The Stranger Times

by C. K. McDonnell

  ‘Ehm, sir,’ said Hannah to the dreadlocked interloper, ‘what are you doing?’

  He lifted the mug in his hand and gave her a cheery smile. ‘We just need milk for we cup of tea.’

  ‘But, sir, you’re not wearing any pants.’

  He ambled into the kitchen just off reception, shouting back over his shoulder, ‘S’alrite, chile. We don’t need pants, we just need milk.’

  ‘But …’

  The double doors opened and Grace walked through, carrying a folder. She stopped when she sensed the tension in the room. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Ehm,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Ehm,’ said Hannah again, because her brain had decided it had had enough of all this, put up the ‘gone fishing’ sign and left for the day.

  ‘Everyting alrite,’ said the man, re-emerging from the kitchen, presumably with milk in his tea, if no more clothing on his body.

  ‘Manny!’ cried Grace. ‘What have we talked about?’

  The man who was apparently called Manny stopped to ponder this, as if he’d been asked a complex question. ‘We talk ’bout many tings. We like to talk. You a good woman, Grace.’ He favoured her with a warm smile.

  ‘Manny, we agreed you’d wear pants during work hours.’

  ‘We not …’ Manny stopped and looked around at the people in the reception area as if seeing them for the first time. Some of them were averting their eyes, but one woman, who’d been halfway through a large bag of popcorn, was very focused on Manny, although Hannah doubted she’d be able to pick out his face in a line-up.

  ‘Oh. We see. What time is it?’

  ‘Three o’clock,’ said Grace, before adding, ‘in the afternoon.’

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘What day?’

  ‘Tuesday.’

  He took a slurp of tea. ‘Alrite. Sure nuff. We apologize. It’s just the human body, man – natural thing. Nothing the peoples ain’t seen before. Just what the good Lord gave us all.’

  The popcorn woman spoke up. ‘The good Lord was particularly generous to you.’

  Manny gave her a smile and a wink. ‘Thanking you. We appreciate your kindness.’

  And with that, he sauntered back down the stairs.

  Grace cleared her throat. ‘Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen – he is a bit of a free spirit.’

  ‘Is he single?’

  Grace ignored the question and walked back towards her desk. As she passed Hannah she shook her head. ‘I will explain later.’

  Forty-six yellow – a man who looked very tall until he sat down. Though his legs were very long, his body was tiny. Irish accent.

  ‘Right, the government are suppressing this, but cats and dogs can have babies.’

  ‘Ehm,’ said Hannah. ‘First off – hello.’

  ‘Ah, right – yeah, sorry. Howerya. So, as I was saying, cats and dogs can have babies.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hannah. ‘Yes, they can. They’re called kittens and puppies.’

  ‘What? Ah, no – I mean, yeah – but they can have them together is what I’m talkin’ about. Kippies. Cross between a kitten and a puppy.’ He pointed a long finger at Hannah’s notes. ‘I came up with the name meself. I want credit for that. I’ve trademarked it.’

  ‘Right. Smart thinking.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I’ve given this some serious thought.’

  ‘OK, thanks for—’

  ‘Also, there’s been a panda on the moon.’

  ‘I see. And how did it get there?’

  ‘I’m glad you asked.’

  ‘At least one of us is.’

  ‘I’ve narrowed it down to one of three possibilities. One: Chinese space programme experiment.’

  ‘Makes sense.’

  ‘Two: the moon is actually where pandas come from, and the question should be how did they get to Earth.’

  ‘Ahhh, interesting.’

  ‘Or three: stag do.’

  ‘Really?’

  The man nodded his head emphatically. ‘Oh, yeah. Lotta weird stuff goes down on a stag do. On mine, me mate Paulie—’

  ‘Sorry, I’m going to have to stop you there.’

  ‘But there’s still sand left in the timer.’

  ‘I know, but I need to go into the other room and scream into a cushion before the next person.’

  He paused to think about this for a moment. ‘Ah, OK, fair enough. Thanks for your time.’

  Ninety-eight yellow – a blonde woman, late thirties.

  Hannah could sense it before the woman spoke. Maybe it was in the way she carried herself, or in the exhausted, beaten-down look in her eyes as she handed over her ticket, or maybe there was something less tangible that broadcast it to other people. Whatever was carrying the signal, the message was unmistakable: grief. This poor woman carried a weight of it on her shoulders. She sat down and gave Hannah a soft smile. She was no doubt attractive in other circumstances, ones in which she didn’t look as if she hadn’t slept in a month.

  ‘Hi. I’m Hannah. Can I take your name?’

  ‘Tina Merchant.’

  Hannah noted it down. ‘And how can I help you, Tina?’

  Tina shifted nervously in her chair. ‘It’s … it’s my husband. Look, I …’ She waved her hand around at the office. ‘I … No disrespect, but I don’t understand any of this. I mean, normally …’

  With alarm, Hannah noticed that the woman’s eyes were welling up.

  ‘It’s OK. Take your time.’ Hannah slipped a small packet of tissues out of her handbag and placed it on the table gently.

  Tina took one with an embarrassed nod and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Sorry. Been a long week.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Hannah. ‘Take your time.’

  The woman nodded and pulled out a photo from her coat pocket and handed it to Hannah. A tall, well-built man with tightly cropped hair was pushing a little blonde girl on a swing. The kid beamed a gap-toothed grin out to the world, full of the joys of life.

  ‘That’s … that’s my daughter, Cathy, and my husband, Gary.’

  ‘Right,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Cathy has cancer. We found out a few months ago.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’

  The woman waved it away. As if she’d been told how sorry people were so many times that the words had lost all meaning. ‘It’s a rare type. Bad. They tried some things but nothing is working.’

  Hannah opened her mouth but no words came out. What could you say to that?

  Tina carried on, her eyes fixed on the tabletop. She looked as if she just wanted to get it out.

  ‘Somebody said they could do something in America. We tried one of those fundraising things, y’know – like you always see. We needed fifty thousand, didn’t even make five. I guess we aren’t that popular. Gary … he … since he came out of the service, he’s had a few issues. Not been great at holding a job down.’

  Hannah looked again at the man in the photo. On his right forearm was a tattoo of something that looked like some kind of dagger.

  ‘We’ve been, y’know – taking turns sitting with Cathy. She gets scared in the hospital. Then, a couple of days ago, Gary says he’s got a solution. Said a man is going to help us. At first I thought it was about money, that someone was going to give us it. You hear about stuff like that happening, don’t you? Philanthropists and that. He said it wasn’t that, though. Said it was even better. I told him he wasn’t making sense. Told him not to do anything silly.’

  Tina looked down at her fingers, as if only realizing at that point that they had been absent-mindedly shredding the tissue. ‘He said it was … magic.’ She said the last word in an embarrassed hush and then looked up, as if annoyed with herself. ‘Gary said the man could help if he did some stuff for him. That was two days ago and I’ve not seen or heard from him since. Not answering calls. Cathy is asking for her daddy. I just thought maybe you people might, y’know … know who would be …’ She looked at Hannah, suddenly angry. ‘Who’d be filli
ng a poor desperate man’s head with stupid ideas.’

  ‘Have you tried going to the police?’ asked Hannah.

  Tina nodded. ‘They were useless. Said they’d keep a lookout but … whatever. There’s a woman with a boy on the same ward as Cathy. Her husband killed himself a few weeks ago. They say men aren’t good at dealing with stuff. I just …’ Tina drew herself up. ‘He’s not perfect, but he’s my husband and he loves his daughter. I just want to find him. Some bastard started filling his head with mad ideas.’

  Hannah tried to think of something to say, but she never got the chance. Tina reached across the table and snatched back the photo.

  ‘Sorry, this was a bad idea. I should get back to Cathy. Thanks for your time.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Hannah. She didn’t know how, but she wanted to help.

  Tina threw a wave over her shoulder and disappeared down the stairs. Grace looked over at Hannah with a raised eyebrow. Hannah shrugged in response. She considered following Tina to make sure she was OK, but before she could move, a man had sat down in the chair opposite.

  ‘OK,’ said Hannah, ‘I’m going to skip the contact details bit and go straight to the questions. First off, where did you get the fake moustache from?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, love. I seen a UFO fight a tiger. Eight grand.’

  ‘Those are fake sideburns as well, aren’t they? You’re thorough, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘OK. I like you, love. I do. I think we’ve got a connection. I’ll do you tiger fights UFO, I had sex with a ghost and – I cannot believe I’m giving you this deal – King Kong stole my wife, all for ten grand.’

  ‘Do they come as part of a kit?’

  ‘The stories?’

  ‘The moustache and the—’

  ‘Yeah. My mate Trustworthy Terence sells ’em down the market. And … ouch! This bloody woman just ripped off my moustache!’ he cried. ‘Wait until the papers hear about this!’

  CHAPTER 14

  Gary took a sip of his pint and looked around the Grand Central pub. He had located himself in the corner booth so he could enjoy a view of the whole room and no one could sneak up on him.

  On the far side, two students were playing a game of pool while a third gave a tedious running commentary, thinking he was so bloody funny. A man sat at the bar, quietly drinking by himself, and a couple of women were having a natter in the corner. The barman looked bored and appeared to be spending most of the time reading his own tattoos. It wasn’t as if the place couldn’t do with a clean – there were dead glasses on half the tables.

  Gary’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, saw it was Tina and sent it to voicemail. He placed it on the table beside his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. It had been a mistake to try to explain this to her. He knew it sounded mad. Maybe he had been crazy to believe in it but he’d been desperate. Sometimes long shots really do pay off. He grinned as he took another sip of his pint.

  He’d been trying to calm himself down all day. He’d seen action in the army but it had never been like this. After last night, once he’d … become himself again, he had tried to sleep, but it had been impossible, as it had been the day before. Moretti had explained it to him: at first, it would be easier for him to become the beast at night, but eventually he’d be able to transform whenever he liked. Even now, while he was ‘himself’, it still seemed to live inside of him. It was as if he’d been taken over – only he liked it. He really liked it.

  His whole life, people had walked all over him, and now he was the one with the power. He could save Cathy and he didn’t need to go begging and scraping, cap in hand, to do it. As he sat there, he could feel the beast prowling around inside him, just waiting for the night to come.

  He jumped as Moretti sat down opposite him. Sneaky little sod. Every time they met, it was the weirdest thing – Gary never saw him coming, the fat little Yank just seemed to appear. Not with a pop or anything – one minute he wasn’t there and the next he was. It was as if he’d been standing there the whole time and you’d somehow not noticed.

  Moretti took off his baseball cap and ran his hand over his bald pate. ‘You shouldn’t be drinking.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  Moretti gave Gary a look.

  ‘All right, relax, will ya?’ Gary said. ‘We’re in a pub.’

  Moretti shook his head. ‘You Brits. Wouldn’t even occur to you there was another option.’

  ‘D’you want one?’

  The Yank made a show of looking around. ‘I’ll pass. I make it a rule not to drink any place where I’ll require a tetanus shot afterwards.’

  Condescending little sod.

  ‘So,’ continued Moretti, leaning in, ‘how do you think last night went?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Gary, nodding. ‘Fine. Mission accomplished and all that.’

  Moretti’s eyes widened. ‘Really? All fine? You had one simple job. I gave you the scent, told you to locate one of what we needed, then come back and tell me the location.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I saw the opportunity to take him, so I did. I improvised within the operational parameters.’

  Moretti nodded. ‘“Improvised within the operational parameters”? Did they teach you that in the army? I suppose it’s an interesting way to say “didn’t follow orders”.’

  Gary bristled. ‘I got him, didn’t I? Put him where you told me to. Now we’re ahead of schedule.’

  ‘Yes, how perfect. Unfortunately, you killed somebody else in the process.’

  Gary shrugged. ‘Collateral damage.’

  ‘Collateral damage,’ muttered Moretti. ‘Collateral damage. It’s like the army trained you to be some kind of idiot parrot, with about three stock phrases at your disposal.’

  Inside, the beast roared. ‘Mind your manners.’ Gary’s hand tightened around his pint glass.

  ‘Oh, please. I cannot believe I agreed to help a damn idiot with this. Thanks to you, the police and others are now looking into it. Worse than the fact that you left a body, you managed to leave a body with no explanation of how it could’ve happened. That is the kind of thing that gets attention.’

  Gary shrugged. ‘So what? Cops can’t do nothing to us.’

  Moretti rubbed his hand over his brow. ‘Jesus, are you really this dumb?’

  ‘I’m warning you.’

  ‘You are warning me? Let me explain something to you: I don’t care about the police. But they might cause enough noise to attract the interest of other parties, and believe me when I say we do not want that to happen.’

  ‘You need to stop talking to me like I’m a fucking kid.’ Gary jabbed his finger in Moretti’s face. He’d had all of this he was prepared to take.

  ‘You need to stop acting like one.’

  ‘I’m gonna …’

  Moretti clicked his fingers and Gary froze. Not deliberately. His body just stopped moving, leaving his finger in mid-air, inches from Moretti’s smiling face.

  ‘I think it’s time for a little clarification of our arrangement, don’t you?’

  Gary could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He looked around the room in panic; his eyes seemed to be the only part of him that could move. He tried to breathe – just breathe – but he couldn’t make whatever made that happen do anything. It was as if his entire body had just shut down.

  Moretti picked up Gary’s cigarettes and lighter calmly. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  He drew a cigarette from the packet and lit it. Over his shoulder, Gary could see the barman, his eyes attracted to the flame.

  ‘Hey, mate.’ His voice was filled with outrage. ‘You can’t smoke in here.’

  ‘Yes, I can,’ said Moretti evenly.

  The barman looked confused and embarrassed, as if he’d made some terrible faux pas. ‘Yes, you can.’

  Moretti looked at Gary as he puffed on the cigarette. ‘I agreed to help you, remember? You begged me. You wanted to save your daughter, and I said if we did this, you had to do exac
tly as I said.’

  Gary could feel the pressure building in his lungs – he couldn’t tell if they were full or empty. Until this point in his life, breathing had just happened.

  ‘So, let me be clear.’ Moretti smiled as he spoke in a slow and deliberate voice. ‘You will do exactly as I say.’ He flicked the lighter into life again and casually held the flame under Gary’s extended hand. Gary felt the surge of pain on his skin instantly. Every ounce of his being, every instinct, was telling him to pull away, but he couldn’t move his hand – not even a fraction of an inch.

  ‘This,’ continued Moretti, ‘is not a partnership. Your role in proceedings is to do what you are told. Clear?’

  Gary did nothing. He couldn’t even blink. He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks as his eyes remained frozen, staring across the table at Moretti’s smiling face.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes. Now, meet me tonight, same time, same place. Thanks to your screw-up, we have something else we have to deal with.’ Moretti flicked off the lighter and stood up. He dropped the half-smoked cigarette into Gary’s pint and picked up his baseball cap from the table. As an afterthought, he snatched up the pack of cigarettes. ‘I’m keeping these. Damn things will kill you. See you tonight. Don’t be late.’

  He smiled again and calmly walked out the door.

  Gary sat there, stock-still – his finger pointing at empty space. Since the flame was now gone, his body was focusing all of its energy on screeching at him to breathe. Every inch of him was willing his lungs to just breathe. He noticed that the three students had stopped playing pool and were looking over at him. Gary wanted to scream as they stood there, watching.

  As quickly as it had been taken from him, his body was his own again.

  He dragged in a gasping, blessed breath as he collapsed back into his seat, pulling his scorched hand to his chest, panting like a man who’d finally surfaced after being held underwater too long. The relief was exquisite.

  Mingled with it all, the beast was roaring with impotent rage.

  After about thirty seconds, he managed to calm his breathing to the point where he was able to focus on something else. He ran his sleeve over his face, wiping away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks.