by Matt Drabble
He reached out and grasped the door handle, his head thumped with stress and the late hour, at least, he thought, the sun would be up soon bringing protection with it. He swung the door open and stepped into the furnace. Jimmy was pacing furiously in front of Jackson Moon, their perpetually nervous and jumpy head accountant, his face contorted in disbelieving rage.
“Well, well, well, the prodigal returns” Jimmy boomed at him spiking his aching head.
“Another meeting Jimmy, what bright ideas have you brought this time?” He replied grouchily.
Jackson stayed quiet and nervous as his feet suddenly became a fascinating distraction.
“And just where the fuck have you been, we’re at war in case you haven’t noticed” Jimmy barked.
“No Jimmy, you’re at fucking war” Ghost roared. “If you’d just listened to me in the first place we wouldn’t be in this goddamn mess” he watched as Jimmy’s face turned various shades of veined purple. “You just had to unleash Kofi and his fucking animals didn’t you, not exactly a strategic strike was it?”
“I did what needed to be done, without the streets we’re nothing, don’t you get that?” Jimmy roared back. “You can build all the fucking ivory towers that you want Abraham, but don’t you forget where we came from”
“How can I ever forget Jimmy, every time that I managed to get us out of the gutter you drag us all back down again”
“Don’t you fucking move” Jimmy suddenly screamed towards the back of the room without breaking the electric connection with Ghost’s eyes as Jackson attempted a tactical retreat towards the door. “I’ve had just about all the fucking disrespect that I can take especially from insects like you” he jabbed his finger viciously at the wiry accountant. “Just when did you grow a backbone Mr Moon, just when did you think that you could dictate just when you would deign to grace us with your presence?”
Jackson’s eyes danced nervously around to Ghost, the pleading look was unmistakable.
“Don’t you think that I can read you maggot” Jimmy continued, “Don’t you think that I can read a balance sheet, millions Jacky my boy, fucking millions” he roared.
“Jimmy” Ghost growled low, not liking Jimmy’s demeanour or where it was heading.
“Fuck it Ghost, the books are down you said so yourself, this little fucker’s been scamming us for years. Every major deal we’ve ever done has his sticky fingers all over it” Jackson withered as Jimmy’s eyes danced, “He’s working for the Parkers, let’s tear the truth out of him, piece by piece”
“Ghost please” Jackson implored, “You know me, you know that I’d never betray you”
“You know what Jackson” Ghost answered wearily, “I don’t know anymore, and frankly I don’t give a shit, you know how he gets” he jerked a thumb towards the advancing Jimmy, “I honestly can’t be arsed to get in his way anymore”
Ghost started to trudge towards the exit without looking back; he’d not gotten to the door before Jackson Moon cracked.
“Alright, alright” he conceded, “I’ll give you what you want”
Ghost paused knowing that the “good cop bad cop” routine may be trite and clichéd but sometimes it did work.
“It’s Jenkins” Jackson panted.
“Gareth Jenkins, the Port Authority Manager?” Jimmy spat incredulously.
“Yeah, that’s why he’s been missing, he threatened my life Jimmy, honest, I don’t know who he’s working with. Whether or not it’s the Parker’s influence or just what’s going on I don’t know, I’m just a little cog here boys” Jackson pleaded to them both.
Ghost watched Jimmy prance, pleased with the deception and the interrogation, but none of this rang true for Ghost. Jenkins as a criminal mastermind, capable of putting the fear of God into their head accountant, it did seem plausible.
“Look boys, if you promise that you can protect me, then I can help get you all of them. I’ll serve them all up as long as you can protect me”
“Of course Jacky boy” Jimmy enthused, “But what about the money?”
“It was never really taken, I can call back the funds at any time, it was a failsafe that I used because I would never screw you over Jimmy, we’re like family” Jackson sweated his eyes darting around the room and out of the window.
“Jimmy” Ghost started, but Jimmy rode over him.
“What do you need?” Jimmy asked Jackson directly.
“Just my laptop from home” he replied squirming in his chair desperate to leave.
“Then go, go” Jimmy ushered him out the door before Ghost could object. When the door was closed Jimmy’s mood was buoyant, “What did I tell you Ghost, now we’ll get them all, every last one of them, and then we’ll take care of that snivelling weasel” he laughed.
“What the hell Jimmy” Ghost yelled when Jackson had gratefully disappeared from sight, “You just let him walk out on his own after he admits to embezzling from us, you’re not even going to send one of the boys to babysit him?”
“No need” came the jovial reply.
“And just exactly do you expect to prove from all of this grandstanding?”
“That I still run this town” Jimmy stated, all good humour temporarily evaporated. “When I give an order everyone still jumps,” he continued. “He has to come crawling back here on his knees unassisted, if I send babysitters with him then it is no example of my power. That snivelling little shit got in over his head and forgot just who the biggest dog is”
“And you’re going to remind him?”
“I’m going to remind everyone” Jimmy’s tone invited no further debate and his eyes danced.
Ghost watched the empty space where the accountant had stood; he had thought that the small man was not going to break. Jimmy had threatened and bullied him for hours before Ghost arrived all to no avail. The good cop bad cop game was a last desperate resort; he had heard worrying rumours of irregularities and had been planning on conducting a full scale review of their finances before his activities at the casino. He was pondering the speed of the small man’s sudden collapse when the warmth of the sun brushed his cheek through the window mere minutes after they had let the man go, and a sick feeling of dread churned his guts.
Jackson sped down the stairs, his feet stumbled and tumbled in his desperate haste, time was short, and his own mortal danger grew with every passing moment. Thick and lush red carpeting covered the stairs that led from the office down into the bar. The odour was stale, spilt beer and desperate sweat hung low in the air. He passed out of the narrow private hallway and into the bar. The area was almost deserted, only the clinking sounds of rattling glasses in the dishwasher pierced the silence. A solitary weary bartender waved half-heartedly without inspection, as Jackson staggered towards the exit, he could feel himself weakening dangerously. He did not need to check his watch to know that time was short, he was a small nervous man, but it was not Jimmy that made him nervous. He had only one superior, one boss, one master, and he could feel him close now, just outside, he had to make it and make it quickly. He grasped the exit door, it was going to be ok, he was almost there, until suddenly it dawned on him that the door was not opening. He yanked harder and harder, his arms shaking with effort, sweat beaded on his forehead, no, no, the door shook as he pulled and strained, NO, NO, he screamed silently.
“Hey buddy” the barman’s voice in the distance called, “You have to push it”
Suddenly he was outside cursing his foolishness; the sun was dangerously close now. His whole body cried out in alarm, and he felt his temperature rising, what remained of his last meal boiled in his veins. Suddenly the car was there, the door opened, and welcoming hands pulled him into the cool, cool darkness. The heavily blacked out windowed door slammed behind him drawing him into sanctuary.
“Close, so close” Jackson panted.
“There there, you’re safe now” whispered Drake.
Kofi lay down on the bed exhausted, the day was only just beginning, but he was so tired, so very t
ired. His mind drifted back several hours, the blood had run thick and juicy down his throat. His senses flamed, and the power roared through his veins as his dark heart pumped into life again. Kofi lifted his head to the black of the night sky and would have howled at the moon if not for the unwanted attention that it would have drawn. The alley was desolate and deserted, the woman splayed and now lifeless, an unfortunate soul with the calamitous luck to have wandered across his path during his first hunt. He relished the crimson smears that ran down his face, dripping great bulbous globules of pulsing life onto the blackened floor.
Drake’s voice still rang clear in his head; his instructions had been brief and concise, hunt, kill, feed, avoid and evade. It had only been a day, but it may as well have been a lifetime, his rebirth by his new father had opened up an eternity of possibilities. For all of his miserable previous life, he had lived on the scraps fallen from the tables of others. His life had been governed by the will of people like Jimmy Dent and his lapdog. Drake had shown him another road, a path to salvation and resurrection, the voice had whispered in his ear during the botched raid on the Parker warehouse.
He had heard the screams of his boys as death fell from the rafters, the wet sounds of ripping flesh and greedy feasting had sound tracked his last human moments. He had fought at first, as he always did, but Drake’s strength would not be denied and he had been dragged back into the small machine operating office and flung across the room.
“I’ve been waiting for you Kofi” came a low rumble that shook the room, “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time”
“Fuck you man” Kofi spat, summoning his not inconsiderable courage, “Fuck you to hell” he drew a switchblade smoothly, the blade glinting viciously. He launched himself towards his attacker; if he was to die here, then it would not be on his back submissively exposing his throat in fear. He crashed into the man who did not appear to resist, he drove the knife with expert ease and a well practiced aim. The sharp blade entered the man’s stomach and tore an upward arc. The man grunted softly but did not cry out, taking the injury without complaint, or seemingly pain. Kofi staggered backwards with the effort knowing that he had struck a fatal blow. The Sioux leader Tasunka Witkoit, also known as Crazy Horse was accredited with the saying “Today is a good day to die” and Kofi had felt this to be true for as long as he could remember. This however, he’d thought at the time, was not his day. Looking back, how right he’d been and how wrong at the same time, for he had died that day only to live again forever.
“You have spirit” the man whispered with good humour.
Kofi watched as the man stood straight and relaxed, he wore a well tailored navy blue suit, and the material hugged and framed him in all the right places. His hair was short and dark with silver flecks that distinguished, he wore limited adornments that sparkled with luxury. He was relatively short and physically unassuming, but exuded a radiant power that Kofi could not deny. The man’s eyes flamed with an intensity that surpassed even Jimmy’s, and Kofi felt drawn to the man’s luminosity that burned back the gloom and lit the whole world. He opened his expensive looking shirt, and Kofi saw clearly the wound that should have been fatal no longer even existed, the flesh was clean and clear.
“I can show you such sights my boy” the man’s tones licked at his brain. “Such wondrous sights, I can give you tastes and pleasures beyond the realms of mortal men”
Kofi felt drugged as the man spoke, his feet were leaden, and his will sapped, his fight or flight reflex short circuited and he grew steel roots. The switchblade dropped harmlessly to the floor, its sharp metallic edge echoing in the enclosed space, forgotten and discarded along with his desire to run.
“I have come to raise you above all others to sit at my right hand” the velvet tones continued. “You will be the hand of the king, the iron fist in my silken glove Kofi, no longer will you bow before your inferiors, you will rule as a God among mortals”
Kofi swam in the voice, diving deep into warm waters and submerging in its safe embrace. He was tired of the abuse, tired of the looks and the comments. He was done with being a freak on the outside looking in; his life was a filthy degradation at Jimmy’s behest, he could become a man to respect rather than just to fear. The voice promised him everything and everyone. He was dimly aware of a sharp momentary pain in his neck, just a quick penetration and then he was floating. He knew that he could get clean; he could become pure and flush his system from the filth that he’d pumped into it over the years. Then his mouth was open, and a warm liquid ran into his throat. He gulped greedily as his senses roared, but he was unaware that he may only be substituting one addiction for another.
Jess reached out a weary hand and slid the key into her front door; the locks tumbled and aligned granting entry. She stepped inside her modest apartment and closed the world gently behind her. She felt an instant stab of resentment deep in her guts, after viewing the opulence of the Riverside area where Ghost lived on his immoral and illegal earnings, it was hard not to feel bitter. She considered herself, and was considered by others to be diligent and hardworking; she had left behind a promisingly lucrative career for her mission. It had started out as a professional decision that could only now after three years, be referred to as a mission in order for her to make any justifiable sense.
The early morning sun beat down without much warmth on her unassuming apartment, it was a one bedroom, one bath, small affair where the mortgage was low, and her surroundings reflected such. The area of Sunnyfield was devoid of both sun and fields, it was predominantly a working class enclave. The people kept mainly to themselves, too busy and tired to find energy for socialization. She had lived here for around two years, and did not know any of her neighbours by name. The streets were punctuated by low rise apartment blocks thrown up to cater for the workers, they were tired, and need of a facelift as was most of the area. The cars were typically five to ten years old reflecting the incomes, the jobs were manual, and careers were severely lacking. The families lived paycheck to paycheck, holidays were spent at home, overtime mandatory and further education a distant dream that did not apply.
Jess looked around her own apartment, the style was minimal but elegant, and the main living area housed a decent sofa and one armchair in brown leather. The television was a flatscreen and branded, but not of a top line variety, it sat upon a solid oak cabinet that she had found at a second hand store and lovingly restored. The room was bright and airy, the magnolia walls were clean and crisp, and the curtains were beige striped and tied back. The layout was always clean and uncluttered, the apartment was simply too small to allow for laziness when it came to tidiness.
Jess headed into the compact kitchen, the tiles were white and grimeless, the grout gleamed pristine white, and the oven and hob were stainless steel and sparkled with care. Jess flicked on the kettle and pulled a jar of instant coffee from a wall cupboard; she yawned and stretched popping her back and neck. She had not slept at all last night, and the new day was already starting to drag heavily on her tired bones. After all of this time hunting her prey, it had been him that had pounced first. She had viewed him almost exclusively through the eye of a camera lens, never standing close enough to touch. He had scared her badly when the knife slid from the darkness and expertly found her throat from the car’s rear seat. In that flash she had thought herself dead, he had found her trail and chosen to eliminate the threat before it became one. His hand had been steady as a rock, and there was no telltale trembles of nerves as though it was the most natural activity in the world. Her anger had grown as she had realized that his intention was not to harm her, he had meant to scare her, and it had worked, worked only too well. The man elicited an undeniable schoolgirl bad boy reaction in her, but this only fuelled her anger even more, he had managed to shake her faith in herself, and that was unforgivable.
The kettle’s steam rose as the water boiled, she spooned a hefty dose of caffeine into a mug and watched tiredly as the water turned brown and the a
roma tickled her nose. She cupped the hot liquid in both hands allowing the heat to warm her through as she downloaded and processed the night’s events. Ghost’s warnings had been severe for sure, but on reflection, she could not remember any specific threat towards her, and no reference to her investigation. She had assumed that his presence was in direct relation to her work on exposing his part in the Jimmy Dent criminal empire. Now, looking back, his warnings had almost seemed as though they were for her own protection, but if he wasn’t threatening her, then just was she in danger from. “Because there’s something worse out there now, something worse than me”, was what he had told her, but just what the hell did that mean. Was it another gang, was it the Parkers, had Jimmy finally gone entirely round the bend.
She was transfixed by her pondering when she suddenly noticed the clipboard lying on the counter along with a “Sorry we missed you” delivery card. Her nose wrinkled in displeasure, her landlord was forever affecting entry to her apartment under one pretence or another. On several occasions she had thought that her bedroom drawers had been opened, and her underwear rifled through. She would have moved out, if only her finances had allowed the withdrawal to a better neighbourhood. She knew that her pig landlord would have been only too eager to let a delivery man into her apartment in order to snoop around himself. She had not been home since yesterday morning, and the intrusion could have happened at any time in between.
Abruptly she noticed that the bedroom door was slightly ajar. Her forehead creased at the oversight, every time that she left the apartment everything was tidied and clean, and the doors were all shut. Carrying the coffee she walked slowly to the bedroom, she steeled herself against the rising tide of fear that crept into the pit of her stomach. She would not allow herself to be paralyzed twice, especially not in her own home by an open door; she closed her eyes and listened intently. She heard no breathing in the bedroom; she could feel no other living presence in the apartment, taking her considerable courage she marched to the door and flung it open. The door crashed into the plasterboard wall and the handle punched a small hole, and she jumped violently as a demon face from hell sat on the bed. She cursed herself for an overactive imagination and closed her eyes to blink away the apparition, when she quickly opened them again, the creature was still there. Her brain clunked and spluttered as it failed to process the information, sitting on her bed was a thing that looked like a man wearing an elaborate Halloween mask. Lying across the bedspread in front of him was the body of her landlord. His face was blue and lifeless, his chest and throat were shredded, and it looked as though wild animals had torn him apart.