By the time he got out at New Acre the sky was getting bright. As he climbed into bed Alison sat up in the half-light and said, “It’s nearly morning, where have you been?”
He fell into bed. Within seconds his breathing deepened and slowed and he started to snore.
***
Chapter Thirty-Two
When Spike wakes he’s strapped to a chair in the kitchen. He’s looking at the ceiling. The room comes into focus and he realises he’s on his back. His arms are squashed between the chair and the floor. His wrists are bound with thick plastic binds and his ankles strapped to the chair legs. There’s a belt around his chest. He cranes his neck back and sees Gregor just about to lift the chair up. Gregor sees he’s awake.
“So soon? You are quite something, Spike.”
He starts to strain as he lifts the chair into an upright position. When the chair is up, Gregor exhales loudly and walks around in front of him.
“And so heavy!”
He has put on a thin plastic apron. He is wearing surgical gloves. There is a table next to him; it’s a plastic fold away table, made for camping. In the corner is a lump hammer. Spike tries to focus on what is on the table, but cannot. The room feels unstable.
“I thought there was a change in you, Spike. I guess I was right.”
Spike tries to lift his hands and stand from the chair, but he cannot. He’s looking around to see who else is with Gregor. Surely he is being forced to do this, Spike thinks. He can’t be doing this on his own. Or this is not Gregor. He looks again. Is he travelling? He feels like he is in the belly of a boat, the floor seems to tilt. There is an overpowering smell of chlorine. Then Gregor speaks again. It is him. It’s the real Gregor.
“I thought I could trust you with Lucy, but obviously not.”
“Obviously not? What?” Spike is spitting when he speaks, his throat feels swollen. It doesn’t sound like his voice. He shakes his head. He feels off balance, as if the room is moving. But he is in the kitchen of the house where Spiral was being made.
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on Spike, giving her and your little piece Spiral, then fucking them. It was super strong that first batch, we had to amend the formula, it was way too strong. But probably just right for what you wanted. I guess I should have listened to what you said in the Church club. If she’s like this now, imagine her on Spiral. It was too tempting for you, wasn’t it?”
“Gregor, she’s playing you. I didn’t touch her. I didn’t give them Spiral. She’s playing you!” As his voice raises it sounds more metallic, less real.
“Come on, what could she gain from lying about you? Why would she make that up? Did you enjoy it? Having the two of them? Was it like you thought it would be?” Gregor picks up a syringe from the table. It’s full of a yellow liquid.
“Fantasies coming true don’t always work out the way they do in your head. I mean it’s one thing actually fucking your daughter—”
“She’s not my daughter! Gregor, please listen, I didn’t …”
“As close as you can get though, Spike. Some things are taboo for good reason, you know. But you obviously like testing boundaries.”
“She told you then? Lucy told you about Kayleigh?”
“Oh yes, she told me all about what you put them through. On your daughter’s sleep over. You fucking sicken me.”
“Gregor, you know me, please, please you know me.”
“Do I? I thought I did. How long have you been fucking your little piece? How many years have you been grooming her? This brings out a whole new side to you, Spike, a whole new side. You see, now I don’t know whose side you are on. If you can take Lucy just to satisfy your dick then what else have you taken over time? I thought I could trust you.”
The room has stopped moving for Spike, he can feel his balance stable on the chair. He shakes his head again and clears his throat.
“It’s Lucy. Gregor think about it! Do you know who she is? Who is she?”
“She’s a no-one. She’s just a kid, a ghetto kid.”
“How do you know, Gregor? You don’t know who she could be working for. What do you know about her?”
“Working? If she was working for someone, she hasn’t done a very good job, the deal went smooth. It’s all done.”
“Gregor, it was too smooth. Who have you sold to? You could have just put the stash right in Stranstec’s hands. Where’s Ali?”
“Thinking is not your strong point, Spike, you’d best not strain yourself.”
“She’s playing you, Gregor. I didn’t touch her. When I got back from tracking Ali, they were already off it. We spoke on the phone. She’s playing you!”
“Who did you call?”
“What? When did I—”
“Who did you call outside?”
“That’s a personal thing, it’s got nothing to do with …”
Gregor picks up Spike’s phone from the table.
“Shall I call it now?”
“It’s an investigator, Maya’s disappeared; I need him to find her.”
“You could have asked me, you could have told me, Spike. You know I have resources. You know you can trust me, Spike. But now I think you and I have fallen out. You could have told me, but I can see why you want to keep this secret. It shines a light. It shows how sick you are.”
“It’s personal, it has nothing to do with—”
“You’ve been sticking your dick in your wife’s daughter. Then you thought you’d have some fun with Lucy. Well we can have a little fun now.”
“I didn’t—”
“I have an experiment I’ve been wanting to try.”
Gregor puts the phone back on the table and raises the needle in the air. The light hits the liquid in the syringe like gold. Scorpion heaves his hands and his legs, but cannot break the bonds. Gregor sees him trying. He watches him struggle, the chair is shaking under the strain.
“Wow, you nearly did it then. You know, Spike, in all the years I’ve known you, I am still always taken by surprise at just how big you really are. I can never get used to it. And now, all tied up like this, you are quite a monster.”
“Gregor, don’t do this. She’s playing you!”
Gregor puts the syringe down on the table and picks up a roll of masking tape. He stands behind Spike. Spike starts to shout. Gregor covers his mouth with the tape from behind, pulling it tight, and wrapping the tape around his head, over his ears, twice around before breaking it. He walks back in front of Spike, slowly putting down the tape. Then he picks up the lump hammer.
“You’re nearly there, nearly breaking out, Spike. This is just a precaution. Careful now, it might sting a bit.”
Gregor raises the lump hammer high before swinging it down onto Spike’s ankle. There is a loud crack of breaking bone. Through the tape Spike screams, a single short shout. Gregor does it again, back-handed this time, putting all his weight into the hammer, smashing the other ankle. Spike gives another scream of pain. The bone protrudes beneath the skin on the inside of his foot. Gregor steps back and considers Spike for a moment before putting the lump hammer back in the corner and picking up the syringe from the table, holding it up to the light.
“Now, you probably thought it odd,” he says, “when you saw me dressed like this, but you must understand this is an experiment. I don’t know what will happen exactly. And I plan to celebrate the success of this evening’s deal with a fine meal. I certainly don’t want to mess my suit up. The doctor that was working in this kitchen gave me a new prescription he’s been working on. An hallucinogen. A derivative of a deliriant, benactyzine, I think he said. Very strong and with tendencies for extreme paranoia and very sinister visual trips, which is why he stopped it. But I got a little batch from him anyway, for special occasions.”
Sweat is running down Spike’s face. He can’t breathe properly. His ankles start to swell. He tries again to break away from the chair. His huge bulk is straining, the veins on his neck and arms are raised. He thin
ks he can feel the chair about to break. It rattles as he pulls his arms upwards.
“It’s okay,” says Gregor, “I’ve mixed it with 300 milligrams of amphetamine, so it should be quite a party. Now if you’ll give me a moment, I just want to get something. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”
He puts the syringe back on the table and leaves the room. Spike heaves and heaves in the chair, straining with every fibre of his being. When Gregor comes back he is carrying a long thin mirror, which he positions against the wall opposite Spike. Spike sees himself, huge and helpless, in the chair. And there is Gregor, stepping next to him and looking in the mirror too.
He is slim and neat, with his plastic apron and gloves on, looking like a manager visiting the shop floor of a food factory. Spike sees how small Gregor is compared to him, just what a difference there is between them, yet he is bound fast to the chair, and helpless. Gregor looks at Spike in the mirror. He leans down so their faces are side by side. Even the difference in the size of their heads takes Spike by surprise. It’s as if they are from different worlds, or different times. Gregor talks at his reflection.
“For when your trip starts. The visuals are quite disturbing apparently, so best to put yourself in the picture, don’t you think? Now remember,” he says, picking up the syringe again and moving around behind Spike’s huge trembling shoulders, “don’t move, we don’t want to miss the vein and cause some serious damage.”
Spike watches Gregor, standing with a look of concentration on his face, syringe in hand, considering his neck like an artist about to complete his greatest work. Spike tries again to tear his hands apart, to move his legs, but explosive bursts of pain shoot up from his ankles. Gregor pats Spike on the back and waits for him to stop then puts the point of the syringe to his neck, saying in a whisper, “Shhh, now, stay still, stay still now, I don’t want to hurt you.”
***
Chapter Thirty-Three
When Martin woke, he felt like he was still drunk. The whiskey had turned his head inside out. He could hardly bear to open his eyes. When he did open them the room trembled around him. When he closed his eyes again he felt like he was falling. He got out of bed. He went downstairs and poured a pint of water, drinking it back in one and refilled the glass.
“So did you have a good night?” Alison asked. She was in front of her computer, sitting at the table. “You were in quite a state when you rolled in.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Martin said between gulps.
“Well, you have to get yourself better by tonight, we’ve been invited to dinner.”
“Really? By who?”
“Andre and Cassandra. So if you feel like you need more sleep, then get it now, because you look like you need it.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“I don’t know, but we can’t turn it down. Your suit’s already in the wash, just drink more water and go back to bed. I’ll wake you. You look awful. Ozzy is always bad news.”
When Martin lay back in bed he started to remember walking through the suburbs. He had flashes of following someone. He felt the cold of the night and pulled the covers around his body. As his mind let go of consciousness he felt like he was falling into himself, and it was cold. He pulled the covers tighter. The chill was deep in him, coming from the inside. How long have I been falling, he thought, just before he went to sleep, have I been falling without even knowing?
* * *
Later that evening, sitting at a table in a restaurant with Alison beside him and Andre and Cassandra opposite him, he remembered being outside the door of the Sugar Club. It startled him for a moment and he paused in mid-movement, with his fork halfway to his mouth. The others looked at him. He said, “Oh, I just remembered something, something I haven’t done. It doesn’t matter.”
Andre said, “Do you need to make a note of it? If it’s inspiration don’t ignore it.”
“No, no, really it’s fine. Sorry, what were you saying?”
“Oh just about that old Bucket O’ Blood. It’s the only one that won’t budge on the docks development. I mean we have offered more money than the place is worth, more money than he’s going to make in his lifetime running that place. Have you been in it?”
Martin shook his head.
“The place is a dump,” Andre continued, “a nasty little drinking hole. All of its customers must be dying.”
Martin wanted to say that every customer is dying, but instead he chewed on his food and nodded his head.
Andre didn’t stop. “It’s such a pain when people stand in the way for no good reason, and you’ve got to follow the course, you know, go through the steps. We don’t have the freedom of the artist. I so envy you. You can make it up, but we have to follow the rules instead of being creative. The artist, you know, you’re almost expected to break them.”
Cassandra looked bored as she sipped her wine.
Alison said, “You’ve got to stop obsessing about that place, though. I mean, maybe the fact that we’ll build around it and that it’ll be the only remaining thing of the original docklands will be what makes the place a success.”
“That’s nice of you, Alison. Isn’t she nice? But it won’t fit into the new development. That place’ll never be a success. The landlord is just too drunk to do anything. But he’ll have to crack eventually. Now, hey do you want to know why I invited you guys out tonight?”
He took the champagne from the ice bucket, which was mounted on an elaborate steel stand beside the table, and refilled everyone’s glass.
“Well, I’ve got to tell you that we’ve secured the contracts for twenty-six percent of the docklands, which combined with what we’ve got going on in the inner city and the Acre projects, makes us the biggest native property developer in the city.”
Alison and Martin gave a little cheer, and raised their glasses. Cassandra raised hers too, and they all clinked.
“Now, the reason you’re here is because I just want to thank you so much, Alison. You’ve done fantastic work, and I really think you’ve brought something very special and dynamic to the company. I’m setting up a team for the docklands contracts, and I want you to be the Project Development Manager. There is one particular investor I want you to deal with, very wealthy and open to creative suggestions, and you’re the one I want him to deal with. You’ll also have to pick a team.”
“Oh, Andre …”
“Now, wait before you say anything. It’ll mean a pay rise, but it’ll also mean a lot more meetings, dinners, cocktail bars, premiers, grand openings, probably a few new backless dresses and power suits. You are my number one, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Alison said, “Oh, Andre, I’d be delighted!” They all clinked their glasses again.
The waiter came and cleared the starter plates. Martin was starting to feel drunk again. He excused himself and went to the rest rooms. There was an elaborate figure of a man in a long-tailed suit and a top hat on the door, and as he pushed it open he could smell a strong cinnamon, soapy odour. He stood in front of a sink and splashed his face. There were freshly pressed face and hand towels in a basket next to the sink and he patted one on his face. It was soft and warm. The lights were low and there was quiet classical music playing gently around him as he looked in the mirror. His suit looked too big on him.
He went back out to the table. They were talking about him as he sat down. Alison was saying how he was slotting right into Spiral. Andre winked and said, “Well, there’s a ladder for you to climb, you’ll leave the others behind in no time.”
Martin said, “Ted seems like a good guy. He said he wants to set up an art house wing, a specialist section of Spiral. That’d be good to be a part of.”
“Well, he’s definitely expanding, he’s going to be moving to the docklands,” Andre said. “He’s put a bid in for one of the sites, the old fishery; it’s a large plot.”
The waiter appeared carrying their mains. As he put Cassandra’s plate in front of her she said, “Isn’t it l
ucky that Alison met Ted that night? It’s great what a word in the right ear will do.”
Martin looked at Cassandra, who was smiling now, and then to Alison.
“What’s that? You and Ted?”
“Well, yes I did have a word with him.”
Martin felt his stomach being pulled away, and a gaping hole started to grow within him. He saw that everyone at the table felt it, too. There was a second of uncomfortable silence, an extra beat, as if the scene had been badly edited. The job had come from Alison, all of that stuff that Ted told him was a cover. Ted was just doing Alison a favour. That’s what he was. A favour. He felt his intestines and stomach slowly drop away into the darkness that was rising within him.
“What did you say? When was this?”
“I just mentioned that you could do with a start, you know, it was nothing, really, Martin, we were just talking.”
Andre chipped in. “Well, he was the right guy to ask.” He pointed a fork of meat at Martin. “It’s a growing company with plenty of opportunity. And isn’t there always a gap between the finishing of the book and the publishing? It’ll give you a well-earned break.” He started to cut the meat on his plate. “Hey Martin? How is the book anyway? You finished yet?”
Martin took a moment. His throat felt dry and tight. He concentrated on his plate for a second. The meat glistened in the light, there were baby carrots arranged in an arc and broad beans in a cluster with a light peppered oil drizzled over them. Between the food, the white plate was impeccably clean, as if this was the first meal ever to be on it. He wondered how he was going to eat when the darkness was squeezing his throat like this.
The Fly Guy Page 24