Bitter Sweet

by Mason N. Forbes

  The lift came to a halt. The doors opened. I saw Alfred behind the counter in the foyer. I waved.

  ‘Hello, Nina,’ he responded with a smile.

  As I reached the entrance to the bin room, located next to the front doors of the building, I turned to Mike ready to say goodbye.

  ‘Let me get the door,’ Mike said. The door sucked open.

  I curled my lip. ‘You’re too nice.’

  ‘Can’t help it,’ he said, following me through the door. ‘Also, I’d like you to show me the layout of the basement and the underground car park.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘No, Mike. Not now, I’m too frazzled.’

  ‘Anything you say.’

  ‘There you go again.’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘Too nice.’

  Mike laughed and lifted the bin lid for me. I threw the bag in. The lid clanged closed. I let out a deep breath. ‘Think I’ll go home or go to the gym.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘I need to get that Albanian out of my head,’ I said, heading back towards the foyer. ‘Does that tracker thing tell you where he is?’

  ‘Should do.’ Mike took the phone out of his pocket. ‘Not very accurate, though.’ He stopped and pressed some buttons. ‘Okay, the GPS display shows that he’s . . .’ Mike held the phone up to the light. ‘Jesus Christ. He’s in the building!’

  ‘Ivonne!’ I yelled, and took off through the door. The foyer was empty. I sped over towards the lifts. One of them was on the fourth floor. My floor. The other showed G. Reaching the elevator, I jabbed at the button. The door opened. Oh shit, always the way – the two old dears from the first floor.

  Helplessly, I looked a Mike. He rolled his eyes. I bounced up and down on my feet in frustration. The old ladies doddered out. We raced into the lift. I punched the button for the fourth floor. Mike immediately pressed the doors-close button.

  The lift started upwards. I pulled my left knee up to my chin, stretching and then bounced on my feet before bringing my right knee up.

  Mike looked up from the phone. ‘Nina,’ he commanded. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  I twisted my torso, the Taekwondo warming up exercises, automatic.

  ‘He’s still in the building,’ Mike said. ‘Don’t go running out.’

  ‘But—’ I looked at the floors numbers. We were on three.

  ‘No way. You’re no match.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure.’

  The elevator bell pinged.

  ‘Please,’ Mike said imploringly, and put a hand on my shoulder.

  I was about to brush it away. The doors slid open. I stood still, looked along the passageway and then at Mike.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said, and pocketed the phone.

  We hurried along the corridor. At the bend we stopped and peered around the corner. That’s when I heard a low moan.

  Mike reached for my arm, but I was quicker. I sprinted past my door and came to an abrupt halt. One glance told it all: Ivonne sat, propped against the corridor wall of her apartment, her head in her hands. Markus lay, pole-axed on the floor, his right leg below the knee, jutting out the wrong way. Perspiration dripped from his forehead despite the pasty colour of his face. But, he was alive. I quickly checked his breathing and his pulse, they were okay.

  I then scooted over to Ivonne and knelt down beside her. A low keening and her trembling shoulders made me fear the worst. Slowly, I pulled her hands away. One cheek glowed an angry red and her lower lip resembled an over-ripe berry ready to burst.

  The tears rolled down her cheeks, the mascara highlighting their path, creating a look of gothic grief. I put my arms around her and pulled her towards me, at that, the sobs racked her body. Gently, I ran a hand over her hair in a stroking motion, whilst softly muttering her name.

  Mike’s voice intruded, ‘I’ll call an ambulance.’

  Mike placed the call, giving the address and the nature of the emergency. ‘Could you give me an arrival time for the ambulance?’ he asked. He listened, only to ask; ‘You must know if an ambulance is free and the distance from the depot to the Merchant Building?’ Again he listened, a scowl contorting his face.

  ‘And?’ I asked, as he closed the phone.

  ‘Nothing, can’t tell me.’

  ‘Idiots!’

  ‘Bureaucracy,’ Mike said, ‘blindly following rules. It’s no wonder the country is still stuck in recession. Paper work everywhere.’

  ‘I did a month in a call centre.’

  ‘Didn’t know that,’ Mike said. He’d been squatting beside Markus, now he shifted on to his knees.

  ‘One of the reasons I took up escorting.’ I felt Ivonne stir. She raised her head. ‘It’s true,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t believe what it’s like to work in one of those places. You’re not allowed to deviate from the script on the screen. I felt like the mouthpiece of a computer – being prompted to ask this question or that. And if you didn’t tick the box, the system would stay in the loop until you did. Mind blowing.

  ‘It’s inhuman, sitting there keeping your emotions and your brain on hold. The callers think you’re jerking them around – especially those who’ve phoned in more than once; the same shit questions, all over again.’

  I could tell that Ivonne was listening – good it would keep her mind off what had happened. Not that we knew. I was bursting to ask Ivonne and to have a look at the recording on the laptop in my apartment.

  ‘Couldn’t take it – walked out. Right in front of everyone in that damned call centre. Told the manager to go stick his minimum wage. The whole room was listening. I turned on him; “Do you really think anyone has the slightest interest in your quality and service drivel. We don’t give a shit about the whining and the gibberish of the customers we’re forced to put up with every day. Do you know what the real target is? Getting paid and getting the fuck out of here at the end of the shift.”

  ‘That little nerd was gobsmacked – all ready to retreat into his office, he was. But I didn’t let up. “You must be bleedin’ naïve,” I told him, “to think that we give a toss about your petty objectives, you must be an absolute unthinking moron. Or,” I said, “you have your tongue so far up your boss’s arsehole you can’t see what it’s like in here. Get a life.”

  He opened his mouth.

  ‘“Don’t even bother,” I said. “Just send me my P45. And if you don’t, I’ll have HMRC on to you.”’

  ‘Whew,’ Mike said. ‘I wouldn’t want to—’

  ‘That’s right you wouldn’t.’

  Ivonne laughed. ‘That’s the way to treat ’em.’

  She moved across to Markus and began to stroke his hair. ‘Nina get me a facecloth.’

  I hurried to the bathroom, returning with a damp facecloth and handed it to Ivonne, who then began to dab Markus’s brow.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  Ivonne shook her head. ‘Not now,’ she mumbled.

  Markus was still out for the count. I wasn’t sure if the pain from the shattered knee would’ve been enough to knock Markus out – I feared a head injury. I was desperate to know what had happened. However, Ivonne seemed to be in another world and I guessed she needed time to get over the shock.

  Mike looked at his watch. ‘Ten minutes since I made the call. Ambulance should be here soon.’

  ‘Hope so,’ I said. ‘That bastard Albanian chose his moment well.’ In fact, I began to wonder if he’d known that Mike and I had gone down in the lift.

  ‘And,’ Mike said, ‘we were probably coming back up just as he was going down.’

  ‘Think he was on his own?’ I glanced at Ivonne hoping for an answer. All she did was to nod her head. I let it go; she still wasn’t ready to talk.

  Mike cleared his throat. ‘You’ll probably have to tell the police about the Albanian.’

  At the mention of the police, Ivonne turned and looked at me. We both shook our heads.

  ‘Look,’ Mike said. ‘T
he ambulance guys are going to ask how this happened.’

  ‘No police,’ I said firmly.

  Ivonne turned her head towards Mike. ‘No way,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘I’m not having those knuckle-shuffling buggers nosing about.’

  Mike frowned.

  ‘Wankers,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t get it,’ Mike persisted. ‘The ambulance crew are going to ask why Markus is lying on the floor with a shattered knee—’

  ‘Siren,’ I said, turning an ear towards the outside corridor. ‘Coming this way.’

  ‘Finally,’ Mike said.

  ‘Mike, I’ll feed them some cock-and-bull story. Just stay out of it, okay?’

  ‘Don’t do that.’

  Mike stared at me. He wasn’t going to back down and neither was I.

  ‘Don’t tell those pricks anything!’ Ivonne blurted.

  ‘For God’s sakes,’ Mike said, glaring at me. ‘Would you get it into your heads: Markus is lying on the floor, out cold. Heaven knows, he might have brain damage, a fractured skull. His knee has been shattered. And you, Ivonne have been battered in the face. The ambulance crew will be coming in here any minute, and they’re going to look at the two of you and be thinking grievous bodily harm or something worse.’

  ‘Mike,’ I said softly, placing my hands on his shoulders. ‘I’ll deal with it. I know what to do.’

  He shook his head. But, I knew he’d backed down.

  ‘This is crazy,’ he muttered.

  I heard the elevator door opening, followed by a voice saying; ‘This way.’

  I stepped past Markus; Ivonne was still kneeling beside him. ‘Ivonne, stay right where you are.’ In the passageway, I called out; ‘Over here!’

  ‘What’s the score, lady?’ the lead member of the ambulance crew asked.

  ‘Unconscious – shattered knee.’

  They left the gurney at the door.

  ‘Have you moved him?’ The man asked, assessing the scene.

  ‘No.’

  The man knelt down beside Markus and went straight into the airway, breathing and circulation routine. Finished, he looked at me, his face hard. ‘What happened?’

  ‘They had an argument.’ I raised my hand in the direction of Ivonne. ‘She kicked him in the knee. Then he hit his head on the radiator, going down.’

  The medic looked at the knee and then at the radiator. The disbelief was obvious.

  ‘We both do Taekwondo.’

  ‘Good strike,’ the medic said, shaking his head. ‘How long has he been out?’

  ‘Ten minutes, minimum.’

  The question put me on notice. I knew that sudden and severe pain was enough to knock someone out – never mind a blow to the head. But, how long does a person remain unconscious? I guessed at three or four minutes – any longer, well, that’s when the scary thoughts began; coma, brain damage?

  The medic addressed his colleague; ‘Spinal board and neck collar.’

  Within minutes Markus was secured to the spineboard – it looked like two big spatulas. The movement had brought him round. His eyes were unfocused, but at least they were open. I squeezed Ivonne’s hand. ‘Thank God he’s coming round.’

  Involuntarily, she gave me a big hug.

  I held her and whispered into her ear; ‘Go with him. Stick to the story – an argument which went wrong. You kicked him in the knee. You’d forgotten that he’d once had a knee injury. The knee buckled and he hit his head on the radiator. You’re shocked at what happened, which you are. Keep it simple. Don’t say anything more.’

  I opened the door to my apartment. Mike stood back letting me go first, closed the door and said; ‘I really do hope they swallow that about Ivonne and the Taekwondo.’

  ‘It was a good one, wasn’t it?’

  ‘If she sticks to it, it might, it might just work.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ I said, giving Mike a playful punch.

  ‘If it had been a Friday or a Saturday night,’ Mike said, ‘the story would definitely slide through.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because on a Friday and a Saturday night the A&E is choked full of alcohol-related problems – fights, falls, all the mess created by drink gets wheeled or staggers in through the doors. The staff doesn’t have time to discriminate. There’s all the workload of real emergencies. I’ve seen it – it’s disgusting. Professionals working flat-out. Right next to them some drunk roaring his head off or trying to feel-up a nurse. It’s an absolute travesty. And to crown it all, someone with a gutful of beer will be the first to call foul if he doesn’t get the same treatment as the guy he’s just totalled in a car crash.’

  ‘Mike? Are you teetotal?’

  ‘What? Why do you ask?’

  ‘You’re banging on.’

  ‘It’s how I lost my father.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Mike put his arms around me. ‘It’s all right; it was a long time ago.’ He pulled back holding me at arms’ length. ‘Drunk driver crashed into my dad’s car. A Saturday night – the ambulance coverage was stretched thin; the response time should have been better. The A&E was swamped. You know how it goes; one thing after the next, and then it was too late.’

  I took Mike’s hand and led him to the table. He booted up the laptop and then launched the media player. The first camera showed the Albanian walking, on his own, along the corridor to Ivonne’s door.

  Mike then switched to the other camera, the one in Ivonne’s apartment: we watched as Ivonne went to the door and turned the lock. The door slammed into her shoulder. The Albanian didn’t hesitate; he slapped her in the face and followed up with a back hander to the mouth.

  Now, I’m about five-feet nine and fifty-five kilos. Ivonne has a few kilos on me and is closer to being six feet.

  The Albanian didn’t let up. He grabbed Ivonne by the neck, spun her around, and literally, heaved her down the corridor towards the sitting room where she crashed into Markus.

  It was like watching a machine. The Albanian with rapid efficient strides followed Ivonne and went straight for Markus. Shifting his weight on to his back foot, he raised his right leg and jumped, launching his foot at Markus’s kneecap. The full weight of the Albanian and the force of his momentum connected. The cracking noise was sickening – the kneecap shattered.

  Markus began to buckle. The Albanian, using the impetus of Markus’s fall and with his right hand held flat used a chopping motion, striking Markus on the side of the head.

  The Albanian stepped back. Markus collapsed on to the floor.

  ‘You,’ the Albanian said to Ivonne. ‘I kontrol building.’ He kicked Markus. ‘Get rid of this.’

  He turned and walked away.

  ‘Bleeding hell!’ I said, slowly shaking my head in opened-mouthed amazement. ‘He’s unstoppable.’

  Mike sat, speechless, staring at the screen.

  The sheer violence – no that wasn’t correct, although it had been violent, it was the minimal use of physical force to create the maximum effect which shocked me. The Albanian really was like a Terminator – efficient and ruthless. All my Taekwondo skills and training appeared, by comparison, to be a sort of middleclass entertainment programme – weak, harmless and ineffectual.

  Mike raised his head and looked at me; his eyes seemed to be replaying the scenes just witnessed on the screen.

  ‘I think,’ he said. His voice was flat and emotionless. ‘We’ll have to give this to the police.’ He gestured limply at the laptop.

  ‘No way!’ I said. ‘It’s not admissible.’

  ‘Oh, that it is.’ His head bobbed slowly up and down. ‘It is.’

  Mike stared at me. I knew he was waiting for me to figure it out – his reasoning, not mine.

  I placed a hand on my hip. ‘No police.’

  ‘After that.’ Mike pointed at the laptop. ‘I don’t see any other choice.’

  ‘The police aren’t an option.’

  He rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘Tell me, why not?’


  ‘They come in here they’ll want a name and an address. Same story with Ivonne.’

  ‘So, you’re going to let the Albanian set up shop in this building?’

  ‘It mightn’t come to that.’

  ‘You heard him. “I kontrol building.”’

  ‘You don’t get it. I lead a double life. Oil and water, they don’t mix – can’t.’

  Mike frowned.

  ‘If one whiff of what I do gets out.’ I looked around the room, seeking for the words to describe an utter nightmare.

  ‘It will never get that far, Nina. We can talk to Martha; find out who the dirty cop is, okay?’

  ‘I’m okay with talking to Martha. But, no cops. They can’t keep secrets, it’ll get out and I’ll be branded for life.’

  Mike made a moue with his lips.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘Society puts criminals behind bars. They’re locked away and sit inside comparing notes; learning from each other. Only the paedophiles and the dirty cops get abuse. But my fate, if what I do gets out, is to be sneered at day-in-day-out. An outcast, a pariah.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No, Mike. You’re not society. You know, you understand. You’re not the kneejerk reaction. All it takes is one reporter.’

  Mike trapped his lower lip between his teeth and sucked air in. ‘You’re talking about an end-game, a worst-case scenario.’

  I squinted looking at Mike. ‘You married?’

  Mike nodded, ready to open his mouth.

  ‘What the heck!’ I said, shaking my head. That’ll teach me for jumping to conclusions. He’d never said and I’d never asked, just assumed. I thought he was like a lot of middle-aged men looking for company and revisiting the fruits of youth.

  Caught out by my own assumption, I shook my head again. ‘Does she know?’

  ‘Know that I’m visiting you? No.’

  ‘What’s she going to think? Eh?’

  Mike scratched his ear, staring at me.

  ‘Got you now?’ I said, holding his gaze, feeling buoyed as his own dilemma became clear to him. ‘Don’t want to go down that road, do you? Uncomfortable, isn’t it? Makes life difficult, destroys the trust—’