Persona Non Grata

by D. C. Grahame

  The afflicted man looked beyond the demon to see his comrade staring back terrified. Muffled and gaffer-taped to his chair.

  ‘Kingdom. Who is he?’ Hades asked, twisting the blade any moment the tortured man reached for it with his free hand.

  ‘I have no idea.’ he cried. His ignorance dictating another twist of the knife. ‘No, stop. I don’t know. They arrived out of nowhere. They’re not affiliated with any of us. I swear. We think they’re after the Jamaicans!’ The man informed and pleaded, grasping the cushioning of the sofa as if it was a stress toy. ‘Please. Word is they want to run the Londoner’s out of Kingsland.’

  ‘Why?’ Hades said. The reverberation amplified by Indy’s growing fatigue in keeping the man in place by way of the knife.

  ‘I don’t know okay. I’ve told you everything I know. Believe me.’ The man continued to plead. Breathing harder and harder as a means of coping with the excruciating pain.

  ‘I believe you.’ Hades replied, reaching his free hand out towards the gun resting on the kitchen counter.

  The gun flew through the air and into the palm of Hades’s hand. Black magic to anyone unaware of Felix’s innovations. In a single, fluid movement, the vigilante released the knife from his grasp and with his gun-wielding hand swung the shaft of it into the man’s temple. Knocking him out.

  Indy considered the whole exchange futile, with yet another lead running cold. Turning to face the witness behind him, who looked back in horror. Hades took a few steps towards him before exiting, casually resting the gun on the man’s taped-up lap.

  With the sun beginning to set, Indy marched out of the house and reached the alleyway. Playing with a phone in his pocket that was wired up into his suit.

  ‘Nothing. We move to plan B.’ His echo decreed.

  ‘Okay, lay low, and I’ll see you when I get back.’ John’s muffled voice replied.

  ‘You’re sure this friend of yours can help?’

  ‘We’ll see won’t we.’

  ‘Be careful John.’ Indy replied, ending the call as he retrieved his trusted, disguising raincoat.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  John walked down Grace’s front garden, tickets in hand to another event away from Kendrick. His scheme was becoming more and more apparent by the day now, and he knew that the time to accomplish his goal was limited.

  To his delightful surprise, the front door slammed open. It looked to be maybe round three of a routine blowout between her and the unwanted jock.

  ‘The hypocrisy coming out of your mouth is unreal.’ Kendrick moaned, exiting the house, followed by an irate Grace.

  ‘Whatever. You’re just trying to excuse your own actions.’ She yelled from the doorway, catching John making his way. Kendrick shook his head, seeing his rival ahead of him.

  ‘And our Disney prince arrives’ he commented, making his way passed John, brushing a shoulder as he stormed off. John halted him and delivered an inaudible whisper. Kendrick’s face dropped as he made his exit. A verse of words that appeared to gravely stir him.

  ‘You okay?’ John asked a jaded Grace, playing the unwelcome hero.

  ‘I’m fine. What did you want?’ She replied, too tired to engage in whatever game he was eager to play.

  George peeked through between his mom and the door, seeing John, he sprinted past her and down the steps.

  ‘John!’ he yelled excited as the father figure lifted him up and hugged him with one arm. Holding the tickets with the other. Grace looked to the street. Attempting to illustrate her indifference to the growing relationship in front of her.

  ‘I got three tickets to the England rugby game at Twickenham tomorrow. The package comes with a hotel stay, so no worries with the little man here. What do you say?’ he asked her. Knowing George’s enthusiasm would likely put her in an untenable position.

  ‘You have quite the skill-set when it comes to acquiring three tickets for things. And I mean the number three.’

  ‘I may have had to sell a kidney to purchase the third, but I didn’t think you’d let me take George on my own.’ he explained, baiting her into a response. She pursed her lips with her arms folded. Not in the mood and yet always admiring his transparent attempts to manipulate.

  ‘Two hotel rooms? Not one right.’ she asked.

  ‘I will make that call right now.’ he replied, implying it was not originally the case.

  ✽

  England 32, Samoa 14, and George was exhausted. Eva slid him gently under the duvet cover of their hotel bedroom.

  John in the main lounge of the suite unloaded all the boy’s souvenirs from the stadium shop onto the table. Grace closed the bedroom door behind her.

  ‘He had a good time.’ John noted with a smile.

  ‘He did. Like the convention, you invited us to before.’

  ‘It’s all good.’ John replied, checking out the souvenirs. Grace not wanting to play games anymore, put it to him.

  ‘Let me ask you something. How long are you going to keep doing this?’ She asked.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Care.’ She said concisely. John full of emotions, mistakenly let out a closed lipped chuckle before returning to his default, resolute expression.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘I know you, John. You think you have me. You think you’ve always had me. You think you’ve won.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve won anything. And I say that as a man who’s lost everything.’

  ‘Don’t give me that crap. A man who’s lost anything he truly cares about doesn’t walk in and out of people’s lives as if their hearts were revolving doors.’

  ‘I’m not doing that. I’m here. And if you ask me to stay, I won’t leave, I won’t go anywhere.’ He insisted. She smiled, both amazed and infuriated at his ego.

  ‘Jesus, you think I would do that. Ask you to stay?’

  ‘No. No, I don’t. I know you too Grace. I think you’ll tell me to leave to protect that facade.’

  ‘What facade?’ she said, stepping towards him as her blood reached a steady boil.

  ‘This one, this bullshit mask you wear. The one that pretends that this isn’t everything, that it hasn’t always been everything. That you don’t know that everything I do and have done has been for you.’ He stated, mirroring her angst.

  ‘You’re so self-righteous, you think you’re a real hero, don’t you. My guardian angel sent from the skies to protect me. Fuck your delusions Vinyar.’ She proclaimed, now up in his face. John was as angry as he was apologetic.

  ‘Okay G. You win. I’m the villain, always have been. But that doesn’t change the fact that I am and have always been in love with you. You hate me, fine. You never want to see me again, fine. But do me a favour, and stop pretending like you haven’t been enjoying my heartbreak. Fuck your vengeance.’ he reflected back to her, making a grand exit to his own suite.

  The longest night of either’s life. Grace laid on her bed, staring at George’s face beside her, a tear falling across her cheek. The boy was, in her eyes, overgrowing with every passing day. With each fleeting moment, she saw his father’s resemblance deepen further.

  She pictured John like her wide awake, unable to sleep. Regretful and hopeful.

  It didn’t have to be like this she believed, climbing out of bed and heading into the lounge. She perched herself on the sofa, wondering why he hadn’t returned. That he hadn’t opened the door, picked her up off the ground and done everything he was so desperate to do to her.

  The room was silent and motionless. She would be here all night, sitting and yearning for closure of some form.

  Tired of wearing the mask. She leapt up and grabbed both her and John’s spare room cards, keen to finalise affairs, for better or worse.

  Opening his door, she felt both apprehension and excitement as she hovered in the darkness of the small corridor that led to his bedroom. Readying herself for whatever reaction he would exhibit. She knew getting the first word-in would be paramount to controlling the liaiso
n.

  ‘John I...’ She called out before pausing. Astounded to see him star-fished across the bed, sound asleep and snoring. ‘Are you kidding me?’ She mouthed to herself, shaking her head. ‘Your loss Vinyar’ she ceased, marching away from the foot of the bed.

  About to leave both insulted and semi-heartbroken. She paused once more and gathered herself. Composed, she reversed her path and walked around the bed. Picking up a pillow that had fallen to the floor. In one quick Thor-like move. She slammed it on to John’s head, causing the terrified admirer to fly up and flip a foot high in the air.

  As he crashed back to earth, his petrified body dropped backwards, falling off the mattress, onto the floor. He looked to the source of his attack, seeing Grace’s angry stare.

  ‘What the hell’s wrong with you!?’ he questioned, panting hard.

  ‘You win John. Goodbye.’ She said, heading for the door.

  Realising his nodding off to be the final straw, he leapt from his crouched position and followed her.

  ‘Why are you here?’ He enquired, knowing the answer.

  ‘To leave.’ She said, gripping the door handle, opening it. John pushed the door closed, hindering it from opening.

  ‘So leave and win. Or stay, and lose.’ He declared removing his obstruction.

  She loathed the action, not of his obstruction, but rather his concession to let her leave.

  Both literal and symbolic, she felt his letting go, his forfeit, his loss. She spun to face him and kissed his startled lips.

  Thrusting her body zealously against his. She felt his hands grasp and slide up her thighs as he lifted her up off the ground and against the hotel room door.

  With Grace fast asleep beside him. John looked at the alarm clock, watching it strike three o’clock. Late for a nocturnal meeting, he climbed out of bed and grabbed his clothes, making a soundless exit. The click of the door latch, however quiet, echoed just enough to awaken her.

  John casually walked through the hotel’s ground floor, fastening his belt as he smiled at cleaners and the late-shift concierge.

  Outside the grand foyer of the hotel, a man awaited him, suited and polished in a long, expensive overcoat. He sat patiently waiting on the bonnet of a shiny black Mercedes.

  ‘I hope you appreciate this John. Twickenham’s as far south as I can afford to go.’ The man explained, a kind, friendly tone, projected from a rugged, middle-aged man.

  ‘I always appreciate you, Louis. Have you managed to dig around?’

  ‘Yes.’ Louis confirmed. ‘Kingdom’s who you thought he was. Financed by our friend, who in turn is funded by us.’

  ‘Surely that’s it now. They’ve got to pull the investment. The kid’s gone too far.’

  ‘The old man won’t pull out of anything John. You know that.’

  ‘What about the vigilante?’ John asked.

  ‘Zachariah’s talk of Guardians is endless. But other than that they seem indifferent, patient almost.’ Louis replied, noticing several hotel workers step out for a cigarette.

  ‘Guardians, in Kingsland?’ John said with a rare trepidation.

  ‘Possibly, why? Wait. Do you know the guy in the mask?’ Louis asked curious.

  ‘No. Just sounds extreme is all.’

  ‘Extreme? I can understand that. I mean, look at what happened with just two of you down there.’

  ‘Isaac spoke of awareness, about the old man’s agenda. Do you think Zachariah knows?’

  ‘I don’t know, and to be honest, I don’t care. That’s your last I-owe-you card used up, just stay out of trouble John, I can’t vouch for you anymore.’ Louis advised and concluded, climbing into his car, an eye on the hotel staff who looked on.

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’ John replied as his associate departed into the night.

  On his return to the hotel room, he wondered how to explain Kingdom to Indy. Conceding that maybe it wasn’t time to do so.

  Reaching his hotel room, he quietly opened the door to find his bed now empty and made. He could only sigh to himself, collapsing onto it in his trademark starfish formation.

  ✽

  Crossing a bridge over the city’s concrete river basin, Heracles sat in the back of his SUV with a look of urgency. On the phone to his London associates with his position now heavily scrutinised. He demanded they provide him with both the respect and resource needed in dealing with the Kingdom crisis.

  The Yardies were nervous. This was different from Isaac Kane and his conventional, petty drug warfare. The Kingdom and his followers were fanatical and unforeseeable. Heracles had lost six men in just three weeks.

  His initial approach was to blame the vigilante. Whose brand had been supposedly replicated and evolved by Kingdom and his followers. But recent thoughts had him journeying to other candidates, some closer to home.

  He agreed a long time ago with Frank that if they were to do business. They would be exclusive in their exploitive motives for one another. The boy would utilise Mads solely for his father’s network. And never, ever go near a single Ka member looking to resurge their movement. A prospect the Yardies would never allow during their tenure in the city.

  ‘Call Frank.’ he ordered Jay, who had been pleading for Heracles to see sense and retreat to the capital.

  ‘It’s ringing.’ Jay replied, handing the phone to his lead.

  ‘Hello?’ Frank’s voice passed through the speaker.

  ‘Frank. We need to meet up. We need to find a solution to Kingd-’ he uttered, unable to finish the sentence.

  Heracles and his colleagues felt gravity shift. An extreme pull that came from the right-side, rather than from the beneath them. With the SUV in mid-roll, hit by something far more substantial than itself. Their bodies ploughed against the chassis of their vehicle.

  ‘H? H?’ Frank called out on the phone, his voice now buried amongst flames and metal collapsing.

  The driver dead, Heracles shrieked in pain. Realising that Jay, with blood pouring from the top of his scalp was also gone. He crawled out of the car, catching and slicing his leg open on a knife-sharp surface as he ejected. Unable to stand and walk, he looked up to the suspecting lorry and peered through its front window, seeing no one. A fluke hit and run, he hoped.

  In pressing need of medical care, he crawled down the centre of the road, hoping for someone to spot him. Blood gushed out of his thigh and cascaded down his trouser-leg, leaving a streak of blood behind him.

  Defeated, he ceased his crawl and rested in the middle of the road, looking up towards the night sky. At peace, he didn’t flinch as his SUV exploded nearby.

  Black smoke rose from the explosion and faded into the starry night sky. Heracles could only take the intensity of the moment in and blend it with the serenity of the starry sky. He felt his legs weaken significantly followed by his waist beginning to numb. He had accepted his fate.

  A dying man with nothing better to do. He tried to register the star’s constellations, spotting Orion’s belt and navigating from there. In what felt like hours of calm appreciation, Heracles had lost several litres of blood in a few swift seconds. His focus on the stars began to wane, and he readied himself for the exit.

  To his right, he heard the sound of slowly paced footsteps increasing in volume. His cinematic frame of the stars was now obstructed by the sight of a bleach-white scowl looking down at him.

  ‘No, please. I’m done, I’m done. Let me have this.’ Heracles pleaded, looking past Kingdom and towards the sky. Kingdom pointed his pistol towards Heracles’s face.

  ‘Look at me.’ His voice echoed. Heracles reluctantly shifted his eyes to meet him. With a shared glance, Kingdom promptly fired several shots in a merciless, absolute direction.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It would be called the month of reckoning. A city held meaninglessly in limbo, fuelled by terror.

  Indy sat patiently on the 13.05 train from Kingsland to Heming. A commute he was now taking almost every day to see Eva on her lunch break.

  Opposite h
im, a young couple sat arguing over whether it was worth risking the multiplex for date night. He tried not to listen-in, nor appear to be trying to do so.

  As the train reached the city’s edge. An older man took a seat nearby. Opening up his newspaper with elbows up in a means to block anyone grabbing the seats adjacent. Indy from the other side of the carriage, scanned the front page.

  OUR DARKEST MONTH - KINGDOM STRIKES AGAIN - WHO IS THE WHITE MASK?

  The paper asked, causing a frustrated Indy to look out the window to the city. One of the skyscrapers sported a dark smoke from its roof. Indy watched as several helicopters began to orbit it.

  ‘Dear god’ the girl opposite him announced to her partner, who followed her pointing finger.

  ‘Again?! What is happening to this city?’ her boyfriend questioned.

  ‘That’s what happens when a buffoon dawns a mask and tries to chase criminals around the city. The criminals hide in their crevices before returning with their own ostentatious rules.’ The paper-reading man muttered with his eyes still on the paper. Speaking with a moan more inconvenienced than distraught. The woman could only take exception.

  It was bad enough that the baby-boomers owned every house in the city, leaving them with renter’s scraps. The aged now felt they could preach their babble about such dire times.

  ‘Hades was trying to be a hero.’ she informed, ‘more than most of the city’s maturer generations managed to accomplish’.

  ‘Lisa, don’t get involved.’ Her boyfriend snapped, not wanting the drama. Something Indy could relate to, once upon a time.

  ‘A hero who calls himself Hades? What good is a hero if he doesn’t have the balls to show up the moment we need him? Just another loser whose spent too much time at the movies.’ The elder rebuffed.

  ‘When did he call himself a hero?’ Indy delicately intervened, causing all to look to him silent before facing back to events outside.

  The train was always a perfect place to gather the latest opinion polls. Eavesdropping on current affairs and gathering the real facts on what people thought.