Directive RIP

by Stuart Parker

  29

  Dark royal blue carpet, varnished Honduran Mahogany wall panels, soft up-lighting on a caramel brown ceiling, a trophy cabinet with a golden smile of trophies; the only thing not impeccably stylish in the Oxygen Dart Bar’s front reception was the balding, hook-nosed attendant who was only clearing the counter with a few centimetres to spare. Possibly a jockey in a younger day, he had the demeanor of someone used to communicating by whipping rumps: ‘You want something?’

  Furn figured he had been identified as a non-member. ‘I’ve been led to believe that Don Jenkins is here.’ He looked past the attendant to two velvet padded doors that were the same tone of blue as the floor. Little gold plaques made it clear which one opened to the playing area and which one to the cloak room.

  ‘You don’t even play darts,’ snapped the attendant, roping Furn’s attention.

  ‘So?’

  ‘You’ve got no business looking for him here.’

  Furn took Breeze’s advice and refrained from flashing his badge. ‘Tell him Breeze’s friend Furn is here to see him.’

  ‘Do you know what the friends of people do in this place? U-turns back out the door.’

  Furn was getting annoyed. ‘My boot is going to fly past your ass and it’s going to U-turn. Now, in case you didn’t catch it the first time, the name is Furn. If it is a chore to remember, I can stamp it for you.’

  The way the attendant’s belligerence vanished suggested perhaps he may have in fact been the horse in a younger day. ‘The door on the right,’ he sighed. ‘Mr Jenkins has the floor to himself.’

  A dart’s bar that used titles was not the kind of place Furn was expecting - where pints rested on guts to balance throws. He passed through the door to a dark passageway, more soft carpet and a whiff of musk. He had the feeling of arriving late at an upmarket cinema. The passageway quickly opened up to a lighter space whose dimensions were lost in a back wall of mirrors.

  There were six dart boards lined against the cream playing wall. One board was lit up by a narrow beam emitted from an embedded ceiling light. Furn noticed cigarette burns in the wall around the board. Possibly the product of disgruntled players. The five darts in the board seemed arbitrarily scattered. The player in the fringe of the light had frozen in his delivery stance, immediately tuned into Furn’s intrusion.

  ‘The bull’s eye is in the middle,’ said Furn, taking another couple of steps.

  Tentative Jenkins relaxed his dart hand. His voice was calm. I’m no Phil Taylor but it’s not as bad as that. The game’s called Round the Clock. I train with it.’

  ‘Time for a break.’

  Tentative edged a fraction further out of the light, his voice becoming more guarded. ‘I was sorry to hear about Breeze. He didn’t deserve it, not in the back, at least.’

  ‘And Benzona didn’t deserve what he got either. More than just a tattoo.’

  ‘It’s not surprising you’re here alone. Another one of your partners recently bought it, didn’t he?’

  Furn’s voice hardened. ‘He’s going to make it too. The bad guys don’t seem to be shooting straight enough. Are you any different?’

  Tentative pointedly scored a bull’s eye with the remaining dart and strode up to Furn, pulling out a thin metal case from the inner pocket of his grey sports jacket.

  Furn looked down at it and said indifferently, ‘You offering me a cigarette?’

  ‘Darts isn’t just for recreation.’ Tentative started to open the case but thought the better of it. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Rogue by name, rogue by nature. If you’re serious about avenging the father of your tattoos, here’s your opportunity.’

  Tentative’s eyes locked as though he was seeing a bull’s eye in the centre of Furn’s forehead. ‘You want to go somewhere and talk about it?’

  Furn pointed to the silhouette of chairs set aside for spectators. ‘They’ll do.’

  ‘You’re sure? This is my home turf and it could easily be wired for sound. Discussing something so incriminating here would clearly be ill-advised.’

  Furn shrugged it off. ‘I once had my own near death experience and I can’t say that life became any the sweeter for it. Anyway, if we’re going to work together, there needs to be an element of trust.’

  Tentative flicked back his hair. ‘Sure. And no need to worry. A lot of sensitive issues are discussed within these walls by some very serious people. A proprietor who dared to install listening devices would not live very long or die very well.’

  ‘Maybe I should take up darts.’ Furn dropped into one of the seats, finding the cushion to be about as forthcoming as had been the attendant.

  ‘I’ve been reading in the papers that you do things differently,’ said Tentative, taking up position a couple of seats down. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘We’ve identified the ringleader of the Sapiens.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Tentative almost spat it out.

  ‘A holding order has been issued on her at all international exit points, but she is well organised, planned and resourced. And even if we do apprehend her, there will not be a whole lot to implicate her.’

  ‘So, you’re going to shoot her?’

  ‘I need to get my hands on some narcotics in a hurry.’

  ‘How much are you willing to spend?’

  ‘I think you misunderstand me. I’m not talking about a financial transaction.’

  ‘I’m no drug dealer, but if you want to get yourself killed, I can introduce you to a couple.’

  ‘Ever heard of the Hyun gang?’

  ‘That’s the type I had in mind. A crew with a nasty imagination, but customers who pay their way have nothing to worry about. You sure you ain’t paying for it?’ Tentative ran his finger along the smoothness of his oily moustache. ‘Listen, if you want a shipment of blow, why don’t you shake down the Mexican trade ambassador. You busted his son down at the docklands, right? A good behaviour bond for Babar will be worth a whole lot of smack.’

  Furn shook his head. ‘Babar’s trial will help get Breeze’s mind off the bullets in his back. And the calibre of lawyer that will cross-examine him will help him get his focus back. There’s nothing more reviving than having a defense lawyer trying to tear you apart.’

  Perspiration snail tracks were emerging on Tentative’s brow. ‘If cocaine will do, there’s a favour I can call in.’

  ‘Who’s the lucky fellow?’

  ‘I shit you not, the only fools in this business with a lower life expectancy than the users are the dealers. One or two kilograms worth? In other words, a name barely worth knowing.’

  Furn stood up. ‘If I don’t get it by tonight, I won’t have anything better to do with it than blow it up.’

  ‘You’re going to plant it on Pei? Don’t they teach ethics anymore at the academy?’

  ‘Yeah, but I didn’t take down notes.’

  ‘What’s your number? I’ll make some calls and get back to you.’

  ‘No, I’ll be outside the Authority Exchange. Ten o’clock tonight. If you’re not there, I’ll figure you’d just be calling long distance and I’ll go visit Xie Hyun on my own.’

  Tentative laughed. ‘In other words, if I stand you up, you’re going to get even by committing suicide.Hope I can remember to pay attention to my watch.’

  Furn was tempted to play his own brand of darts with the eight rounds in his Heckler and Koch but settled for a cool departure and a high speed pursuit of his thirst to the Black Gates. He had the Guinness stout on tap. The bartender was scruffy and untucked and it seemed the beer he was pouring he had seen too many times before. Furn took it to his customary table in the back corner. He kept it close and let it get warm.

  If he had been less preoccupied in his thoughts, there were a number of fellow drinkers he might have paid attention to. At the top of the list were the three young women enjoying themselves at the bar. All frolicking hair and bare shoulders, they were just the proof Furn needed that laughter was not contagious. A secon
d pint of Guinness drew the eyes of the middle woman his way. She was wearing blue tinted glasses, which sat well with her rich black hair and succulent red lips. She smiled radiantly and headed his way. Furn returned her smile, at first because of her exotic beauty, but then because he realised it was Jalice.

  ‘I’m disturbed,’ said Jalice, playfully. ‘You’re here on a Monday when I made a point of telling you I only work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. What should I make of that?’

  Furn shrugged. ‘I’m expecting someone.’

  ‘Forgive me for being less than convinced, but you don’t have the look of someone expecting company.’ Suspecting he would not defend himself with the truth, she didn’t stick around for the end of his long draft of beer.

  Furn went back to what he was doing but didn’t have to wait long for some vindication. The solidly built man was wearing a green check wool coat, his identity guarded by the long brim of a plain grey baseball cap. Hell-bent on not being noticed by anyone in the bar, he would not recognise any of them in return. Furn quickly drained off his pint’s last gasp in wait for his arrival. The man dropped into the chair on the other side of the table. The joints creaked with the weight. The man slid a small blue mobile phone across the table.

  Furn tilted his head to get a look at the face under the cap. The close-set blue eyes set off by a complexion over-stocked with vitamin D was familiar from the Dockland’s warehouse crime scene: The A-Z Demolition’s Operations Director, Jock McClean.

  ‘Wanna beer?’ asked Furn.

  ‘This is the wrong night to drink and drive,’ replied McClean tapping the phone. ‘Not with this in your hand. There are three bags in your boot. Numbered one to three. The corresponding pre-set numbers in the phone will trigger them. A blast radius of only ten metres, but anyone within that space is definitely going to feel it.’

  Furn carefully picked up the phone. ‘You’re a dangerous man.’

  ‘I’m even better at packing the kid’s lunches. But I’ll accept the compliment.’

  He was out the chair and away. Jalice stepped into his wake.

  ‘So, you were waiting for someone. You’ve miraculously redeemed yourself.’ She motioned to the phone. ‘Have you got room for another number?’