The Unquiet Heart

by Gordon, Ferris,

  I was within ten yards when the door shot open and Eve was bundled out by a muscleman with her hand rammed up her back. Her face was contorted. They were closely followed by the man in the white tuxedo. The thug at the door grabbed her other arm and pulled. She was stretched between them, two heavy paws on each slim wrist. They looked like they were going to make a wish. I closed the gap in a heart beat.

  The SOE taught me how to disable an opponent. It’s easy, one-on-one, in the dark, coming up behind with a knife in your hand. This time there were two of them, facing me in the full glare of the chandeliers. Fortunately Eve was making enough of a fuss to distract them. But the odds were still worse than on any of the card tables around me. This was no time for Queensbury Rules or the variations thereon at Les’s boxing academy.

  I went for the one on the right. He was standing feet well apart and legs straight to take the strain of holding Eve. I ran directly at him, got within three feet, pivoted on my left leg, drew my right up towards me and lashed out low and hard. My heel drove into his knee cap and I felt it give. Knees don’t normally bend backwards. The big guy squealed and fell like a tree hit by an axe.

  I followed through on my pivot to end up facing the second goon. He’d dropped Eve’s arm and moved into a crouch. His right arm was already digging inside his jacket. I didn’t think he was reaching for his fags.

  I kept my momentum going. His head was now level with mine and I took one big step forward and lunged. The human skull is a helmet coated in skin and hair. It does a great job of protecting the brain, as my own scars can testify. The strongest area is where the forehead rises to the hair line and slopes back. The most vulnerable point is the nose. It juts out, bone and gristle, just asking for trouble. It’s why the Normans and their ilk had a flap of steel hanging down from their helmets. This bloke wasn’t wearing one.

  My forehead hit his nose with the power of a mallet. I felt it burst and explode, and he went down with blood erupting from his face. Adrenalin made the whole action take place in slow motion. I bent over, slipped my hand inside his bloodied jacket. and pulled out a smart little Beretta M1935. Semi-automatic. Fires .32 ACP ammo from an 8 cartridge magazine. Has the stopping power of an old lady’s handbag beyond twenty feet, but it’s easy to conceal and deadly up close. We captured thousands from the Eyties and Jerry.

  I stepped back panting, surveying the havoc and only now hearing the first screams of women behind me. Why do women do that? Though not all women; Eve was staring at me as if she was curious what I’d do next. She was rubbing her wrists thoughtfully.

  The bloke with the knee problem was writhing around, clutching his leg and cursing. I hoped he didn’t have an England trial the next day. The other one had pulled himself back against the wall and was trying to staunch the bleeding with a red-soaked hankie. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. I held the gun steady in two hands but aimed at the floor. Didn’t want to cause serious injury.

  The man in the white tux was looking like he’d explode. More goons were running towards us from the front door. I moved to put my back to the wall, dragging Eve with me and tucking her behind me. I lifted the Beretta up and aimed it steadily at white jacket’s head, looking straight into his mad eyes. He was plump and sleek with grey streaks contrasting perfectly with slicked-back dark hair. There was sweat on his brow. His mouth was snarling like a wolf eying a pet rabbit that had miraculously strayed into its den at dinner time.

  Keeping my eyes and gun on him I turned my head to the crowd and called out, “Touch me and he’s dead!”

  The rush towards me stopped. I glanced round. It was like a firing squad. Five of them. They must have bought a job lot of Berettas. I could see the gears of their peanut brains grinding round. They’d been trained in a limited range of actions. They were trying to decide whether their boss was in worse trouble if they shot me or if they didn’t. Their preference was to shoot me anyway, then beat my corpse to a pulp.

  “Easy, boys. Easy,” I shouted. “Fight’s over. These blokes were manhandling my girl. I don’t like that. But it’s over. OK? We’re going to leave here quietly. No one else gets hurt.” I turned back to white jacket. “OK?”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of them step forward, the one from the door. He flexed his shoulders and I could see his trigger finger going white. I straightened my gun arm so that the barrel was two feet from his boss’s head. White jacket’s eyes widened. He got the message.

  “Enough, Len! Put the bloody gun down!” White jacket sounded for all the world like the man who ran the Italian chip shop in the Gallowgate. “All of you!”

  Eve took her chance. She stepped out from behind me and took my arm, my free arm, not the gun arm. Her accent was pure upper class. “Oh, darling, there’s been a terrible mistake,” she gushed in her ritziest tones. “I thought I was going to the loo. Silly me! These men were having a private game of cards or something and I must have broken their concentration.”

  It was such an outrageous speech that I nearly laughed out loud. No one else seemed to think it was funny, especially not the two groaning heavies on the floor. I looked round at the ring of muscle that surrounded us. I could see doubt appear on some faces. They were having to think so much I feared their brains would seize. But they lowered their guns.

  “But she said she was with Mr …” the door-guard began.

  “Shut it, Len!” white tux cut him off. He looked us up and down. “I know who she is. I seen her face enough in that rag she writes for. Lies, all lies. But who are you, pretty-boy? And who gave you the side parting?”

  Eve cut in. She dropped the accent and the attitude. “He’s hired for the evening. He watches my back, Gambatti.”

  The name was no surprise to me. Eve had planned this all along. How did she know he’d be here tonight? Maybe Gambatti was always here.

  “Better mind the front too, missy.” He leered at Eve’s cleavage and got a reverential chuckle from his boys.

  “That’s enough, Mister Gambatti,” I said moving between him and Eve and sliding my hand under her arm. “We’re leaving now.”

  “Good. Saves having you thrown out. Len, see them to the door. Find out how they got in. Make sure it don’ happen again. And get these idiots out of my sight.” He pointed at his disabled men.

  “Smile and walk,” I said to Eve. I slipped the Beretta into my side pocket.

  We began to move forward, slowly. The circle of goons parted and we stepped between them, like an honour guard. The hushed crowd moved back as we made to the door. The bride and groom. Though no one was tossing confetti and no one was smiling. Except us, in a forced sort of way.

  “What a story!” she hissed.

  “You are a mad woman.”

  “You did the violence!”

  “You knew he’d be here. Why didn’t you say?”

  “You’d have gone all pompous and talked me out of it. I’d have missed a story.”

  “Pity you can’t use it.”

  “Don’t be crazy. This is front page.”

  “What exactly?”

  “Look around.” She had a point. The room was awash with money. Until we’d interrupted play these chattering socialites were bent over spinning wheels or sitting at green baize tables studded with cards.

  “Eve, we’ve just poked a tiger with a stick. He’ll rip our heads off!”

  “He wouldn’t dare. I’m too public.”

  “I’m not. And I have to work in this town. I have enough enemies.”

  We reached the front door. Two big men held it open for us and glared at us as we sailed past. I thought about tipping them but they might not have seen the funny side. I felt my back itch all the way down the stairs and out into the road. I prayed they wouldn’t think it smart to put a bullet in my back. As we made our leisurely getaway I turned to her. She had to know.

  “Speaking of enemies. Someone is having you followed.”

  It got no more than a tightening of her lips but it was enough to tell me
she wasn’t as surprised as she now made out.

  “Don’t be silly. People don’t like my column, but it doesn’t make them my enemy.”

  “They’ve been following you for at least two weeks.”

  She stopped and shook her head. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Danny.”

  I stood in front of her. I took her hands. “Princess, they could have been around long before that, but I was so… well, let’s say I had my blinkers on.” I smiled at her. “I could have missed them.”

  “You are crazy, Daniel McRae. Why would anyone follow me? Where are they, then?” She swivelled her head round looking for them. “Yoohoo! Come out, come out wherever you are!”

  The sarcasm surprised me. Why was she being so perverse? After what we’d just been through? “You won’t see them. They’re good.”

  She poked me in the chest. “I think you’re seeing things. But if you want to play big brave protector, that’s OK. Take me home, my hero.”

  I did, and we made love, but something had changed. She clung to me in the night as though tomorrow was D-Day and I was leaving for France. And over scraped toast, marge and meat paste in the morning she was cool. As though she’d stepped back from me and was watching from a distance.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “Is it the story? You want to splash Gambatti’s name around? Go ahead. It’s your skin. But I’d rather it stayed on your back. I love your back.”

  “It’s not Gambatti.”

  “Are you worried about being followed?”

  “Danny! Let’s stop this! I am not being followed. All right?”

  “Why are you so angry? I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “You’re upsetting me with all this stupid detective talk.” She saw she was getting to me and her face softened. “Just a bit hung over I expect.”

  It was a hangover that didn’t improve. Over the next few days, she made excuses and wouldn’t even see me, far less make love to me. When we finally met I couldn’t get through to her. She would smile but not with her eyes. It was as though a sadness had settled on her that she couldn’t share. We still had the watchers but she wouldn’t believe me. Didn’t even want to talk about them. I guess that’s what made me do it.

  It had been a week since we’d made love and we were walking towards her office after a desultory sandwich and tea at the coffee house on the Strand. I had used up all my weak attempts at humour and we were quiet with each other. I wanted to shake her and find out what was going on in her head. But I was scared what I’d hear. Then I saw one of them. He was keeping pace with us on the other side of the street. I waited till a bus came between us. I scuttled round the back of it, sidestepped a car and grabbed the man by his lapels as he turned to face me.

  “Who are you! Just who the fuck are you, pal? Why are you following us?” My face was an inch off his. I watched the shock turn into amusement.

  “What the hell’s going on, buddy? You limeys drink too much at lunch time, you know that?”

  His American accent threw me. I began to loosen my grip. “You’ve been following us for weeks. Don’t give me that phoney yank stuff!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, buddy. Now, unless you take your goddamn hands off me, I’m going to call the police.”

  “Danny! Danny! What the hell are you doing?” Eve was running across the road, careless of the traffic. She reached me. Her face was red and angry. She dragged me away.

  “Sorry, mister. Sorry. He’s OK. Just had a bad day.” She hauled me along the pavement. “What are you doing? You’ve gone mad, Danny. I don’t know you any more. This is crazy.”

  “I’m crazy? What’s happened to you? We had it all. We were good. Are good. But you’re in trouble. Don’t you see it? I know what I’m doing. This is my job, Eve! Trust me!”

  “Stop it! Stop it! There’s nothing!”

  We were shouting at each other. Tears were running down her face. I scraped them from mine. I knew I had to shut up or lose her. But all I could do was go on and on about how I needed her and how I feared for her. Every word I said was killing us, sending me further from her. Her eyes were full of pity. I rambled to a halt, my chest heaving and my tears blinding me.

  She spoke softly now. “Danny, we need a break. From each other. Just let it go.”

  “No, oh no. Please…”

  “We must…”

  “We mustn’t. Don’t do this.” I gripped her arms. I couldn’t let her go. If we parted now, it was for good.

  “I have to. I have to go. Just give it a few weeks. Don’t call. Don’t come round. Just give us time.” She pulled free and was already turning away. I should have held her, hugged her to me till the madness left us. But all I could do was stand like a dummy, watching her go. Watching the best thing in my life walk away from me.

  I don’t know how I got home, but I picked up a bottle of Red Label on the way. I threw my jacket off and loosened my shirt. I got a jug of water and a glass and sat them beside my chair. I took the first gulp without water and felt it rip my throat. I gazed at my bed and saw us, saw her, tumbled and lovely on the cover. I couldn’t accept this was the end. I’d find a way. I’d drop all this shit about followers. She thought I was mad. Maybe I was. Maybe this was one of the side effects of the head wound. Prof Haggarty would know. That’s it; I’d call him and ask his advice. But that would be tomorrow. Right now there was nothing more I could do than wait to get drunk.

  TEN

  Either I hadn’t drunk enough or drank too much, but it didn’t make me happy. And for a guy who once had problems with his memory, I found it pretty hard to forget every turn of her body and every shift and shadow of her mobile face. I slept, but the dreams were bad; some of the old camp ones crept in and scared the shit out of me. I felt the big boulders piling up all round me and I couldn’t get past them and they kept moving slowly on top of me to hem me in and smother me. I kept waking up gasping for air, and retrieving the quilt that seemed to be having nightmares of its own.

  I was glad of daylight, though it brought a mighty headache. I had a raging thirst and gulped at the water pouring from the tap. I threw more water on my face and fought back the nausea. I needed to do something, anything, but it was too early to try Haggarty. I made a big bowl of my father’s patented hangover cure: porridge. Still in my singlet and pants, I cleaned the flat from top to bottom, realising as I did how long it had been since the linoleum had seen a mop. I played the wireless as loud as it could go until the pips went for nine o’clock, then walked through to my office on the still-damp lino to place a call to Professor Haggarty.

  “Vivienne, it’s Danny McRae. I need to talk to the Prof. It’s important.”

  I could hear her sucking her teeth at my use of her first name. “Professor Haggarty is with a client. He couldn’t possibly be interrupted. You have an appointment next week. I’m sure it can wait.”

  “Viv. I said it was important. Can you please get your boss to call me back? I must talk to him.”

  I swear she sniffed. “I can’t promise. It’s most unusual. I will speak to the Professor when he has a moment and see what he says. But his diary is very full.”

  Full of more important people than me. I retreated to my bedroom. It was tidy but it still held after-images of her. I scrubbed myself raw over the sink, using the nail brush like a scourge as though I could rub her impression off my skin. I banged around making tea and toast, though I had no appetite for either after the porridge. I went hunting for the cat with a slopping bowl of milk, but even she had abandoned me.

  Finally Haggarty called back. The lovely Vivienne put me through, but she sounded as though it was costing her blood.

  “Right, man. How the hell are you? Are you in bother, now? Tell me about it. Do you want to come in? I can fit you in, no bother.” There was a side comment in a strained female voice, then, “Sure we can, Vivienne.”

  “Prof, thanks. Maybe we can do this on the
phone. I just wanted to know…” I began to feel stupid. What the hell was I going to ask him? “Look… there’s this girl I’ve been seeing.”

  “And you want to know if you really have been seeing her, Daniel?” He said it with a bit of a laugh but I didn’t see the funny side.

  He meant Valerie, the girl my beat-up brain had conjured to help me through the Caldwell case. “Others have seen us, talked with us. I’ve touched her. She’s real enough, Prof. But here’s the thing; I think Eve’s being followed. In fact I know she is. They’re pros. Four of them. They aren’t easy to spot but I know what I’m looking for.” Just as I had been certain about my ghostly helper.

  “Go on.” There was no hint of scepticism, so I pressed on.

  “She’s a reporter. A crime reporter. She’s upset some people.”

  “Why doesn’t she call the police?”

  “She doesn’t believe me. She says… she says I’m crazy. That I’m seeing things. That’s what I wanted to talk about. Is it possible? I mean with my history. Could I be imagining these men?”

  “I see. Well, you know I’ve always said what a mysterious thing the mind is…”

  “Spare me the philosophy, Prof. You’re the expert. What’s your opinion? Am I having a relapse?”

  His voice firmed up. “Based on what I’ve seen of you, Daniel, I would say no. The Valerie figure is explainable. She was your inner mind trying to get through to the damaged surface. As your brain mended, so Valerie appeared and helped you to solve the crime. But I don’t see your current mind needs to conjure up these… these stalkers or whatever you might call them. Unless they’re figures from your past. When you were an SOE agent, a spy. Are any of them familiar?”

  “No. And one of them… I confronted one of them in the street this week… that’s why I’m calling… Eve thought I had completely flipped. One of them had an American accent. It sounded genuine enough, but so what?”