“You weren’t listening to me,” Sierra replied, facing Rum. “There aren’t any ‘houses’ left in this area. They’re all apartment blocks. And I might not recognise them but I really don’t need to. The address we’re looking for is, ’Bridge View Block, room 13.’”
Sierra wheeled round to look straight down the river at the old style bridge. She pointed over the bridge to the only apartment block with a view of it. “Pretty self-explanatory. Our lady’s there.”
They followed by way of her index finger, past the bridge toward the intended building. The closer they drew the more it became apparent that this promised ‘view’ of the bridge was some distance from it. In reality, the building stood buried behind corridors of alleyway wrapped outside apartments of similar structure. One could easily become lost for the monotony of the sights. Unsightly, decaying, and dull all seemed to have become the basic epitome of the modern structural complex. Even the lanes were so tight a squeeze the four bums had to walk in single file.
The laneways twisted round like maze walls, collapsed sections the only distinction between social outcrops and some inescapable labyrinth. In essence, this neighbourhood and a labyrinth promised similar kinds of damnation, many people trapped forever, never moving on.
These four tramps were already far below that level of damnation, but at least their damnation allowed them to leave this labyrinth when finished with their business.
Henry kept at the back of the queue, behind Rum. “I can’t imagine anyone would stay here given another way out.”
Rum glanced back to Henry. “When someone hits a place like this, the only way out is a solid fall through to the streets.”
Their travels took them to an open space bordered on all sides by the walls of different apartment buildings. The space was small but looked big enough to park a few cars in, if not for the lack of a driveway.
Sierra ran up to the only door around. Next to it, there was a battered door sign poorly nailed to the wall. It bore the building’s name, or at least half of it.
“This is it. This is where his ex-wife and kid live,” Sierra said. “I guess we should go in.”
The door light flickered once, and on a second flicker stopped dead into darkness. For a moment the four stood still, as if using this darkness as an excuse not to move. There would be no hurry since they didn’t know what to say anyway.
Back from the way they came, the church bell struck a chord for seven O'clock. It acted as a mark for twilight hour, the true moment of nightfall when all the street lights shimmer up their fire. They did so consecutively like dominoes until hitting one lamp in this small space. It became brighter than the door lamp could have made it.
In new lighting, Rum sighed of joy despite the toppled bin cans and vocal alley rats busy in this area. “Seven O' clock. My favourite time of day.”
Alex eyed him wearily. “Seven O clock? What’s so special about it?”
“You don’t remember?” Rum looked at Sierra and Henry for follow up – none came. “Fuck off then.”
Alex pondered the thought. “Seven’s when the lights switch on in winter … but aren’t you a little too old, and crabby, to take pleasure in something like that?”
“That’s not it. I just like it, but never mind.”
“For once I think we should listen to Rum,” Sierra stated. “No more stalling. It’s a bit late as it is to be banging on people’s doors, let’s not make it later.”
Sierra pushed the door open. It had been loosely closed and opened with a moaning creak. At once they became overwhelmed by a smell of damp accompanied by a stench oozing from a stagnant mop bucket. It only exemplified the need for haste.
Sierra first boarded the un-carpeted stairwell, footfalls banging like an echo in an old manor. Again they found themselves moving in single file, this time more as a security precaution.
“Room 13, room 13,” Sierra muttered to herself in fear of each up-coming corner.
Alex picked up on her worry, and tried adding another. “Any idea what we’re going to say to her?”
“The truth,” Sierra replied.
“The truth? You mean: ‘hey, how’s things? I know it’s late and all but I’d just like to tell you that your ex-husband is going to kill himself. It’s probably your fault but don’t feel so bad.’ Something tells me she’d slam the door in our face.”
“Not exactly how I’d phrase it, but we’ll see when we get there.” Sierra entered the second floor hallway and stopped. “We’re here.”
They inched closer to the door with subdued eagerness. Before they could prepare, Sierra banged trice on door thirteen. They waited.
“Wouldn’t it be funny,” Rum said, “if the cheque we stole from that Jack Matters guy turned out to have been made by an entirely different person. I mean, we could be tracking the wrong guy right now.”
Sierra silenced Rum with a kick. Alex and Henry added some ill-appreciatory groans.
“What?” Rum asked. “I thought it’d be funny.”
Rum’s anecdotes aside, three of the four made some effort to appear respectable. The other one just leaned against the wall, head tucked under trench coat collar as if to snooze.
Illegible whispers came through from the other side, growing nearer until the door creaked open with a hint of wariness. A red haired woman peeked trough the opening, hand clutched to the frame in anticipation to slam. A broken locking chain suggested she had good reason for apprehension.
Each of the bums sighed some relief. It was indeed the woman from the photo.
Her pale face peeped through the crack like a frightened mouse, her voice could use the same description. “Can … can I help you?” she asked.
The four late night callers failed to respond beyond a show of scattered mutterings.
Her eyes shifted over each visitor until freezing on the eldest of the bunch, who concealed his face. She balled her hand in trepidation and the door would have slammed then.
“Wait!” Sierra called. “We were … we were looking for John Reagle?”
Her retreat stopped and eyes flared with awareness. “John Reagle? My ex-husband?”
Sierra sighed relief.
Suddenly the door tore wide open. She stood before them in full sight, less a mouse and more a giant. “Bullshit. Nobody ever wants to see John. That worthless piece of shit doesn’t have any friends!”
Sierra flushed red with embarrassment. “We … need to talk to him about something.”
“What about? I get it, the cunts in debt again, right?”
“Well … he might be in a bit of trouble and we were-”
“Good!” the woman leaned lazily on the doorframe and began, or resumed, filing her nails. “Cheap bastard should just die already and leave me the insurance. Almost tried to finish himself once, but as his luck would have it, he wound up with the only decent doctor left in that entire hospital. To think I could be out of this dump by now. Now I’m stuck sharing all his debts and everything that comes with them.”
That seemed to explain the broken door chain.
A scurry of movement came from inside the room. A tiny voice piped out, and through the open door appeared a child to match. She stood about the height of an adult’s knee, red haired and clothed in pink pyjamas. She removed her pacifier in preparation to speak.
“Da-ddy?” she said.
The mother flung a blocking arm across the door frame, as if to prevent the late night callers from seeing her. “Go back to bed Emma!”
“Daddy’s visiting tonight?”
“No! Your father hates you, he’s not visiting.”
“He said.”
“He lied. Remember, your father likes to lie?”
Alex dipped under her arm to get a look at the child, to reaffirm something he noticed on that previous glance. She stood in shallow light but there seemed some pale discolouring on one of her eyes. It looked like an over glossing of various creams and makeup dashed on for concealment.
The child slink
ed away in tearful silence. Sierra couldn’t help but choke at the sight of it.
“Now look what you people have done. You call around late like this then you end up getting the kid upset.”
“Us?” Sierra replied.
Rum pushed up front. “Look, abuse whoever the hell you want on your own time. We’re looking for John Reagle, your ex-husband, can you tell us where he is?”
The woman scowled. “Haven’t seen that bastard in months.”
“Have you tried ‘looking for him?’”
“Look at you acting up on me, you can’t even dress yourself. You look like some dumb drunk bum. What do I have to say to you - nothing!”
“Yeah, this whole trip’s starting to make sense now. What d’you know, I’m actually starting to feel for the guy,” Rum said.
“You people end up bringing that idiot back here and I’ll sue you worse than him. John’s got a mile wide restraining order pinned to his ass, what do you want?”
“Bitch,” Rum added eloquently.
Suddenly the door went slamming to close. The woman screamed something illegible but quietened when the door bounced back for something blocking its way.
She re-opened it to clear the blockage, but instead stared vehemently at Henry, who held his foot firmly in the way.
“Move it.”
Henry returned the glare with one of his own. He bore an oddly vacant expression, one so vague it offered a multitude of possible meanings while presenting nothing clear at all. It was the look of a man capable of doing anything. Under it all, a callous little smile cut from one cheek to the next.
“Let’s reaffirm our priorities,” he said.
The woman stuttered on her words as if trying to argue the point further, then seemed to freeze as if re-examining those on her doorstep. First she had looked down on them and seen only four lowly wrecks, now she saw four figures draped in the sullen shadow of the hallway. They grouped together under darkness, each larger than her and only now showing their true colours.
“Jack Matters sent you to collect the payment,” she stated.
The four bums half looked at one another curiously. It was a name they hadn’t heard in a while, but seemed finally to have some use.
“You’re damn right he did!” Rum proclaimed, with a show of hesitation from the others.
With that the old man became inquisitor.
At once the woman’s demeanour collapsed, voice returning to that frail little squeak with which she first greeted them. “I always try helping Matters, you know that, right? He told you that, right? I even stole one of John’s cheques and gave it up to Jack.”
Rum’s interest peaked. “You mean the donation cheque for Grey Oaks retirement home? So you gave that to Matters?”
“How was I supposed to know he couldn’t cash the thing? Do I look like I use cheques? I tried help, that’s all. John’s the one who was giving Jack’s money to that slut who worked at the retirement home. It’s his fault.”
“So that’s how Matters got hold of that. You know John got beat up over that?”
“Like I care.”
“What was that cheque worth, like two grand? I can see why the two of you stay so distant.”
“I threw John out months ago. Last I heard he moved further up North. It’s a place called Apple-glade.”
“Apple-Glade … rings a bell. Fancy corporate owned estate by the seaside. What’s a bum like John doing living up there?” Rum asked.
“His parents died, see, and left their house to John and his sister, Anna. John used to look after the house with his sister up until she died after all that fucked up shit with the … well forget it. He started running out of money, and last I heard he was about to be kicked out.”
“So he might not live there anymore?” Rum asked.
“That’s all I know. If he ain’t up there then he could be anywhere. Don’t come knocking on this door again, I don’t know anything else. I want nothing to do with John anymore.”
Rum nodded satisfaction.
Henry took it as an order to remove his foot.
The woman faded back behind the door. “That’s it now. Don’t bother me anymore or I swear to God…”
Her empty threats vanished behind a slamming door. The four had only turned to leave when muffled voices began yelling on the other side.
“Little brat, I told you to stay in your room!”
“They were talking about Daddy.”
“Forget about him and go to bed!”
Rum sent a frown straight through the closed doorframe. On a kind of instinct he stepped up as if to kick the whole thing down. He’d show that woman what’s what.
Sierra tapped his arm for calm, shaking her head to disperse the thought.
Rum huffed compliance, turning to lead them back downstairs from whence they came.
They retraced their steps out the maze-like lanes to riverside, wandering to that arched bridge at the heart of this district. It was there Henry sat on the bridge wall with a need to soothe his foot.
Alex stopped to wait for him. “I suppose your foot must hurt after all that.”
“To be honest I didn’t think she’d slam the door so hard.”
“She’s deceivingly strong, that woman. Guess people can’t always be so predictable, right Henry?”
Henry grinned with guilt. “I did act a little strange. I suppose she caught me at a bad time. Figures … We’ve been walking all day and it’s getting late – call me cranky.”
“Cranky? Downright despicable is what I’d say,” Alex said.
“Old hag looked ready to wet her pants!” Sierra added.
Rum laughed. “I’m the one what scared her. Henry makes a good doorstop though. Ain’t that right Henry?” The old man delivered a jesting punch to Henry’s shoulder.
Short of keeling over on it, Henry rubbed his shoulder to health. Now he’d two places in need of heeling.
“I need a break.”
“Not until you tell us what got into you,” Alex said.
“Nothing to tell - I just haven’t done anything in a while.”
Henry laughed wryly and the others couldn’t argue.
Chapter 20
They chose to set up camp at the nearest location granting privacy. It so happened to be a cosy patch of land directly beneath the bridge. A ladder took them down to what appeared to be a small docking point or platform for bridge repairmen. In either case it was something of a concrete ledge hanging over the water surface.
Despite the hail of snow this little area remained dry enough for Rum to spark a fire from the rubble of an extinguished one. When in full blaze, the old man sat back to admire it with architect’s pride. Lavishing in its heat, he removed his green trench coat and everything from waist up. He could bare the cold for this rare chance to let his clothes dry out. Bare chested, he leaned back against the bridge arch like a man already asleep.
Alex sat washing his feet over the side when he glanced at Rum. It was an odd sight to witness the old geezer without those many layers of clothes. Maybe it was merely unconventional to go through the trouble of removing them all. He looked somehow smaller without them. A bony outline stuck out through his skin, his ribs most prominent of all. Anyone who saw Rum like this would be forgiven if they took him for a pushover.
Alex looked away toward the now distant church. Lamps on the streets above took away much of the Victorian allure to this place, instead painting it in a coat of neon white light. The surface of the river had been caked in a carpet of pure light. It glowed with a certain ominous foreboding, while rippling beautifully on the current. Alex took it with a sense of awe, for both its ability to inspire and the shear unnatural allure of it all.
Alex placed his thoughts on hold in lieu of an itching feeling rising from his chest. He held hand over mouth to pre-emptively catch a cough. It came, and more came in quick succession. He descended into a short, but horribly choking coughing fit. When cleared he removed a case of pills from his pocket and
popped one into his mouth.
Sierra sat down beside him. “Your cold coming back? It’s probably the water.”
Alex took the hint to remove his feet from the drink.
“Those are the pills you got at the hospital?”
“Yeah. They’re useless though, nothing but supplements really.”
“Can I see them?”
Alex already threw the pill case into the water by time she finished asking. It splashed in and went away with all the other floating garbage.
He shrugged. “That was the last one.”
“So you don’t need them any more?”
“Weren’t you the one who said you never rummage around in other people’s business?”
“I know but … you’ve been sick a long time. I’m worried.”
Alex smiled. “I know.”
“Ain’t that sweet,” Rum bellowed behind them.
“What? You got a problem with this?” Sierra screeched back.
“Not you, look at him!” Rum pointed at Henry, who lay sprawled out in total slumber, suckling on his thumb.
“So? He does that all the time,” Sierra said.
Rum leaned over and smacked Henry back to consciousness. “Hey Henry! I said isn’t that sweet!”
Henry stirred dumfounded. “Wha-? Something happen? Who woke me?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“So you’d pay attention. Gotta pay attention.”
Henry stared back unimpressed. “But I was sleeping.”
Sierra giggled inwardly. “Rum! That was mean. Henry, since you’re awake could you help manage the fire?”
“I don’t want to be awake! We’ve been walking almost three days straight and this is the best chance to sleep I’ve gotten. Even in the hostel there was this creepy old guy who kept staring at me through the dark – gave me chills, kept me awake all night.”
“Mirrors will do that to you,” Alex mumbled.
Sierra lay back in contemplation. She stared out at the snow flurried sky. “Wow … three days down already, five more to go. It’s taking longer than I expected.”
“Not long to go now though,” Rum said. “We’ve finally got his address. Apple-Glade ain’t so far away. With any luck we’ll get there tomorrow to find him waiting.”
A Vagrant Story Page 20