Slaughterville

by Rod Glenn

  Duncan put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, mate. We understand, honestly we do.” Bryce nodded earnestly.

  Tears openly streamed down his cheeks as he looked at his two friends with a mixture of desperation and despair. “I just … where is she? What happened to my baby?” He thrust his hands to his face as his knees buckled under him. Making no attempt to stop himself, he dropped to the pavement heavily. Sobbing, he cried, “Mandy!”

  Duncan instinctively bent to help him. Bryce shook his head and said quietly, “Nah, mate. Give him a sec.” Instead, they both placed a hand on each of his trembling shoulders as he sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes.

  After the dinner party with John and Sally, which turned out to be a very enjoyable and drunken evening, Han and Lisa seemed to be accepted by the rest of the village as a couple. This amused Han and delighted Lisa. For Lisa, it was the most accepted she had ever felt. For Han, the settling into a relationship for the first time in years was a refreshing tonic. He felt at ease and composed … content even.

  The majority of the villagers had come to accept him as part of the furniture, and his relationship with Lisa certainly helped cement that. The most notable exception being Miss Marple-meets-Bet Lynch. Tess Runckle was like a pitbull with a bone, refusing to give up on her theories and making no attempt to be discreet about them. Everyone and anyone to whom she spoke got the speech about Mister Murder.

  The sideways glances from Tess and some of her cronies, including that camp goon, Moe (Sloth to his friends … Hey you guys!), were really starting to get under his skin, despite his overall contentment.

  He had decided, and Lisa, John and Big Joe all agreed, that the best course of action was to ignore it. She was the El Supremo of gossip, nay, the Goddess of Gossip, and everyone knew it. Who, apart from Sloth, would really take her seriously?

  But still, it was irritating.

  So, maybe he should go talk to her? Straighten things out once and for all. What harm could it do to put the old girl’s mind at ease? Yeah, maybe that was best; clear the air. Then they could drink to each other’s health. Aye, he could just see that happening … not.

  No, he should just leave well enough alone. Let the sleeping bitch lie.

  I’m a firestarter, twisted firestarter.

  Despite the warm, still evening, Jimmy Coulson shivered and drew his crumpled long coat together. In the back of his mind, he knew that the shiver had nothing to do with feeling a sudden chill, but it was still a comfort factor. The dressings had gone from his face, but around his eyes looked as bruised as ever and his nose had set with a slight kink on the bridge. The doctor at Rothbury Community Hospital had offered to reset it, but he told him where to get off.

  He walked with shambling purpose down the road to Belmont Motors, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He could see that the office light was still on and that Steve’s vaguely shabby-looking Ford Capri was still on the gravelled bit of waste ground that served as the car park to the side of the forecourt.

  As he approached, he met James Falkirk, Steve’s salesman-come-assistant manager-come-dogsbody, and Paul Mason, the particularly greasy grease-monkey coming the other way.

  “Alreet, Jimmy?” Paul said casually, talking through the rollie sticking out of the corner of his mouth. “Goin’ to see the boss?”

  Jimmy sniffed his dribbling nose and merely nodded, lacking the inclination to enter into an inane conversation.

  Paul jabbed a grimy thumb towards the office. “Y’nar where to find him.”

  Jimmy muttered and walked past them.

  “You look like shit, Jimmy,” James jokily called after him. “You get hit by a bus?”

  “Get stuffed.”

  James rolled his eyes and followed the bandy-legged Paul back to the village. “Junkie.”

  Jimmy continued up to the office, a single-story wooden semi-permanent portacabin, with cracked and peeling white paintwork. The light was on, but the blinds were drawn on the only window. He paused at the bottom of the two metal-rung steps, shivering ever so slightly. What sort of proposition did Steve have that would pay big bucks? It would solve his money problems, that’s for sure, so did it matter? Did he care? He needed a fix so goddamn badly.

  At the fringe of the car park, a figure watched, squatting behind an unkempt hedgerow.

  Wiping cold sweat from his brow, Jimmy pushed on up the steps and shoved the door open.

  Steve was sat behind his desk with his trousers round his ankles and Janet Herring sat in his lap, her leather skirt hitched up to her waist and facing away from him. She was bouncing up and down on him, moaning softly. He had his eyes closed and his head tilted upwards.

  “Shit, sorry, man!” Jimmy blurted out.

  Steve’s eyes shot open and he turned to the intruder, startled and red-faced. “What the …?”

  “Dipshit,” Janet snapped, immediately leaping off and smoothing her skirt down. Anger adequately concealed the burst of shame she suddenly felt.

  Pulling his trousers and briefs up to cover his flagging excitement, Steve growled, “How many bastard times have I told you to knock first, Jimmy, you retard?” The fury in his voice was joined by a slight trembling in his hands as he finished zipping up his trousers.

  Jimmy quickly averted his eyes, staring at the various dull mediocre achievements on the wall, including several football awards dating back to high school. “Sorry, Steve, man, I didn’t realise, mate, like. Just … needed to see you ’bout that job.”

  While fixing his belt, Steve said in a more even tone, “It’s Mister Belmont to you, Bungle, and I’m not your mate. Christ, it’s not enough that we’ve got Carol spying on us at every opportunity, now we’ve got Pig-Pen here too.”

  As Janet straightened her blouse, muttering under her breath, Steve stormed over to the fidgeting Jimmy. He grabbed him by the collar and spun him round to face him. Pulling him close, Steve sneered, “You ever do that again and I will cut your balls off and feed them to you. You got that, you stinking pile of pig shit?”

  Arching his neck back to try to hold his face as far away from Steve’s as possible, Jimmy said quickly, “Yeah, Ste—I mean Mister Belmont. I understand, man, I’m sorry.” Steve tightened his grip around the young man’s neck, drawing the collar tight around his jugular. Gasping, Jimmy whispered hoarsely, “Please!”

  “Steve!” Janet shouted, folding her arms across her chest.

  After a quick glance at Janet’s stern expression, Steve shoved him back against the flimsy wall, shaking several of the framed awards. He turned back to Janet, his face still flushed, but his expression changing to rueful. “Sorry about this, babe. Me and Jimmy here have some business to attend to. Can we continue this later?”

  Grabbing her jacket, Janet snapped, “No, it’s not alright, Steve. I’m sick of this shit. Larry will be back in an hour, so that’s fucked everything now, hasn’t it?” She snatched her bag from the desk and stormed past them.

  “Babe, I’ll make it up to you.”

  “I’m sick of all this sneaking around.” She paused at the door and dropped her head to stare at the cheap lino floor. Tears started to well up.

  Steve grabbed her and pulled her to him. “Sorry, babe – it’s not going to be for much longer, I promise.” Lifting her head gently, he said sincerely, “I’ll have the money soon enough and then we can get out of this hole once and for all and start over together.”

  She sagged against him and slipped her arms around his waist.

  He bent down to kiss her tenderly. At first she pulled away, but then returned it, hesitantly at first, then eagerly.

  After she had departed, Steve wiped his lips and sat back down behind the desk. Jimmy shuffled across the floor after him, his head hanging down sheepishly.

  “Okay, Jimmy. Here’s the deal.” Steve leaned back in his fake leather chair and put his hands behind his head. “I wanted to go over this at a more convenient time, but as you’re here and you’ve bollocksed up my evening, now�
�s as good a time as any.” Staring evenly at a young man who found it difficult to return his confident glare lifted his mood somewhat. He continued, his tone almost jovial. “You’re going to torch the lot for me, and it has to look like an accident beyond all doubt – I can’t stress this enough, dimwit. Any sniff and we’re both fucked. In return I’ll give you enough blow to last you months. Plus, I’ll throw in five hundred quid to keep you in toasties and sugar puffs.” His smile had a predatory look to it.

  With a glint of restored confidence, Jimmy rubbed his trembling hands together and asked sceptically, “What about a thou’?”

  Steve sat forward purposefully and glared at him. “Don’t get smart, boy. Do I look like Keith fucking Chegwin to you? This ain’t pissin’ Swap Shop; there ain’t no bartering here. You take it or leave it.”

  Nodding frantically, Jimmy quickly said, “Sure, okay, okay, you got it, Mister Belmont.” With his head still nodding involuntarily, he added, “I gotta take care of that Whitman wanker, too, like. I told you about that shit, yeah?”

  Steve nodded. “Aye, whatever, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the lot, you got that?” Looking the scruffy junkie up and down with open disgust, he added, “Now, I’ll tell you when you’re going to do it, when the time is right, but for now I want you to refresh your arson skills and work out exactly how you’re going to do it.”

  Outside, the figure behind the hedge watched Janet Herring leave and walk back towards the village.

  The sclera of two unblinking eyes appeared to burn through the twilight like white-hot metal. Grinding his teeth, Larry gripped the brambles at his feet in one hand and squeezed tightly on the thorns. A thin trickle of blood oozed between his clenched fingers and dripped amongst the weeds. His snorted breathing sounded feral.

  A second figure, several feet inside the tree line, opposite the car lot, also observed Janet Herring leaving the portacabin. A trembling hand brought a cigarette up to thin, pursed lips. Carol Belmont drew in a shaky breath and blew out a cloud of blue-grey smoke into the still night air. Her wide eyes glowed with the embers from the tip of her cigarette.

  Later that night, sat at his laptop, Han, too, eavesdropped on the exchange. He sat back in his chair as the sound file fell silent and rubbed his bearded chin, mulling over the development. Could it be used to his advantage? Possibly.

  Day trip to Newcastle.

  Steadily, Han and Lisa spent more and more time together. He had even been allowed to stay overnight at her flat. Haley had seemed nonplussed at his presence the next morning, but had just quietly taken her crayons and colouring book to the small plastic kitchen table and started colouring in farm animals.

  The kitchen was cramped, with cheap council units and old battered appliances. The lino was cracked and peeling around the edges and toys and clutter littered the floor and every surface, but the place was clean. Lisa took pride in that.

  Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, depicting a prone Steve Buscemi and a looming Harvey Keitel, aiming pistols at each other, Han padded past the table in bare feet (careful to avoid stray plastic animals, a headless Sindy and several stuffed toys of all shapes, sizes and colours). He offered Haley a warm smile, but her look was distinctly noncommittal.

  Lisa was standing at the kitchen worktop buttering toast. She was wearing a nightie that Han could swear was the double of a one his mum used to wear, which was both amusing and slightly disconcerting. Somehow, she still managed to make it look good though.

  Han walked up behind her and kissed her softly on the back of the neck.

  “Hey,” she said smiling and turning to look at him. “Okay?” The question was clearly relating to the Walton’s family scene that he suddenly found himself in.

  He smiled and kissed her on the lips. “Sure, princess.” Swiping a piece of toast off the Formica, he added, “Say, as it’s a day of rest, why don’t we take a trip to Newcastle and have a mooch around the Quayside.”

  Leaning against the kitchen unit, Lisa mulled it over while biting into a piece of her toast. Her gaze seemed lost for a time, before muttering dreamily, “Haven’t been down there for years … haven’t really been out of the village in … forever. Haley’s never been.” She seemed to shake herself out of the trance and turned to her daughter, bending slightly to come down to Haley’s level. “What do you think, angel? You wanna go to Newcastle for the day?” Han smiled at the way Lisa attempted to speak more clearly when addressing her daughter.

  “Is it safe?” Haley asked without looking up from her colouring book.

  Han raised his eyebrows, but Lisa just smiled and said, “Of course, angel.”

  Haley carefully placed the crayon back into its carton and closed the colouring book. Looking at her mother, she said, “Alright, Mammy.”

  Han stared at the child, somewhat bemused, but then swallowed the rest of his toast and clapped his hands together. “That’s settled then!”

  The sunny morning drive through the countryside was pleasant, with light-hearted banter, intermingling with the occasional game of ‘punch buggy’ or ‘mini nip’. Haley sat belted into the back seat of the Daihatsu with a big grin on her face, her colouring book and pens splayed out around her. As they left Haydon she had seemed pensive, worried even, but now the anxiety was gone. Every five minutes, she would point to a new wonder that caught her eye; three small grey wild rabbits munching happily on the grassy verge, sheep and cattle grazing in the fields, an immaculate sky blue 1957 Fordson tractor, making infuriatingly slow progress along the road ahead of them, the bottle-green, fast running waters of the River Coquet, with its mayflies and stoneflies buzzing above rippling water and along the overhanging wooded banks. Each new sight was a magical delight to the eyes of the small child.

  Han could not help but smile as he caught her giddy expression in the rear view mirror. Glancing across to Lisa, he noted that she, too, held a similar look. She sensed his eyes upon her and turned to smile at him.

  After a short stop in Rothbury for a cold drink, they crossed through the bustling seventeenth century village of Longframlington. Posters and bunting were still up from the annual Longframlington Show which had taken place only the day before. Driving leisurely through the village, Haley was quick to point out the Lion Trough Fountain as they cruised by. “Lion!” she exclaimed proudly.

  “That’s right, angel,” Lisa said, turning in her seat to smile at her.

  Once through ‘Longfram’, they joined the A1 and headed towards Newcastle. They took the Gosforth exit and drove through Gosforth High Street and past the Town Moors. Finally, around lunchtime, they drove into Newcastle City Centre.

  Once they had located a car park on Dean Street, filled with trendy bars and bistros (and, remembered Han, the primary location for the jazz-fuelled northern film noir flick, Stormy Monday), they walked out into the sunshine onto the steep bank and headed down towards the Quayside. After strolling through the pedestrian area of the Side, bustling mainly with tourists and students, they walked under the Tyne Bridge and onto the main stretch of Newcastle’s Quayside.

  Haley, giggling and staring wide-eyed at the huge green bridge looming above them, skipped along in front of Han and Lisa, as they walked hand in hand. Ahead of them, the wide boulevard stretched out, with the white sleek arc of the Millennium Bridge crossing the gap between the ultra-modern Pitcher & Piano on the Newcastle side and the austere Baltic Centre for Contemporary Art on the Gateshead side. In between, next to the Baltic, was the mammoth glass and steel slug-looking Sage Gateshead Music Centre.

  Han was amused to see Lisa’s awed expression, staring at each new wonder like they were the Pyramids of Giza.

  As they headed along towards the Millennium Bridge, Lisa slipped an arm around Han’s waist and squeezed him close. “Thanks for this, Han. I’ve never seen Haley’s eyes light up so much.”

  Kissing her cheek, he said, “My pleasure.”

  “It feels good to get away from Haydon,” she added with the hint of a frown. “Somet
imes it feels like Haydon is the only place that exists. The rest of the world is just a dream.”

  Han looked at her, but remained quiet. Instead, he gave her an encouraging squeeze.

  As they passed a young Caucasian couple in shorts and t-shirts having their photo taken by an elderly oriental gent in a reverse cliché, Haley, still skipping, asked excitedly, “Can we cross the blendy-blidge, Mammy?”

  “Bendy bridge, angel,” Lisa corrected tenderly.

  A quizzical expression set into the young girl’s face as she considered what she had just said. After a moment’s deep contemplation, she giggled to herself then continued on her way, singing to herself, “Blendy Blidge! Blendy Blidge!”

  Han and Lisa laughed together and followed at a stroll. He caught himself glancing from Haley to Lisa. The warm feeling he felt inside was unmistakable. Was this what Vanessa had wanted to have with him? The whole family deal? He had to admit, it did feel good.

  CHAPTER 6

  Tess of the Jabbermouths.

  Two more weeks passed by with Han continuing to monitor the bugs, whilst spreading the majority of his spare time between Lisa and John. His frequent visits with Lisa were exciting and sensuous, and a much needed release from his endeavours. After their day trip to Newcastle, Haley had truly warmed to him and opened up, to a point when she accidentally started to call him daddy. She had caught herself halfway, but the power of that one syllable was enough to stop them both in their tracks. Lisa had apologised to him later, feeling deeply embarrassed, but pressing for a reaction. He had hugged her and said how much he cared for her, so it had been an unexpected honour. That appeared to be exactly what she had wanted to hear.

  It was a night in sorting paperwork for Bryce, or ‘bean-counter-night’ as he would call it with a distinct lack of humour, so the big man wouldn’t be showing his face in the Miller’s tonight. So, after one of Martha’s ‘special’ chicken in a basket meals and a couple of drinks, Han retired early to spend a few hours trawling through the recordings. Lisa was disappointed to see him go, but he said that he needed to catch up with his writing.