Choose Your Parents Wisely (Joe Grabarz Book 2)

by Tom Trott

  With his big left hand the ex-pro chopped me in the throat. My Adam’s apple shot back against my larynx, choking me and stifling my laughter. The force tipped my chair backwards and I landed on my hand. I might have screamed, I can’t be sure. I couldn’t hear anything over the pain.

  The first sound I did hear was the ex-pro: ‘Who’s laughing now?’

  I started to retch.

  ‘Pick him up before he chokes.’

  He did as he was told and then I sat there, leant forward, spittle dribbling onto my front. I retched again.

  Then he kicked his chair back and pulled out a cigarette.

  ‘Where are you going?’ the silhouette asked.

  ‘For a walk.’

  ‘He needs someone to roll for him.’

  ‘Someone else can do it.’

  ‘Sit. Down.’

  He stood staring into the darkness for a moment, huffed, and then pulled his chair back in. He shook my dice far more calmly than he had before, and the others did the same.

  Over the next rounds the African Queen lost all three of her dice challenging me, Father Christmas lost all but one of his, I managed to claim one from the silhouette, but he managed to peel one off me as well. That left him with three, me with two, and Father Christmas with one. Six dice.

  With six dice it was pretty obvious what the odds were. It was also pretty obvious that they were in the silhouette’s favour; he had half the dice. When the game started I had worked out that I needed a pretty even mix of skill and luck, neither of which I had. By this point, it would be a waste of skill anyway.

  We all shook our dice. By which I mean the ex-pro shook mine. I watched the silhouette shake his. Shake, shake, shake, down.

  In the first round Father Christmas challenged me and challenged me correctly; the next round he challenged me, and challenged me incorrectly. He was out. Four dice. Three of them were his. One of them was mine. We shook. I had a four. It was his turn to bid:

  ‘Two 3s.’

  Now, I could hope that one of them was an Ace and bid two 4s, but then he could bid one Ace. Or I could bid one Ace myself.

  ‘Liar.’ I wasn’t even sure why I said it, but I had, so I revealed my four.

  He revealed an Ace, a 5, and a 6. The African Queen, Father Christmas, and the reptile had stopped breathing. Bored, the reptile’s cigarette smoked itself; he didn’t notice it charring the velvet of his jacket.

  We rolled again. Shake, shake, table. The ex-pro tilted my cup for me to see. It was his turn to bid again:

  ‘One 5.’

  I didn’t have a choice: ‘Two 5s.’

  He paused for the first time. I thought it was a bad idea; any longer and the others would suffocate.

  ‘Liar.’

  He revealed a 5 and a 2. The ex-pro lifted my cup with desperate excitement. They all gasped at the die underneath, staring between me and the silhouette. Then he placed another die in the centre of the table.

  We rolled for the last time. Shake, slam. And the ex-pro tilted my cup: one Ace. Thank you, God! Once again, it was his turn to bid:

  ‘One 6.’

  I could bid two 6s, but I knew for sure I couldn’t trust him to have a 6. And if he did, he could bid one Ace next, and he would be right. No, it was obvious what I should do: ‘One Ace.’

  He paused again. All air had been sucked out of the room. All sound, all heat. We were a table in a vacuum.

  ‘Two Aces.’

  I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t possible. But of course it was. I didn’t even speak, I just moved my head at the ex-pro and he revealed my Ace. And with a swift flourish the silhouette revealed another. Buggering, fucking, shit-sticks. What were the odds?

  ‘Take him outside.’

  ‘Wait—’

  Something hard hit me in the head. A shock of electric pain seared through me and everything span.

  22

  Get Me out of Here

  i had my thumb in my mouth. No idea why. I think I was awake, but everything was dark, so how the hell was I supposed to know? After a while I could see a soft patch of light on the ground. Something was coming through those glass things on the patio. It had been Wednesday, one week since the disappearance. Then I had been chloroformed, then I had woken up in darkness, then slept again, and now there was light. I guessed that made it Thursday.

  ‘Fuck,’ I whispered to myself.

  ‘Hello?’ a voice replied from the darkness.

  Shit. I’m hearing things again. ‘Who’s there this time?’

  ‘My name’s Joy.’ It was a little girl’s voice. A scared little girl. My brain snapped to attention.

  ‘Hello there, Joy. My name’s Joe. Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Her voice was quivering.

  ‘It’s all right. I’ve been looking for you.’

  ‘Did my parents send you?’

  ‘No, no,’ I reassured her.

  ‘I want my mum.’

  Oh god, I thought. She doesn’t know. ‘Don’t worry, Joy, everything is going to be all right. I need to know if you’re ok. Are you ok?’

  ‘No, my shoulders hurt.’

  ‘Your shoulders?’

  ‘I can’t move them.’

  ‘Are you tied to something?’

  ‘Yes, my hands are, they only untie me when they want me to eat or wash.’

  ‘Who are they, Joy?’

  ‘They’re keeping me here. They bring food and clothes. I tried to run once but they grabbed me.’

  I asked my questions gently. ‘What do they look like?’

  ‘They wear masks, and torches on their heads.’

  ‘Do they speak at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Other than keeping you down here, have they treated you ok?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘They’ve not hurt you or anything?’

  ‘My shoulders hurt.’

  I nodded to myself, listening for sounds of footsteps above. There weren’t any. There were no sounds at all until my stomach gurgled.

  ‘Pardon me.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Just Joe,’ I replied.

  ‘Why are you looking for me?’

  ‘Everybody’s looking for you.’

  ‘But why you?’

  ‘I’m a detective, do you know what that is?’

  ‘Yes, you work for the police.’

  ‘Not quite. I work for myself.’

  ‘Who pays you?’

  ‘People pay me. They pay me to find out things. Like where you are.’

  ‘Then you work for them.’

  ‘I guess you could put it that way.’

  ‘My dad says you work for whoever pays you.’

  ‘Your dad sounds very shrewd.’

  She rustled slightly in the darkness. ‘Did my parents pay you to find me?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I’ll pay you.’

  I smiled into the darkness. ‘How much?’

  ‘Mum and Dad give me one pound every week. I save most of them. I have fifty pounds.’

  She was sweet. ‘I guess that means I work for you.’

  ‘Get me out of here.’

  I nodded, not that she could see it.

  She rustled again. ‘Are you tied to something?’

  ‘I’m tied to a pipe.’ It felt to me like a cable tie on each hand. ‘What about you?’

  ‘A loop of metal, it’s bolted to the wall.’

  ‘What are you tied with?’

  ‘It feels like plastic. It hurts if I turn my hands to feel it.’

  ‘It’s ok, leave it alone.’

  I shuffled along the wall, trying to find where the pipe was fastened. I could hear her sniffling, sometimes a whimper.

  ‘Talk to me, Joy, tell me what happened. How did you end up down here?’

  Her voice was thick with tears. ‘I just woke up down here.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Eight days ago.’

  ‘How do you know that?�
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  ‘The light.’

  ‘You sound like a very clever girl.’

  ‘I read books to myself now.’

  ‘Really? That’s very smart.’

  ‘Mum used to read them to me, but now I read them to myself.’ She sniffled a big wet sniff.

  ‘Take me through a typical day down here; what happens?’

  ‘They wake me up with breakfast.’

  ‘Sounds nice. Is it the same each day, or different?’

  ‘Same: porridge.’

  ‘It’s very good for you, porridge.’

  ‘Mum’s always trying to get me to eat it, but I don’t like it without mānuka.’

  Mānuka. I smiled in disbelief, ‘Then what?’

  ‘They bring me some clean clothes and they untie me so I can change. Sometimes they wash me with a sponge. Later they bring me some bread and some kind of fruit. Normally a couple of pieces. A bit later they bring me some kind of stew or casserole thing, I don’t really like it, I don’t always eat all of it. Then one of them brushes my hair.’

  ‘Every night?’

  ‘Yeah. Just like Mum used to do when I was a baby. She would sing me…’ the rest of the sentence was drowned in tears.

  I tried to take things in a different direction. ‘You said you read books. What’s your favourite?’

  ‘Pippi Longstocking. I’ve read all of them.’

  ‘Wow, all of them?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Pippi’s very brave, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s the bravest.’

  ‘That’s right. And she’s really strong.’

  ‘She can lift her horse.’

  ‘Yes she can. Do you think you can be brave and strong?’

  ‘I can’t lift a horse.’

  ‘I know, don’t worry. In fact, tell you what, you be brave and I’ll be strong, how does that sound?’

  ‘Pippi wouldn’t be tied up, she’s too strong. She would just rip her hands from the wall.’

  ‘I’m working on it.’

  I kept fumbling. It was difficult to shift along the floor with my hands tied so low. The ties were starting to cut into my wrists.

  ‘Am I dreaming?’

  ‘No, Joy, I promise I’m really here.’

  ‘I keep dreaming they’ve come to hurt me. Sometimes I think I’ve woken up, but I don’t know if I’ve woken up or not because it’s dark. Will they rape me?’

  I stopped fumbling for the pipe. All I could hear was my heart. ‘Do you know what that is?’

  ‘Yes.’

  My stomach chewed on itself. ‘You’re too young to know what that is.’

  ‘My mum told me. She says I have to know, so I can stay safe. There are people who rape kids.’

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t even think of the first word of the right sentence.

  ‘Joe, are you there?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Did I say something wrong?’

  ‘No, Joy. Not at all.’ I took a long, damp breath. ‘I used to have bad dreams too.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘A girl, very much like you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I let her down.’

  ‘Do you still dream about her?’

  ‘Not very often.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I did something worse. Now I dream about that.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything bad.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ I took another deep breath, purging and replacing all air in my body. ‘Joy, I need to tell you something. And it’s important, whatever happens, that you remember this. Remember this more than anything else. Do you understand?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘No one else gets to define you. No matter what they did. It doesn’t matter who they are. Only you get to define you. Only you.’

  There was only silence.

  ‘Joy?’

  I could hear her sniffling. I slid along the wall until I could slide no further, I had found where the pipe was fastened to the wall. I gripped both hands round the copper, bent both legs up until my feet were flat to the wall. With every muscle fibre I pulled at the pipe and pushed at the wall. I screamed at the top of my voice, plastic cutting into my hands, now warm and wet; metal creaked, or maybe it was me, and I shot across the room like a cannonball, face-first into the dirt.

  My hands were still intact, but I could taste blood on my wrists as I gnawed at the linked cable ties. Icy water was running into my shoes, the ruptured pipe spraying in the darkness.

  ‘Joe!?’

  ‘It’s ok. I’m free.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I ripped the pipe from the wall.’

  ‘Just like Pippi would!’

  ‘Keep talking,’ I told her.

  She was speaking but I couldn’t make out the words over the water. Wrists now free, I felt my way toward the sounds until I came across her tiny frame.

  ‘Joe?’

  ‘Hello.’

  I felt for her wrists, they were definitely cable tied to some kind of fixing. It was a flat metal plate with a loop, and it wasn’t going to come out easily, I could feel four bolts into stone walls.

  ‘I’m going to have to bite through the plastic, sorry if I dribble on you.’

  ‘That’s ok.’

  I managed to get enough of a tie between my molars, then finally she was free.

  ‘It’s really wet!’ she shouted. There was now about an inch of water filling the basement.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I told her, and tried the metal door.

  It was locked. I gave it a thump, but it was too well fitted and didn’t even rattle. I gave it a drop kick, but it was no better and just got me wet. I had to jump to scrape the wooden board ceiling. It made a bit of a noise, not much. I did it again. No one came running. I stood on the pipe to feel around the glass tiles, but they were concreted in.

  ‘Ok, ok, they’ll have to come down at some point. We’ll wait by the door.’ I took her arm and moved her into the corner, the side with the hinges. I waited against the wall the other side.

  ‘When the door opens, you stay hidden until I tell you to come out, ok?’

  ‘Ok.’

  The sound of the burst pipe had changed, no longer spraying onto dirt but splashing onto the surface of a pool.

  ‘Joe?’

  ‘I’m here. It’s all right.’

  ‘I lied about the fifty pounds.’

  I smiled. ‘Don’t worry, you can owe me.’

  After what seemed like ten minutes, it could have been longer, still no one had come down, and the water was now above my ankles. This was mildly distressing.

  I put my hands in my jacket and was surprised to feel something cold the size of a matchbox. It was my lighter, of course, I must have put it there after smoking that bitter cigarette. I prayed I hadn’t got it wet. I tried it and it burst mercifully to life.

  ‘Joe?’

  I knelt down to her level and held the flame between us. Somewhere underneath all the dirt and grime was the sweet little girl I had seen in all the photographs. She was cute. She was cuteness personified.

  ‘Nice to put a face to a voice.’

  She smiled.

  ‘We need to get them down here to unlock the door.’

  She nodded.

  I reached into my trousers, and with a yank, ripped out the thin lining of my pocket.

  ‘Hold this, but only touch it with one hand.’

  She did. Then I killed the flame, slid the lighter out of its metal case, opened the bottom, and dribbled what little was left of the fluid onto the cloth.

  ‘Now I’m going to put you on my shoulders. Whatever you do, don’t drop that cloth.’

  I knelt down, she climbed on, and I stood up, wobbling toward the middle of the space.

  ‘Wedge it as tightly as you can between the beams. Make sure it doesn’t fall out.’

  I could feel her fidgeting, but I couldn’t see what she was doing.

  ‘
Joy?’

  ‘Done.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Ok, now take the lighter with the other hand, here it is…’

  Her tiny fingers plucked it from my grasp. ‘Got it.’

  ‘Can you feel the rough bit on the top, feels a bit like a nail file.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Now, making sure you don’t touch it with the other hand, put your thumb on that rough bit and push down and bring your thumb back as though you were rolling it towards you.’

  ‘I know how it works.’

  ‘Ok, good. Watch out, there might still be enough fuel in it to light.’

  I heard the little snick-crackle of the flint. Then her voice: ‘There’s just sparks.’

  ‘Keep them away from your other hand.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We need one of those sparks to hit the cloth, ok?’

  ‘Ok.’

  Snick. Nothing. Snick-snick. Again nothing.

  ‘It’s not working.’

  ‘It’ll work, just keep trying.’

  Snick… snick-snick… snick… snick-snick…. snick-snick-snick, whoosh!

  An orange glow reflected off the water: it had caught.

  23

  A Great Place to Die

  they untied me from the chair to drag me outside, but my hands were still cable-tied behind my back. A few metres from the clubhouse they threw me down onto the damp grass, sending another wave of pain up my arms and through the rest of me. The silhouette was stood a few metres away, not quite imperceptible. I rolled onto my side, nose in the dirt, hot breath condensing back into my face. From this angle I could make out one strange, absurd fact: he was wearing slippers. Baby blue silk slippers.

  From somewhere he produced a trench knife, the type with a knuckleduster, and handed it to the ex-pro. I scrambled to my feet, but he socked me hard in the liver with the brass. I crumpled.

  ‘When you’re finished he needs to fit inside your holdall,’ he was informed.

  ‘How am I going to do that?’

  ‘Break his back and fold him over,’ the reptile answered; the others hanging around like groupies.

  ‘HELP!’ I screamed.

  I heard a little snigger from above me.

  ‘HEEAAALP!’

  ‘Shut up.’ The ex-pro punched the knife through my side, into my lung.

  It was less painful than you would think, but the sensation was more distressing than you can imagine.