It was midweek. Wasn’t Wednesday the new Saturday? Cam thought he had heard that somewhere. Maybe tonight would be a good night to try going out. Although the city was always busy, Cam expected it would be a little quieter on a Wednesday.
He stood by the open window, taking in the air. He sipped his whisky as he thought up a plan. From his window he had been watching the groups of people walking in specific directions for weeks. They all tended to go one way in the evenings. He would follow the crowds.
He turned on his big screen television and switched it to the CCTV mode. He flicked through the various images. First he checked the interior corridors then the outside cameras. Everything was quiet. He finished his drink, put on his coat and left the apartment.
Cam followed the small groups of people as they made their way to wherever it was they were going. Cam had no idea where that was but hoped it to be the part of town that was for having a drink. As the young people laughed and enjoyed themselves Cam felt lonely and outcast. He nearly turned around to head home, but something kept him out.
The groups of people slowly joined on to the ends of various queues, which wound their way to the doors of bars, guarded by bouncers. Cam chose one that was shorter than the others. He waited patiently to be allowed in by the gorillas on the door. The queue was full of young kids, all a bit boisterous and full of drunken bravado. And the bar inside wasn’t much different.
Cam squeezed himself into a space and waited to be served with a drink. He fingered his wallet which was leaner after paying the small fortune to gain entrance. Glancing around, he could see only the backs of people having a good time. The pack was shunning him; he wasn’t welcome there. Five more minutes of blaring music and voices and he had to get out. One of the many drunken morons bumped into him as they pushed their way to the bar, he swallowed his drink and pushed his way back out on to the street.
Cam wanted to get home; as soon as he hit the fresh air he was making his way back – to somewhere that he controlled, where he felt at home, a little bit of sanctuary. He couldn’t believe that he paid for what he had just experienced – and so much more than he’d ever have expected. He hastily made his way home.
Back in his apartment with the door locked he calmed down. Here he could wait for his next job and nobody would disturb him. He poured himself another drink and walked over to his window on the world. As more groups of people headed in the direction from which he had just come, he sipped his drink.
The next few days passed with long sleeps during the day, waking with a sore head and red, dry eyes – yet still no call from Al. On the Saturday night he felt as if he should try again. He didn’t want to, but after a few lonely drinks he had an urge to be out – to be an ordinary person. He switched on his CCTV and flicked through the various views. All around his building he could see large groups of people milling around, an endless stream of them heading into town.
He prepared himself for going out, all the time thinking about the crowded streets. Checking his phone was on ‘loud’ and ‘vibrate’, he slipped it into his pocket and reached for the door handle. But something inside his chest stopped him. He couldn’t bring himself to open the door. He reached again for the handle but instead he checked the locks, making sure they were secure. He stepped back from the door. What the hell was happening? He lost his nerve and all he could do was return to the kitchen and pour himself another drink.
Cam’s nerve failed him; it was a new feeling. He felt what he could only describe as fear – but a different kind of fear. Of course he had been in far more stressful situations before and had felt scared. But this was different. He felt a paralysing fear of other people – unpredictable people. These were situations that he couldn’t control, at least, not in the way he knew how. He would wait for a quieter night.
That quieter night came the next Wednesday. He was watching out of his window and decided that this particular night was the best for heading out. Not too crowded with drunks, but busy enough to be around people. This time he would try to find a place where he didn’t have to pay to get in.
But as he watched through his cameras he saw something he didn’t like on the screen. A man was hanging around the underground car park. He was leaning against the wall, and looking in the direction of Cam’s car. Where he was he would have been hidden from Cam as he approached the car, but he was visible to the camera. Cam watched the man for over an hour, his plan of going out forgotten. During that hour Cam had fetched his pistol from his equipment room. He sat watching, sipping his whisky.
Cam decided that the man was up to something, and he had to check him out – see what his reaction would be to him entering the car park. He picked up the pistol from beside him on the sofa and went to the front door.
With his hand gripping the door handle, he felt the same rising panic he had felt earlier on in the week.
‘Pull yourself together!’ he mouthed to himself, through clenched teeth. ‘Open the door, open the door!’ With that, he swung the door open and slid out into the corridor. The door slammed shut and Cam tried to lock it. His hands shook as he inserted the keys and turned the lock until it clicked. With his safe area locked he felt exposed and vulnerable. All he wanted was to be back inside.
His back to the wall, he scraped his way down the corridor, metre by metre. He looked back to find he had only moved a couple of metres from his door, but he couldn’t go any further; he was sweating and frozen to the spot.
‘Come on, come on!’ he said, his eyes darting around warily. His heart rate increased; he felt cold and clammy. He could go no further.
After what felt like an eternity he darted back towards his door. Fumbling for the keys in his pocket he unlocked the door and threw himself inside, slamming the door shut. He clicked the lock closed, sealing himself inside and rushed to his wall-mounted plasma screen. The CCTV image now showed nothing unusual in the car park. The man had gone.
He flicked through the rest of the camera views but to no avail, he was nowhere to be seen. Cam even rushed to the window where he spent most of his time, but still nothing except the groups of youngsters heading out for a good time.
He decided to keep his pistol with him that night; he grabbed his empty glass and poured himself a drink. He thought back to the man he had been called to in Ambleside – the man having a panic attack. Cam had considered the man to be a bit pathetic, but here he was, scared to leave his flat. ‘Christ, it’s going to be a long night,’ he thought.
Chapter 19
Cam awoke with a start. He found himself lying on the sofa, still dressed from the previous night. As he jumped up his pistol fell to the floor; it had been with him all night. The light from the open blinds streamed in and burned his eyes. With the light blinding him and his hung-over head thumping, he pulled his phone from his pocket. Something had woken him up.
The screen was still blank, as usual. He saw as he touched the sensitive screen that the time was quarter past eleven. He put the phone down and heard the noise that must have woken him from his alcohol-fuelled sleep.
Knock, knock, knock; someone was at the door. Cam stood still for a few seconds trying to gather his thoughts. Was this it – what he has been waiting for? He didn’t think that was the way he would be contacted. Al said he would call him.
He took a step towards the door then immediately turned and bent down to retrieve the pistol that was still on the floor. He couldn’t remember what state he had left it in. Was it loaded, was there one in the chamber? This was not good – dangerous and unprofessional. Cam tilted the pistol over to the left and pulled back the slide just a millimetre or two. Inside the breach he could see a round, seated ready to be fired. He had left it loaded, cocked and with the safety off all night, as he slept with it in a drunken stupor on the sofa.
‘Jesus Christ! What the hell am I doing?’ he said to himself.
Now armed, he heade
d towards the door again, only to stop. Knock, knock, knock. Trying to think through the muddled thoughts of his thick head, he fumbled for the television remote and clicked it on to the CCTV camera of his front door.
‘Who the hell are you?’ Cam thought. The man was unfamiliar to him. The TV clicked as he turned it off.
‘Hello,’ Cam said, through the slightly opened door. The words bounced around inside his hung-over head. Cam noticed the stranger taking in the chain and his appearance in one sweeping glance.
‘Hi, we haven’t met but I live on the first floor, number two,’ he said in a friendly manner.
Cam stared at the man through his red, bloodshot eyes.
‘I was just down in the car park area,’ the man continued, ‘and I saw that your tyres are flat. That is your car in bay six isn’t it?’
‘Um, yes it is.’ Cam replied, his voice dry and croaky.
The man tilted his head in an attempt to see into the dimly lit flat.
Cam quickly blocked his view by closing the door slightly. The neighbour shuffled nervously from side to side. Cam could see he had made the man uncomfortable. He cleared his throat trying to divert attention away from his prying.
‘Well I just thought I’d let you know. See you around.’ With that he turned and walked off down the corridor, increasing his speed to put space between himself and his new neighbour.
Cam began to close the door then a thought occurred. ‘Try to be polite, you live alongside these people now.’ He re-opened the door until the chain stopped it.
‘Um, thank you,’ he shouted after the man. He closed the door and turned the lock. He leaned with his back against the door and slid down until he was resting on his haunches.
Still holding the pistol, he put his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. From his position on the floor he looked around his living space. What he saw was a mess: kitchen surfaces cluttered with take-away pizza boxes, empty Chinese containers and used Pot Noodle pots. Several empty whisky bottles stood on the floor next to his overflowing bin. Although he couldn’t tell, as he hadn’t left the flat for some time, he realised that his place must stink.
He rubbed his free hand over his face trying to circulate the blood to his skin. ‘I’ve got to do something about this,’ he muttered.
Over the next few hours he blitzed his apartment. The kitchen was de-cluttered, the bin emptied and put outside in the corridor and the empty bottles put into a carrier bag ready to take outside. Once the place looked almost respectable, he collapsed on the couch.
No matter how many pain-killers he swallowed, this headache wouldn’t go away. Maybe some fresh air would help. He had to be capable of going out during the daytime; it was different from going out at night. It was crowded social situations that were Cam’s problem.
He’d never had to buy so much stuff before – not all in one go. He came home with polish, dusters, air-fresheners, bin bags, washing-up liquid and other cleaning products. Also he’d picked up an electric car-tyre inflator from Halfords; he would check his tyres later.
He popped another two Ibuprofen, hoping to take the edge off his hangover, and looked out of his window. The spring daylight was fading into a beautiful evening. He wondered how the weather was back in the Lakes; he missed the hills. He decided a quick nap might help with the headache and lay down on his couch. Maybe if he was lucky he’d sleep through to the morning.
* * * * * * *
Knock, knock, knock. Cam’s eyes shot open. ‘Again? What the hell?’ He struggled upright wondering what time it was. It was dark outside, but how long had he been asleep? He still had a raging head.
Would it ever go? This time he knew the drill. The remote control was on the arm of the sofa, slotted down the side of the arm-rest was his pistol. One in each hand he turned on his camera. The man looking back at him seemed familiar; it wasn’t the guy from earlier.
‘Who the hell are you?’ Cam whispered. Then the man looked up directly into the camera and raised an eyebrow. Cam’s eyes widened. The face looked familiar – it could be the man who had been watching his car the other day, but he wasn’t sure. He never was good at faces – something he really had to work on during his days with the troop.
He was always concerned about shooting the wrong person, so anyone with a gun got shot. A crude system but it had worked.
Once again he opened the door with it still on the chain lock. Gun in hand but out of view of the familiar-looking man, he peered through the gap, unsure of what to expect.
‘Mr Sterling, Al sent me.’ The accent was Irish.
Cam looked at him, not knowing what to do. He was unprepared. The last thing he expected was to see this Irishman standing outside his flat.
The seconds ticked by like hours.
‘Are you going to let me in? Or am I expected to stand here all night?’ the stranger asked, his manner friendly.
Thinking through his sore head, Cam began calmly to deliver his orders.
‘You’re going to step back away from the door and put your hands behind your head, fingers intertwined. When the door is fully open, walk into the middle of the room and stop when I tell you. Understand?’ The man nodded slightly while snorting a small laugh through his nose.
‘Yes, I got it, just keep yourself calm.’
Cam backed into the kitchen area as the man walked past, his fingers locked behind his head. As soon as the door could be shut he closed it and then raised his pistol to cover the man as he moved into the living area.
‘Stop there.’ The man moved to turn around. ‘No, back towards me. Now who are you and what do you want?’
‘I think you’re reading too much into this.’
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ The man sighed.
‘My name is not important, and all I need is a place to stay for the night. Al recommended here.’
‘Why wasn’t I told?’
‘Come on, need to know and all that.’ Cam understood. It was best not to know if you didn’t need to.
‘Are you armed?’
‘Yep.’ Cam now knew he was way out of his league. This man was obviously a veteran of all that was going on and Cam was the new boy. He decided to play it confidently and act as though he knew what he was doing.
‘Want a drink?’
‘OK, sounds good,’ the man said, turning around.
‘Take a seat.’ Cam motioned towards the stools by the breakfast bar. ‘Whisky?’ Cam asked.
‘Sure, I’m Irish aren’t I?’
Cam tried to place his visitor’s accent; he was from Ireland – probably southern Ireland, maybe south-west. The man wasn’t much taller than Cam but he was stocky and powerfully built. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, however, he didn’t look scruffy. He sipped the single malt that Cam had given him while his own drink remained untouched.
‘Why have I been left here for so long?’ Cam finally asked. ‘I’ve been here well over a month and all I’m doing is waiting. What’s going on?’
‘Oh, right. Now I get it. Look it’s normal; after being moved, they leave you for a while. They think that you get so bored and desperate to do something that when you are given a job you’ll be really psyched up. You know, and you give it all you’ve got.’
Cam thought he understood. It was the first time the man had let on he was one of them.
‘How long you been with Al’s lot?’
‘I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. Now, is the spare room through there?’
‘Yeah.’ With that the man got up. He took a couple of steps in the direction of the spare room, then stopped.
‘Look, if you’re that keen to get going,’ he said without even turning round, ‘there’s an amusement arcade on Lothian Road. Meet me there tomorrow morning at seven t
hirty. I’ll have a little job for you.’ Cam caught a glimpse of a sly smirk as the Irishman walked off into the bedroom.
Cam sat a while listening, but he heard very little from the room. After about half an hour he decided to turn in for the night and see what the next day would bring.
He really didn’t want to sleep. He still had his pistol with him. Looking over at his dusty, cheap alarm clock, he saw that it was half four. If anything was going to happen, it would happen now. Cam had been on enough assaults to know that the average person was most tired at around three or four in the morning. That’s when he would strike, so he had to be on guard. But that was the last thing he remembered until he woke up.
‘Shit!’ He scrambled off his bed, picking up the clock. Six twenty. ‘Shit!’ He opened his bedroom door to see his flat in the same state it was the night before. After searching the entire apartment it would appear that nobody had been there at all. The spare room was even made up, nearly the same as it was before Al’s friend had knocked on his door.
The only thing that was out of order was that the front door was unlocked. He couldn’t have locked it as he left. After locking the door, Cam put his pistol down on the breakfast bar. Resting his elbows on the bar he released a huge sigh of relief. His headache was gone. Looking out of his window he wondered what he had got himself into.
The next half an hour was a flurry of activity as Cam rushed around the apartment, trying to get himself ready for something he had no idea about. He couldn’t risk taking any of his weapons; he could not risk getting caught with them. With a sense of duty in his mind, he managed to ignore the feeling of rising panic at leaving the safety of his flat, and was out the door and on his way to Lothian Road.
* * * * * * *
He reached his destination and there was no sign of the previous night’s visitor. The arcade was silent and still locked up. He decided to wait around and see what would happen. A few people started to pass, probably on their way to work. The tops of the buildings were clear – at least he couldn’t see anything with his naked eye, only birds sitting on the edge of the rooftops. At least that meant there was no movement up there, or they would have flown away. He watched as the pedestrians passed with bored, expressionless faces. Cam had never wanted to become one of those people – merely existing, going to work and hating it.
Sterling Page 11