Raucous

by Ben Paul Dunn

  Raucous glanced to his left. Charlotte was still watching him. He knew she would not let him rest till he explained again.

  “If I need to kill to save you or Christian or myself, then yeah, I’ll kill. None of them would make me shed a tear.”

  “So why not just kill them and have it done?”

  Raucous slowed the car and pulled over. He turned the engine off. He held onto the wheel with both hands and clenched his fists tight. He spoke but looked only at the symbol of a klaxon on the plastic cover.

  The car in front, Roach's car, stopped but remained idling with Roach inside.

  “I’m sorry about what I did to you and Christian. I am. I was young, very stupid and believed, bought into a way of thinking, a religion if you like of what it was to be a real man, a real person. But like the religious doctrines preached by men with a core of vice, it was all bullshit. No such men ever existed, nor ever will. I certainly wasn’t one. And I am not one now. But I got caught. I wasn’t killed like everyone else in that robbery. I went away. And I don’t care what people say about the easy life inside, the free food the free accommodation, where I went was hell. Every minute of every day I had to fight. Not physically, although there was plenty of that.

  “I went in young. Easy prey they thought and I had to prove otherwise. And I did. But with that comes power and a need to hold on. You can’t take a demotion, a backward step. Every minute of every day I was a marked man. Take me and your life will be easy. Take down Raucous and you have an easy pass. Because I was hated, for what I did, killing a woman, and hated for being stronger, meaner, more capable of extreme violence than them. If I could go back, and meet me as the eighteen year old would-be hard man about to move up to a man’s prison, as starred-up as I was, I wouldn’t say anything. I would pull a gun and kill me. All that an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth business, sure, I’ll go with that. You killed them so we kill you. Yeah, I’ll take that. What I lived was worse.”

  “You have your second chance now”

  “There is no second chance, just the burden of what happened to carry with me forever. My mistake and I paid. Just as it should be. But I was lucky, I’m big, I’m strong, I will kill if I must, but I had it hard. Twenty-three hours in a cell. A bucket and me. Every second on the landing with others just like me, all wanting their shot. It’s no way to live, and it is the biggest cruellest punishment of all. No rehabilitation, just punishment. Death for many is a dream. And when you come out, after so long, none of what is happening in the real world makes sense, and you wish you’d died inside where the rules were there for a reason.”

  “You won’t go back?”

  “If I did I wouldn’t fight. I’d be dead within a week, within a day if I go back to the same place. And that’s fine. But only if this turns out how I need it to turn out.”

  “Why are you doing all this?”

  Raucous turned to Charlotte, no tears; he had long ago learnt to cut tears at source. He hoped she saw his pain, the self-torture he bore every second of every day as an adult from the moment he sobered up, the moment the drugs wore off and he knew what he had done. The pain at Jim Sharples explaining the story, the pain at knowing he had been played. The pain at being exactly the stupid Raucous they had all seen and all destroyed. He tried to smile.

  “So I know I am not the boy I used to be.”

  ******************************************************************

  They drove on and passed Roach. They indicated all was good. Raucous drove slowly. The city lights helped them at the start, but soon the houses gave way to countryside and the electric lighting gave way to darkness with sporadic outbursts of small villages and towns. They followed the monotone voice of the GPS system on Charlotte’s phone. It wasn’t Steven Hawkins but intonation was all wrong. The voice sounded like it wanted to ask questions then lost confidence and merely stated fact. Raucous watched the scenery until the light made his view hedgerows and trees. He didn’t know if this was the route he and Christian had taken all those years ago. Had no idea where he had been. He wished he had known. He knew he would have been the good boy inside, done his time quiet. Defended himself but backed off being the man. He would have come out and come here. Taken what he could and disappeared.

  But that was the reason Parker had followed him. Jim had told him, warned that they believed he knew something. They needed to see if Raucous, after all that time silent, was not planning revenge. He thought about Jim, the first visit Jim had made. The panic he felt. He had killed Jim’s daughter. Jim Sharples’ daughter. Jim had explained, told him that Raucous was keeping silent for nothing. Jim had explained. And finally, after seven years of being uncontrollable, of being the man, he stopped and served his time. He hurt no other man that didn’t ask to be hurt. They still came at him, sporadically. Raucous had lost his edge, Big Jim had scared Raucous, subdued him. But they were wrong. Jim had given him the truth.

  Raucous didn’t believe him at first. He had seen them die, saw them fly over the edge of that balcony. It seemed high enough to him. That height was almost certain death. It wasn’t water below. With water, 250 meters made it statistically untenable that you survive the fall. Some had, but survive meant didn’t die. Leg, spinal and head injuries, life altering injuries occurred to those that lived. And they must all have thought God was punishing them. An eternity with a disability, the rest of the life they wanted to end in a condition that made their unbearable lives worse. Like prison, he thought. If he had known, really known, what the existence inside would be, and if there was an option of quick painless death or seventeen years inside, he would have chosen death.

  He smiled at those people who complained about prison life being soft. And maybe there were soft prisons where they locked up the rich and influential. Where tennis could be played, and cricket enjoyed on grounds of neatly kept lawn. He had seen photos of an ex world champion boxer, inside for driving badly and hurting someone. He was rich, influential too he guessed. A photo of his prison, days out, freedom to walk the grounds. They probably didn’t have a gate. But that wasn’t where Raucous learned to survive. Twenty-three hours of shut down in a cell with someone you invariably hated. An hour to stretch legs and be on watch for anyone you may have offended or may want to take your place on the ladder of influence. He had fought every day early on; he needed to make his mark. There was going to be violence, he was going to be a target. So he picked his own and went after them. An existence in an altered reality where outside traits of calm studious courtesy marked you for prey. But the traits that got you inside, violence, no empathy, disregard for the letter of law made you progress and be left alone. It was a Darwinian training ground for violent psychopaths, and he had made it to the top. Then Jim came and told him the truth. Only Raucous wouldn’t believe. And then Charlotte came. But that was never her name. She didn’t speak, she stared, anger in her eyes, her face scarred, her face changed. But her eyes hadn’t. The same eyes he had looked into and loved, if what he had felt were love. And he knew then that Jim told the truth. And now it was coming to an end. An end he had hoped for, an end where they felt and experienced what he had, where their roles were reversed.

  “You OK there, Raucous?” Charlotte asked.

  “You never used to call me that.”

  “You always insisted.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve said that enough.”

  “I still haven’t proven though.”

  “You’ll get time.”

  “Maybe.”

  The GPS beeped its excitement. They had found their destination.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO

  They stepped out of the car and opened the gate. Raucous drove up the rough pathway toward the barn. The building was as Raucous remembered with added green over the walls where Ivy had crawled up to add camouflage. The door was two thick metal panels on hinges embedded in concrete. The two doors overlapped where they met, the right side had a six-inch metal flange running down its entire heigh
t, welded to its edge. The padlock was large and rusted, but not entirely. It was the size of a large man’s open hand. Simple and solid, requiring a key. They circled the barn. There were no windows or other entrances. Raucous stepped back and looked up at the roof. It was damaged by weather and gravity. But the wood beams were holding the half-moon tiles in place well. Raucous pulled on the double doors and there was no give at all. No space to be found.

  “Do you have the key?” Raucous asked.

  “Right here,” Roach said.

  Raucous made a double take at the key Roach held.

  “I was joking," Raucous said.

  "From Christian's belongings. I imagine the other key is to the van's ignition."

  "Think it’ll still work?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  It took a while to wriggle the key home, but the lock was of the highest quality and the mechanism worked after Roach liberally sprayed WD-40. Roach pulled the lock free and the doors stayed shut. Raucous slid his fingers behind the flange and pulled. The hinges were of worse quality than the lock. The years had rusted them tight. Raucous heaved and heard cracks as rusted metal broke and buckled. The ground had risen over the years and the door could only be opened a metre.

  “It’s not like we are planning on driving the van out,” Roach said.

  Roach produced three large torches from his bag and they stepped inside. The musty damp smell hit hard, but they stepped forward through the gap in turn. Raucous, Charlotte and Roach. The van was as they had left it. The back doors were closed but unlocked. Raucous grabbed the handle and twisted as he pressed the button in its centre. He opened both doors wide and they all shone the light inside. Raucous stepped up and in, and the suspension on the transit van creaked.

  “You still think it’s real gold?” Roach asked.

  “If it isn’t, they won’t come.”

  They looked at the bars of gold stacked like a rich child's oversized lego house. Raucous touched one of the bars, wiping a mark through the dust that covered it.

  “Sure looks like gold.”

  They stood and stared at the stack. A lot of money if it were real, a lot of money if it were fake.

  Roach spoke, “We know the plan. Let’s call them in.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE

  Mitch had been dead. Rollin wanted to kill him back then, not one hour ago. The phone call saved him, or added more minutes to his existence. He hoped he could last long enough for the pain to dissolve. Rollin hit hard. He started heavy and just kept going. The snarl, the anger, the frustration. Mitch had watched when his eyes were open. A man in need of blaming another for misfortune. A man in need of release. But most of all in need of information. Rollin had latched to the idea, convincing himself that obtaining information was at any cost. Rollin needed Mitch to speak. Parker hadn’t drawn his knife. He was a man who saw no benefit. He was the only one not panicking. Parker had accepted, he would keep playing, fighting, but Mitch was sure he was operating under the concept of death. Parker was calm but Mitch would not say it was from confidence.

  Chamberlain sat beside Mitch in the back of their SUV. Chamberlain had his gun pressed up against Mitch’s ribs. It wasn’t necessary, Mitch was going nowhere, there was nowhere to go. This was Chamberlain’s comfort blanket, he was taking credit for stopping an outcome that was never going to happen. He needed to prove his worth. He was failing.

  Rollin drove, Parker in the passenger seat, and Mitch and Chamberlain in back. The night had started to settle. The sky was black but a half-moon shone. Street lights and house lights caused a yellow haze to hang on the humid air.

  Mitch sat back in the comfortable leather upholstery. He remembered now, clearer than before, clearer than he had ever been. Raucous as a boy, just becoming a man, probably wanting to make that step more than anything else in the world. But Raucous thought that step was to being one of the criminal fathers, the big men who bluffed through bar talk with tales of aggression and theft. He remembered driving the van, he remembered the man called Hatcher who told him where. He remembered the words, “Only me and you know.” Raucous was in the back - he must know where - smoking weed, all twitchy and nervous, holding himself in place by pushing his feet and arms against the van’s panels. He remembered feeling scared, terrified. He didn’t want to drive, didn’t want to be involved. But maybe that was a trick, maybe that’s what he thought now. In the moment maybe he was like Raucous, a boy wanting to be one of the men, one of the grizzled few who played cards in groups of four and followed a bastardized version of Adam Smith’s invisible hand, which at night entered houses and left with stolen goods.

  Mitch remembered an explosion, a bang and a cloud of blue. Raucous grinning, white teeth on a blue-meanie face. The inside of the van immediately blue. Paper, money gold bars all covered in blue. Raucous shaking his hand like he’d burnt it on a grill.

  “Slow down,” Parker said and Mitch snapped alert. “On the corner there, real slow but do not stop. Hit as many bumps and divots as you can, send these beams bouncing all over. Let’s get ready. It starts now.”

  Rollin slowed and zig-zagged the car theatrically like Sean Connery as James Bond in a cut out Aston Martin on a film set. Left and right in quick movements. The corner came, Parker opened the door, looked down at the ground as it slid past. He looked around quickly, staring at Mitch and Chamberlain in turn. He nodded to Rollin, placed a foot on the ground, stood up, holding his weight on the roof of the car with his fingers and stepped off. He jogged the first few steps and slowed. Mitch arched his back and craned his neck, looking at where Parker jumped. Parker stood, head bowed but eyes up, looking at the car drive away. His body faded quickly into the blackness of the night. Chamberlain poked the barrel of his gun into Mitch’s ribs. Mitch looked forward and caught Rollin watching him in the rear-view mirror.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR

  The large white Nissan SUV pulled in, stones popped and span away under the weight and torque of the tyres. The Car bounced, full beams chopping up and down, slicing through the heavy and darkening night. Raucous listened as the engine died away and a creak of a handbrake being pulled. Raucous listened for another engine, another sound. There should be a second car, a back-up. They could not have come in one. They were smart people and that was a dumb move. But Raucous couldn’t see lights from a passing car; he couldn’t hear high pressure tyres rumbling along a dirt road. He heard squeaks and squawks, rustling leaves, and the heavy breathing coming from Roach. They were standing alone. Charlotte had followed orders and gone.

  The limited time they had didn’t leave them options. If they had time, they could plan and test, and contemplate variations to the narrative thread they would create based on intelligence, knowledge and experience. But Rollin arrived, if it were indeed Rollin in the white Nissan. They were here, they had come straight. They could have arrived later, the window of opportunity the idea of organizing travel and a way of slowing down the inevitable meeting had not been taken. They were rushed too. They needed a quick resolution. But quick how? A few more deaths and then run away, or an amicable agreement and the same speedy escape? Raucous knew Rollin, knew the option the man back then would have taken, and this was why he was sure there was a second car.

  But the second car couldn’t come around, there was no road out back. It could have crawled around in the dark, lights switched off, following the lead in, driving past the gate and circling. If that was so, they would be driving away in a large loop to come back on foot through the woods. If they followed the road around and loop back, they would need to cross fields. But the fields were cut, flat and low. The moon-lit sky would force silhouettes to stick out like a flame on the horizon. Crawling along bellies would take a day. Roach had listened to Raucous speak as Charlotte had. They followed his instruction because they had none of their own. Roach was scanning the break between land and sky in a 270 degree arc. He left Raucous the 90 degrees in which the car sat.

  Three figures stepped from the car in
turn. The first stumbled for his initial two steps as he exited fast from the rear-left passenger door. He moved his shoulders quickly from right to left to keep his balance and stay upright because his wrists were joined together behind him by white plastic ties. An older, slower body exited the same door immediately after the first. His movement was stiffer, as if he wanted to maintain a modicum of decorum. Raucous couldn’t see, but he imagined the man was wearing Hand-made leather loafers with tassels. He understood the man was Chamberlain. This worried him. Chamberlain in charge of keeping Christian in check meant there was no possibility of a car with everyone inside. Chamberlain looked confident in his movements, but he was a politician, faking confidence came easy.

  Christian looked in pain, he was not moving freely. He bent forward, trying to hug his stomach with his chest. The driver’s door opened, and a large muscled man stepped out. He shut the door behind him, and through habit or confidence he pressed the button on his key and the low thump of locks sliding into place as his headlights flashed and filled the air.

  Raucous knew the man was Rollin, and either Parker was dead, in the car, or coming in from a different direction.

  Rollin checked the position of Chamberlain. Raucous knew what he was thinking. Rollin wanted to shout as Chamberlain had left too much space between himself and Christian. If Christian were smart enough to run, Chamberlain would be too slow to catch him and someone would have to shoot. But Christian didn’t look in the running mood, nor alert enough to see the opportunity.

  Rollin looked up toward where Raucous stood. A straight dirt road, large hedge to the right of him, a flat field to the left. Raucous a hundred meters ahead.

  “So what’s going to happen, Raucous?” Rollin shouted.

  Raucous looked to his right. Roach, constantly scanning the horizon, understood what Raucous was asking. Roach shook his head, nothing seen.