Nurse Becky Gets Shot

by Gary Baker

Chapter 16

  Roger stood looking out of his hotel window thinking how lucky he was. From the sixth floor of the Tower Thistle hotel he looked down at the motor yachts moored in St Katherine's Dock. When he'd realised which hotel he was to be in he'd hoped for a room with a view of Tower Bridge. But this was better. The stuff of fantasies. Imagine owning and travelling around the world in one of these ladies. One magnificent dame could have fit several London buses on her deck and even had tinted windows so the plebs on the dock walking by couldn't see in.

  Roger watched a very ordinary looking couple - he wore shorts and a tea-shirt and pushed a stroller with a toddler, she was laden with shopping bags – get on board and disappear inside. Who were those people and why can't I have one? Only mine would have more chrome and some kind of flag with a yet to be designed family crest on it.

  Roger's reveries were interrupted by the flushing of the toilet.

  'You still there?' said Lenny from the bathroom. When Roger failed to answer Lenny dashed into the room still doing up his zip. Seeing Roger looking at him with some amusement, Lenny nodded and returned to the bathroom to wash his hands.

  Lenny's mobile phone, lying on a mahogany side-table, started to play the theme tune from Mission Impossible.

  Damn, thought Roger, that will be in my head all day now. Duurm duurm dum dum duurm duurm dum dum duurm duurm dum dum …

  Lenny jogged back from the bathroom and flipped the mobile to his ear. 'Boss?' he said.

  Roger turned back to the view. The shit should be hitting the fan about now, he thought.

  From Roger's vantage point, six floors up, the dark green water of St Katherine's Dock was mirror smooth. The typical white sky over London bleached the colours of boats, buildings and people. A huge luxury motor cruiser was moored to his right. A row of bright white motor and sailing boats was moored to his left breaking up the reflection of a milk chocolate brown row of shops and apartments.

  Lenny mumbled into his mobile. Roger tuned him out.

  A ripple in the water's surface caught Roger's eye and he noticed some wooden jetties had been placed so they sloped gently into the water. A pair of swans were nesting on one jetty, seemingly oblivious to the city around them. On the other side of the dock moor hens had similarly built a nest. Tourists ambled over bridges and sipped expensive coffee just a few yards from the birds. Amazing how wild creatures will set up home in what would appear to be the most alien of spaces. The wild birds had successfully tuned out humanity, mated, nested and reared young. Was this a glimpse of the future? Humanity spread across the globe like mould in a Petri dish; all other life reduced to living on small island rectangles of converted trees.

  'Yes, he's here.' Lenny's words cut through Roger's thoughts.

  Lenny had moved to the hotel door and opened it. Outside, in the hallway, stood a dark suited goon at least six feet four with shoulders the size of Madagascar. He turned his shaven head as Lenny spoke and Roger saw he had an ear-piece with a curly black flex disappearing under his collar.

  Lenny swung the door shut as the goon clamped dead eyes on Roger.

  Roger shivered theatrically. 'Who's that?' he asked.

  Lenny ignored Roger and continued to listen to his mobile.

  Roger watched as Lenny's annoying smirk was replaced by – what would you call that? Worry? No. Surprise? No. Seriousness. Lenny was suddenly very serious. He looked at Roger and immediately averted his eyes pushing the mobile closer to his ear.

  Roger turned back to the view. A familiar unease settled over him. Hands in pockets or hands out of pockets? Above the hotel, a small patch of cloud opened and a beam of bright sunlight javelined down to hit the flat, dark water in the centre of St Katherine's Dock. Illuminating nothing. A galaxy, a sun, a planet and a weather system had colluded for billions of years to produce an event that seemed pointless. But where was it written that everything had to have a point?

  Something was tugging at Roger. Lenny was pulling his arm up. Momentarily confused Roger watched as Lenny snapped a cold steel handcuff around his right wrist.

  'What … ?'

  Lenny manoeuvred Roger back towards the double bed. 'Sit,' said Lenny and as soon as Roger sat on the bed Lenny snapped the other side of the handcuff around the leg of the bedside table.

  'I can just slide that off the bottom,' said Roger.

  Lenny looked down at the table. 'Oh, fuck, yeah.'

  'We could move the chair next to the radiator under the window and then attach me to that,' said Roger.

  'Okay,' said Lenny and then did just that.

  When Roger was safely, and comfortably, attached to the radiator, Lenny sat on the bed and pulled out a cigarette.

  'It's a non-smoking room,' said Roger.

  'So fucking what,' said Lenny.

  Roger shook his head. 'Before I ask why I've been shackled in this inhuman way,' said Roger, 'I must ask you something.'

  'What's that,' asked Lenny.

  'Can I go to the toilet, please?' said Roger.

  'Are you taking the fucking piss?'

  'I'll be making the fucking piss, excuse my French, if you don't let me go to the loo,' said Roger.

  'Go on then,' said Lenny, challenging Roger to do as he threatened.

  With no hesitation, Roger stood as straight as his handcuffed arm would allow him, pointed his groin towards the centre of the room and pulled down his zip.

  'All right, all right, keep your pants on,' said Lenny moving to unlock the handcuff. 'Promise you won't try anything fucking stupid.'

  'I promise,' said Roger.

  Lenny unlocked the handcuff and Roger went into the bathroom leaving the door open. Normally Roger would have found it extremely difficult to pee under those circumstances but for some reason, today, it was easy.

  'So why am I suddenly being treated like an American litter-bug?' Roger shouted over his shoulder and the satisfyingly loud sound of his stream hitting the toilet water.

  'What?'

  'Why am I being shackled?'

  'You've been a naughty fucking lad, haven't you,' said Lenny.

  'Naughty?'

  'Well according to his lordship, you've somehow sent him an email saying his credit card details will be all over several kiddie-porn sites by this after-fucking-noon if you don't get your way. Is that right?' said Lenny, standing outside the bathroom door but not looking in.

  'That's some of it,' said Roger, shaking his penis. He zipped up, rinsed his hands under the cold tap, dried his hands on a very white hotel towel and palmed a small cardboard sewing kit container. Compliments of Thistle Hotels.

  'Some of it?' said Lenny, leading Roger back to the chair and handcuffing him back onto the radiator.

  'Nice view, isn't it,' said Roger looking out of the window.

  'Come on, killer, what else have you been up to?'

  'Not much. Just that and I may have transferred some cash to and from some very incriminating bank accounts,' said Roger holding Lenny's eyes.

  'Incriminating? How?'

  'Leonard Arthur Victor. LAV.'

  Lenny narrowed his eyes at Roger. 'How'd you fucking know that?' he said.

  'It's what I do,' said Roger enjoying Lenny's discomfort.

  'Don't make me kill you.'

  'Now that could possibly be the stupidest thing you could do,' said Roger hoping his voice didn't betray the nerves and fluttering he felt in his stomach. 'If certain things don't happen in the next two hours.' Roger spoke quickly.

  Lenny looked dangerous. Maybe he'd gone too far. The people at the top would think about the consequences but Lenny was a little more … emotional.

  'If I don't get to do my thing a lot of e-shit is going to hit a lot of e-fans,' said Roger. 'Emails, money transfers, credit card transactions, bank accounts emptied, bank accounts filled, nice clear audit trails, impossible to fake evidence that's as good as, some say better than, finger prints on a smoking gun.'

  Lenny reddened. Took a deep breath. 'You're bluffing,' he said.

/>   Roger also took a deep breath. 'Leonard Arthur Victor, born Feb 6th 1961. National Insurance Number W003498. A debit card and two credit cards held with The Royal Bank of Wales. FitBoySin at cool-mail dot com. That last one should really impress the arse off you.'

  Lenny put on his serious calm face. 'If you -' Lenny was interrupted by the big goon, who had been standing outside, breaking open the door with his back. Splinters flew across the bed as he crashed to the floor, dead before he hit it. A gaping hole in his chest. The noise of the shotgun blast followed the flying body into the room making Roger's ears sing and giving him an instant headache. Lenny had dived behind the bed and was shooting through the jagged opening where the door had once been.

  Panic rose in Roger and his mind fractured. Roger B calmly took over, whistling the theme tune from Mission Impossible as he opened the sewing kit, pulled out a safety pin and pushed it under the clasp on the handcuff which sprang open enough for him to pull his hand free.

  Lenny still lay behind the bed, his gun hand raised and firing blindly through the doorway. The odd black suited figure jumped in front of the hole and fired a shot at the bed. Roger B thought, sod this and picked up the chair he had been sitting on and hurled it at the window. With an immensely satisfying crash the window shattered, instantly lowering the temperature in the room and letting in the smells of St Katherine's Dock and its fetid water six stories below.

  Roger took a step back, leapt onto the windowsill and hurled himself through the opening. A single thought went through Roger's fractured minds: Keep your feet together, sunbeam.

  Roger looked at the sky, raised his arms. Make like a shuttlecock and I should stay upright. The descent took an age before he plunged feet first into the filthy cold water. It was deep enough! But Roger had been holding his breath from the moment he left the window and swimming upwards fully dressed was using a lot of energy. A calm descended on Roger as he thought that he wasn't going to make it. He was going to drown. Then he broke the surface, filled his lungs, coughed and set off for the dockside. The water dragged at his suit and brogues making progress agonisingly slow.

  Helping hands pulled Roger from the water. A sharp pain in his right buttock and the world went black.

  Chapter 17

  Roger woke slowly. He was lying on his side in a very comfortable bed. His head was under the covers. Roger moved a leg to scratch his knee. He recognised the mattress. He was on one of those mattresses that have a layer of foam which holds the shape of your body for a short while after the weight's been lifted. What do they call that stuff? It's not cheap. Roger had a mattress like that at home. He was home. It was all a hideous dream! Harry? Harry will probably still be asleep in his bunk bed. Or he may have sneaked out of bed and be downstairs watching Yu-Gi-Oh.

  An itch. Roger's knee was inaccessible. There was material in the way. He was wearing pyjamas. Roger didn't wear pyjamas. Preferred to sleep naked. He wasn't in his bed.

  Roger pulled down the quilt and sat up. He was in a small room – barely big enough for the double bed. It was daylight outside. Roger could see the light round the closed curtains. His right buttock was sore. It wasn't a dream. He had left Harry, he had killed the girl, he had planted those software Trojans, he had jumped out of a sixth floor window.

  That jump was amazing. Very Tom Cruise. Next time, though, he'd breath on the way down.

  The Trojans. Shit, what time was it? If they've timed out and fired off the emails his bargaining power will be down to zero. Roger looked at his left wrist. No watch.

  He slid his legs over the side of the bed. Nausea and dizziness slowed him. He stood gingerly and looked through the curtains. Squinted against the glare. A scruffy back-garden came into focus. It was the same bright grey sky as earlier. A door opened behind him.

  'Good, you're awake.'

  Roger recognised Julia's voice. 'What time is it?' he asked.

  'Half past two,' said Julia.

  'Okay,' said Roger. 'We have until five. Why am I wearing pyjamas?'

  'Don't you remember, Batman?' said Julia dryly. 'You got wet.'

  'Yes,' said Roger rubbing his head, 'jumping in the water will do that to you.'

  'This way,' said Julia.

  Roger followed Julia downstairs into the back room of what seemed to be a typical three-bedroomed semidetached house. Fitted beige carpets throughout, with neutral colours on all the walls. Roger felt like he'd dropped into the end of an episode of House Doctor. What would have been the dining room had been extended and the extension held a desk, chairs and a couch.

  Julia sat down on one of the chairs in front of the desk. 'Sit on the couch,' she said. 'Please.'

  Roger, still full of sleep and drugs, did as he was told.

  'I take it,' said Julia, 'that the five o'clock deadline refers to the emails you - or your Trojans or whatever you call those programs of yours – sent me?'

  'That's right,' said Roger. 'The deal is simple. Bring Harry to me, keep us safe and happy and I'll reset my little chums every month. Otherwise … ' Roger let the word hang in the air but it didn't sound as good as when the characters on television did it.

  Julia steepled her fingers and looked at Roger.

  'You're having trouble with your memory,' she said. It wasn't a question. 'I can help you.'

  Somehow Roger knew Julia could help him.

  'Lie down,' she said. Roger lay down.

  'I'm going to make you relax and remember,' said Julia.

  And Julia talked.

  Her words washed over Roger. Caressed his mind like a soothing balm. She conjured up Roger's quiet place. Images of a long white beach, leaning palms, a gentle breeze, a falling coconut, surf caressing his bare feet. Sunshine, on my shoulders, makes me happy …

  And there it was.

  Like an unexpected thunderclap in glorious surround sound.

  *

  Roger was doing the school run in his black Land Rover Discovery. Harry was in the back seat. His second day at his new high school. His haircut was barely three days old. Everything he wore except for the jacket, tie and shoes had never been worn before. Shiny and new and ever-so-slightly too big. Roger had to turn away with a tear in his eye and fake a cough when he first stood back from straightening Harry's tie. Jennifer would have been so proud of him. She would have wetted her thumb and tried to make Harry's cow lick sit down just like she had with Roger on their wedding day.

  Slight Jennifer. Slim and pale. Small and completely sexy. Jennifer's heart had stopped with Harry's first breath. Roger's mind had collapsed with shock and only allowed him to wake two days later.

  An exchange had been made. The physical creature that was the object of Roger's love, lust and worship had been replaced by a glorious baby boy in her image. What had been Jennifer would only ever inhabit a small corner of Roger's mind.

  Roger tilted his head up and looked through the rear view mirror at Harry on the back seat. Jennifer would have been proud. You must be very proud, Jennifer.

  Harry had moved up from the junior school and was in with the big boys now. He chatted happily about some new friends he had. They liked Yu-Gi-Oh too. They had special Egyptian God cards. The best cards to have, apparently.

  They were running a little late. The mobile phone, secure in its hands free cradle, started to play its polyphonic imitation of Green Sleeves. Must change that one day.

  It was Julia. Roger pressed the green button. 'Morning Julia,' he said.

  'Morning Julia,' shouted Harry from the back seat.

  Julia acknowledged Harry then turned her attention to Roger. Had he worked it out yet?

  There was a particularly difficult code Roger was working on which failed under some circumstances. Roger was finding it hard to capture the pictures the codes evoked. Normally it was like watching a film but this one was elusive. Like the DVD player kept sticking. Julia soothed and prodded Roger in an attempt to coax his mind into giving up the secrets that only years of supercomputing could emulate. She was obviousl
y getting a lot of pressure on this one. She'd never shown such urgency before and was breaking her own rules about pushing Roger's fragile psyche too hard. She knew Jennifer had become an important element in Roger's mind. Jennifer had become the librarian. The keeper of facts. Roger's savant memory. Without the Jennifer component of his mind, they both knew he could barely perform.

  Added to which, Harry was starting a new school and this was distracting Roger. Making him recall Jennifer as she was before she died. Not as the useful dispenser of facts and calculations needed for him to perform his miracles of code making and breaking.

  Roger pushed back. All I'm doing is taking Harry to school for goodness sake. Couldn't this wait fifteen minutes! And no Harry, Julia knows nothing about Yu-Gi-Oh! I'm sorry Harry. I didn't mean to snap. Look Julia, I'll call you back when - There was a cyclist in the road. A girl with a bright orange satchel on her back was about to disappear under the Land Rover's long black bonnet. Roger's body reacted seemingly independent of thought: his arms dragged the steering wheel to the right as his foot stamped on the brake pedal, the Land Rover swerved and teetered on its two left wheels, Roger corrected to the left and the Land Rover levelled and bounced back onto four wheels. The girl! Have I hit the girl on the bike? He couldn't see her over his shoulder. There she is in the wing mirror. Wobbling but safe. Thank God. He was on the wrong side of the road. There was a lorry coming. A dark green lorry with gold mirror writing on the front. And there was nowhere to go, girl on the left, parked cars on the right, and the brakes weren't stopping him fast enough. The lorry was still coming and Roger swerved the Land Rover violently to the right again, trying to squeeze between the parked cars and it was tipping over. Jesus! We're not going to make it! Bangs and crashes and insane jerks and tumbling …

  Roger hung in the seat belt. The engine screamed. Harry? He turned his head. Just a light brown blur. His eyes were inches from the interior roof of the Land Rover. A beige felt-lined roof he'd managed to keep clean until now. Roger struggled against his seat belt. The steering wheel pinned his right leg. He couldn't see around the buckled roof. The Land Rover was upside down.