The Dead Have No Shadows

by Chris Mawbey

  “Are you threatening me, you little shit?” Terry slapped Mickey’s hand away from his chest. “Go back to your fucking school books. And make sure you put my fucking clothes away.” He made another attempt to walk past Mickey but was blocked again.

  The punch that flew was aimed at Mickey’s temple and that was what saved him. Years of experience had taught Mickey that his father always went for the head. Terry’s actions were dulled by beer though, and Mickey had no trouble dodging the swing. As Terry’s fist flew harmlessly past his son’s face the older man lost his balance. Mickey drove his left fist into his father’s ribs. It wasn’t the strongest blow, he was using his weaker hand, but it carried enough force to wind his father. Terry pitched forward and landed on a right hand upper cut from Mickey. As Terry Raymond went down Mickey followed up with three more punches to his father’s face. It sickened him to do it but it was the only language that his father would understand. Mickey knelt down.

  “I could spend all night paying you back for what you’ve done to Mum,” he spat. “You keep away from her from now on or you’ll get worse than this, you sick bastard.”

  Terry suddenly reached up, grabbed Mickey’s jacket and pulled himself up.

  “Fuck off,” he snarled. “You think you can stop me?”

  A blow to the temple dazed Terry and he sank back to the ground, releasing his grip on Mickey.

  Mickey stood up and took a final look at his fallen father.

  “How about I drag you back to the pub and parade you in front of all your mates as a wife beater and a rapist? How do you think they’d like that?”

  Mickey didn’t wait for a reaction or response. He turned and walked away, heading back towards the city centre.

  From across the road Elena was about to follow when Pester put a hand on her arm and drew her further back into the shadows. He pointed across the bridge, beyond where the drunken and beaten Terry Raymond still lay. Someone was walking over the bridge. They had blonde hair and were wearing an afghan coat. More strangely, given the time of night, they were wearing sunglasses.

  “It is Mr. Jolly,” gasped Elena.

  “The very same,” agreed Pester.

  “But what...”

  “Sssh,” said Pester. “Just watch.”

  When Mr. Jolly reached Terry he helped him to his feet and leant the drunkard against the low parapet wall. Then he picked up the holdall that Mickey had brought and thrust it into Terry’s arms. Terry grabbed the bag but tilted backwards against the bridge parapet. Mr. Jolly stooped, lifted one of Terry Raymond’s legs. The drunkard’s momentum increased as he rolled over the low parapet wall and dropped, bag and all, into the river below.

  Chapter 23

  Elena gasped. “Why would he do that?”

  “I’m not sure,” Pester replied, keeping his voice low. He watched Mr. Jolly casually retrace his steps over St Mary’s bridge before continuing. “It looks someone was trying to cause trouble for Mickey.”

  “But why?” said Elena. “Who would want to do that? And why would Mr. Jolly be involved?”

  Pester avoided the question with a shrug. “Let’s go,” was all he would say.

  They left the seclusion of the entrance to the river walk and quickened their pace after Mickey.

  They found him sitting on a wall eating pie and chips. He expected them to walk past him so was surprised and became guarded when they sat down, one on either side of him. He didn’t mind the girl so much, she was really pretty, but the man looked creepy. There was something familiar about him; but Mickey couldn’t quite place the man. There was a loud click. The man stared at Mickey and Mickey stared back.

  Pester. That’s who it was.

  “I didn’t recognise you.” Mickey sounded embarrassed. He turned to Elena. “Sorry.”

  Elena smiled and shrugged. She had no idea what was going on so couldn’t really think of anything to say.

  “It might have been the separation or the trauma of what you’ve just been doing,” said Pester. “Your younger self absorbed you almost completely into its sub-conscious mind. It took a while after seeing Elena and me for you to jolt back.”

  Mickey shuddered. He decided to make sure that he kept Pester close by from now on. The switch back from his earlier selves had been uncomfortable and having Pester around helped Mickey feel grounded when he came back to his present, dead, self.

  “What have you been doing?”

  The pie and chips had been eaten, with Elena’s help, and the three of them had set off walking towards Mickey’s house.

  “I was curious to see what your father did when you left him,” Pester replied.

  “I’m not interested in what he did,” said Mickey. “I was just pleased that what I said got through to him. We didn’t see him again after that night.”

  Elena and Pester shared a look. Pester shook his head at Elena’s questioning glance. Mickey didn’t pick up on the exchange.

  “Did you report him missing,” Elena asked.

  Mickey shook his head. “When Mum saw that some of his clothes were gone she assumed that he’d walked out on us. I think she was so relieved that her years of torment might actually be over that she didn’t want to risk him coming back.”

  “And you never told her about what happened between you and him that night?”

  Mickey looked uncomfortable as he answered. “I didn’t see the need to. He was gone. Mum was happy. Why spoil that with details?”

  They had reached the city centre but it wasn’t quite the city centre that Mickey was familiar with. Where the market square should have been was a small copse. The dead trees were interspersed with boulders and clumps of dead grass. They continued to run back across the market place until they were blocked by the row of shops that were the start of the Irongate area of the city. The image was totally wrong.

  “Your time here is running out,” said Pester. “The valley is coming back. You’ll soon have to leave and carry on with your journey.”

  “How will I know it’s time?” asked Mickey.

  “You’ll know.”

  So we’re back to being cryptic, thought Mickey. He was about to say so, then dropped the idea. Maybe Pester was being honest and genuinely didn’t know.

  “You’ll need to be careful from now on though,” Pester added. “Now that your home town is fading Mr. Jolly will step up his efforts to reach you. No doubt he’ll have discovered that Elena is missing by now; and I can’t see him being very pleased about it.”

  They skirted the low hill and walked along Sadler Gate, a cobbled pedestrian street lined with bars and cafes. This shortcut took them away from the city centre and into a semi-suburban part of the city. Mickey led the way through the backstreets automatically, though his pace started to get slower from the nagging pain in his thigh.

  Turning into another backstreet Mickey slowed to a complete halt.

  “What is wrong? Is your leg hurting too much?” asked Elena.

  In reply Mickey simply shook his head.

  “This can’t be right,” he muttered, but didn’t immediately elaborate. He stared across the street until he was prompted for an explanation by Elena.

  “That shop,” Mickey replied, pointing. “It shouldn’t be like that.”

  The shop in question was on the junction of yet another street. It had been ravaged by fire. The roof had collapsed and the shop frontage and first floor windows had been boarded up.

  “The shop wasn’t like that on the night I confronted him,” Mickey said. “It wasn’t burnt down until almost two years later.”

  “How can you be so sure?” asked Elena.

  “Because that was where Jonno lived. That was his Dad’s sweet shop.”

  Elena didn’t know about Mickey’s background so had no idea what he was talking about, or who Jonno was – but Pester did.

  “Clearly your friend survived, as he was with you on the day you died. Did the rest of his family get out?”

  “Yes, fortunately,” said Mickey. �
�The bastards who torched the shop made Jonno’s parents and two sisters watch while they smashed the place up before they set light to it.”

  Mickey had begun walking again. He crossed the road and stood outside the burned out shell of the shop. He remembered the times when he had blagged free chocolate from Jonno’s Mum. Mr. Patel had never been so generous, but Jonno’s Mum had always been a soft touch. Mickey looked up at the flat above the shop where he and Jonno had spent hours planning how Jonno was going to grow his own chocolate selling empire. Life had been simpler then. That was before Mickey had started at the university and Jonno had become more secretive; keeping his drug dealing activities a secret from his best friend as he slipped deeper into a murky world that he couldn’t escape from.

  “I think you’re right about time running out, Pester,” Mickey said. “We’re almost up to date.”

  He spotted that the boarding over the door was loose.

  “I think we need to go in.” The look on his face suggested that it was the last thing he wanted to do.

  “Why Mickey; what is in there?” asked Elena. She seemed about as happy as Mickey was at the prospect of entering the charred shell of the shop.

  “Almost certainly not what you’d expect,” Mickey replied. Oh shit, he thought, I’m beginning to sound like Pester.

  “You mean like what happened at your home?” Elena said.

  Mickey nodded.

  “Why do we have to do these things? Why can we not just go on with the journey?”

  “This is part of Mickey’s journey,” Pester replied. “So it’s part of yours as well now.”

  The girl didn’t reply. She didn’t want to do this, she’d waited for two years to go on her journey. Her patience with Mickey Raymond’s own journey was wearing thin.

  “Try not to make a sound or react too much if things do change,” Pester said to Elena, trying not to smile at the sulk on her face. “You’ll be less likely to draw attention to yourself on the off chance that people can see all three of us.”

  Mickey prised open the boarding over the doorway. All of he could see inside the old sweet shop was darkness. He could easily imagine Mr. Patel behind the counter; a tall imposing figure made to look like a giant to small kids with his huge beard and bright red turban. Mickey could still sense the permanent smell of sugar, mint and chocolate that greeted people when they had walked into the shop. All of that had gone and the only smell now was the residual stench of charred wood and plastic.

  Mickey was convinced that he had something else to face. Not in the shop, that was just a doorway, he was sure, but somewhere beyond.

  Mickey’s hunch was proved to be correct.

  Unlike when he had arrived unexpectedly at Ridsdale Street, Mickey continued walking, giving Pester and Elena room when they passed through the unseen portal. They passed from the doorway of Mr. Patel’s sweet shop, tucked away in a residential part of the city, to the doorway of a sandwich bar on Friar Walk, in the city centre.

  When Pester and Elena joined him Mickey said, “This one only happened a couple of weeks ago.”

  The sandwich bar was an innocent looking place that Mickey had walked past hundreds of times. He was pretty sure that he had bought snacks from there from time to time. A little old lady and her equally little old husband were sharing a toasted sandwich. The only other customer was a tramp nursing a mug of what looked like cold, stewed tea.

  “You here for Janardan?” an Asian youth behind the counter asked, giving Mickey a suspicious once over.

  Mickey realised that he hadn’t reverted to his earlier self yet, so it took him a while to answer.

  Er, yeah. He texted me. Told me to meet him here when I finished at uni.” Mickey was running from memory. He thought that was close enough to what he had originally said.

  “In the back room.” The youth nodded to a door just beyond the counter. He raised the hatch to let Mickey through. Mickey held back to allow Pester and Elena through first before going through himself.

  The youth gave Mickey a quizzical look but didn’t say anything. Mickey assumed that his two companions were invisible to the counter boy.

  “You tooled up?” the youth asked, putting a hand out to stop Mickey from clearing the hatch.

  “What? Er, no. No, I’m not.” Mickey had forgotten that he had been asked that.

  The youth grinned. “Nah, you don’t look the sort. Go on then.” He nodded at the door he had indicated before.

  Mickey walked through into a small lounge area. In a corner of the room a large flat screen television was showing an action movie. The three occupants of an old faux leather settee in front of the screen were engrossed in the film. One of the cafe tables from the front of the shop was placed against one wall. There was a chair at either end of the table. One of these was taken by Jonno. He had turned at the sound of Mickey entering the room. Jonno’s hands were tied and he looked rough. His face was a mass of bruises. Despite the swelling and discolouration, Jonno’s fear shone through.

  Immediately to the left of where Mickey stood was a storeroom. Pester and Elena quickly slipped inside and eased the door to; leaving just a small crack between the door and the frame that Pester could look through.

  One of the men on the settee turned round and looked Mickey up and down.

  “Sit at the table and keep your mouth shut,” he said and went back to watching the movie.

  Mickey did as he was told and sat opposite Jonno. This placed him facing towards the door when Pester and Elena were hidden.

  By now Mickey had regressed.

  He had a vague idea that someone had been with him when he had come into the cafe; but that couldn’t have been the case. He’d come straight from university, alone.

  “Jonno, what the...”

  “Shut the fuck up,” barked the man who had just spoken to Mickey.

  A door behind Mickey opened and everyone on the settee spun round. One of the men, not the man who had just spoken, got up and went into another room. Mickey also turned but the door was only just cracked open so he couldn’t see what was beyond. The man returned a few minutes later and turned the television off. The others started to complain then saw the look on the man’s face and thought better of it. They got up and joined the man who was now standing in front of Mickey and Jonno.

  Mickey recognised one of the three. It was Jinendra, Jonno’s waste of space cousin. Jinendra looked none too comfortable. Given the state of his younger relative it was no surprise.

  The man who had told Mickey to, ‘shut the fuck up,’ spoke first.

  “Yer man here has been a silly boy.” He leant towards Mickey for effect and Mickey got a whiff of beer and tobacco.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Mickey. “He’s not my man.”

  The slap came so fast that the man’s hand was back where it started from before Mickey even registered that he had been hit. He raised his hand to his face expecting to find blood. He didn’t, but his cheek and lip felt hot and sore.

  “Now you just shut your trap and listen and you won’t get anymore of that,” said the man. “Laddo here has been a silly boy.” Each word of the sentence was spaced to give it more effect. “He’s gone and got himself into a spot of debt.”

  Mickey stared at Jonno with a ‘what have you done this time?’ look on his face. Mickey’s heart sank when Jonno couldn’t, or wouldn’t, hold eye contact. He looked down at his friend’s shaking hands; the knuckles were scuffed and bleeding. Mickey thought that a couple of the fingers may have been broken or dislocated.

  The man’s ugly face loomed large in Mickey’s vision. The stubble on the man’s cheeks and chin was marginally longer than that on his head. His grin was a poor advertisement for dentistry and another wave of his noxious breath made Mickey feel nauseous.

  “He owes us a fair wedge of money and we want it, now,” the man said.

  Risking another slap Mickey said, “I still don’t understand what it’s got to do with me.”

>   The man who had turned off the television set turned to Jonno’s cousin and raised an eyebrow. Jinendra was trying his best to look cocky but, by Mickey’s estimation, he was falling a long way short.

  “They was in it together,” Jinendra said with a forced swagger. “He been watching my cuz’s back since they was in little school. He planned the whole thing to scam our family of d’ money, innit.”

  Despite the blatant lie, Mickey struggled to keep a straight face. Jinendra’s effort at street patter was so false. If Mrs Patel ever heard him talk that way she would clip him round the ear and give him such a large piece of her mind that he would be chewing it for days.

  Jonno had plucked up the courage to speak.

  “No. No. It wasn’t like that,” he pleaded. “Mickey had nothing to do with it. He was always against me selling drugs.”

  Old Ugly went to back hand Jonno for speaking without being invited but the other man, the apparent leader, stopped him with a word.

  “I’m inclined to believe you,” the man said to Jonno. He then turned to Mickey. “A very commendable attitude to take towards drug dealing. It’s a shame for you that you weren’t more forceful with your errant friend here. A lack of assertiveness on your part and some apparent mis-guided family loyalty from my associate here has put you in a serious predicament.”

  The man’s tone of voice made Mickey’s blood run cold. The polite, articulate and implied sympathetic words put an ill fitting veneer on the underlying menace and threat. The man was pure business. It may not be Mickey’s fault but Mickey was being held to account – such was the nature of business at times.

  “But ...” Jonno began to say.

  “Shut up,” Mickey snapped. “Let me do the talking.”

  A look of guilty relief washed over Jonno’s face. Mickey always looked after him. Jonno’s cousin suddenly looked smug.

  “You can wipe that look off your face, Jinendra,” Mickey said. “You got Jonno into this. Some cousin you are.”

  Mickey took bitter satisfaction from the shocked embarrassment on Jinendra’s face and the open amusement of Old Ugly. They weren’t important though. It was the man in the middle of these two, the politely spoken leader of the trio that Mickey had to deal with.