by Geoff Smith
'Oh I bet it's lovely riding over your own land in the sunshine. Just you and the gauchos. Lovely.' And he looked from Zack to the gun, then back again. 'So anyway, now that's done, let me tell you about my mother. I know you didn't ask but - um - she's dead, actually. Overdose. Heroin. Your mum probably likes a bit of that too, doesn't she? Heroin. Except that my Mum's stuff was cut with some crappy extra shit. You know, like they do now, elephant tranquiliser or some shit.' He tapped the gun on Zack's knee. 'I don't suppose you have that problem, do you? You probably get the good stuff. The very best. But there you go. My mum's dead and yours isn't. And it's funny too, because though my mum never met yours, the one thing she did love as much as heroin was your dad. All the time talking about him. Her famous son. Adopted and made the big-time. And you know, when your dad came down to the estate and found her that day, all those years ago, that was the best day of her whole miserable fucking life, and all because your dad turned up with a bit of fucking money and a red fucking Bentley and a big fucking smile. And from that moment her eyes would light up at the mention of his name on the telly or the radio. And she talked about him all the time. Never talked about me like that. Never. Never proud of me. Not me, the kid who achieved at school and kept up on all his work and was no trouble to no-one despite having a druggie for a mother and a piss-head of a stepdad, and two psycho fucking step-brothers. Never fucking proud of me, was she? Like I didn't fucking exist. But in comes your dad, the king of rock and roll, two months and a wad of cash - he's the second bloody coming.
'Didn't last though. Your dad got bored, didn't he? She wrote him letters you know? Every day. Well every day she wasn't wrecked. Dirty, pleading little letters. Fawning, sycophantic, sniveling things, they were. And you know what your dad did? Fuck all is what. He just disappeared. The coward's way. We heard nothing, not for a full fucking month. Then a single letter arrives. All typed and legal. I never got to read that. She burned it over the sink. You know, she'd already got herself into debt thinking there'd be more money coming. And she took a hit that night. A big one. And then another the night after. And the night after that an' all. And one night, about a month later, she took a hit, and she never fucking woke up.
'So the way I see it, your dad killed my mum. He stole her from me. He broke that woman with her own fucking dreams. My big brother! The famous fucking Mickey Richards. So you know what, you can call me Uncle Steve if you want to. But the way I see it, your dad owes me a life. And I've decided to take yours.'
'Steve!' Lola said. 'Steve! You said -'
She came towards him but he batted her away with the back of his hand. She cried out in shock.
And Steve said, 'I'm going to kill you, Zack Richards. So, you know what? I don't give a shit about your faked fucking photo or your fucking cloud. A son for a mother. And that's poetic justice right there.'
He moved the gun in a mock firing action.
Zack Richards flinched in his chair.
54
Sweat beaded around the muzzle of the gun that pressed into Zack's forehead. Zack began to shake and Lola jumped forwards. She lunged for the gun. Steve was too focused on Zack to react quickly, but his grip tightened on the gun and his finger tightened around the trigger as Lola pulled the barrel away.
And the whole room shook.
Board rumbled and perspex rattled.
And the roar of the gun faded. Zack Richards' was screaming, loud and loaded with swearing. Bart, who had flinched at the gunshot, now winced at the screams. He looked down at his jeans spattered with blood, and then across. A part of Zack's right shoe was missing and blood spilled out of the hole and onto the bloody floor.
And Zack shouted.
'Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Look what you've done. You fucker! My God! Look at it! You crazy, fucking! Fucking Christ!'
And Lola looked like she was going to be sick.
'Oh God,' she murmured. 'Oh God, oh God.'
Steve was pointing the gun at her, shaking it in her face. He pushed her roughly down and he sank to his knees. He retied her ankles and he made a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a cry.
Lola was breathing hard and Zack's swearing sank into a syncopated mutter. Then Steve Hasland stood and reshaped his hair.
He said, 'All right. I think it's time we'd got this party started.' And he stalked out into the storeroom and left them.
From their chairs they heard a series of loud clanks and splashes. Wanting to see, Bart craned his neck. Steve was out there, swinging a jerry can around amongst the machines.
Bart turned to Lola and said, 'We're not getting out of this. You're the daughter of the guy that's made him a murderer, Zack's the son of the man who killed his mother, and I'm, I'm a dickhead of a private detective who doesn't know what's good for him.'
But Lola wasn't listening. Her eyes were fixed on Zack's bleeding foot. And Bart turned to see the sweat stream down Zack's face.
'Come on,' Bart said. 'You don't want him to die. Lola. We've got to get out.'
And when she looked up Bart saw a panic in her eyes that he had not seen before.
She stammered out, 'He - won't - kill - us.'
'Christ Lola. What is it with you and him? Are you guys like a thing?' Bart asked. 'Is that it?'
And Lola laughed. It was a cold and tiny laugh. And she shook her head.
'You're ridiculous,' she said.
With his head tilted back, and gazing at the ceiling, Zack breathed heavily and said,'So - what is he - like a big brother or something?'
Lola glowered.
And Bart said, 'Come on Lola! There's something going on here. So what is it? Is it revenge? Against your dad or something?' He nodded at the corpse of Francesca De Souza. 'Against her, maybe? You know Lola, if I'm going to die today, I kind of want to know why.'
Her cheek twitched, just once.
'It wasn't supposed to happen like this,' she said.
Outside, the clanking and the splashing stopped.
Steve was listening.
Then there was a whoosh, and orange flame lit the far corner of the storeroom.
Lola turned to Zack.
'Okay, so I knew about you and Fran,' she said. 'And I was jealous. Of course I was jealous! But that's only because - look I - I didn't want - I didn't want - any of this, okay!' She paused, calmed herself. 'I just thought - Oh God - I just thought that I want - look, I love you, Zack. Okay? And I mean like - I properly love you - I - I thought I could help.'
Zack tilted his head and he forced his eyes open.
'Lola,' he whispered. He was almost smiling. 'I think you -'
'You think she what?' Steve said. He swung in around the side of the door-frame and hung from the crossbeam, a broad smile on his face.'Go on then. Spit it out, Zack. You think she what?'
And Bart said, 'He thinks if Lola asks you nicely, maybe you'll let her go.'
And Steve bore his teeth like an angry ape, bending down, his gaze charged and calculating, and Bart saw the knife, sheathed and balanced precariously in the back pocket of Hasland's jeans.
'You think so, do you?' Steve said. 'Well she can always ask. Maybe I will say yes, eh?' And no one spoke, so Steve continued. 'Well then. I'll ask you, detective. Do you think I'll say yes, you know, if she asks me?' He brought his hand close, and he palmed Bart full in the face and he laughed. Warm blood trickled down Bart's upper lip and Steve leaned to inspect his work, drinking in the pain and vulnerability. 'You're a bit of a joke, aren't you Crowe?' he said.
And Lola looked at her feet and her sequined ballet pumps that were soaked in her boyfriend's blood and in Francesca De Souza's blood. She began to shake. Steve turned to her and he stroked her hair, and when Lola didn't move, he rubbed her arm and he whispered in her ear, and he took her hands in his with real tenderness and he pulled her gently to her feet. And Lola Golden shook with tears and Steve pulled her to him and put his arms around her waist.
Lola Golden laid her head against Steve Haslan's chest and she wept.
> 'Shit man, this is so fucked up,' Zack rasped.
And Steve's lips curled down at the edges and his eyes closed, as Lola's blonde hair draped against his chest, a tear on his cheek and the combat knife in his back pocket, while out in the storeroom, twisting totems of smoke spiraled to the high ceiling and the flames moved closer.
And when Steve released his hold on Lola, she shuffled back and brushed the hair from her eyes. Still looking down, her eyes moved faster, recompiling the events of the last few hours. And when Steve stepped forward and touched her shoulder she pulled back.
'Okay. Okay,' Steve said. 'Stay there. Can you stay standing? I mean are you strong enough to stand?'
Lola nodded. Steve dropped to one knee and the knife fell from his back pocket and thudded softly on the bloody carpet.
Steve said, 'Lola - Okay, okay - Lola - Oh Jesus! I thought this would be easier, you know. I've literally planned this speech so many times and now I - okay - right, I'm ready - Lola, I need your forgiveness.'
And she backed away until the frame of the chair dug into her calves as outside another pool of petrol caught light with a whump.
'Listen - Steve,' Lola said. 'Please - you don't have to -'
Steve said, 'It was me! It was me that did it. That's what I have to tell you.'
And Lola didn't move or respond but Zack leaned forward, straining hear, straining to stay conscious.
'It was me,' Steve said again. 'I took your mother from you. It was me! I shot her. I shot her with this very gun!'
And he pulled out the pistol and he held it flat in his palms as the flames rose up and rattled the perspex windows. And it was as if they were roaring in applause.
And Steve said, 'It was me. I kept the gun. In 2010 - when I first came down here - this gun - it was waiting for me. Your mum was out running. And I hid on the beach. And I ran up behind her. And I shot her. Point blank. I shot her twice. And I left her there to die on the sand. It was me. I did it.'
Lola gripped clumps of hair in her hands as the peaks of flame rose higher. Her mouth was open but she couldn't and didn't speak.
Document Q
Text messages from Sophie Heath to Bartholomew Crowe: 22/11/19. 07:01 a.m.
[Dear Bartie Boy - ANSWER YOUR BLOODY PHONE!!! I rang like six times. I left a message like twice.]
[So I got your text!!!! There hasn't been another one. That means the police don't have this Hasland guy and it means I don't know if you're OK.]
[And you've broken your promise cos you haven't text me like you said.]
[I rang Noah. At least he answers his phone when I call! He offered to drive me down there. I mean, right now. He just offered! So kind. And I'd go too - you know - if it wasn't for the bullet hole - it just hurts too much. Even thinking about it hurts and I don't want to make it worse. ]
[Listen. I know you want to save this girl. And I know you want justice - for me or for yourself - but I want you to promise me - do not try and talk to this Hasland guy. DO NOT GET CLOSE! Don't put yourself in danger. The instant you find him, CALL THE POLICE okay. Please. I mean it.]
[You know I will get over this bullet wound thing - probably - mostly - eventually. And you know what else? Deep down, I could probably get over losing you - probably - mostly - eventually! - sorry!!! But that would be REALLY HARD AND I DON'T WANT TO! Bart don't make me do it. I DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOU!!! So promise you'll be good and stay alive and CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THIS OKAY!!!]
[I'm phoning the police in 1hr. Sophie Xx]
55
Tongues of flame danced beyond the perspex sheeting. Steve was looking down when he spoke.
'I knew your dad when I was a kid back home in Brum. But you already knew that, right? And he'd pay me to carry stuff for him. I carried a lot of packets but even then I never did it for the money. You know when you're a kid, you're happy hanging out in any kind of crowd really, it's like you're part of something isn't it? And it was brilliant actually. I was everyone's kid brother.'
He smiled.
'And you know, sometimes the lads would try to get me to take some of their stuff, bit of grass, bit of ganja or LSD, all that - and I don't know if they were always serious - but I always said no - I didn't want to be like Mum, you know. And sometimes I actually fought them off physically. But that was okay. Showed them I was tough didn't it. Made them nervous, see.
'And it was during that time I noticed that Glenn was like that too. I mean he smoked fags and a bit of weed and that but never more, and he'd always pick me for jobs you know, over the others. Knew I wouldn't get stoned and fuck it up like the rest of 'em. He was smart, your dad, anyone could see it, and I wanted to be just like him.
'So I did a lookout job or two. ID-ed guys for him. Whatever, really - but I never took no drugs no matter what. And when I got bigger, I got a lot bigger and Glenn started me in with a bit of the rough stuff. But I wasn't a thug about it. I was organised, and I was patient, and I never got caught. And when I hurt people, I never felt anything you know. No guilt. My step brothers and their mates, they'd done some horrible stuff to me. And nobody ever gave a shit about that. Not Mum, and definitely not my step-dad. Not my teachers. Not the social services. Not bloody anybody. So I knew pain. I still know it now. Every moment is soaked in pain, sort of like breathing.
'Anyway, I was organised like I said, and because I was organised I did pretty well at school - out of trouble for the most part - and hiding the truth about my car-crash of a life. And nobody ever helped me. Not a soul. But I made it - school and uni and teacher training - and all on my bloody own too. And you know what else? At the end of the day it was easy! All the other guys at uni moaning about assignments and deadlines and shit. I was just like - fuck, I slept under a dining room table for four years. This is a fucking holiday!
'So, anyway, after uni I moved back to Birmingham and I got a teaching job at my old school. Got married. Got divorced soon after, but - well, that didn't work out - but I still had my mum, and I looked after her as much as she'd let me. And that was when Mickey Richards came by, and Mum thought she's saved - saved from bad gear. And I even thought that maybe having this new brother proves I'm special too.
'But it turned out that Mickey Richards got bored real fucking quick. And that's the thing about addiction isn't it? It's fucking boring. It bores people. So anyway, Richards fucks off and two months later my mum is dead. And the shithead doesn't even go to the funeral. Now she's three crappy pages in his autobiography. I don't even get a fucking namecheck! And Mum wasn't much but she was all I had. I went fucking crazy. Not drugs. But sex. Hookups and prozzies, S&M, men and fucking women. Fucking everything. I did all of it.
'Then when Glenn contacted me on Facebook, it was exactly what I needed really - the old family from the old days come to bring me back from the brink. Something real you know. Something human. My mum was dead and I was having these empty, emotionless hookups. And I knew pain, and I knew death. It didn't seem such a leap to kill somebody really. And if I'm honest, the idea excited me. Another taboo to check off the list. So I did what Glenn wanted and I shot your mother.'
Lola closed her eyes and she rested her chin on her thumbs.
'Why?' she said. 'Why did Dad want her dead?'
'Oh it was money. Pure and simple really. They were getting divorced you see, and she was being difficult. Glenn figured he'd sold his soul to the devil long ago. He'd paid his price for what he had, risked his freedom, so why should she have half of it, you know?'
'But what about me then?' Lola said. 'What about custody of me? I was nine years old! Was it about custody too?'
'No pet. It wasn't about you. You were always going to stay with your dad. But I only got one side, remember.'
Lola looked into Steve's grey-green eyes. And Steve reached out to her, to touch her shoulder, but she shook her head, dusted his hand away.
'No. No, sorry. I can't forgive you, Steve,' she said. 'I don't forgive you. Not for any of - this. I can't.'
Rumbling flame
s, black smoke covering the ceiling, and Steve had to raise his voice over the fire.
'I understand,' he said. 'I do. But remember Lola, I was in a bad place then. Fuck me, I'm in a bad place now! But I want you to know the truth, because Lola, I'm gonna let you go. Now. So that's it - you're free. So go. Before the flames take hold. Go home.'
Lola looked at Zack, then at Bart.
And she said,'I won't go.'
Zack rocked his head forwards and he smiled at her through his pain.
But Bart said, 'Go! For Christ's sake, at least one of us has to get out of this alive! You've got to go now, Lola!'
And Lola looked at Zack. Poor drowsy Zack, on the edge of consciousness and she shook her head.
'No,' she said. 'I won't.'
Steve said, 'Lola, I took your mother's life. Now I'm sparing yours. You need to go now, sweetheart.'
Zack, grinning drowsily, moved his head towards the door and said, 'Go, babe.'
A tear slipped down Lola's cheek.
She mouthed the words 'I love you.' And she turned to Steve and said, 'Can I have my bag please? I want to clean myself up.'
Steve pulled Lola's grey-blue hand bag from his holdall and Lola sat in the chair next to the corpse of Francesca De Souza.She studied herself in her compact and she dusted her face with brushes and pads.
Steve walked to the door. He looked out into the flames and the blackening smoke. And while his back was turned, Lola picked up the combat knife from where it had fallen under the chair. She walked up behind him, the knife behind her back.
'Okay,' she said. 'I'm ready.'
Steve turned. He rested one hand on her shoulder. And the muzzle of the gun touched her neck.
'I know you can't see it now, but I hope one day you can forgive me, Lola, for all of the badness I've done to you.'
'Can I say goodbye to the boys please?'
The flames crackled and snapped. Something fell and something smashed and Lola smiled softly. Steve nodded and he turned back to watch the flames and smoke.