A Young Man's Game

by Paul Blake

  ‘Uncle Alec!’ Sara came running up to him, her brown hair flowing behind her. She went to give him a hug and caught herself. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘How are you, Uncle? You look like hell.’

  ‘You should see the other guy.’ He quipped. He waved his hand in front of his face. ‘Big Mess. No one takes my niece and gets away with it.’

  ‘Thanks, Uncle.’

  Alec shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the coat hook, ‘The state of it, I’d probably be better off burning it.’ The jacket had a hole in the upper arm of the sleeve where Alec had been shot. It was caked with mud, dust and Newbury’s blood.

  ‘I agree, go on Alec, go and lay down on the sofa, I’ll get rid of this and then get you a drink.’ Claudia said. She removed Alec’s wallet and phone from the pockets and handed them to him, opened the front door and left with the jacket.

  ‘It served me well; I’ll have to get another one.’ Or maybe that trenchcoat?

  ‘This way Uncle, lean on me.’ Sara proffered her arm.

  Alec took it, and gave her a cuddle as well, ‘It’s great to see you again, Sara. I’m sorry for what happened; I’m so relieved you’re okay.’

  ‘I’m fine, Uncle Alec, really. Peter has been a great help.’ Alec’s eyes narrowed.

  They went into the living room; Peter was sitting on the sofa. He stood up when they entered and moved out of the way. ‘Hi Stefan – sorry, Alec, it’s good to see you again. You look even worse than you did on Tuesday. You should take greater care of yourself.’ He smiled.

  ‘Thanks, Peter. I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess. I honestly didn’t realise this would happen.’

  ‘It’s okay, being shot at is good for the heart. Makes you think about things. Look at what’s important and what’s not.’

  ‘That’s for sure,’ Alec said as he lowered himself onto the sofa. ‘I’m sure there are better ways of doing it though.’ He saw that Sara had stood next to Peter, quite closely.

  ‘Quite possibly.’

  Claudia entered the room with a cup of tea and placed it on the table next to the sofa. ‘May I get you anything else, darling?’ She asked.

  ‘No dear, thank you though,’ Alec replied. Claudia sat on the sofa next to him, her hand on his knee.

  ‘So, Uncle Alec, are you going to tell me about you and Aunty Claudia?’ Sara asked.

  ‘Aunty Claudia? Makes me sound ancient.’ Claudia said.

  ‘No one could ever call you ancient, she’s always called you guys Aunty Claudia, Uncle Roger, Aunty Julia and Uncle Art…’ The name faded away. ‘She used to say we were like family,’

  ‘Well, you were, even when Uncle Alec was at his loneliest. I wasn’t worried being away from him because he’d always have his Berlin family to keep an eye on him.’

  ‘Lonely? Me? I don’t think I ever get lonely. The voices keep me company.’ Alec laughed.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not concussed?’ Claudia asked.

  After a while, Alec began to feel itchy and could smell himself. He decided he’d have to do something about it.

  ‘I’m going to go back to the flat, have a shower and put on some of my own clothes.’ He told them.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Claudia asked. ‘There’s no problem you using Chris’ or Roger’s clothes.’

  ‘I’d prefer my own. Thank you though.’

  ‘I’ll come with you Uncle Alec,’ Sara said.

  ‘Thanks, Sara, I’ll be okay. I can’t wrap myself up in cotton wool. I’ll go home and get showered and changed then meet you all on Mehringdamm at nine. I owe Peter a kebab after all.’

  ‘That’s one of the reasons I’m still here.’ Peter said.

  ‘Only one? I can’t think of anything else,’ Alec said, with his eyebrow raised. A blush spread across both Peter’s and Sara’s cheeks.

  ‘Alec, be nice,’ Claudia said.

  ‘Yes, dear.’

  ‘You’re going to get a taxi. I’m not having you on public transport in your condition. You’ll probably fall asleep again and end up in Poland.’

  ‘Okay, you’re probably right, and I don’t really fancy the walk to and from the stations, to be honest.’

  Claudia ordered him a taxi, and Alec said his goodbyes and made his way slowly downstairs, still no lift I see. He felt better moving around, although it hurt, sitting still hurt more. He left the building and waited for the taxi. The earlier rain had turned to snow; small flurries danced in the air, Alec drew his suit jacket closer to his body to ward off the cold.

  29

  The taxi driver took Alec the slightly longer way home, down the B2 and through Tiergarten, before heading south at the Victory Column roundabout. The golden statue of Victoria, nicknamed Goldelse by Berliners, at the top of the column was obscured by the heavy snow. Large chunks of it hitting the windscreen before being swept away by the wipers. I’m glad I got a taxi. I don’t fancy walking in this tonight. Alec tracked the journey in his mind, partly to ensure the driver wasn’t ripping him off. The taxi turned left onto Von-der-Heydt-Straße and followed the path of the Landwehr canal east. It turned onto Lindenstraße, and then onto Alte Jakobstraße. Not long now. Alec was looking forward to being home, the familiar comforts and surroundings called to him. The driver turned right onto Neuenburger Straße. Alec saw the housing estate opposite his flat, it’s faded paintwork drab and flaking. It’s far more run down than Claudia’s neighbourhood, but it suits me fine.

  ‘Just here driver, thank you.’ Alec said.

  The taxi drew to a stop; Alec reached over and gave the driver twenty-five Euros.

  ‘Keep the change.’ Alec said with a smile. He exited the vehicle and walked up to his building, a grey snow-clad four-storey building with a café-slash-bakery next-door. The snow was coming down hard and was settling on the ground. Alec was careful to ensure his footing was sound. Don’t want to slip; I don’t think I’d ever get up. He opened the door to the building and went inside. After all the grief I gave Claudia about the stairs in her building, I didn’t even think that mine has no lift either. I may have to apologise. Not straight-away though. He started the long climb.

  Alec opened his front door and kicked the small pile of built up mail out of the way. He groped for the light switch he knew was to his right, lifting his arm caused echoes in his back. He grimaced. His fingers found the switch and flipped it. Light filled the hallway, and Alec entered. He noted the dry and musky air, I really should give this place a thorough clean before inviting Claudia round. He closed the door behind him and hung the suit jacket on a coat peg hanging on the wall, next to his grubby and torn trenchcoat. He looked at the mail on the floor. I’m not going to be able to pick that up. He moved the pile around with his foot to try to see if any of the items looked important. Just bills and junk mail by the looks of it.

  He walked into the kitchen and without turning the light on went to the fridge and opened it. The light illuminated the clean and organised work surfaces behind him. He took out a small plate of frankfurters wrapped in cling film, he broke open the wrapping and sniffed them. There was no smell apart from the smoky meat aroma. He put the plate in the microwave and turned it on. He, then, moved over to the sink, took a glass from the draining board and filled it with water. He took a sip, the water giving his throat some welcome relief. The microwave “dinged” and Alec removed the plate and picked up a sausage. He took a bite. He had difficulty swallowing because of his throat, so he drank some water to wash the sausage down. He put the remainder of the frankfurter he was holding back onto the plate and left the kitchen.

  He moved to the living room and turned on his stereo system. He knew there was a CD already in the tray, so he pressed play and spun the dial to increase the volume. The opening electronic chords of “Major Tom” by Peter Schilling boomed out of the speakers. Alec turned the dial back a bit, in respect of the neighbours downstairs. He smiled recalling the look on Sara’s face two Christmases' ago as he unwrapped her present, she had an amused smile and delight in
her eyes. The handwritten songs titles and artists on the cover, the album titled “Uncle Alec’s Cheesy 80s Music.”

  ‘I don’t have a CD player,’ he said, puzzled.

  ‘Open up the other present on the other side of the tree,’ she said. ‘It time for you to get rid of those dusty records and embrace the 1980s, next year I may get you an iPod Classic so you can enter the 2000s.’

  He went to the bathroom, humming along to the music and peeled off his clothes. His shirt had blood on the collar, sleeve and body area, some his, some others. He bundled them into a ball and threw them in the corner to deal with later. He avoided looking in the mirror at his injuries. I’ll check them over after the shower. He ran the shower, waiting for a minute before entering to allow the temperature to get to the right level. The water stung the top of his head, he shuffled forward, so it was beating on his neck and back. The heat of the water eased his aching muscles. He let the water flow over the wound on his arm, the sting felt good. The toilet paper bandage disintegrated, and Alec used his foot to nudge the scraps that fell to the shower floor into a corner so he could fish them out later when he could bend. After he felt clean enough. He stepped out of the shower and dried himself gingerly with a towel. Now for the mirror. The first thing he looked at was his face. Wrinkles, laughter lines, weird dyed brown hair, better than my weird normal grey hair. He took in the bruising around his eyes, still deep in the tissue and yet to express itself fully. The bullet graze on his cheek from the bar was a nasty red mark, his throat was bruised and raw. He looked lower down, his chest and torso were thankfully clear of injuries. As were his legs. His feet ached, and he had blisters on each foot, at the heel from all the walking and running he had done over the past few days. Each blister had swollen, filled with liquid, just begging to be popped. A visit to a chiropodist is needed I think. He looked at the wound on his arm, the skin surrounding the gouge was turning red and looked very angry. Alec opened his medicine cabinet and took out the bottle of Octenisept antiseptic spray. He liberally sprayed it on the wound, it immediately started to burn. Alec gripped the sides of the sink until it passed. That hurt more than the shot. He dabbed around the wound with tissue paper, drying the skin. He removed some sterile dressing from the cabinet and surgical tape. He applied the dressing, taping it in place. Now for the bit I was dreading.

  Alec turned around and looked behind him into the mirror. His neck limited his movement. The bruising from Tuesday had developed and started turning a sickly yellow and green colour around the main deep purple strike zone. Mihael’s friend really did a number on me. I hope the Russians treat him likewise. The new bruises from Newbury were showing as pink and red blotches, swollen patches of pain across both sets of ribs. It could have been much, much worse. Alec consoled himself. He wrapped the towel around his waist and left the bathroom.

  New Order's "Bizarre Love Triangle" was playing in the living room. Alec started singing softly along with it as he went into his bedroom, he turned on the light and left the door open to hear the music, and started getting dressed. He dressed in his normal suit and trousers combination, clean shirt, no tie. I’m not really a jeans and t-shirt guy. He had trouble putting the socks on, bending was an issue, so he decided to go without them. He took out an old pair of slip-on leather shoes from the depths of his wardrobe and slid them on, trampling the backs down. I’ll fight with these later. He kicked the shoes off his feet and into the hallway. After dressing, he went to the suit jacket hanging by the front door and took out his wallet and phone from the pocket and placed them into the one he was wearing. Alec returned to the living room, turned on the light, turned off the stereo, interrupting Alphaville’s “Forever Young” and sat in his armchair. He was grateful for the old-fashioned upright nature of the chair, and the lumbar support. Far better than the modern leather recliner that Sara wanted me to get last time she was here. This is a proper reading chair. He turned on the television using the remote control resting on the table and started flicking through the channels looking to see if any of today’s excitement had made the news.

  Alec woke with a start, his sleep broken by the vibrations of the phone in his pocket. He took it out of his pocket and saw it was Claudia. He answered it.

  ‘Hi sleepyhead, just a wake-up call as it’s almost time to leave to meet us.’

  ‘What? I wasn’t asleep. I’ve had a shower and am dressed and fully refreshed and raring for a night on the town.’

  ‘Okay you liar, you were practically sleeping on the sofa when you were here, I had to keep nudging you every time your eyelids dropped while you were talking to Sara and Peter. At least you didn’t start snoring.’

  ‘There may have been a rough few nights, with little sleep.’

  ‘Poor baby, we’ll go out and then make our excuses and have an early night tonight, let the lovebirds enjoy Berlin alone. Anyway, I miss having you near me.’

  ‘I was thinking about you while I was showering.’

  ‘Really?’ She purred.

  ‘Yes, I would have loved someone there to clean my back.’

  ‘Alec, you jerk! I was being all nice to you, and you do that. I don’t think we can be together anymore.’ Alec could tell she was trying not to laugh. Her voice pitch had changed, and her breathing was more conscious.

  ‘I’m sorry my darling, truly, utterly and sincerely.’

  ‘Alright, don’t milk it. I’m going to go now, don’t go back to sleep. I can’t wait to see you.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  They said their goodbyes and Alec smiled as he hung up. She is certainly going to keep me on my toes. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing at my age. He decided to leave for Mehringdamm now, to ensure he wouldn’t fall back asleep and because he knew it would take him forever to get to the bus stop on Lindenstraße in his condition and in the snow. He stood up, his bare foot treading on the remote control that had fallen off his lap while he slept. He kicked it across the room in surprise and anger. I’m not bending down for it. He left the tv on in disgust and went into the hallway to put on his shoes. He slid his feet into them carefully, and gently lifted the foot so he could hook the back with his finger. Reaching down put pressure on his back, but he gritted his teeth and did it anyway. A little sweat and a lot of effort the shoes were on. He took his old trenchcoat down from the hook, it’ll have to do until I get a replacement, and put it on. He checked he had his phone and his wallet in his suit jacket and opened the door.

  Standing in front of the door, on the landing was a man. He was wearing a suit and tie, Alec could see the outline of a shoulder holster beneath the jacket. A scar on the left cheek. It took Alec a moment to place the face. Outside the Golden Dolls club in the rain.

  ‘Captain Olegovich? What are you doing here? Weren’t you told I didn’t kill Jaromir?’ Alec said, confused.

  ‘Oh, I was told.’ He swung his right hand and the baton he was holding extended and struck Alec on the side of his head, by the temple. Alec’s world went bright and then dark, then he didn’t feel anything as he fell in a heap on the floor.

  30

  ‘Wake up, you old bastard.’ Olegovich snarled. He slapped Foster round the face. That felt good. He repeated the action. Not too much, you don’t know how much he can take. Foster stirred but didn’t wake. Olegovich reached for the bucket of icy water on the rough concrete floor. He threw it over Foster and then threw the bucket at him too. The thin metal made a satisfying clunk as it struck the unconscious man’s head. Nothing. The water dripped from the man and the simple wooden chair he was tied to, onto the bare concrete floor.

  Olegovich stood up from his crouch and walked to the window. He moved the edge of the blackout blind and looked down. He could see the cars speeding along Friedenstraße, their headlights blazing a trail through the snowy air, the lights reflecting the white and giving the landscape an eerie night-time brightness. He looked beyond the road and saw the cemetery opposite, dark and forbidding.

  ‘You’ll be there soon.’ He
said to his guest.

  Still nothing. Olegovich could see the man was still alive, his chest was rising and falling. He just wished he’d wake up so he could have some fun. He looked at Foster. He’d already had bruising under his eyes, and when Olegovich had removed the man’s shirt, he was dismayed to see the massive amounts of swelling and bruises on his back. Someone kicked the shit out you. That's a shame. I wanted to be the one who did that.

  Olegovich sat down in the chair facing Foster and waited.

  Foster started to come around an hour later. Olegovich sat forward in his chair in anticipation of the realisation that would come. Foster opened his eyes, squinting from the glare of the floodlight pointed at him. His breath was vapour, and he was shivering in the ice-box apartment. Olegovich could see the arms and chest muscles quivering to stay warm, legs shaking. The look on Foster’s face was priceless. Pure confusion and pain.

  ‘Where am I? What happened?’ He said. Olegovich remained silent and waited.

  He saw Foster’s eyes widen as he remembered opening his door. He looked so surprised.

  ‘Olegovich what’s going on? Why? I didn’t kill Polyakov.’

  Stay silent, wait for the anger to take hold.

  ‘Talk to me goddamn it!’ Foster attempted to rise. The plastic ties held his hands to the arms of the chair. Olegovich could see every muscle straining to release him from the bonds. He couldn’t move more than an inch. Foster tried kicking his legs at Olegovich, the kicks fell way short.

  Wait.

  ‘I didn’t kill him. Let me go.’ Foster tried rocking his body, starting with his head but couldn’t gain any momentum. He gave up trying and sat back. He looked at Olegovich and waited.

  Now. Olegovich slashed the baton against Foster's bare thighs. Once. Twice. He saw dark blood break through the risen welts. This isn’t satisfying enough. Olegovich transferred the baton to his left hand. He threw a punch with his right. It connected with Foster’s cheek. Better. Another punch to the same place. Foster’s head cracked back, and he screamed. Yes!