by Gary Baker
Mr Auxiliary was scanning ahead. On tip-toes, trying to locate Roger.
Mr Auxiliary turned to face him as Roger tapped him on the shoulder. 'Fancy a go on the basket ball thing?' Roger asked. His plan was to make Mr Auxiliary feel more comfortable about him being out of sight for short periods.
Mr Auxiliary shook his head. His eyes gave nothing away.
'Suit yourself,' said Roger.
They continued to stroll along the crowded stalls. Roger occasionally asking Mr Auxiliary if he would like to 'have a go'. Confident the answer would always be no.
Roger began to feel impatient. Wanted to meet with Julia, ask about Harry. He headed for a section where the crowd was thickest, crammed with children vying to get into the large fibreglass mouth of a play area in the shape of a blue whale. Roger squeezed past the children, prams, balloons, mothers, fathers, grandmas, and dogs fighting against their leads. It worked. Again. Mr Auxiliary was completely distracted, turned right around trying to keep his dark coat away from the oversized lollipops and ice-cream cones brandished by hysterical children.
Roger ducked around a teacup ride and towards where he vaguely remembered the fun house to be located.
He slipped quickly between the crowds only slightly aware of the screams of the riders on the roller coaster clattering above him.
He found himself standing in front of a traditional carousel. An exuberant waltz played by electronic Oompah musicians encouraged him to move forward, come see me, ride on my magnificent gilded geldings. Wide eyed children clung to the garish, yo-yoing horses and scanned the crowds fizzing by for mum, dad, grandma. Look at me. Look at me. Harry would have loved this thing.
A grey haired lady in a full length beige coat guarded an empty pram next to Roger. 'Excuse me,' he said. 'I don't suppose you know where the fun house is, do you?'
'Burned down, love,' she said. 'In ninety one I think.'
'Really?' said Roger. 'That's sad. I used to play in it as a child. Did they build another one somewhere?'
'Don't think so.'
'Thanks.'
Shit. Julia thought there'd be a fun house too. But it burned down years ago. What now? What would Julia do?
From another ride or store, just under the sound of the carousels' waltz, Roger could just hear Olivia Newton-John singing, 'Let's get physical, physical, I wanna get physical, let's get into physical'
Good idea. Let's get visible, visible.
Roger headed for the carousel. Shouldn't be a problem, thought Roger, timing his jump so one of the poles was passing right by him. With his left foot on the first step and his right hand grabbing the fast moving pole Roger instantly realised he'd misjudged the whole manoeuvre and the forces exerted on his badly balanced body were just going to be too much.
The carousel shrugged off Roger's advances, patted him effortlessly away and left him sprawled on his back, his head resting on someone's shoe.
'Nice move, Roger,' said Julia looking down at him. She helped him up as children pointed and laughed and adults told them not to be rude while suppressing their grins. 'There's a seat over there.' Julia guided Roger to a plastic bench where they sat down. Well below the level of the crowd, a moving wall of people protected them from prying eyes.
'You look nice,' said Roger sincerely. Julia was a slim, attractive middle-aged lady with grey eyes and flowing dark brown hair. Her expression was serious but tiny creases around her eyes and mouth told of numerous smiles. She wore a cream suit with a plain white blouse. Pale brown tights covered pale, fit legs. A dancer's legs.
Julia took hold of Roger's hand. A moment of tenderness made Roger realise he had not had emotional contact with another person since before leaving Julia and Harry. How long had that been now? And how soon Heather, the stocking-top girl, had been forgotten. Not forgotten, just reassigned. The night with Heather, though exquisitely carnal, was, if Roger were truthful, devoid of any sympathetic emotional content. Heather was a great shag. But little else.
The simplicity of holding Julia's hand, the gentle intimacy of contact, made Roger's shoulders visibly relax. He realised he was clenching his teeth, making his jaw hurt. Relax. Deep sigh. Roger just wanted to go home. He felt Julia's hands relax too and he looked into her smiling eyes. Yes, home.
'Let's go home, Roger,' said Julia gently.
'Yes,' he said. Then a thought struck him; 'Harry. Who's looking after Harry?'
Julia's eyes continued to smile. 'Now Roger, don't you worry about that.' The tone was slightly patronising and Roger felt himself tense once more. 'Let's just think about getting home,' said Julia, 'and getting back to normality. We have a lot of work to catch up on.'
'Work?' He supposed he must have a job of some kind. 'What do I do?' he asked.
Julia patted his hand. 'You're obviously very tired, Roger,' she said. 'When we get home we can relax and gently bring it all back, okay?'
Roger tried to look through the memory-door. Swirling, murky darkness. Like a foggy scene from Great Expectations, said Roger C. You don't want to look back there, said Roger B. Too much trouble.
A small ripple of panic crept up from Roger's stomach. What is it that's so bad? What happened back then? Back then? It wasn't that long ago.
'What did I do?' asked Roger again. 'What did we do?'
Julia sighed. 'Roger … sit back, relax.'
Roger did as he was told; gripping Julia's hand.
'You are a very talented and important individual, Roger.'
'Important to who?'
'You're important to me, Roger; to your friends, to your colleagues and to your country.'
To my country? 'Am I in the army?'
'Roger, we don't really have time for this. If you could just trust me and come home with me we could work on this together. All will become clear, I promise you.'
This was incredibly frustrating. 'I want to remember.'
'And you will, Roger. You will.' Julia's voice was oh so soothing. A warm, chocolate brown soothing voice.
'I know what you think my talent is. You think I can do complicated maths and decrypt messages really quickly.'
'Yes, Roger. Those are some of your skills, certainly,' said Julia patting Roger's hand.
'But you don't understand. It's not really me. It's a voice in my head.'
'Roger, we shouldn't pursue this right now. We need to get you home as quickly as possible.'
'No! I need to remember. I need to tell you something.'
Julia sat back, dropping Roger's hand. 'Very well, Roger. Tell me.'
'The problems, the pictures and symbols, the answers all come to me from a voice in my head. From voices in my head. It's not me. It's as if I have a radio in my head that someone can use to talk to me. And they must be able to listen to and see what I see and hear, too.'
'Roger … ' Julia tried to interrupt him.
'No, wait, there's something else. When I need help or guidance or need to know where something is I talk to … a girl. I talk to her with a … thing … like a hands free telephone. You know; with a speaker in your ear? And sometimes I visit her somehow.'
Julia nodded. 'Jennifer.'
'Yes,' said Roger in shocked surprise. 'How did you know that?'
'Jennifer helps you with some of the more complicated problems, too, Roger.'
'Yes.'
'In fact, Roger, if Jennifer is not available, for whatever reason, you can't … perform.'
'No.' Roger tried to remember Jennifer more clearly.
'I'm going to sound like a broken record, Roger, but we really should be going.'
'Tell me what I did. I need to know.'
'Very well, Roger, very briefly. Then you must promise me that we should go. Okay?'
Roger nodded.
Julia took a deep breath. 'Roger, you work for the government. We, work for the government. We work on … projects which are deemed very sensitive and so need the highest level of security in areas relating to communications.'
'I'm a code breaker.'
'More than that Roger. You build codes which only you and a supercomputer given a hundred years can break.'
'Sounds a bit silly. All eggs in one basket silly. If anything happened to me there could be messages and communications that couldn't be interpreted.'
'Which is why we want to take such good care of you, Roger.'
'We?'
'Yes, Roger. Me, as your partner and the government as your employer.'
'You said maths and cryptography where just part of my talents? What others are there?'
Something suddenly changed. Roger and Julia's private huddle was no more. They looked up at two figures, their stillness stark against the milling crowd.
Mr Auxiliary, inches from Roger, had the stance of a gun-fighter. He mirrored the stance of a man in a light brown suit standing opposite Julia.
Roger thought they looked mildly comic standing there like a couple of spaghetti-western gunslingers.
The crowds squeezed past, not touching. Oblivious.
Nothing changed but suddenly Roger was frightened. We've been rumbled, said Roger B. Run! said Roger C.
Roger stood, quickly. Julia stood too and grabbed his arm. Mr Auxiliary grabbed his other arm. Mr A narrowed his eyes.
Oh, shit.
From nowhere, it seemed to Roger, the two Misters had knives. Large, lethal, dark bladed knifes. And they were fighting. Knocking people out of the way. Thrusting and parrying. Spinning and ducking, silent and emotionless. Women with children screamed, girls on the roller-coaster screamed.
Julia was pulling at his arm. 'Roger. Come quickly,' she said.
Roger resisted. 'No, I can't. They've threatened to kill me and Harry if I don't do what they want.'
Julia tugged at Roger's arm. 'Snap out of it, Roger!'
Mr Auxiliary tripped over a child, rolled and was on his feet again in one easy motion.
'See, Roger,' said Julia, 'your man's being taken care of. We can protect you. Come with me, now.'
Roger watched as the two men once more came together in their deadly dance. He pulled his arm away from Julia. 'I can't,' he said. 'This was a mistake.'
'Roger!' Julia snapped. 'Come now or they will hunt you down and you will go to gaol and you will have no light, no books, no Harry, no contact, nothing. Come now or you will rot in gaol!'
Roger looked at Julia, tears in his eyes, a pain behind his sternum. 'No,' he said.
And Julia knew Roger meant it. She looked at her man fighting with Mr Auxiliary, and back at Roger. She jumped at Roger grabbing him in a bear hug. Locking her fingers behind him.
Roger stood, hands in the air, unable to walk but with Julia's small firm breasts pushing into his stomach.
Jeez.
Somebody in the crowd shouted, 'My God. Call an ambulance someone. Stop them.' Men held their arms up to hold back and protect the people. But no-one stepped forward.
Mr Auxiliary's opposite number was lying on the floor, his right hand tried to stay gouts of blood pumping from a severe neck wound, his left hand gripped Mr Auxiliary's ankle. Mr Auxiliary lifted his left arm, pulled back the dark sleeve and looked at a six inch gash in his forearm. He pulled the torn sleeve back down in disgust then stamped hard with his heel on his stricken opponent's arm bending it unnaturally. Someone in the crowd screamed. From the agonised expression on Mr A's face the arm was broken.
Mr Auxiliary turned to Julia clamped around Roger. A lightening fast punch to the back of her neck and she collapsed around Roger's feet.
Mr Auxiliary's irresistible grip settled around Roger's upper arm and they left the pleasure beach quickly and without hindrance.
*
Mr Auxiliary left blood on the hand-rail of the tram they caught back to the Sea View Hotel.
On the ninth floor they entered an unmarked room. It was virtually identical to The Major's office in the underground complex.
Cigar smoke filled the air.
You're not a happy bunny, are you, thought Roger B as Mr Auxiliary pushed him in front of the Major's desk. Shut up!
The Major leaned back in his leather chair. His bulbous belly aimed at Roger. His fingers steepled, white around the nails and shaking ever so slightly. The pin-striped material in the upper arm of his suit bulged as his biceps strained to push his palms together. The Major's eyes were horizontal slits. His mouth a horizontal lipless line.
Why was The Major was cross? How had he known about Mr Auxiliary's fracas when Mr Auxiliary had not communicated, certainly not verbally anyway, during the ride back to the hotel? There must be other eyes watching Roger. Watching Mr Auxiliary too.
'Very disappointed, Mr Peerson,' said The Major. Roger flinched at the noise. The Major didn't inhale, there was no warning. He went from silence to speaking instantly. 'You force me to demonstrate how seriously I take your full cooperation.'
A familiar voice behind Roger made him turn. 'Hey killer.' Lenny Ludhoe with his dust-bunny hair. The thug from the pub stood next to him. The thug who had shot the mock-blonde during the struggle in the pub was winking at him.
Shock froze Roger.
The thug had a gun with a silencer attached. It looked way too sophisticated for him to be wielding. He pointed it at Roger then swung it quickly away so it was pointing at Mr Auxiliary.
Phuck.
A small black hole appeared in Mr Auxiliary's throat instantly followed by a plume of blood and flesh hitting the wall behind him. Roger could see in Mr Auxiliary's eyes that he knew. For a full two seconds the horror in Mr Auxiliary's eyes said, I've been shot in the throat and I am now going to die. And he did. Falling backwards, the upper part of his body crashing against the wall and smearing more blood in its wake.
Roger remained frozen. A thought from Roger B filled his brain: I am not going to die like this.
Roger B took over, forcing him to drop to his knees. 'Please don't kill me,' his voice said. He leaned forward and grabbed the thug's leg.
The thug raised his arms looking at Roger with disgust, 'Get the fuck off me,' he spat.
Roger brought one foot up from the kneeling position, pushed hard, swinging his right arm up between the thug's legs. Roger felt the alien softness give under the force of his forearm. The thug jack-knifed in agony. Roger's head continued up, the back of his head connecting with the rapidly descending face. It hurt like hell but Roger knew he'd broken the thug's noise. Now standing upright, Roger grabbed the thug's gun hand and forced his wrist round. Roger B marvelled at how easy this was. This murdering bastard was going to pay. Roger forced the silencer into the thug's mouth snapping the thug's front teeth off at the gums in the process. He looked into the thug's watering eyes for a heartbeat and, with his thumb placed on the thug's index finger, forced him to pull the trigger.
The back of the thug's head mixed with Mr Auxiliary's remains. Roger held on to the gun as the thug fell from his grip.
This was easy-peasy. This feels good.
The Major ducked behind his desk and Roger fired twice into the leather desk pad. Phuck, phuck.
Roger spun round in time to see Lenny duck out of the hotel room door. Roger followed him out into the corridor. Lenny was out of sight but shouting for help.
Roger headed for a door marked 'Stairwell'.
He headed down the stairs two at a time. Shots thudded into the wall and floor around him. A familiar chuck chuck chuck. Roger fired over his shoulder. Phuck. A gasp followed by something heavy hitting something hard. That was lucky! Keep going, keep going. Used to go down stairs fast like this as a kid. Two steps at a time. On the edge of disaster. No problem. Unless you get your heel caught on a step then your foot is forced forwards and you run the risk of tearing the tendons on the front of your foot. What is that bit called where the front of your foot meets your shin? Concentrate! Two steps, two steps, round a bend, two steps, two steps, round a bend. Total concentration. Don't stop. Keep going. Jesus, Jesus. Woa! Can't go down any further. Roger crashed through a fire exit and found himself tripping and stumbling over rubbis
h bins and squishy, foul smelling black plastic bags. He was in a narrow alleyway; behind him a brick wall; ahead was light coming through narrow, black, wrought-iron gates. He had dropped the gun. Somewhere in the stinking heap of black bags. No matter. Roger's lungs were hurting and gasping and the fetid smells were making him feel sick. He threw his shoulder against the iron gates. They yielded noisily and Roger careered onto the street where people averted their gaze, exaggerating their squint against the evening sun and hurried their progress.
Roger stopped, took a deep breath, turned away from the hotel and, leading with his left shoulder, made his way quickly through the late rush-hour crowds. His heart raced, the sick feeling from the smell of the alleyway was fading.
What the hell had just happened?
That was great!
People are trying to kill me! Who is that over by the car! Who is that turning to look at me by the shop window! All these people! Who are they! Which of them wants me dead!
Roger was getting his breath back. Over to you, said Roger B.
Panic immediately started to win and Roger could feel his brain; feel the fear as dark streaks sliding and darting just under the surface of the undulations of the grey matter. Roger held his head in his hands his body paralysed. Roger B laughed. Roger C screamed.
Roger's conscious mind switched off. He stood still, lowered his hands, serene as Buddha, half smiling at the evening sun. His unconscious had taken complete control, was keeping him safe, like when it took over the driving while his thoughts fantasized and flew.
Body relaxed. Shoulders down. Easy breathing.
When he was calm again Roger found he was looking at his own reflection in a shop window.
He noticed a figure squatting against a wall, broom handle legs folded impossibly tight, a dark cowl of dreadlocks, ancient boots.
Looks so thin. Mr Thin, you look worn out.
Roger patted his pockets, looking for change.
Mr Thin wore a denim shirt opened to show necklaces of dark beads, black string, silver chains. A grey-streaked beard fused into his gaunt face. Quick green eyes. Tattoos testified to a previous life. A previous time. A time of colour, a little money, a future. He fiddled with his sleeves. Mumbled into his chest. Directly in front of his boots sat a clay bowl placed on white card. Bright white, reflecting the sun, leaving spots when Roger looked away.