School's Out Forever

by Scott K. Andrews

  He spun on his heels, walked back to Kate, and resumed his seat.

  Kate could hear her brother sobbing quietly.

  She surprised herself by consciously thinking how much she would like to kill this man.

  “Who...” Kate’s mouth was too dry to form words. She rubbed the sides of her tongue across her teeth to force some saliva into her mouth, then sluiced the tiny amount of liquid to the back of her throat, swallowing. “Who was Nate?” she asked eventually.

  Spider’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “He was my doctor.”

  Even though she’d known what he was going to say, the fact of it chilled Kate to the core. This man needed a doctor on call all the time. Dear God, how many women... how many beatings?

  “And he’s gone now?” she asked.

  Spider nodded.

  “Then maybe I can help you. Take his place.”

  There was a long silence. When Kate had woken up this morning she’d known this would be a life-changing day. But not in her wildest dreams had she envisaged sitting in a strip club at the crack of dawn as a Serbian gangster considered whether to kill her or welcome her to a life of crime.

  Spider rose again and walked over to Lyudmila. He stood over the unconscious girl, his back to Kate, for a long moment. He stood so still that you could have mistaken him for a shop window dummy. Then he reached into his jacket and withdrew something that Kate couldn’t see.

  The shot was deafeningly loud, totally unexpected. Kate screamed in spite of herself. Lyudmila jerked once, but other than that you’d never know that a small piece of metal had just evacuated her head. James cried out, a howl of horror and shame. Spider turned and walked over to him. His body language had changed again. Now he moved like a hunter, loose limbed and balletic.

  Kate didn’t have the luxury of going into shock. She leapt up from the sofa and ran over to them. Spider still had his gun in his hand, and he aimed casually at James’s head. Kate flung herself between the gun and her brother.

  She opened her mouth to speak, to beg for her life and James’s. But she looked into Spider’s eyes, able to see them properly, up close, for the first time. She instantly realised that it would be hopeless. There was neither pity nor humanity in those eyes. They were the cold, dead orbs of a predator, nothing more.

  As she realised there was nothing she could do, Kate felt something inside her change. For the first time, she understood that her life lay entirely in the hands of another person, who would end it or not according to his whim. She was no longer in control of her own fate. Her life as she had known it was over. This realisation lent her a sudden, deep calm.

  She looked into those eyes. She did not beg, or plead or cry. She did not try to strike a bargain or make a threat. She did not try to seduce him or attack him. All of those things would have resulted, she knew with absolute certainty, in instant death.

  She just said one word, calmly, simply and without emotion.

  “Please.”

  THE BARRISTA SCOOPED the soy milk froth over the coffee with a long spoon, put a heart-shaped flourish in the pattern, then sprinkled it with chocolate.

  “Two ninety-five,” she said, her Polish accent impossible to miss.

  Kate paid. She smiled at the young woman, lifted the two mugs and a small packet of biscuits, then walked back to the table in the corner where her broken brother sat hunched and sniffling. She placed the mug of coffee in front of him and took her seat, facing him across the small round table. Over his shoulder she could see people hurrying to and fro down Villiers Street, popping into Accessorize or Pret, enjoying the bustle and business of their daily lives. She envied their ignorance and felt as if she no longer lived entirely in their world.

  Her hands were steady as she lifted the coffee mug to her lips. She was surprised by this, but reasoned that she would probably go into shock in an hour or so, when the adrenaline finally wore off. For now, she felt focused, purposeful yet slightly spaced out, as if she had just begun the long build up to a skull shattering migraine.

  James, she could see, was already in shock. She’d been trained to deal with people brought into A&E like this; taught how to treat them while eliciting their story, gathering information to help with diagnosis.

  “Start at the beginning,” she said, more harshly than she’d intended. It seemed that when it came to her brother, her training didn’t help.

  James sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve and took a sip of coffee. He looked up at her and she winced again at the marks on his face. His left eye was swollen shut, his jaw bulged and bruised, and his front left canine was a gaping, bloody hole. Say what you like about his personality, James had at least always been pretty. He’d always jokingly referred to himself as the lipstick half of any relationship. Certainly his boyfriends had always tended to be square-jawed gym bunnies. Kate suspected his pretty-boy days were over.

  “I got into trouble about six months ago,” he said, but then he ground to a halt, staring at the table top.

  “James.” He did not respond. “For God’s sake, James, snap out of it. I need to know what you’ve got me into and I need to know now. Just take it slowly and tell me the whole story from the start.”

  James reached across and placed his hand on hers, squeezing it tightly and taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. Then he looked up and smiled weakly.

  “Okay. But if you tell Gran about this, I’ll tell her what you did with Bobby Arnold on your fifteenth birthday.”

  “You bitch, you wouldn’t dare!”

  “Try me, toots.”

  They both laughed, but not for long. James opened the small packet of biscuits and offered one to her. She took one as he dunked his in his coffee.

  “I dunno why you do that,” she said, screwing up her face in distaste.

  “What?”

  “Dunking. All you end up with is soggy biscuit mush at the bottom of your coffee. It’s gross.”

  He didn’t respond and it soon became apparent that their reservoir of small talk was empty.

  “I got in trouble, Sis. Big trouble. About six months ago. It was Phil. You remember Phil?”

  Kate remembered Phil, all right. She’d known he was trouble the first time he turned up at the pub that Sunday night. Tall, muscled and totally in love with his own reflection, he was boorish, brash and bullying. James couldn’t look at him without doing simpering puppy eyes. Kate thought that was the attraction – Phil had finally found the only person in the world who adored him almost as much as he adored himself. He didn’t exactly treat James like shit, he didn’t need to. It would have been redundant. James practically lay down on the ground and begged Phil to walk all over him.

  Kate loved her brother, but Jesus, his taste in men was worse than hers. Nonetheless, she couldn’t work out how Phil would have led her brother to Serbian strippers.

  “What, he dragged you to lap dancing clubs?” she asked, incredulously.

  “No, don’t be daft. Phil’s problem was gambling. Spider doesn’t just run that strip joint. He’s got a casino, super illegal, in one of the arches underneath Waterloo station. High stakes, no IOUs. You know Phil worked for that big accountancy firm, right? Well, his boss took him there one night after work. He’d never have been able to get in there on his own, but once he’d been vouched for, he started going there on his own. A lot. One night he took me along. It was fun, you know? He hit a winning streak and we walked out three grand richer.”

  “Oh James, tell me you didn’t go back on your own?”

  “I figured, you know, if Phil could do it...”

  “You fucking muppet.” Kate shook her head in wonder. “Every time I think you can’t get any stupider, you lower the bar.”

  James stared at the table top again. “Yeah, that’s right Kit, let’s have another round of ‘my little brother, the big gay loser.’ That’s exactly what we need right now. So fucking helpful.” He made to stand.

  “Oh, sit down,” she said wearily. “Fucking drama queen.”
/>
  He planted his arse on the seat again, sullen and pouting.

  “How much do you owe?”

  “A lot.”

  “How much, James?”

  “Twenty-three grand.”

  “Holy fucking Christ.”

  “I know, all right. I know. About four months back they grabbed me as I was leaving and took me back to see the boss. I swear, Sis, I thought he was going to shoot me there and then. I... I kind of begged.”

  “And he offered you a chance to work off the debt, yeah?”

  James nodded. “He’s into some seriously bad shit.”

  “No, really?” said Kate, finally starting to feel her cool slipping away. “The guy who just beat us up and shot a girl in the head for no reason at all? You think?”

  “He’s got the casino and the strip club, but there’s more. Lots more.”

  “Like what?”

  “Brothels. Well, not really brothels. More like, dungeons, really.”

  “What, for S&M?”

  “No. Literally prisons where he keeps these girls locked up. They’re all underground; railway arches, old sub-basements, places like that. There are about six or seven of them that I’ve been to and I know there are more. The high-rollers at the casino, and the guys at the strip club who want to spend a little more cash when the doors close, this is where they go.”

  Kate felt bile rising in her throat.

  “You’ve been there?”

  “That’s my job. I have to look after some of the girls. Bring them food and stuff. Keep them alive.”

  “Lyudmila?”

  James nodded. “She was new. Arrived last week. These girls, right, they think they’re going to get jobs here. There’s a whole chain designed to get them to the UK. Guys who go around the villages in the Ukraine and Latvia, Siberia and places like that looking for teenagers. And I mean thirteen up, right? They say they’re recruiting for cleaning jobs and hotel waitresses, that kind of thing. The girls pay a fee, or their parents do, and they’re shipped over here and then they just... disappear.”

  “These dungeons...”

  “It’s not just sex, Sis. And it’s not exclusively teenagers. There are young kids, too. And murder rooms. And then...”

  Kate had heard enough. “Okay, okay. Shut up. Let me think.”

  “There was this guy, Nate. He did all the doctoring for them. But he was a junkie and he wasn’t reliable, so last week Spider threw him out. Sold him to another gang, like. When Lyudmila got roughed up, I didn’t know what to do with Nate gone. I’m so sorry for getting you involved in this, Sis. Really.”

  “I said enough,” Kate snapped. “I need to think. Figure out the angles.”

  “There aren’t any, Kit. This guy, he’s smart and ruthless and he’s got a fucking army working for him. He even gets a whiff of betrayal and we’re dead. Both of us. Just like that. No warning, no second chances. And that’s if he’s feeling generous. Coz if he’s not, we’ll end up in one of those dungeons, Sis. And no-one – no-one! – gets out of them alive.”

  “There’s always an angle, James. Always,” replied Kate. But she wasn’t sure if she believed it, not in this case. The only thing she knew for certain was that her stupid, self-destructive, funny little brother, who she loved more than anything in the world in spite of his manifest flaws, was in trouble and, like she had done all his life, she was going to have to rescue him from himself.

  “Get me another coffee, eh. And a chocolate muffin.” Kate handed James a tenner and sat staring out of the window as he went to the bar. It took a minute or two for her to realise that she was being watched by the man sitting at the window bar in Pret directly opposite. When their eyes met he smiled and nodded slightly, then finished his coffee, left the shop and walked away.

  “Oh, James,” she whispered. “What have you done?”

  THE NEXT FEW days passed in a blur of A&E shifts and deep, dreamless sleep. Spider had said he would call when he needed her, but her phone didn’t ring.

  Jill moved out of the flat without warning two days after the invasion. Kate came home from a long shift and found the flat half empty. No note, nothing. Bitch hadn’t even left the rent. So Kate dug out the most recent itemised phone bill and called every number she didn’t recognise until she reached Jill’s Dad, who was not amused to hear of his daughter’s midnight flit. He promised Kate that his little girl would be at her door in an hour with the rent in full. She was too, sullen and angry and refusing to speak. She held out an envelope full of cash and the second Kate took it she turned on her heels and stalked away.

  “Don’t be a stranger,” Kate yelled at her retreating back, laughing.

  She didn’t seen the man who had been watching her, but she was constantly on the lookout for him. She was convinced she’d be seeing him again.

  After a week she almost convinced herself it had never happened; that it was business as usual, that she hadn’t been beyond the looking glass and seen a girl murdered. But then on Friday, as she sat in her track pants and t-shirt eating Pot Noodle on the sofa, watching Loose Women on her day off, there was a sharp knock at the door. She considered not answering, but whoever it was would be able to hear her telly.

  The giant stood in the hallway, waiting patiently.

  “Boss says you got to come.”

  “Okay, give me a minute to...”

  He reached in and grabbed her wrist.

  “Now.”

  “Okay, Jesus, can I at least get my coat?”

  But he was pulling her across the threshold. She tried to grab her keys from the hook on the coat rack before the door closed behind her, but he pulled her too firmly and the door swung shut.

  “Fuck, how am I supposed to get back in without my keys, dispshit?” she yelled as he dragged her towards the lift. He stopped dead, turned and looked down at her. He didn’t say a word, just stared until she said: “Okay, lead on.” He turned again and started walking. Outside the air was chilled and Kate felt goosebumps rising on her bare arms as she was bundled into the back seat of a waiting car with tinted windows.

  “Look at the floor,” said the giant as they pulled away. Kate did so without question.

  They drove for about forty-five minutes. When they pulled up the giant reached across and snapped a sleep mask across her face so she couldn’t see a thing. Then she was shoved outside and led across what felt like a cobbled street and into a cold, damp space that she was willing to bet was a railway arch. She was led down steps into a narrow space with dead acoustics and dust in the air. Down a corridor, then left and right and left again, and more steps.

  “Mind head,” said the giant a moment after she scraped the top of her head on what felt like soft brick. She stooped as she was led down a narrow stone staircase. By now, she knew she was deep underground. Another corridor, still stooping. She felt, then heard a gentle rumble somewhere off to her left. It took a moment to realise it must be a tube train.

  Kate heard a key turn in a lock followed by the squeal of old hinges, then she was shoved through a doorway and her sleep mask was ripped off.

  She was in a brick-lined cellar, barrel vaulted. Narrow but long, it stretched away, its vanishing point lost in darkness. There was a pervasive smell of damp and a distant sound of running water. An oil heater blazed away by the door, so at least it wasn’t cold, but in every other respect it was probably the least healthy place in London. Trying not to think about the horrors of Weil’s disease or the agony of hypersensitivity pneumonitis, Kate noted the bed, table and wind up lamp, the bucket in the corner with a tea towel draped over it and, finally, the girl sitting on the chair, dead eyed and listless, sallow cheeked and pale.

  Kate turned to the giant, who was bent almost double in the corridor outside.

  “People pay to come down here?” she asked, incredulous.

  “No,” he replied. “She come up for work. Stay here rest of time.”

  “Okay, well that’s got to change. You need to get her out of here now.”
/>
  “You stop her coughing.”

  “I can’t. Not if she stays down here.”

  “You stop.”

  “I told you, I can’t. Even if I can alleviate her symptoms, they’ll come back if she stays down here.”

  The giant considered this. “Stop cough. Only need to stop coughing for afternoon. After that...” He shrugged.

  Kate sighed. “Okay, I’ll need prednisone.” The giant looked confused. “Give me a pen, I’ll write it down.”

  He handed her a biro and a receipt. She briefly considered ramming the pen into his throat and trying to make an escape, but dismissed the idea as ludicrous. She scribbled the name of the drug and handed him the piece of paper.

  “I come back in hour.” He slammed the door closed. Kate was imprisoned.

  She stood there for a moment, then the girl on the chair burst into a fit of awful, hoarse coughing that went on for over five minutes. Kate held her shoulders as the spasms wracked her. There were flecks of blood on the girl’s lips when she finally finished. Her breathing was ragged and rasping.

  “What’s your name?” asked Kate.

  The girl stared at her, uncomprehending.

  “Do you speak English?”

  No response. Kate pointed at her chest and said “Kate” then pointed to the girl, who just stared back at her as if she were mad.

  “I feel like I’m in a bad Western,” muttered Kate. Another ten minutes of trying failed to illicit any response. The girl was in deep shock, nearly comatose. There was no reaching her. Kate explored the depths of the tunnel, but found only rubble and rats. In the end there was nothing to do but wait for the giant to return. The girl had moved to the bed when Kate walked back from the far end of the tunnel. Kate sat next to her and put her arms around her bony shoulders. They sat there like that for a few minutes, then the girl rested her head on Kate’s shoulder until she fell asleep and slumped into her lap. Kate sat there, with the head of this sick, lost, broken, doomed girl nestled in her lap. She stroked her lank, greasy hair and cried.