I did nothing to protect her back then, and nothing to protect poor Agnes last night. I knew something like this was going to happen as soon as she left the bar, and I allowed Simon to handle it.
Simon. Hadn’t her mother told her to watch out for the right guy? To keep him close and protect him?
About halfway down the street, she spied a small church, now used as a carpet shop. She remembered seeing it the night before. Confident she was on the right track, she headed down the street.
Finding Agnes would relieve some of the guilt. Correct past wrongs. If she could get the woman to the police and encourage a statement alongside her own witnessed account, Johan and his boys would be put away. Help Agnes, help Simon.
And help myself. Hear that, mother?
Nat passed the carpet shop. The front of the building beside was built up with scaffolding covered in bright orange nets. Nat walked into the tunnel it formed, her eyes flickering across the posters that covered the boarded up doors and windows. She stepped out and narrowed her eyes in the bright sunlight.
Something warm rubbed against her leg.
Nat stepped back in surprise and looked down, shielding her eyes.
“Jenkins?” she asked. “That you, boy?”
The small dog yapped and wagged his tail furiously. He gazed up with big brown eyes.
“Come here,” she said, crouching down. The dog allowed himself to be petted. He stood firm, licking Nat’s wrist.
“Leave the poor girl alone,” said a voice from a nearby doorway. “She don’t want to spend her time doting on a mutt like you!”
Nat saw Max sitting in the shadows, an upturned cap between his feet.
“Hey, Max. How you doing?”
“So so,” he replied. He picked up the cap and shook it. A few coins jingled inside. “Looks like people are saving for Christmas. I’ll have to cancel that trip to Monaco.”
Nat smiled and stood up. Jenkins protested with a whine. She walked over to Max and leaned against the doorway.
“I doubt you’ll do much business here. I only saw you because of Jenkins. You should get a better spec, like near the shops.”
“Too much competition. Besides, our local constabulary patrols around there. And to think, they call it begging. Have I asked you for anything?”
Nat shook her head.
“Exactly. The cap is there should you wish to make a donation. I ain’t exactly asking for it.” He stood up with a groan. Nat thought he looked years beyond his age. “I should learn a bloody instrument. Can’t move for buskers ’round here. You should see the money they bring in.”
He scratched his cheek through his beard. Nat noticed his red, swollen eyes through the long and untidy fringe.
“Max? Are you all right? You seem a bit more…down than usual.”
“I’m fine,” he said, gazing into the distance. “Fine.”
Jenkins barked.
“Here,” said Nat, opening her bag. She fumbled inside for her purse.
“No, I couldn’t,” said Max, turning to face her. “I told you, I’m no beggar.”
“I know. You didn’t ask for it,” replied Nat, pulling her hand out of the bag holding Simon’s ten-pound note. “I’m just making a donation.”
Max’s eyes darted between the white and brown crumpled note in her hand and her face.
“Take it!”
“I…shouldn’t. You do so much for us already.”
“Okay.” She leaned forwards and dropped it into his cap. “Whoops! I dropped it. So clumsy.”
Max smiled and shook his head.
“And make sure you swing by the restaurant tonight,” said Nat, walking away before he had the chance to return the money. “It’s Mexican night. Gordon will probably have something spicy tucked away for you.”
She turned back to wave, and Jenkins erupted in a chorus of high barks. Max sat watching her go.
Feeling a little better, Nat carried on down the street.
Even in the daytime, The Fourth Dimension bar proved hard to find. Completely lost on two occasions, only the directions from passing strangers got Nat back on track.
The last guy, the one in the black hat and Hawaiian shirt, had told her to go left at the next junction. She turned the corner. The Fourth Dimension lay halfway down, nestled in among its decrepit neighbours.
Nat had walked straight in the night before, messing around with Simon, and she hadn’t really taken the place in. Even on leaving, she’d been more interested in searching for Simon than with the actual building. The frontage, a strange mix of stone and wood, looked ages old. Paint flaked at the corners, and mould clung onto the corner of the wall. The windows were frosted glass that glowed softly from within. Outside by the door stood an old and weathered chalkboard with the day’s specials scrawled down it in looping handwriting.
After a deep breath, Nat crossed the road and pushed open the door. The smells that swept out, sweet wood, sharp alcohol and burning spices, brought back another dump of memories from the night before. She mentally pushed them aside and scanned the bar. The tables and booths were empty. An ancient radio on the bar played an old time swing tune. Beside it, wiping in time with the music, a tall, thin black woman scrubbed the bar with a sodden rag. Her own dreadlocks, so thick they looked like twisted branches, were tied back to keep them out of her face as she worked. She paused to wipe her forehead with the back of her hand and looked up, spotting Nat standing in the corner.
“You must be ’ere for the food, girl,” she said, resuming her cleaning. “’Cos it be far too early to be drinkin’.”
“I’m not after a drink,” said Nat. “I was here last night. I’m looking for someone.”
The woman studied her and threw the rag down. It landed on the bar with a splat.
“Come on, girl. Don’t stand in the doorway like a pretty coat rack. Let Monique tell you a lil’ something ’bout the ways of the world…or at least, this hole in the ground we be a findin’ ourselves in.”
Nat walked up to her and stood by the bar. Monique gestured her to sit, which she promptly did, on one of the bar stools.
Monique put her hands on her hips. The colourful and flower-filled dress tightened across her body. Nat saw the muscle lying just beneath the fabric.
She’s built like an Amazon warrior.
Monique turned around and began to pour fruit juice from a pitcher into two glasses removed from the shelves. “A man who leave don’t deserve you. And to come here again to find him is foolish, girl.” She turned and placed one of the drinks in front of Nat. “Free of alcohol and free of charge.”
Nat thanked her and sipped at the drink. It tasted like mango and apple.
“I’m not here to look for a man,” said Nat.
“Yeah?” said Monique.
“There was a woman in here last night. I think her name is Agnes. Some guys were giving her trouble, and I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”
Monique chuckled.
“We all know Agnes,” she said. “Been comin’ here for years.” She stood up and straightened her back with a small grunt. “Prostitute, you know, but we don’ hold dat against her. She’s a nice sort. I feel sorry for the woman.”
“This was the only place I’d seen her. Thought I’d come down and see if someone knew anything. I take it she hasn’t been in today?”
“You be my first customer,” said Monique. “Too early for even Agnes. She never have too much money and normally we give her a few handouts, mainly food. I think she fallen on hard times, and fallen hard.” She swigged her fruit juice. “You seem a nice girl, but I wouldn’t worry. Agnes be tough as leather. She know these streets better then I know me own husband. But that ain’t hard; you seen how much there is of him.”
Back outside, Nat pulled her coat closed. The day, although bright, had a razor’s edge to its chill. She walked away before the temptation of comforting heat and sweet fruit juice pulled her back inside.
Hoping she’d find her way around better
in the daylight, Nat turned the corner and started down the street. No Johan and his boys here this time. She paused in the same doorway as the night before.
They’d hurt her, certainly, she remembered. But then Agnes kicked him and ran. She ran quicker than I ever could. And she ran further up…
Gripping her coat near the throat to tighten the fabric about her neck, Nat followed the path the fleeing woman had taken. She passed broken-out windows, the glass like jagged teeth in square mouths. Rot and decay rampant in frames, and stonework that had crumbled after years of neglect. Some of the smaller buildings had lost the fight completely, lying in ruined piles of rubble between their neighbours. Bricks stuck out from walls like jigsaw pieces. The whole scene reminded Nat of the films she’d watched in history class. The war years, when you didn’t know if your house would still be standing at the end of each day.
She passed the place where Agnes had been sprawled and carried on. The street rose up a slight slope and curved to the right.
Nat wandered along a little more. Still, no one else entered the street. The bustle of traffic sounded distant, almost background to the whine of the breeze. She pulled her coat tighter again and turned in time to catch a figure slip into a nearby doorway.
Nat stopped. She swallowed and peered around the edge. The doors had been ripped off at some point. The entrance led into darkness.
A single whistle drifted out of the doorway, joining the breeze.
It’s him. The whistler from last night. He’s been following me….
She remembered how the boys had chased the strange man away, and her fear of getting caught herself.
“Hello?” she said, edging forwards.
Again, she heard the low whistle. It sounded sad, a minor key.
Nat reached the doorway and stopped at the threshold.
The bright light of day barely penetrated the interior. The floor appeared tiled. It was hard to make out through all the dust and debris scattered around. A pillar stood a few feet inside, but Nat couldn’t see beyond that. The darkness hung like a black curtain.
“Can you come out?” she called. “I need to talk to you about last night.”
No whistle this time, just the sound of movement at the rear. It sounded like he’d kicked a brick. She heard it skitter across the floor.
“Please. I know you’re in here.”
Opening her bag, Nat removed her phone and pressed a key. The screen instantly lit up with a weak glow.
Better than nothing, she thought, taking a few steps into the building. The smells of mould and rot enveloped her. She inhaled through her mouth.
I’ll be safe if I stay near the door, near the light.
“Hello?”
Another step.
She wished the guy would move or whistle again, just to give her a direction to aim for. Giving up on the phone, she replaced it in her bag.
From the right, footsteps moved away.
“No! Please don’t go. I have to talk to you.”
Her eyes had begun to adjust. She manoeuvred around a pile of broken furniture and stepped over a cluster of shattered brick.
“Please. Just give me a few minutes!”
She arrived at the wall and pressed her hand against it. The rough plaster felt cold and wet beneath her skin. Shivers cascaded down her back.
She stopped, her foot inches over a gaping hole in the ground. She gasped and pulled back, realising how close she’d been to stepping into empty space. Cursing herself for not paying enough attention, Nat crouched down.
Her hands found the freezing metal of a ladder attached to the side of the hole and, holding her breath, she listened to the faint trickle of water from below.
She straightened up.
“Are you still here?” she asked the darkness. She waited for a few seconds.
Nothing.
There is no way I’m going down in the sewers. It must be like a maze down there.
Two hands clamped down on her arms. Startled, Nat cried out and tried to jump back, but the huge, cold hands gripped her tighter.
She screamed.
The hands jerked upwards, suspending her several inches from the floor.
Nat kicked out, but her legs merely wheeled through the air. The hands were like stone; thrashing did nothing to loosen their hold.
Her screams burned her throat and echoed around the derelict room. The hands shook her, like a bad mother losing patience with a bawling child. She whimpered.
Through the darkness, Nat saw the hint of two large eyes glistening in front of her.
“Get sack.”
The voice boomed out with a blast of foul breath.
Someone quickly approached from behind.
“Girl has fight,” growled the deep and husky voice.
“N-N-No,” said Nat, forcing her words out through a tight throat and quivering lips. “P-Please…”
The footsteps stopped behind her. A second later, Nat felt something rough placed over her hair. She frantically shook her head, but the sack was efficiently tugged down over her head and upper body. The hands slid from her, grabbed the sack and pulled. She fell back through the air. Sure she’d hit her head on the floor, Nat screamed again. Her attacker pulled the bottom of the sack sharply upwards, trapping her within. Hanging upside down, Nat fought and moaned.
“Come. We go now,” said the voice.
A whistle sounded in agreement.
8.
The Playstation had been temporarily turned off for lunchtime. The boys sat in the living room of Johan’s flat tucking into their various meals. Johan, still watching his body, picked at a chicken salad. Richie and Spence had been to McDonalds for a Big Mac meal each. Kev, who’d originally planned on McDonalds, too, had caved on the journey and called in at Abra-Kebabra. While the others were queuing at the worldwide franchise, Kev ate a bag of chips in a dingy back street takeaway, waiting for his food to cook. He’d returned to the flat with donner and chicken kebabs, garlic bread and a second portion of chips.
With the games turned off, they watched a porn DVD Richie had picked up.
“Kev,” said Johan, shaking his head. “You fat fuck.”
“What?” he replied through a mouthful of spicy chicken and chips.
“That shit is going to stink out the entire flat. Give the place a douse of air freshener when you’re done, yeah?”
“Will do,” said Kev, his gaze returning to the film.
Johan noticed the flecks of food that had sprayed from Kev’s mouth as he talked. Already he planned to vacuum after lunch.
On screen, an actor, who could have been Richie’s twin, lay back on a bed and lifted his legs into the air, keeping them up with his hands behind his knees. A slim, pretty blonde girl immediately climbed onto the bed and applied her tongue to his exposed crevice. She licked in a circular motion.
“Ewww!” the group cried in unison.
“I’m trying to fucking eat here,” said Spence, licking along his own exposed crevice of burger.
“Huh huh,” chuckled Kev, still watching the screen. “Look at him! The gay—”
“Kev, how can he be gay?” asked Johan. “It’s a girl that’s doing that.”
Kev looked at him, then back at the action. “Yeah, but it’s a gay thing though, innit?”
Johan pronged a piece of lettuce on his fork and held it up.
“But still, that’s a girl,” he said, pointing at the screen with his food. “Just because she’s doing something to his arsehole, it doesn’t make him gay. I mean, putting on makeup and wearing frilly dresses is considered a girl thing, but you’re not a girl.” He smiled and ate the lettuce.
Richie sniggered.
“Apparently,” said Spence with a handful of limp fries, “men have a spot up inside them which makes them cum instantly. Milking the prostate or something. Probably why he’s getting her to do that.”
“Firstly, he’s not making her do that, the director is,” said Johan. “And secondly, that internal spot is
complete bollocks. If it was true, then why don’t we blow our load every time we take a shit? Huh?”
“Ah…” said Spence.
“Good point,” agreed Richie.
A knock at the door pulled them from their philosophical debate.
“It’s open!” cried Johan, smiling. Only one other person knew of his place, located at the heart of the crumbling derelict district.
Simon entered and closed the door behind. He walked into the living room, looking ashen.
“Well look who it is!” cried Johan, placing his chicken salad on the carpet next to his armchair. “It’s our old friend Simon. What brings you to our neck of the woods?”
The others muttered quick greetings and, uninterested, turned back to the screen. Simon glanced over their heads at the television.
“Nice,” he groaned. The girl had sucked on two of her fingers and plunged them inside the man, up to the knuckles.
“Hang on,” said Johan, reaching for the remote. “I’ll just turn this crap down.”
He pressed a button and a green symbol appeared in the corner of the screen. The man wailed in silence.
“Things haven’t changed much around here,” said Simon.
“You know us,” replied Johan, placing the remote carefully on the arm of the chair. “You two, make some room for our visitor.”
Kev and Spence, sitting on the sofa, groaned at the request.
“I’d rather stand if it’s all the same,” said Simon.
“Good,” grunted Spence. “There’s not much room as it is with this fat bastard.”
Kev punched his arm.
“I’m not planning on staying long,” said Simon.
“I didn’t think you would be.” Johan bent down and picked up his meal. “We can talk in the kitchen.”
Johan stood and walked around the back of the sofa. Simon followed him inside the kitchen. The moment they entered, the flat filled with grunts, sighs and a rapid slapping from the television.
“Pigs,” said Johan, scraping his barely touched salad into a pristine white bin. He carried the plate and fork to the empty sink and began to clean it. “You want to know what happened last night, don’t you?”
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