“He fell over so hard that he went completely over the table.”
“I don’t know why. Maybe he was acting up.”
“You underestimated your own strength, eh?”
“I underestimated what a weed he is.”
“You understand that we’ll have to detain you for the night, at the very least. At this point however, it doesn’t seem like anyone wants to press charges. Count yourself lucky.”
“Yeah, I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”
“Indeed you are. This could turn into a very serious case of assault if Mr. Baird has sustained any long-term injuries.”
“He’ll be fine. Believe me.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“He’s playing this all up; trying to paint me as some kind of bully. There was no need to get you guys—I mean—get the police involved.”
“Really now?”
“Yeah, really. That thing you mentioned in the kitchen, I didn’t threat him. He was trying to get me to punch him or something; provoke me. He was winding me up all day.”
“Why would he want you to punch him?”
“Because he hates that I’m dating his sister.”
“You don’t come out of this seeming very nice Joseph. According to you, you only shoved him, yet he somehow fell over a table and injured himself. Although he has witnesses that say the contrary. He wanted you to punch him, so that you would seem like a bad guy presumably, and the reason for that is that he dislikes you dating his sister. Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not saying that’s not true, Joseph, but even you must admit it’s a little hard to believe.”
“Whatever. Believe what you like. I don’t have more to say. You should know it takes more than a few statements from one incident to judge.”
“We’re not judging you Joseph. We’re just going to detain you for the night, and ask you to keep a wide berth from the Bairds for a while.”
“Gladly.”
I made my way up the thickly-carpeted staircase to the first floor. I found Josie’s old room and pushed the door open. It was just as I thought it would be; maintained as if she still lived there. The room felt peculiarly comforting yet artificial. The objects, the colours, the lay-out; it was all unmistakably hers, right down to the large, worn rug on the floor – no doubt there because she loved to sit and lie on the floor when writing, drawing, or doing some other activity. Yet it was all so tidy, too ordered and unused. Josie tidied a lot, but she made a mess even faster.
Her bed was made, a light bed cover decorated with yellow flowers—her favourite colour. Postcards, cutting and photos decorated the walls above the bed and the desk. Against the window was a long electric piano, a pile of music sheets lay on the floor beneath it. Her desk was tidy, yet there was still barely any space left for all the pens, papers, and decorations that lay on it. In the middle of it all was her laptop—white with the sticker of a Japanese cartoon character in the corner. I opened up my bag and carefully put it in, curling up the power cable and dropping it in afterwards. I looked around for anything else that might be useful and found myself scanning the pictures along the walls. I was not in any of them. I always avoided having my picture taken, and soon after we had met Josie had moved in with Monika; yet the random spaces between the pictures indicated that some had been removed. I smirked at how predictably vindictive her mother could be.
“Hello?”
The voice came from downstairs, but was deep and commanding enough to travel.
“Hello?”
It sounded again, this time more curious. I heard another voice, vaguely familiar. The two had a quick exchange that I couldn’t quite make out. I could sense them moving through the house.
“Charlie! Look at this! The window’s open!”
“What’s going on? None of the lights work.”
I thought I recognised the other voice as Sebastien, but I imagined most members of his family sounded similar. The voices had a quick, terse exchange again, this time quieter. I edged closer to the doorway to try and hear where they were. They had stopped talking, and I heard an occasional shuffling on the first floor. After a minute I heard footsteps against the wooden stairs. I closed the door and looked around the room, there was nowhere I could conceivably hide. I stood against the door and waited. The footsteps were close by now. I heard whoever it was step out onto the second floor cautiously. Then they stopped. I held my breath, hoping in the utter silence I would hear where they had gone, then I remembered; Josie’s door had not been entirely closed before I entered. I didn’t know if whoever it was would know that, but if they did, they would certainly suspect I was in there. I stiffened my body, waiting for them to open the door.
“Hell- Oof!”
My first reaction as they pushed the door open was to slam it back against them. I had thrust it back so suddenly that they had flown back from the impact and slammed their head against the wall opposite. I opened the door and looked at the overweight, greying, slightly past middle-age figure sprawled out in the hallway. His eyes were closed and after shuffling slightly his arm limply dropped, he was out cold. There was a little blood on the wall behind him, and I saw that he had cut his ear on the edge of a portrait’s heavy frame.
“Is that you, Charlie? Did you say something? Hello? Can you hear me? Say something Charlie.”
The voice approached the bottom of the stairs, and I heard brisk footsteps begin to clap against the wooden boards. I spun around into the room, grabbed the bag and threw it over my shoulder. The second man was about halfway up the long flight now, still talking, but walking slower as he made his way up. I ran to the rail that edged around the approach of the stairs and leapt over it. He didn’t get a chance to see me, and although I only had a rough idea of where he was on the staircase, I guided myself mid-jump just enough to fall on top of him. He instinctually pulled away but my kick sent him toppling back down the stairs as I landed in a bundle and kept myself from falling by lashing out and grabbing the bannister. A pain shot through my lower back as it hit the edge of a step full force. I let out a short shout of pain, but recovered to my feet just as the tall, black-suited figure landed on the floor below. He convulsed with the impact. A second after lying there he began to move. Before he could get up I flung myself down the steps three at a time and landed on top of him. I held him down and pressed his face against the carpet so he could not see me.
I noticed his watch: silver, with an elegant and slim black face. It was Sebastien. The watch made that certain. All manner of thoughts passed through my mind; of beating him up, of somehow embarrassing him, of telling him who I was; they were gone as soon as they came though. My only worry was making sure he didn’t recognise me. I snatched out at his arm and pulled the watch’s clasp, violently yanking it away from his arm.
“Take it! Just take it and leave! Please!”
Reassured that he would make no more movements, I stood up. I hesitated a moment before heading for the front door, hoping he would be too injured to follow me, and too shocked to notice I had one arm. I ran out into the street, and sprinted down every side street I could find.
“Vicky’s ok. I called her from the station and she slept over at a friend’s.”
“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe he did that.”
“Doesn’t matter. Not the first time I’ve been in a cell. Gives you time to think anyway.”
“What did you think about?”
“You, mostly. Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t think I ever want to go home again.”
“Josie, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Tell me honestly: Am I stupid? In the way that… I mean… I dunno.”
“No! Joseph, don’t ever think that about yourself.”
“I dunno. Sometimes it seems like I get everything wrong. I’m just used to losing.”
“Joseph…”
“And now it’s just a matter of losing
with my head held high; with a little pride at least. That or giving up totally.”
“Come here…”
I stopped running when I reached a neglected alleyway. I looked around but there was nobody around. I tore off my scarf, hat, and jacket then threw them into a nasty looking dumpster. I opened the backpack, pulled out a couple of plastic bags from a side pocket, and placed the laptop and charger inside them. Then I took out a light green rain jacket and put it on. I tossed the backpack and everything inside it onto the top of the dumpster, then threw one of the trash bags on top of it. I hesitated a second, just to ensure I hadn’t forgotten anything, placed the bag with the laptop under my arm, and jogged out of the alleyway home.
Chapter 17
A tiny orange glow emerged from the front of the laptop as soon as I plugged it in. A wave of relief swept through me; I had worried that the light drizzle might have seeped through the plastic bag and caused a problem, or that weeks of disuse might have killed it. I recalled vividly the affectionate complaints Josie would often utter about the computer being old and crappy. The fear that somehow her family may have tampered with the contents of the laptop flashed through my mind. I knew they couldn’t be so comprehensively mean, though.
I left the laptop to charge on the coffee table and grabbed my coat. I was curious about what Vicky had got up to, and I expected that Sandy would want me to settle in for a cup of tea and a chat. The phone rang. I knew who it would be.
“Hello?”
“Joseph… It was you, wasn’t it?”
“You’re back already?”
“Everybody is talking about it. Yes, we came back for the service. Back to Iris’ house, that is. It was you, wasn’t it?”
“You’re there now?”
“Yes, I just slipped out into the garden to call you, so I can’t talk long. If someone hears me I’m dead—sorry, not dead, you know what I me— Joseph! What are you thinking? Do you realise how crazy everyone is going?”
“What’s going on?”
“Oh come on, Joseph. It’s me you’re talking to. It’s only a matter of time before they start suspecting you had something to do with it.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, or… I don’t know. God, I really don’t. They’ve just called the police, and their first reaction is that it’s a robbery; but it’s obvious there’s more to it, and they’re beginning to come up with ideas. You made a mess here, but you left a lot of obviously expensive stuff behind. What on earth—”
“It could be anyone: A panicked burglar, a junkie in a hurry. I’m sure they have plenty of other enemies too.”
“Joseph, wake up. Imagine, on the day of Josie’s funeral they get burgled, and her room is the only one with any damage on the first floor. You took her crappy laptop and left a one thousand pound tablet computer behind in the kitchen. You’re not exactly far from people’s lips today anyway. I knew it was you the second I saw it. Oh God, this is bad, Joseph.”
“Relax, Monika. They can’t do anything. They don’t have proof. You can’t just point fingers at anyone and get the police to go after them—not twice, anyway.”
“Are you sure? You don’t even sound so sure yourself anymore. I can hear your voice trembling even on the phone.”
“I’m not trembling. I’m just putting my coat on.”
“I can’t believe you did this.”
“It’s fine. You know Josie’s family. They think the whole world beyond their leafy suburb is full of pimps and robbers. I’m sure they will mention me, but they don’t really believe it was me. Sebastien had some guy follow me for the past week or so, he’s been parked outside my block for the whole day—he didn’t see me leave, or come back.”
“But—“
“But nothing. If there’s one thing Sebastien thinks about me it’s that I’m dumber than he is. I’m far too stupid to recognise I’m being followed, let alone double bluff him.”
“Why, Joseph?”
“You only pieced it all together because you knew I wanted that laptop.”
“I don’t like this. It’s very uncomfortable here. Hey, wait, Sebastien had someone follow you? Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah-ha. I knew something was up. He’s been very weird with me today. He’s been making a lot of snide comments at me—more than usual. He seems to know I’ve been seeing you.”
“What’s he been saying?”
“Wait, I have an idea.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry. I have to go now. Thank me later. I’m going to cover for you. Although God knows why. Bye Joseph.”
She hung up abruptly. I put the phone down and pondered what she might do. I felt both relieved that she might take care of any suspicion surrounding me, but also a little unnerved. I didn’t want her to say something stupid, or that couldn’t be backed up and that the police might uncover. I made a mental note to call her later on in the day, then pushed the thoughts out of my mind. I was far too interested in reading what was on the laptop to consider those things immediately anyway. I glanced over at it; tempted to open it right away and delve into what it contained, but I wanted to wait until it was at least fully charged. It couldn’t hurt to be extra careful; no doubt the laptop contained the only copy of the book.
I opened the door and made my way to Sandy’s.
Vicky had bought make-up on her shopping trip with Sandy’s kids. Red-faced and slumped from hours walking in the cold, she stalked to her room and stood in front of the body mirror fingering the various small boxes affectionately. I stood in the doorway and watched her apply things to her face with the methodical, concentrated precision of a grown woman. It made me feel nauseous. I had the strong impulse to be angry with her. To condemn the make-up and take it from her, but the urge confused me more than anything else. It wasn’t like bad food, pornographic websites, or violent films. I couldn’t be sure it was such a bad thing, and yet it felt wrong to see her rouge her cheeks and colour her eyes.
I went to the kitchen and pulled a beer from the fridge. My hand was shaking as I opened it. I tried to avoid thinking about sex, periods, bras, and other womanly things that lay in the future. I took a large gulp, slammed the can down on the counter, and made for her room to take the make-up and demand she clean herself up. I made it halfway down the hall before stopping myself, echoes of Monika’s advice bubbling up in my mind.
Settling down in front of the TV, I decided it was for the best that I let it go. If Vicky took it too far then I would have a talk with her. I thought of the girls I’d known who always wore make-up, and the girls who hadn’t. I tried to understand it and only got more depressed. Gazing at the laptop, the promise of its contents distracted me comfortingly.
The bitter, rancid smell of rubber and paint burning tinged at the edge of my nostrils. I sniffed around towards Vicky’s room, then went to the balcony. Stepping out, I saw heavy plumes of smoke pulsate upwards upon the damp air. They came from a car down below in the parking area, not far from the tower block. It was engulfed in smoke, and I could make out the faint tapers of flames licking the interior and beneath the open hood. It was sitting in the middle of the parking area, close to the entrance, and around it stood about five or six people, shouting and shoving each other. Their voices got louder and their movements more aggressive. Within minutes, the crowd doubled, then tripled. People seemed to emerge from all corners of the parking area, as if in waiting, and aside from a few, they quickly became involved in the shouting and fighting.
I looked around and saw that most of the neighbours had also stepped out onto their balconies to look at the brawl. A few even began shouting themselves. The smoke was beginning to fan out and hang in the air, making it difficult to discern the people below. I looked over towards the blue saloon. It was there, but Buzzcut’s simian hand was not in its usual position upon the steering wheel. I checked around and found Vicky’s binoculars on the balcony floor—dirty and wet from days out in the rain. Squinting through the grimy
lenses I could see that Buzzcut wasn’t in his car at all. I scanned slowly until I saw the crowd, now almost bundled upon one another, throwing punches and grabbing for each other almost indiscriminately. Their shouts were no longer indecipherable words, but the groans and cries of physical anger. I caught sight of a familiar figure, brawny and tall, and the unmistakably dated hair. He was in the fray, throwing punches and grabbing at another figure with his giant paws.
I continued to watch for a few minutes, until a large fire engine and several police vans pulled up in the road beyond the entrance. Their sirens and the authoritative shouts of the policemen caused only a few of the fighters to disband. Soon the police themselves were in the middle of the battle; displacing people with their batons and manpower. The scene grew even more chaotic as firemen drew hoses out in efficient lines and whilst exchanging heated instructions with the police began to dispense long flumes of fizzing water over the car. It took less than a minute for the policemen to forcibly escort most of the fighters back to the vans, and for the firemen to sooth the black clouds into a gently rising mist of steam. I scanned hurriedly for sign of Buzzcut, but between looking through the smoke-tainted binoculars and trying to pick out figures with my own eyes I lost him.
“Joseph! Joseph!”
I looked towards the direction of the shouting. It came from a balcony above and to the left of my own.
“Hey! Liam! You alright? What’s all this about?”
“No idea, mate. I was going to ask you that.”
“Who set the car alight?”
“I dunno, but Susan says she saw it. She says some woman threw a Molotov cockt—what’s that sweetheart? She says… Apparently someone lit a firework… And threw it into the car as it was driving in… What’s that, love?... A woman.”
“Who would do that? Why’s everyone fighting?”
Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller Page 17