‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Jack said, making for the exit. 'I'm so sorry.'
Ten seconds later, Jack left through the side door and saw a car at the gate.
He saw something else, too: dogs. Four of them. Padding across the lawn, distracted by the engine noise and headlights.
Taking advantage of this, Jack made haste. He reached the trees and began forcing his way through undergrowth. He pushed branches back. One whipped him in the face, spraying him with water.
‘Crap!' he muttered, pressing on.
He heard dogs barking. Car doors shutting.
Reaching the wall, he jumped up and over with no problems.
Safely on the other side, he began jogging. He concealed his knife inside his jacket. Kept to the shadows. Ducked down an alley.
####
The sound of a door opening behind Derek didn’t pull him out of his grief. Neither did the tap-tap of footsteps. Getting closer. More than one of them, from the sound of things. On some base level of his mind, Derek registered this. He had neither the strength nor motivation to react, though. Friends or foes? Had Jack returned to once again try and persuade him to leave? Or was it Byron’s men? Whoever was coming was coming. And that was that. Derek didn’t give a toss. All he cared about was his brother, who was now dead.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
A man appeared at Derek’s side.
Derek looked up. Saw he had a gun.
‘Do it,’ Derek said. So the man did.
####
Several times, Jack stopped. Considered going back. He felt terrible for leaving Derek, but knew there would be no point. And even if Byron's men hadn't killed him, the mansion would be crawling with hoods eager to put a bullet in someone. So Jack pressed on, ducking down side streets, moving fast. He had a good walk ahead of him and wanted to make short work of it.
He could hardly believe everything that had happened recently. So much in such a short space of time. None of it good. Apart from the retribution part, of course. That’d been good. That’d exercised some demons, all right.
As he began jogging again, the plastic package dropped out of his jacket. Landed on the pavement. He’d forgotten it was there. Thankfully, the contents didn’t spill out. He’d have been hard-pushed to explain that to a passer-by.
Twenty-five minutes later he was back in his house. The place was cold, dark and depressing. Just as he had left it. But he was relieved to be home. Closing the front door behind him, he felt like he was shutting out the world (even though the lock was still broken). For a short while he stood with his back against the door, letting it support his weight.
He looked down at himself. ‘What a mess,’ he said.
He went into the kitchen. Flipped the light switch. Turned the boiler on so he could take a shower. While he was waiting for the water to heat up, he stripped off and took the package out of his jacket and put it on top of a cupboard, out of sight. Ditto the gun and knife. The Face Book could wait until tomorrow and so could the disposal of incriminating evidence. Too late to do anything about that now.
In the bedroom, Jack searched the drawers for something to wear. Finding a blue tracksuit, he slipped into the bottoms and pulled the top on.
Then he made himself a brew and sat on the settee in the living room, glad the strain was off his legs.
Looking up at the photo of him and Eleanor on the mantelpiece, he said, ‘I’m missing one for my collection. The big ‘un. The one I really wanted. What do you think I should do? Dig his corpse up after he’s buried and cut his face off then? Assuming he’s not cremated, that is.’
What would you think of me now, if you knew what I’d done?
Could you still love me?
Could you love a monster?
‘I thought I’d feel better than this, Eleanor. I thought revenge would make everything better, but it hasn’t. I’m still alone here. I haven’t got you. All I’ve ever wanted was you.’
A part of him still believed he could make her love him. But another part – the common sense part – knew this was folly. It was head vs heart time. His heart was saying keep at it. His head was telling him the opposite. Move on … move on … move on ….
Tears welled in his eyes. He fought them back. The sooner he came to terms with her not wanting him, the sooner he could get on with his life. With that in mind, he got up and went to the mantelpiece. He turned the photo around. Went to walk away. No! he thought. That’s not enough. He took it outside. Slam-dunked it in the bin. Harlem Globe Trotter style. Tomorrow he would do the same with her other belongings. For now, however, it was enough to be rid of the photo. It was making a statement. Saying: fuck you, then. And in a way it felt good. Like an exorcism, of sorts.
Going back inside, Jack threw door's bolt across.
Then he remembered the disk was still in his jacket. So far as he was aware, it was the only evidence linking him to the crime scene. Best not to tempt fate. Best destroy it now. He retrieved the disk and put it in a metal dish, which he placed in the oven. He turned the knob up to two hundred and fifty degrees.
He watched the news for ten minutes, then took a shower. Stepping out of the cubicle, he felt invigorated and refreshed. Not the least bit tired. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep. In bed, with the duvet pulled up to his chin, he stared up into the darkness. Then he smelled something burning.
‘The disk!’
Jack sprang out of bed. Raced into the kitchen. He turned the oven off, opened the door and a whoosh of heat made him recoil backwards. Noxious fumes and smoke filled the room. He opened a window to let fresh air in. The disk had been reduced to mushy, boiling goo. He needed to get rid of it. Sooner the better. Daylight would break in half an hour, so he’d have to wait until tomorrow. It was a job that needed doing under cover of darkness. Bury it in the woods or something. For now, however, he just needed to get out of the kitchen. Coughing his head off, he walked into the living room and waited five minutes. When the kitchen was clear enough of smoke, he closed the window, then went back to bed.
For a long time he laid there, sure sleep would never come. And then his eyes began to shut …
He dreamed about the Face Book.
He opened page one: Gerard.
Page two: Quinn.
Three: McCarthy.
Four: Byron.
Jack paused. Not sure if he should turn another page. That was it, wasn’t it? All present and accounted for. There shouldn’t be anyone else. But if that was the case then why was the next sheet sticking up, as if it had been filled. Jack turned the page.
Five: Eleanor.
Jack woke up, sweating. Screaming.
6
Three days later …
Jack was washing his car on the drive when a white van parked outside his house. A huge guy got out, holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. He was six foot and then some. The ugliest man Jack had ever seen. He had a deep craggy face, sunken eyes and a nose that looked it'd been punched many times. He was wearing a brown Puffer Jacket, faded denim jeans and scuffed boots of the steal-toe variety. The van had no writing on it, so there were no clues as to who the visitor was. Jack's first thought: it's one of Byron's thugs!
'Are you Jack Williams?' the man asked as he approached. He stared at Jack, who stared back, eyeing him warily from beneath his hoodie.
Go on, Jack thought. Ask me what happened to my face; I can see you're desperate to know. 'Who's asking?'
'I'm from Boxford City Finance Management,' The man pulled an envelope from inside his jacket, then handed it to Jack. 'You've defaulted on your loan agreement with Sinderskate Bank and they've passed your details to us. So … under Section Thirty of the New Government Act, I'm here to collect the full amount owing, which is …' he looked at the paperwork on his clipboard. 'Three hundred and forty-seven pounds and twenty-seven pence. Can you pay today?'
Jack was holding a sponge. He let go of it and it plopped into the bucket of water by his feet.
'Mate,
' he said. 'I haven't got three pounds forty-seven pence, never mind what you want.'
'Ah.' The man nodded, as if this were the response he'd expected. 'Looks like I need to seize some assets, then, doesn't it?' He gestured towards the Astra. 'This is your car, I take it?'
'Actually, it's my parents'. They've loaned it to me.'
'Can you prove that?'
'I can,' Jack said, matter-of-factly. 'Back in a second. You stay here.'
'Oh I'm not going anywhere, don't worry about that.'
Jack went into the house to fetch the documentation. Everything was still in his father's name, because Jack hadn't got around to updating the ownership. Returning with the paperwork, he showed it to the man, who looked the sheets over studiously.
'If I can't take the car,' the man said, handing the paperwork back, 'I'll just have to take something else.'
He walked towards the house, so Jack moved in front of him.
'You're not going in there,' Jack said. Close and personal, he got a better perspective on how big the debt collector was. Looking up at him, Jack felt tiny. 'I'm sure we can work something out.'
The man loomed over Jack. 'You told me you haven't got three pounds forty-seven, so I don't see how that's going to happen. Do you?'
Another white transit pulled up. Parked behind the first one.
'What's this, back-up?' Jack asked, taking the opportunity to step away from the man. 'Crikey, you've really come to clean me out. I haven't got enough of worth to fill one van, let alone two.'
The debt collector turned to have a gander. 'Nothing to do with me.'
Eleanor's dad, David, got out of the van. He gave Jack a half-hearted smile as he approached with that now familiar look of horror. I was right about getting cleaned out, Jack mused. Tonight I'll be sitting on the floor. Mr. Smart-Casual: that's how Jack thought of him; because he was always dressed in a suit jacket, jeans and shiny black shoes. His hair was thick, silky and silver. He walked with an unpretentious swagger.
'You're too late,' Jack said to him. 'This guy got here first.'
'What do you mean?' David said. He eyed the big man warily, just as Jack had.
'He's a debt collector,' Jack explained. 'Come to take all my worldly possessions. Not that I have much in the way of worldly possessions, of course. Most of “my stuff” belongs to Eleanor. Which is what you're here for, yes?'
'I don't have time for this,' the bailiff said.
He went to go into the house and Jack once again blocked his way.
'Look,' the bailiff said, puffing himself up so he was as tall and wide as possible. 'I'm not fucking around here. Move out of the way, or I'll … I'll …'
'You're not taking any of my daughter’s belongings,' David said to him.
The bailiff said, 'Who the hell are you?'
'I'm the guy who paid for most of the gear you want to take,' David said.
He explained how Jack had broken up with Eleanor and that he'd come to collect what was rightfully his daughter’s.
'I don't care about any of that,' the bailiff seethed. 'I either want paying or goods to the value of the amount owing. I don't care which, as long as I get something. And I'm not leaving 'till I get something.'
'How much do you owe?' David asked Jack.
The bailiff said, 'Three hundred and forty-seven pounds and …'
'… twenty-seven pence,' Jack said. 'Which I haven't got.'
'I'll pay it,' David said.
'What?' Jack said.
'I'll pay it,' David repeated.
'I need the money today,' the bailiff said.
'I haven't got it on me,' David said. 'I don't carry that sort of cash around. But if you give me your card with a business address on, I'll drop it in later.'
'You don't have to do this,' Jack said to him.
The bailiff gave David a card. 'If I receive nothing today,' he said, 'I'll be back tomorrow. I'll be pissed. And you really wouldn't like me when I'm pissed. Ever seen the Hulk?'
'Yes,' David said.
'That's what I'm like when people try and stiff me,' the bailiff said, looking mean. 'I go a shocking shade of green and burst out of my clothes. Then people get hurt.'
'Good thing that's not going to happen, then, isn't it,' David said.
As the bailiff left, he waved a finger at David. 'I'll be seeing you later,' he said. And then to Jack: 'Otherwise I'll be seeing you tomorrow.'
'Yeah, have a nice day yourself,' Jack said. 'Don't go having a fatal road accident or anything, 'cause that'd be a shame, wouldn't it?'
'Don't antagonize him,' David warned.
'He doesn't scare me,' Jack said. 'After everything I've been through, it'll take a lot more than that to frighten me.'
The bailiff got in his van. Drove away.
'You didn't have to do that,' Jack said.
'I wasn't going to let him take things I paid for,' David said. 'Good job I turned up when I did.'
'Cheers. But it looks like I'm going to get cleared out anyway. Unless you've traded your Merc for a Sprinter as a run-around, which is about as likely as that goon not coming back tomorrow if he doesn't get his money. Oh well.' Jack shrugged. 'At least I don't have to endure the indignity of a stranger violating my personal space. At least it's going to be someone I know.'
'Let's discuss this in the house.' David coaxed Jack inside. They went into the living room.
'You want a drink?' Jack asked. 'Tea? Coffee? Or something cold?'
'I'm okay, thanks. I had a cuppa before I left. Sup anymore and I'll have it coming out of my ears.' David seated himself on the settee. 'Christ, Jack, I had no idea they'd done that to your face. Eleanor told me it was bad, but I didn't realise it was that bad.'
Jack pulled his hoodie back. Sat in the armchair. 'I was kind of hoping you'd tell me I had nothing to worry about; that it was only a few minor scratches, really; that you’d seen worse.’
David said, ‘Plastic surgeons can do wonders these days. I know one who comes highly recommended. I’m sure he can help you out. Here, I’ll give you his phone number.’ He reached inside his jacket.
‘I couldn’t pay that thug,’ Jack said, ‘so how can I afford surgery?’
‘Good point,’ David conceded, fishing his mobile out anyway. ‘Still take the number, though. You never know, your fortunes might change. After all, when you’re down, the only was up, right? I’m a cup half full type of guy, Jack. You should take a leaf out of my book. Got a pen and paper so you can write this down?’
‘Can we skip the pleasantries and get on with things? You’re not here on a social visit and you certainly didn’t come to give me the details of your favourite plastic surgeon. You want to take what you’ve paid for; I haven’t got a problem with that. In fact, I’ll even help you, if you want me to.’
‘There’s no need to be like that.’ David slipped his mobile back inside his jacket. ‘I realise how upsetting this has all been for you and you must really have been through a lot these last few weeks, but …’
‘You have no idea.’
‘But … I’d like to make things a little easier for you. If you’ll let me.’
‘And just exactly how are you going to do that?’
‘For starters, you can keep the furniture.’
Jack’s mouth dropped open. ‘What?’
‘You heard me. You can keep the furniture, the TV, everything. Apart from the few bits and bobs Eleanor wants back. I’ve got a list from her; it’s mainly jewellery and a few other personal possessions. Nothing you’d want to keep, I’m sure.’
Jack shot David a look: don’t be so sure about that. ‘So what’s with the van, then?’ Jack said. ‘I’m certain you didn’t bring it here for the hell of it.’ Then he twigged. ‘Um, I get it; you’ve seen the state of me and changed your mind. You were going to take everything, but now you’ve seen me, you can’t bring yourself to do it.’
‘Jack, please, I just want to help.’
‘I don’t need your pity. I don’t need anybody�
��s pity.’
‘I understand that. But you do need help, whether you like it or not.’
That was undeniable, so Jack didn’t argue.
‘Okay,’ David said, continuing. ‘The next thing I want to talk about are your debts. List everything you owe and we’ll sit down in a few days together and sort something out.’
‘You’re going to pay all my debts as well?’
‘Yours and Eleanor’s, yes. She tells me that most of it is owed jointly, in both your names, so we’ll deal with those first. Afterwards, we’ll see what’s left and take things from there.’
‘I won’t be able to pay you back. I don’t have a job!’
‘Which brings me to the third thing I’d like to discuss.’ David clicked his fingers and pointed at Jack. ‘How would you like a job as a security guard? Zach, a friend of mine, runs a security company. It’s mainly night work on building sites, so it’s unsociable hours. Dangerous work, it can be. The money’s not great and the hours are long, as well, but it’ll do you until you find something else. What do you think?’
'That my ex’s father has just turned into my guardian angel. I’d be a fool not to accept. And it’d be ideal for me, working under cover of darkness, on my own, given the state of my boat race. Thank you for this. You’ve really helped me out of a hole.’
‘My pleasure,’ David said, flashing his pearly whites, then reaching over and giving Jack’s knee a squeeze. ‘I’ll give Zach your number. Just don’t go letting him down because I told him you’re reliable and hard-working. If he asks what happened with your last job, then … I dunno, tell him porkies. Say you were laid off due to cutbacks. He won’t check references. Not after I’ve recommended you.’
Jack pointed to his face. ‘Does he know about this? I don’t want to meet the guy and him say he’s changed his mind ‘cause I might scare his clients.’
‘He knows.’
Which means you were going to offer me that job even before you saw how badly scarred I am, Jack thought. He felt guilty for going off at David.
Face Book: A disturbing novel full of shocking twists Page 23