened. “Ketamine.”

  “Sure? How much?”

  “Five millilitres.”

  His head thumped to the floorboards as Ric let him go and rejoined us. “It’ll be pharmaceutical ketamine, supplied by legit Asian manufacturers. An anaesthetic, they use it on third world battlefields. You’ll be okay – but don’t drink the brandy. It’ll make you sick as a dog.”

  James took the glass from my hand, put it down behind him on the drinks cabinet, and poured me an orange juice. I’d have preferred the brandy.

  Ric turned to Jeff. “How did you know to come here?”

  “Your phone was off, so I went to Vikki’s gaff. I rang the bell, and Jas opened the door. I was like, what the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I thought you wouldn’t get my note till the morning,” I said to James. “I thought by then we’d be dead.”

  “I wouldn’t have done, but my downstairs neighbour had her handbag stolen at a club. I’ve got her spare keys, so she rang my bell at a quarter to three, and when I went to let her in, I saw your note with my name on.”

  “Lucky or what? Awesome…” Thank you, God.

  “It said wait till the morning, but I was worried. I went straight to your flat and got the papers you’d left. Then I was really worried. I knew you wouldn’t want me to call th
e police. I’d just about decided to drive to Cookham when Jeff turned up. We joined forces.”

  “Dream team,” said Jeff. “He’s the muscle and I’m the brains…”

  “…with additional responsibilities for invective, illegal substances and velocity. We came in Jeff’s Maserati. Terrifying experience. We must feature on every speed camera from Hoxton to Cookham.”

  “They can’t do me for it. Matter of life and death.”

  “We rang the doorbell, then Dog showed up. He led us round the back, and we saw your van.”

  I picked Dog up and hugged him. We all grinned at each other, then Ric and I filled them in on the events of the night while we waited for the police to arrive. I don’t know if it was reaction, or the few sips of brandy, but I felt enormously cheerful, though admittedly it might take a few days for my legs to stop shaking. I checked in the mirror, and was pleased to see I didn’t look too terrible, all things considered. I went and washed my hands, and James found some plasters to put on them. Ric said he’d leave the gash on his head for now, and let the police doctor look at it. Jeff, ignoring the state of his arm wandered here and there, poking at things, trailing spots of blood. He picked up the shotgun and examined the engraving. “Purdey,” he read. “It’s second-hand. Fucking skinflint.”

  “Do us a favour, don’t point it this way,” James said. He and Jeff seemed surprisingly relaxed with each other. They must have bonded on the journey.

  Jeff took the shotgun to the remains of the window he’d demolished. “How d’you work it?” He fiddled around with it, then fired twice into the first glimmers of dawn. I put my hands over my ears. Dog, unable to do this, hid behind Ric. Jeff clicked the trigger a few more times and turned. “Where does he keep the ammo?”

  “No idea,” Ric said. “It’s okay, Dog, just a noise. Ask Phil.”

  I doubted he’d get much out of him; Phil lay comatose, breathing audibly, where Ric had left him, a darkening crimson patch on one side of his face. But – “Where’s Emma?”

  She wasn’t in the room; she must have sidled out while our attention was on Jeff firing the gun out of the window. Ric found the last of my duct tape and, with a certain satisfaction, secured Phil. Then we all went into the hall to investigate. James opened the front door; outside, beyond Jeff’s car, was the green circle of grass, trees and the curving drive in the misty pale golden light of dawn. Its peaceful beauty made me catch my breath; my eyes filled with tears; was it the remains of the ketamine, or because this was a day I’d not expected to live to see?