Papercuts

by Colin Bateman

  Sean, who used the van more than most, scooting around town to take his photographs, said that he would be in severe danger of biting off his own tongue if he had to put up with another week of people calling him a tit or, even worse, joked about him driving the tit-mobile. But still Gerry wouldn’t come up with the petty cash to have it cleaned off, so Rob just threw up his hands and said he would get it done himself. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t take long – one of those high- powered hoses would do the job, and didn’t he pass a car wash every morning on the drive into work? He’d nip out in the van at lunchtime and get it done and then present the receipt to Gerry and demand that he immediately make good on it, and if he didn’t come up with the cash he’d... probably do nothing much. But it still needed to be done. The tit-mobile was becoming a laughing stock.

  So at lunchtime, which was a sausage roll and a Mars Bar, both taken on the hoof, Rob drove over to the car wash, which was set up in the forecourt of a long-abandoned petrol station on Abbey Street. There was a somewhat tattered poster promising the world hanging across the entrance, and a largish wooden hut. When he drove up, a stubble-faced man in a shell suit came up to his window and said, ‘All right, mate? What’re you for?’

  Rob said, ‘Take a wild guess.’

  The guy stood back, noticed the graffiti for the first time, gave a short nod and said, ‘Fair enough.’ He moved up to the ‘tit’ and ran his fingernail along the paint, before examining it. ‘No bother,’ he said. ‘Eight quid.’

  ‘Eight quid,’ said Rob. ‘And can I get a receipt?’

  The man looked at him like he was a space cadet. ‘It’s a car wash – cash only, we don’t exactly—’

  Rob raised a hand. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, and gave a resigned sigh. The man came back to his window, and stood there with an expectant look on his face, confusing Rob for several moments; then he twigged and removed his wallet. He counted out eight pound coins and tipped them into the man’s outstretched hand. His puffy fingers closed around them. He turned and let out a loud whistle – and immediately there was a rush of movement from the hut behind. Five... no, six figures hurried across the weed-strewn forecourt. They looked to Rob to be of Indian or Pakistani origin: two adults and four children ranging from late teenage down to a wee tot who couldn’t have been more than four. This youngest one turned, chamois leather in hand, and indicated for Rob to pull the van forward. Rob smiled indulgently and did as instructed. He then stepped out of the vehicle – they looked a little surprised by this, but they were also smiley and pleasant and set about the van enthusiastically. Rob was just starting to wonder if there was a story here – good as they seemed to be at their job, four of them were children, and the tiny one, that was bound to be breaking the law – when there was a shout from behind, and he turned – they all turned – towards it. There was a set of traffic lights about twenty metres along, and there was a car stuck on red sitting facing them. The passenger door was open and a young woman was sitting half in, half out; as they all watched she tried to get fully out, but was immediately pulled back in by the driver; there were more angry shouts before she finally managed to rip free of him. She sprang away from the vehicle and started to run across to the other side of the road while completely unaware that the lights had now changed. A blue Renault car, even though it hadn’t had time to build up any speed, immediately thumped into her and she went down silently. But a high-pitched scream did come – from within the car. There was another girl in the back seat who tried to climb out but was quickly hauled back in by the driver. There was a squeal of tyres and the car sped away with the passenger door flapping open and the other girl pressed despairingly against the rear window.

  So the kiss of life followed, required or not – the girl was conscious but confused. She was pretty in a starved kind of way, her blonde hair was lank and her eyes appeared large in her head. She spoke but the language wasn’t familiar – Eastern European, most probably. The car-wash workers, with the exception of the boss in the shell suit, fussed around with the same enthusiasm and expertise; they had hot water, and a sponge to clean off the worst of the dirt of the road that speckled the cuts on her bare pink-white legs. They placed towels under her head and a Puffa jacket over her shivering body.

  ‘And you didn’t get the number plate?’ Pete asked.

  Rob shook his head. ‘I was more concerned with—’

  ‘But a blue Renault.’

  ‘I think, yes.’

  Alix said, ‘It’s bound to be in there – you must have seen it, but, like, subliminally. We may have to hypnotize you. Although goodness knows what else might come out.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Rob, ‘let me just check our hypnotism budget. Oh – we appear to have overspent it this month. Maybe we’ll just let the police—’

  ‘You do realize,’ said Michael, ‘that you’re supposed to compress the chest, not give the kiss of life. I’ve done a course and it’s all changed.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘I bet if it had been some homeless drunk you wouldn’t have been so quick to lock lips,’ said Alix.

  ‘We should get a pic of you for the front,’ said Sean, ‘you with the girl, thanking her hero...’

  Rob finally held up his hand. ‘Okay, enough. I’m not the story. Alix, if you weren’t too busy buying buns, did you get a chance to talk to the police about it?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ She glanced down at the notebook in her hand. ‘At the moment they still have it down as a traffic accident but are waiting to talk to the girl.’

  ‘And the hospital?’

  ‘They weren’t for saying much either, patient rights, data protection, all that bollocks. However, my highly placed sources—’

  ‘It’s your sister who works there, isn’t it?’ said Pete.

  ‘Shhhh,’ said Alix. ‘My highly placed sources say she has broken ribs, concussion, and is generally lucky to be alive. She’s conscious, but not talking. I think maybe she’s waiting for her hero to arrive with a bunch of flowers. It would certainly get me talking.’

  ‘I can’t just waltz in there and—’

  ‘You’re always telling us to be bold and—’

  Rob sighed. ‘Okay. I’ll think about it. Sean? Did you get round to the car wash?’

  ‘Aye, I did, said I wanted a photo of the family who helped with the girl, and the guy in charge told me to take a hike.’

  ‘And did you take his photo, surreptitiously?’

  ‘Of course I did.’ Sean raised his iPad and placed it on the desk. They all stood over it.

  Rob saw a pretty-damn-good photo of the guy in the shell suit looking directly at the camera, and somewhat angrily. He could also just make out the family in the background, busily washing a car. Rob jabbed a finger at the picture and said, ‘This guy interests me. Let’s find out who he is and—’

  ‘It’s Jimmy Crilly,’ said Pete.

  Rob shook his head. ‘Is there anyone you don’t know?’

  ‘Probably not,’ said Pete. ‘I remember him from my court days, he was always up for something. Burglary, generally, stolen goods, fancies himself as a bit of a hard nut, but really pretty harmless. You’re thinking the car wash is some kind of a scam or the family is being exploited...?’

  ‘I really don’t know. There was just something about it – I mean, a kid working there who’s only out of his nappies.’

  ‘Kids help out in a family business all the time.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but I mean – would you say the same thing if he was covered in soot and being sent up chimneys?’

  ‘At least he’s cleaner at the car wash,’ said Michael.

  ‘Well, seeing as you’re volunteering, Michael,’ said Rob, ‘maybe you’d like to find out what exactly is going on round there? Why the kids aren’t in school, maybe?’

  ‘I wasn’t volunteering, I was only—’

  ‘Too modest to put yourself forward, that’s your problem. Luckily I can read the signs. Go for it, young man, go for it.’ Ro
b clapped his hands together and then indicated the door. Michael’s cheeks reddened somewhat as he got up. The others began to follow, the meeting over. Rob called Alix back and asked her if she knew the best place to buy flowers.

  She said, ‘That depends if they’re for me or some other floozie.’

  ‘The girl in the hospital.’

  ‘Garage forecourt,’ said Alix and gave him a wink.

  She’d barely closed the door after her when it opened again and Gerry came in, tie loose, shirt collar open, two days of a beard and a bit red in the eyes.

  ‘Oh-oh,’ said Rob, ‘here comes trouble.’

  ‘And you’re right there.’

  Gerry came in and sat on the side of Rob’s desk. He blew air out of his cheeks.

  ‘What?’ said Rob.

  ‘Nothing.’ He nodded to himself. Then: ‘Nothing at all. Sales are up. Advertising is up. Everything is very rosy indeed.’

  ‘That’s good, then...’

  ‘Yes, all good, apart from the fact that we’re in dire financial straits.’

  ‘But you—’

  ‘And we are! But the bank plays by its own rules and it sees what it wants to see. We’re going in the right direction, but not fast enough. We have to cut costs. They say that, for what we are, we are overstaffed.’

  Rob took that in for a moment. Then: ‘I presume you meant to say, understaffed.’

  ‘I’m serious Rob. And what that means is—’

  ‘No...’

  ‘...is that somebody has to go...’

  ‘Absolutely no...’

  ‘...and that traditionally means: last in, first out.’

  ‘No chance.’

  ‘That would be Sean. But what we’re paying him, it wouldn’t make any difference.’

  ‘Gerry, there’s no—’

  ‘Then it would be Michael – but I know he put university on hold because we encouraged him to, so that wouldn’t be great.’

  ‘Gerry, you’re not listen—’

  ‘So Alix, then. Although she’s probably the best we—’

  ‘I’m not getting rid of any—’

  ‘Or Pete. He is a bit of a pain in the neck, we all know that. And expensive. But he’s also a walking encyclopaedia of this town and we’d be lost without him.’

  ‘Gerry, you can keep suggesting names, but it’s not going to happen. We’re stretched as it is. We’re trying to grow this bloody paper, not make it disappear up its own hole. Try cutting someone from advertising instead.’

  ‘Ha!’ Gerry scoffed dismissively, ‘Janine is the advertising department – she wouldn’t allow it. No, Rob, I know we’re having a bit of a laugh here...’

  ‘I’m not...’

  ‘But I’m deadly serious. Someone has to go, and it has to be from editorial. You’re the editor, so it’s your call, okay? There.’ Gerry got up from his desk. ‘Job left in your capable hands. Will you let me know asap, these things are best done quickly and efficiently, eh?’

  Gerry was up and out of the door so quickly that Rob couldn’t be sure that he even heard him swearing after him. The second word was off. He would have made sure, and was already half-way out of his seat when his phone began to ring.

  He let out a loud sigh. Duty, as ever, called.

  *

  Gerry was pacing in his office when Janine came in and closed the door. She said, ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing’s up, why should anything be up?’

  ‘Because I know you and something’s up.’

  ‘Well, nothing’s up, I assure you.’

  ‘And I just heard Rob telling you to fuck off, so something’s up.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t hear anything. How come you heard something?’

  ‘Because I’m not deaf,’ said Janine, ‘and also I’m an efficient lip reader.’

  ‘Janine, there’s—’

  ‘Just tell me Gerry, it’ll save a lot of time.’

  ‘Janine, I swear to—’

  Janine closed the door. Then she folded her arms and said, ‘Out with it.’

  Gerry thought later that she would have made a very fine detective, or possibly a Gestapo interrogator. She had the fact of the impending redundancy out of him in less than a minute.

  ‘But you can’t tell anyone,’ he warned her, ‘it wouldn’t be fair.’

  ‘Who am I going to tell?’ Janine laughed as she skipped out of the door, armed and dangerous.

  Michael didn’t have half of her investigative skills, but managed to get by with a lot of Woody Allen-style hmming and haaing as he attempted to speak to the Indian – as it turned out – man at the car wash. He co-operated enough to say that his name was Navar, but after that the shutters came down. His family, and Michael was presuming it was his family, but nothing was for sure, was crammed into the flimsy-looking wooden hut behind him, picking at food laid out on what looked like a decorating table.

  Michael said who he was and that he wanted to talk about the accident – it was his way in – but Navar said he’d spoken to the police already, and then urged him to leave, that he was on private property. He didn’t appear particularly nervous or anxious, but firm and to the point. As Michael was being kicked out anyway, he decided to go for broke. He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and said, ‘Listen, I see what’s going on here, there’s at least six members of your family working – four of them are kids. That looks to me like child exploitation. Maybe even slavery. If you’re in trouble and you need help, we’re a community paper it’s our job to—’

  Navar turned and shouted: ‘Mr Crilly!’

  Crilly, up to that point lurking unnoticed at the back of the hut, came barrelling out, not overly concerned at first because Michael looked so inoffensive, but then he clocked Sean, standing a little back, and put two and two together and snapped out, ‘I already warned you once, now get the fu—’

  And that was that, theoretically off with their tails between their legs but actually just more intrigued and determined. They retreated to the van and drove off, but actually just circled for a while before picking out a parking space that gave them a view of the car wash but also managed to mostly mask them from being themselves observed. Sean switched off the engine. Michael produced a can of Red Bull and a Mars Bar. Sean smiled and said, ‘You look like you’re in for the long haul.’

  ‘We stay until we crack this case,’ said Michael.

  Sean nodded. Then he said, ‘Yeah right. I’ve a list of photos as long as your arm to take this afternoon, so I’m here for twenty minutes max.’

  ‘This is a big story, Sean, or it could be.’

  ‘Then you can hang about in a shop doorway or disguise yourself as a tramp, but I’m away in nineteen minutes.’

  Michael sighed.

  Fifteen minutes later, Sean was just getting set to dump him. Michael had already picked out a fresh vantage point. They had observed a steady stream of vehicles coming and going – Crilly certainly seemed to be raking in the cash, and all the work he was doing was clicking his fingers for poor Navar and his young family to spring into action. Of course, that was how business worked – bosses and workers, but not if there were tiny kids involved. Michael felt an exposé coming on, or a campaign, something that might even put his name in lights. Almost on cue, Crilly came walking across the forecourt, spoke briefly with Navar, then stepped out onto the footpath and began walking towards the town centre, zipping up his tracksuit as he went.

  ‘Okay,’ said Michael, ‘let’s see where he’s off to.’

  ‘Michael – I’ve to be somewhere else. And in the opposite direction.’

  ‘Just give me ten—’

  ‘No, because if I’m late for the first one, then I’m late for the second one, and that turns to chaos further down the line.’

  ‘Don’t make me pull rank on you.’

  ‘Like that could ever happen.’

  ‘Well, what am I supposed to do, then? We only have one van.’

  Sean pretended to give that serious th
ought, then pointed. ‘See those things at the end of your legs? I believe they’re called—’

  ‘Funny,’ said Michael and opened the passenger door.

  ‘See ya later, alligator,’ said Sean.

  ‘Bog off,’ said Michael.

  A minute later he was about thirty metres behind Crilly, but it was still close enough to hear him whistling happily.

  *

  It was early afternoon before Rob found time to get to the hospital. He stopped on the way to pick up flowers from a petrol station, then decided it was a bad idea and left them in the car. Even if he had saved her life – and he was pretty sure he hadn’t – he was still a reporter, and although he was anxious to know that she really was okay, he was still visiting in that capacity. He was curious and intrigued as to who she was, and why she had felt the need to spring so dramatically from the car that she didn’t even think about the oncoming traffic; he wanted to know who the driver was, about the other girl. There was a story there that had to be teased out and for once he wasn’t doling it out to one of his reporters; it was a chance to get his hands dirty again; and to find out if he missed it. He had to admit he quite liked getting other people to do the donkey work.

  Times were supposed to have changed, and perhaps superficially they had, but Rob was still able to enter the main building, go up three floors and then walk into the correct ward completely unchallenged. But then he had to ask one of the nurses because three of the beds in the open ward had their curtains pulled completely round and he wasn’t about to go poking his head around them. Of course he didn’t know her name – yet – so the nurse treated him with suitable suspicion until he explained who he was. He was the guy who’d saved her life. He blushed as he said it, but it did the trick, because her face momentarily brightened into a smile. He said he just thought he’d check in on her to make sure she was okay and the nurse said ‘Of course, but...’ and glanced at the curtain closest to them. She drew Rob away into the main corridor and lowered her voice: ‘I’ll have to check with her. Marja’s a nervous wee creature.’