Missing Dad

by J Ryan

  ‘I can’t remember what Dad looks like. Have you got just one pic I could have? Please?’

  She nods, biting her lip. ‘I’ve got them locked away.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum. About the driving.’

  Her voice has a weary sadness. ‘So am I, Joe. If I’d told you sooner about your dad, things might have been different.’ She catches me in a hug that’s surprisingly strong for her tiny build. And for a few brief moments, I feel a bit less like a shipwreck in a Force Nine going on Hurricane.

  Mum comes again in the afternoon, and her eyes look like she’s been crying as she takes an envelope from her handbag. ‘It must have been taken more than ten years ago. One of his colleagues is in the picture… I don’t know who it is.’

  ‘Do you have any kind of hunch what’s happened to him, Mum?’

  Her eyes are faraway. ‘Your father was always half in love with danger. It seemed to make him feel alive, in a way that the ordinary things of our existence did not. But now, if he’s in severe danger, the last thing he would ever do is bring it home with him.’ She kisses my forehead. ‘Now I’d better go – have to get tea.’

  As soon as she’s gone, I rip open the envelope. And find myself gazing into blue eyes full of laughter. It’s like Dad’s been caught cracking a joke with a mate; maybe the man in the background, who has grey eyes, dark hair and a smile that’s not quite a smile. Dad’s wearing a white top, his skin is tanned and his smile is open and trusting. Jack and I have his pale blond hair colour.

  Tears sting my eyes, and I understand why there aren’t photos of Dad all over the house. Even if it was safe to show his pictures, how could any of us bear to be reminded, day after day? I feel angry. Cheated. Did he chuck me up in the air, like celebrity dads do in OK Magazine? How much of us can he remember?

  But at least now I can look at him and feel comforted that it really was just him and me on that old bridge over the river. And I know it was his voice in my head that got me away from that horrible woman.

  Around eleven in the evening, Wonder Nurse comes in with a smile on her face, and a tray. ‘This should help you to get a good night, Joe.’ I’ve been prescribed burger and chips. Every insomniac should be on this.

  I’m in a comfortable doze now, half-listening to the rattle of trolleys being pushed past the door, the clink of cups and glasses, and nurses talking quietly as they take tea and medicine around. Then it’s all quiet, apart from a faint humming. Maybe it’s a generator; it never quite goes away.

  Something’s changed. The light… there’s more of it in my room than there was just now. My eyes half open, I blink, and everything’s a blur. But there is definitely more light. Little by little, without a sound, the door’s opening. Perhaps it’s Wonder Nurse with some more ice cream. But I’m sure it isn’t. We’ve had all the food we’re going to get till tomorrow. And the door’s still opening.

  An enormous shadow slides slowly onto on the wall. Then a bulky figure in a black coat glides in so quietly, I can’t hear any footsteps. Now, it’s just standing there at the end of my bed.

  I lie so still, I think I might forget to breathe. I can hear my heart crashing against my ribs, so loudly that I’m sure this stranger can hear it too. I close my eyes again, because I have the feeling that the stranger can see if they’re open. I can hear breathing, and it’s not me, I don’t dare. I can smell something, too. Can’t work out what it is, my brain’s paralysed.

  Then, I can’t hear the breathing anymore. I open my eyes, and the room’s empty. The door’s closed again. All that night, I watch the slits of light around my door. It’s the longest night of my life.

  When bacon and eggs arrive for breakfast, I just stare at the plate. DI Wellington turns up a few minutes later. ‘The food’s not that bad, is it, Joe?’

  ‘I have to get out of here.’

  He frowns as I tell him about my uninvited guest. Then he goes to the door and closes it, muttering under his breath, ‘They didn’t waste any time, then.’

  ‘What d’you mean? Who’s ‘they’?’

  He takes the two-way radio from his belt and hits a button. ‘Dave? When you’re ready, son.’

  ‘Are you saying you know who that dude was?’

  He walks over to the window and parts the blinds. ‘Not yet. But we know enough now to take a few sensible precautions.’

  ‘Have you found out about her?’

  He looks out of the window. ‘Leah Wilks. Kicked off her PE instructor’s college course for assaulting another student. Got in with the wrong types, and went from bad to worse. She’s known for being unpredictably violent. She’s now a driver for a group of people in Bristol who are not the types you’d want to party with, Joe. She was doing a delivery for them in Stroud, that night.’

  ‘It’s drugs, isn’t it?’

  DI Wellington turns away from the window to look at me. ‘What makes you think… ?

  ‘I had these mates who asked me to drive them places sometimes. I know I shouldn’t have. And I always wondered if they had some stuff on them, but I never asked.’

  He shakes his head, his eyes sombre beneath those bushy eyebrows. ‘Joe, none of this is in any way your fault. Get that into your head. Plus, the local dealers who are known to us are bit players compared to the people you’ve had a brush with.’

  ‘So… who are they?’

  ‘They’re part of something far bigger, we know that much. Now listen, Joe. Wilks will be out on bail tomorrow. We’ve questioned her, but she won’t talk. Too scared of her employers, probably. However, she’s attracted so much police attention that she’ll be no more use now to whoever’s paying her. ‘

  ‘Is that bad news for her?’

  DI Wellington’s voice is grave now. ‘It could be bad news for you, Joe. Organisations like this never forget. They’re a kind of Mafia. They won’t be at all happy about their driver being involved in an investigation that could lead the police to them.’ His glance goes briefly towards the door, then back to me. ‘They could be looking for revenge, Joe. We’re taking that possibility seriously. You need to take it seriously, too.’

  ‘D’you mean that dude… last night… ?’

  Quick, heavy footsteps in the corridor, the door swings open and Robocop powers into the room. I stare at this Man in Black who’s towering over me. And at the 9mm revolver in his belt. DIW says, ‘Joe, meet Dave.’

  A grip that could crush solid rock like cornflakes imprisons my hand. Dave grins, ‘How’re you doing, mate?’

  ‘Dave will make sure that you have no more unwanted visitors while you’re in here, Joe.’ DIW gives me his card. ‘And once you’re out on your own, call me if you’re worried about anything. Anytime.’

  Dave grins at me again, as DIW leaves. ‘And you will tell me if my jokes are a pain in the neck, won’t you, Joe?’

  That night, I keep hearing Mum’s voice in my dreams, all jumbled up with DI Wellington’s…‘working against some very powerful criminals… organisations like this never forget…’. But it’s not like I feel scared this time. I’m tingling all over at the idea that somewhere in all this could be a clue that might lead me to Dad.

  ‘Your poor old car.’ Becks peers in through the open window, and wrinkles her nose. ‘Smells even worse than before.’

  ‘They’ve probably disinfected it. Takes a pretty good immune system to go over my car and look for clues.’

  ‘What clues?’

  ‘Well, you know. Her DNA?’

  She withdraws sharply. ‘Eeugh!’

  It’s creepy to see my car right next to that woman’s again. The police garage is littered with bashed up cars and bits of car. On the other side of mine, there’s a Merc SLK with no bonnet, and just a huge hole with dangling hoses and wires where the engine was. Next to her Peugeot, a red Ferrari looks like it’s had a too-close encounter
with a tank. Behind us, there’s a double decker that must have thought it was a single decker, just before it tried to go under a low bridge that had no such idea.

  DIW has disappeared into an office and now he emerges holding a carrier bag. ‘You can have these back now, Joe. We didn’t think you’d want the empty crisp packets, though.’

  In the bag are my CDs and an old hoodie that was in the boot. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How’s the neck?’

  ‘It’s coming good.’ I finger the brace. Wonder Nurse and Dave both signed it before I left the hospital yesterday. Dave wrote, ‘Chin up, Joe!’ Very funny.

  ‘Have you seen anything more of your visitor, Joe? Any kind of hint that he’s still around?’

  ‘No. It was good having Dave outside my door. I got some sleep after that.’

  DIW’s look takes us both in as he says, ‘You could still hear from these people again, Joe. When the Wilks case comes up, you’ll be called to testify against her as a witness for the prosecution. There could be some of her people in court. And they’ll be watching you.’

  ‘And you’ll be there, watching them watching me?’

  Becks grabs my wrist behind my back and twists it so hard I swallow a yelp. At least it’s my left arm.

  DIW’s not joking at all. ‘Yes, Joe, we’ll be there, watching everyone. But we don’t know yet what they’re part of. We can only wait for them to make their next move.’

  As Becks and I walk down to the bus station, she takes my hand lightly, no hint of GBH this time. ‘So, what’s happening in the Joe department now?’

  ‘I’ve got a temp handling shipping orders in this place that makes ball bearings, or something. Dave gave me a hand ringing round, while I was stuck in the hospital.’

  She frowns. ‘But you’re not excluded now that they’ve caught that woman. And school’s not over for two more weeks.’

  ‘I’ve got a note from the hospital. And the teachers won’t miss me, Becks. I’m not exactly one of their great A star hopes.’

  ‘I’ll miss you, Joe. I’ll call you tomorrow night. Take care.’ She squeezes my hand, and the warmth of hers comes as a shock. I hadn’t realized how cold I was.

  Chapter 4

  A Message from the Underworld

  ‘Coffee, Joe?’ Lenny puts the plastic cup beside my keyboard, with some sugar packets, as I type the columns of figures into the spreadsheet.

  ‘Thanks, bud.’ I break my Mars and hand half over. He bites into the chocolate, and sits down with his coffee.

  Lenny could be a boxer: shaved head, broken nose and a scar below his right eye. He’s black but he was born in London, has a big brother, Jamie. Lenny does packing, while I slave over a nervous computer that keeps crashing. They gave me a desk job because they said I had a disability, so I couldn’t work in the warehouse. I wondered what on earth they meant before I realized it must be this neck brace that I can’t wait to get rid of.

  ‘Plannin’ to be ’ere for a while, Joe?’

  ‘I haven’t really thought about it that much. I need the dosh, but I wouldn’t mind something a bit more, like, vibrant?’

  ‘Nightclub? Worked in one, once. Doorman.’

  ‘Is that how you got the scar, Lenny? Chucking people out?’

  ‘Nah. ’Elping Jamie. Accident.’

  ‘Does Jamie work here too?’

  ‘Nah.’

  I type in some more figures while Lenny munches on his Mars. Then he says, ‘Inside. Fitted up.’ He chucks his empty coffee cup in the bin. ‘Seen the new Bond, Joe?’

  We pick the new cinema in the middle of Stroud as it’s less far to go than Gloucester and they do better popcorn. As Lenny and I go in, a dark haired dude is stood at the door but he’s no doorman. I can feel his eyes on me and it makes my skin crawl. Then Lenny grabs my arm and propels me up to the ticket desk. ‘Keep away, Joe.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He ’elped fit up Jamie.’

  I don’t think any more of it until we leave the cinema and start walking up the road for a Big Mac. The street’s well-lit and yet I have an uneasy feeling that we’re being watched. Lenny takes quick glances behind from time to time. We round a corner to the street where the McDonald’s is and suddenly there they are: three big blokes in hoodies who look about as friendly as a Pit Bull that’s missed its dinner. They stand completely still, barring our way. The middle one looks like the dude who was standing at the door of the cinema earlier. He has a swaggering grin on what we can see of his face. ‘You ain’t grown up enough to be out this late, are yer?’

  Lenny says just one word, very quietly, ‘Move.’

  ‘Oh, I don’ think so. Not until this scum’s been punished for arse licking men in suits.’

  Thug on the left goes for Lenny and the one on the right lunges towards me. Next thing I know, I’m in a headlock that makes Wilks’ grip feel like a polite handshake. Through a blur I see Lenny kick his thug in the groin. As he goes down roaring in agony, Lenny grabs Thug in the Middle by the neck and bangs his head so hard on the wall I can hear the crack. I don’t see the head make contact because I’m staring at a knife that’s right in front of my eyes. My thug says to Lenny, ‘You move, he gets it.’

  Lenny just nods at the inert bodies on the pavement. ‘Two ’gainst one not good.’

  The knife wavers as Thug on the Right considers these odds, and Lenny lands a massive karate chop on his shoulder. The knife flies out of his hand and he howls with pain as he disappears up the road. Scrambling to their feet, his mates look at Lenny with undisguised fear and back away, breaking into a run.

  ‘The Big Macs are on me, Lenny.’ Sat at a table with our Cokes and burgers, I rub my neck while Lenny swigs his Coke as though this rather too-close encounter never happened. ‘Where did you learn to fight like that?’

  ‘Jamie. Why they after you, Joe?’

  ‘There was a hit and run in Stroud a week or so ago. I was the prime suspect because my car fitted the description of the one at the scene. Then, quite by accident, I happened upon the real hit and runner – her car was just like mine. I handed her to the police. They told me she was working for a drugs gang.’

  ‘You betta keep your eyes open, Joe.’

  ‘You mean, they’ll be back?’

  He nods, and I remember DI Wellington’s sombre warning. On the way home that night, I keep finding myself looking behind me, and I avoid taking shortcuts down narrow alleys. At the bus stop, I look at the other passengers, but there are no hoodies among them, just a couple of mums with buggies and an old guy in a crumpled mac who keeps whistling tunelessly. But as I get off the bus, a guy in jeans and a casual jacket follows. Flicking a glance at him over my shoulder, I glimpse dark, crew cut hair and an olive complexion. I speed up to get ahead of him, but he speeds up too, always staying about twenty feet behind me. The road is empty except for the two of us. We’re nearly at my house. But I don’t want him to find out where I live. So I walk right past the gate and on down the road.

  The nearest shop is the Co-op, where we get the bus to school. My heart’s thumping as I hear the sound of those footsteps behind me. I’m tempted to break into a run, but he could be faster. By the time I reach the Co-op I’m pouring with sweat. I walk quickly inside and he goes straight past. But that could be a trick. For a good five minutes, I wander up and down the aisles, getting some funny looks from the sales assistants.

  ‘Are you trying to find something?’ The skinny teenage girl stacking shelves frowns slightly as she asks.

  ‘Er, yeah… have you got any mint Aero?’

  She gives me a pitying look. ‘It’s next to the checkout, where it always is.’

  After I’ve bought the Aero, I can’t start roaming around the shop again, so I go to the door and peer carefully right and left. There’s no sign of him. But I still run all the way home
.

  ‘You alright, bud?’ Jack looks out from his room as I puff and pant up the stairs.

  ‘Just thought I’d try and get myself back into training. This desk job’s not good for my blood pressure.’

  Next morning, I’m back at the computer, typing in figures, my mind still hearing those feet. From out of nowhere, a coffee cup appears, and I jump a mile high.

  ‘You alright, Joe?’

  ‘Sorry, Lenny. I just thought I was being followed last night. And I’m wondering, is it always going to be like this?’

  ‘They scare you like that, they’ve won. That what you wan’?’

  ‘No, you’re right, Lenny. I’m not going to let them take over my life.’

  Lenny and me start to hang out some places together. We go to gigs, do some more films. We talk about how we could both get a better job than this, one day. Get rich, holiday in Antigua, buy a whole collection of exotic cars. Lenny fancies a Lambo. We often sit in my room, surfing the net. Then, one evening, we see it. It’s a new website, linked to the job agencies. It’s looking for drivers. And one of the ads hits me straight between the eyes.

  The gold Bentley Continental has lines so powerful it looks like it’s doing a thousand miles an hour when it’s just stood there. Holding the driver’s door open, like he’s just about to get in and drive the Le Mans 24-hour, is a chauffeur in a black uniform and black peaked cap. He looks about my age. I hardly notice the blonde girl in the background, with sleek hair, glittering evening dress and impossibly high heels. The ad goes:

  L’Étoile Fine Wines

  Chauffeur required for Chief Executive of exclusive French fine wines company based in Bristol. Advanced driving skills essential. The successful candidate must also be willing to work flexible hours

  It says to email the Personal Assistant of the Chief Executive of L’Étoile Fine Wines with your CV and a letter. She’s called Madame de L’Étang.