Papercuts

by Colin Bateman

  Load of crap.

  ‘Fuck sake!’ Patrick swung round, gun up. ‘What the fuck is this?’

  ‘It’s what you—’

  ‘No, it fucking isn’t!’ He jabbed the barrel of the gun at the screen. ‘He believes, he’s convinced, he maintains... you’re making it sound like I’m imagining it all! The fucking truth is they ambushed me! They shot the oul’ fella and now they want to make it look like it was me! I told you what to write so just fucking write it...!’

  ‘Patrick... listen to me... c’mon, you’ve worked in papers, you know what they’re like – if I write it the way you want me to, they’ll never print it...’

  ‘It’s your paper, they’ll do exactly what you—’

  ‘No – I only edit it. If I do it your way, then it’s not a balanced story, they just won’t let me...’

  ‘Even to save your life?’

  ‘Not even to save my life...’

  ‘You always were a gormless fucking spineless little shit.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Why do you think I called you, out of all people?’

  ‘Because I’m a gormless fucking... whatever...’

  ‘No, Rob, Jesus, I don’t mean any of that, you know me, I always opened my fucking mouth before my brain was in gear. I called you because we go back. Because I trust you. I just need you to put my side of the story across so that those bastards...’ And he stopped suddenly – a sound from above. ‘Christ, they’re...’ And he jumped behind Rob and raised the gun to his head. ‘Any of you bastards come down those stairs, I’m blowing his fucking head off...!’ He pushed Rob forward, behind the counter, towards a set of stairs leading up to God knows what. ‘Do youse hear me! You try anything and...’

  And then they were both looking up the stairs. There was a girl, nineteen, maybe twenty, cowering there on the top step, summer dress, clasping her red knees, tear-stained face, blonde tangled hair... ‘Please...’ she said.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?!’

  ‘I work here...’ Accent American. ‘My stepfather... when you... I was using the—’

  ‘Did they send you in here? Did they fucking—?’

  ‘No...!’

  ‘Patrick,’ said Rob, ‘look at her, nobody sent her in...’

  ‘Please, I just want to go home...’

  Patrick rubbed his gun hand across his brow. ‘For fuck sake,’ he spat. ‘Right – get down here...’

  She stood hesitantly and began to move slowly down the stairs, leaning on a chipped wooden bannister for support. As she reached the bottom and Patrick pulled her into the body of the shop she let out a little yelp. Patrick moved the gun from covering Rob to resting it against her neck.

  ‘What’ve you been doing up there, who’ve you been talking to...?’

  ‘Nothing! No one!’

  ‘Where’s your phone?’

  ‘My bag was down here!’ She pointed behind the counter. ‘Look, it’s in there...’

  There was a brown leather handbag resting behind a stool. Patrick looked at it and shook his head. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Lisa...’

  ‘Well, listen, Lisa, you sit the fuck down there...’ and he indicated the wall opposite, beneath one of the windows, ‘and if you move a muscle I’ll fucking shoot you. Because that’s what it’s come to. Did you see what happened? Did you see the cops shoot your dad?’

  ‘He’s not my... and no, I was upstairs, I just heard a shot and—’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t me.’ He swung round, pointing the gun at Rob once again. ‘But this stuck-up shit doesn’t want to put that in his precious paper.’

  ‘I’m just trying to—’

  ‘Well, tell you what – if you won’t do it for your own life, how about you do it for this wee doll’s? For sweet little Lisa here?’ The gun ranged back. ‘Eh, how’s about that, then?’

  He said it like Jimmy Savile said it.

  Abject fear from Lisa, her eyes huge and wet.

  ‘Patrick, there’s no need to—’

  ‘There’s every fucking need! Now, write what I told you to write!’

  Rob nodded slowly. ‘I’ll write it. Okay. But just listen to me. I know what I’m talking about, I know what will fly and what won’t, that’s what I’ve told you again and again. If we just make it about you blaming the police, then it won’t get printed, not in a million years. But if we make it about you, what drove you to this...’

  ‘Nothing drove—’

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘What the fuck...’

  ‘Kids? Do you have kids?’

  ‘Yes! Three!’

  ‘Then that’s what we use, you did this for them. You were driven to it. Patrick, come on, you’re not stupid, they’re going to throw the book at you for this. But at least we can make your case. Maybe you’re Robin Hood, robbing from the rich to give to the poor...’

  ‘I am the fucking poor!’

  ‘Well, there you go! Desperate times call for desperate measures...’

  Patrick tapped the barrel of the gun against his cheek. He shook his head. He sighed. ‘Fuck sake,’ he said, ‘it shouldn’t have come to this.’

  ‘You can still walk out. I’ll walk out with you.’

  ‘No, not now, not till I have my say.’

  ‘Then, have it. Your words, mate, but I write them in a way that people really understand what happened. Then we can all walk out of this.’

  Patrick snorted. ‘You know something?’ Rob shook his head. ‘Stamps are really fucking expensive. That’s what this is about.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I was applying for jobs, needed some stamps, I was like 5p short and that oul’ fucker wouldn’t let me off with it.’

  ‘And you just happened to have a gun with you.’

  ‘Problem is, I owe 5ps everywhere. I have to watch my back.’

  *

  It was dark – or would have been but for the arc lights the police had set up, so that it looked more like a film set than a real-life siege. Gerry said to Michael, ‘It’s like Dog Day Afternoon,’ and Michael nodded, not having a clue what he was on about. Gerry said the same to Pete and Pete said, ‘Remind me how that ended?’ while knowing fine well that one of the hostage-takers took a bullet to the head. Gerry said it to Janine and she went all dreamy-eyed and purred, ‘Al Pacino...’

  Gerry said, ‘He was just a boy then. He must be knockin’ seventy now.’

  ‘I’d still do him,’ said Janine.

  Sean appeared at Michael’s shoulder.

  ‘Anything good?’ Michael asked.

  ‘There are a limited number of pictures you can take of metal shutters.’

  ‘I was thinking about what you said earlier.’

  ‘About you being a prick?’

  ‘When did—?’

  ‘Only rakin’. About what?’

  ‘About you and the agency fella.’

  ‘Offering me a job?’

  ‘You never said he offered you a job.’

  ‘Aye. Well. He did, kind of. Without actually saying it out loud.’

  ‘Well – like, I didn’t mean to rain on your parade. All this...’ And he nodded towards the police cordon and the gawping crowd. ‘Not the sort of thing that happens here every day, or month, or year, or... What I mean is, with a camera, you can travel anywhere. See the world. Or at least Belfast.’

  ‘I know that. But you had the chance to go to uni. You never took it.’

  ‘Well, I deferred it. I can still go.’

  ‘I thought you turned it down.’

  ‘Well. I might have given that impression.’

  ‘You sneaky fucker.’

  ‘Well, I’d be an unemployed sneaky fucker if this paper goes tits up. So sometimes it’s good to keep something in reserve.’

  ‘I don’t know. Can’t say I’m not tempted. But, you know, it’s not like I ever dreamed about doing this in the first place. I was happy on my skateboard and smoking the odd spliff. Then Rob comes along and te
lls me I’m a photographer, and next thing you know, I am a fucking photographer. And this is, y’know, it’s home. I’m comfortable here.’

  ‘Beware of comfortable, or you’ll end up like him.’ Michael nodded along the line of the cordon towards Pete. ‘A prematurely aged gargoyle in corduroy trousers and comfortable shoes.’

  ‘A fate worse than death.’

  Pete saw them looking at him. He knew they were talking about him. It didn’t worry him in the slightest. The day he took what little shits like them had to say seriously was the day he’d hang up his quill.

  Gerry was saying, ‘But it makes you think.’

  ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘How your whole life can change in an instant.’

  Pete nodded. After a few moments of appropriate but imaginary contemplation he said, ‘So if the worst happens... I mean, if he goes back to England...’

  ‘The King is dead, long live the King.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Well, you’ll step in.’

  ‘Or some other young hellion with power points and slides and digital dreams will talk the good talk and you’ll hire them on the spot because they’re new and shiny. And then when they realize they’re working in a dump they’ll be off in a couple of months, just like yer man in there.’

  ‘Pete, I think we’ve both learned a lot since Rob came. There’s been a bit of an Arab spring.’

  ‘Well, we know how that ended.’

  ‘Fair point. But at least we’re still here, and we might not have been. Even you, though you’re probably not prepared to admit it, have changed the way you think about things. Some things, anyway. So, if he does go, you’ll definitely be in prime position.’

  ‘Prime position.’

  ‘Definitely top five.’ Gerry gave him a wink. ‘Anyway – talking about leadership qualities, we’re going to have to put the guts of this paper to bed in the next hour no matter what goes down here. You can handle that okay?’

  ‘Is the Pope a Catholic?’

  ‘Well, these days it’s hard to... C’mon, I’ll give you a lift back, I’ll give you a hand where I can... What about these guys?’ He nodded along the line to Michael and Sean, who’d now been joined by Alix.

  ‘They’re better off here. Alix’ll keep them right.’ Then he cleared his throat. ‘Not that I think she has any particular talent in that direction.’

  ‘I hear you, Pete, I hear you.’

  Janine and Alix watched them go. As if Janine could read her mind, she said, ‘The day he becomes editor, is the day hell freezes over.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I know. Never underestimate pillow talk.’ She gave Alix a theatrical wink. ‘Talking of which, what about you and our hostage?’

  ‘Rob?’

  ‘No, the postmaster. Yes, Rob.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Alix. C’mon. It’s written all over you. You’re nuts about him.’

  ‘Yeah, right. I’m not nuts about anyone. Especially—’

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘Does he know what?’

  ‘How you feel about him?’

  ‘FFS and LOL, Janine.’

  ‘I’m sorry, what?’

  ‘There’s nothing going on!’

  ‘Listen, I see the way you look at him. And he, at you.’

  ‘We have a bit of a laugh, that’s all.’

  ‘Alix, don’t knock it. It’s the best feeling in the world.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Being in love. I do it all the time. And I’ve four engagement rings the buggers are never getting back and a divorce behind me, so I’m something of an expert. I’m just saying, if there is something there, go for it. Nothing worse than regrets.’

  ‘Why, have you heard he’s going, on your famous pillow?’

  ‘Nope, not a dicky bird.’

  They nodded, eyes on the post office. After a minute Alix said: ‘So what about you and Gerry? Is that love?’

  ‘God, no. We’re just fuck buddies.’

  Alix snorted. ‘I wish I hadn’t asked.’

  Janine was laughing, too. But then she glanced behind at the sound of a car door slamming and her smile faded. ‘Alix – what I said, about being in love and just going for it? Well, you might want to park that for a bit.’

  Alix looked where Janine was looking – and there was Rebecca, Rebecca of the thunder thighs and huge ass, Rebecca the ex who wasn’t quite an ex, Rebecca just having climbed out of a taxi, immaculately dressed in a black suit, Rebecca looking pale-faced and wide-eyed as she took it all in, the post office, the police cars, the waiting crowds, the ambulance, the fire brigade, all eerily overlit by banks of lights better suited to a movie set, or with nothing at all seemingly happening, a TV drama on pause.

  ‘Fuck,’ Alix said under her breath.

  ‘Look at her,’ said Janine. ‘She looks like she’s dressed for a funeral.’

  She regretted saying it immediately.

  Sort of.

  *

  Patrick had Lisa up by the elbow and was now making her stand over the computer where Rob had just finished writing his second draft of the story he wanted printed on the front page of the Express. She was to be the man or woman in the street, giving her reaction just like any normal reader. This was quite hard to do, given that she was a hostage with a gun being held on her. But she wasn’t stupid – scared shitless, yes, but bright enough to know to play along, to tell him what he wanted to hear.

  Patrick said, ‘So? What do you think? Does it make me look like an idiot?’

  ‘No... Of course not,’ said Lisa, her voice reedy. ‘It makes you look like... someone who loves his wife and kids and... resorts to desperate measures to help them...’

  Patrick nodded slowly. ‘That is what it’s about. Okay.’ He turned to Rob. ‘And yet she hasn’t come. If she’d come, the cops would be on saying your wife’s here and wants to talk to you. She hasn’t come because she doesn’t care.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ said Rob, ‘and you haven’t asked for her. Maybe they don’t even know about her or she doesn’t know about you. They won’t have given your name out. She might have no idea at all.’

  ‘Really?’ Thick with sarcasm.

  ‘Really. But, listen, if they’re going to run this in time for tomorrow’s paper, they’re going to need it now. And I’m not saying they will run it, or if they do if they’ll run all of it. But unless we send it we’ll never know.’

  ‘Send it, then. But I don’t want it in tomorrow’s paper. I want it in tonight’s.’

  ‘We don’t come out until—’

  ‘Make an exception. This is important. The story needs out there now.’

  ‘Well – I can ask. It’s not up to me.’

  ‘Just fucking do it. And Rob – I was a good printer, you know that, but I was never a big reader. If you’ve done anything sneaky here, and I haven’t spotted it, and you send it off and they find something out which helps them get in here, or it makes me look like a fuckin’ eejit, you’re the one who’ll be getting the bullet in the back of the head. Or maybe even the front. You hear what I’m saying?’

  ‘Maybe I should take one more look at it.’ Rob leaned closer to the screen – but then immediately backed up. He smiled. Forced it. Keeping it light. ‘Patrick – I wouldn’t do that. Just let me send it, okay? But once it’s gone, it’s out of my hands, it’s not my call what they do with it. Okay?’

  ‘Do it,’ said Patrick.

  *

  Gerry never claimed to know anything about the actual news side of his business – he was more interested in watching the money come rolling in. Or not, as the case often was. Even on the big stories, he tended to leave them to it. This night, however, it was personal. He paid scant attention to the advertising features waiting for his approval and more to what Pete was working on, the story Rob had just sent through, the story that his life probably depended on, a story about which they were intent on making a decision themselves, wit
hout involving anyone else, like the police, or psychologists or family members. They were a law unto themselves, and probably foolish with it. He knew it, but couldn’t, or wouldn’t do anything about it. Pig-headed. Always was. ‘Gerry always knows best,’ Janine said, ‘even when he doesn’t.’

  Pete said, ‘So this goes on the front, and the hostages walk free.’

  ‘So it is hostages?’

  ‘Yup. Not sure if the police even know that yet.’

  ‘So we run it, right?’

  Pete just stared at the screen.

  ‘Pete?’

  ‘We could.’

  ‘Could?’

  ‘Maybe even should.’

  ‘Pete? What?’

  Pete sighed. ‘I never thought I’d hear myself say this – but I am. I’m thinking what would Rob do in this situation?’

  ‘Well, he sent you the story so—’

  ‘Under duress.’

  ‘We don’t know that.’

  ‘I think we pretty much do.’

  ‘The problem is – it’s really not a front-page story. It’s a feature article. It’s an interview. Lots of background. It’s not a news story. This is a news story.’ He clicked a button and an alternate front page appeared. ‘Alix’s. Once again, I hate saying it, it’s really very good. And exactly what we should be printing. Big story. Dramatic. Well written. Will sell a lot of copies.’

  ‘So we make up a dummy edition tonight, make sure they see that in the post office, and then print the proper edition tomorrow when hopefully this is all over. Might cost me a few extra quid but I’m good for it. I can dock it out of Rob’s wages.’ Not even the hint of a smile from Pete. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Problem is that Rob was able to send us his story. So we know they have Internet. Therefore this Patrick Casey can contact anyone he wants to check if the paper is out there, on sale, available. The fact is that he could just put it all up on Facebook or speak directly to every media organization in the world. But he has chosen us. That says something, and it means we have a big responsibility. And it shows how important he thinks our paper is, how we serve our community, how he can trust us to get his message across.’