by Gordon Brown
I return to my post. I have no idea how you could fit in more people, but while I was away another stream of humanity has risen up the spiral staircase and we’re all breathing less fresh air.
Half an hour later I get my first taste of action. To be fair, I see it coming. A young man has been leaning into a girl at the bar for a while. She has her back turned towards him but he isn’t taking the hint. She’s trying to blank him by talking to her friend. A couple of times she’s pushed the young man away but he’s drunk and persistent – a bad combination. I push through the crowd, trying not to get a drink over my wage-arresting suit. I stand a few yards away and watch.
It kicks off when the young man, tired of the knock-backs, grabs the girl by the shoulders and tries to turn her towards him. If I had been her I would have walked an age ago, but he would have probably followed. She tries to shrug him off. I look towards Clyde. He’s spotted it. He nods his head for me to intervene.
‘I think the lady wants a little space,’ I shout into the young man’s ear.
He flicks round to look at me. ‘Fuck off.’
‘Let her go.’
‘I said fuck off.’
This is not going to go well. ‘Look, take it easy. All I’m saying…’
He swings his fist at me, but he telegraphs it. I step back, clipping a customer, who tips his drink down my back.
Shit, that’ll cost.
I grab the young man’s arm, swing him round and force his wrist up his back. He squeals above the hubbub. It’s too busy to march him through the club so I take him down the back way and out into the alley.
‘Do you know who my father is?’ He has to hold onto the alley wall to stay upright.
‘No sir, I do not.’
‘You will if you don’t let me back in.’
‘That isn’t going to happen.’
I close the door but he takes a run at it. I hear him make contact.
Clyde is waiting at the top of the stairs. ‘Not bad. Spell me on the VIP room. Slash time. Only go in if the bell goes. Got it?’
‘Yip. Do you know the guy I threw out?’
‘Colin Mark’s son.’
‘Is that bad?’
‘No. Colin would have chucked him out first. Hates him. Figured.’
I’ve been promoted to VIP status. I walk to the door and realize I have no idea who should get in. I stop Nell and ask her how I’ll know.
‘Black membership cards only. Blue and Gold don’t count.’
Easy.
A few rubberneckers walk up but I make sure they leave with their tails between their legs.
Clyde returns. ‘Stay on. Boss wants to see me. Any trouble, use this.’
He hands me a walkie-talkie with an earpiece, which I insert. I hear the doorman inform everyone that Juan Revez is in the building. I think he’s the short stop for a big team up north.
The edge is off the night. The peak is past. Dawn is on its way. The dance floor has daylight and, although there are no seats to be had in the place, there’s more standing room.
I check for Clyde, push at the VIP door and look in. A short corridor stretches out. There are three doors either side. All are shut. Private means private around here. One of them opens. I get a glimpse of a small room mostly filled with a bed.
Very private then.
A man walks out and I hold the door for him. He doesn’t even look at me. I hear a shout from one of the rooms but there’s no bell. I start to close the door and there’s another shout. A woman’s shout. One that signals pain. I keep the door open a crack. There’s a scream.
Enough.
I step into the short corridor. I think the shouting came from the last door on the right. When another cry goes out I’m certain. I place my hand on the door handle and swing it open.
The senator is naked, standing with his flabby backside towards me. The young girl he came in with is on her knees on the bed. A rope loops her neck. The senator is holding the loose end. The girl looks at me through her arms. There’s a red stain on the white duvet beneath her head.
‘Stop him,’ she says.
The senator turns. He has one hand round his cock. In the other hand he has rope. Its end is red. He steps back. ‘Turn around and walk out. You’re history,’ he growls.
I don’t move. I can’t move.
He isn’t fazed by the situation in the slightest. ‘I said turn round and leave.’
My head explodes. No warning. The pain sends me to the floor. I feel a hand on my head and then under my chin. The senator brings my eyes up to meet his and I’m inches from his engorged member. ‘I said…’
He pauses, tenses and steps back. My head pounds out a new rhythm of pain. The girl is struggling but the bond around her neck is choking her. The make-up that made her look older has run with tears and sweat. She can’t be more than eighteen.
The senator stands up and drops my head. Then he picks it up again. I’m frozen. Unable to think. The headache is everything.
The senator slams my head into the shag pile. It doesn’t add to the pain, just to my lack of action. He pulls at the rope. The girl screams but he doesn’t stop pulling, the muscles in his arms trembling with the strain. Her screams vanish as the air is cut off. There’s a gurgle and she flops. Dead. Spit dribbles from her mouth.
I can’t move for the pain in my head. I roll over as the senator stands up and views his handiwork. His aggression turns into a look of confusion and…boom – the world is blue – headache gone.
The door behind me bursts open and Clyde is standing there. ‘Jesus Christ.’
The stop-start nature of the blue world is back and the words come out as ‘Jeeeeeeeeeeesssssssssusssss. Chriiiisst’. Clyde’s lower jaw hangs loose.
I start to stand up. Clyde looks down on me, then at the girl and finally at the senator. He has the sort of hesitancy of action I saw in my short time as a soldier. Multiple choices but none of them solving the problem you’re facing.
The senator suddenly collapses on the floor. Spent. I want to kick his head into pulp for what he’s just done but I know I need to be a hundred miles from here. I turn and Clyde is blocking my way. He sees something in my eyes. Something he doesn’t like. He stands to one side. I don’t think it is voluntary. It’s reflex.
I wonder if it would be better to wait for the police but I’m in the frame for the young girl if they want. Even if I run it will be me, not the senator, who killed the girl. If I stay it will still be me. An ex mental patient wanted by a government agency for his involvement in multiple deaths versus an elected official of the state.
I’m dead meat.
I put my foot to the floor and I’m gone. I turn so quickly towards the exit that I need to hang onto the door frame to make the ninety-degree move. I push at the padded door and fly into the club. A few faces turn to see who is exiting the VIP room. I blank them as I skirt the bar, before taking to the stairs.
The alley is empty. Déjà vu. A back alley and I’m on the run again. The only way out lies next to the sports bar. A lone ciggie junkie is drawing in the bad stuff as I sprint into the night.
The blue world vanishes.
Chapter 27
I climb the car park stairs three at a time. The building is a graveyard, with a few of the late-night revelers’ cars in random slots. My car is on the second level. I’m sure there will be police waiting at the bottom when I exit. I’m wrong. There isn’t even any activity at the club door as I pass by.
I start to put distance between the nightclub and myself.
I don’t know the area and it takes a while to pick up the signs for the road north. I know the police will be involved soon. Not yet though. Not just yet. The crime scene will need to be altered to blank the senator, to put me in the picture. Only then will the police be called.
As the car bites freeway dirt I wonder what the hell to do. The miles slip away but the panic doesn’t. I play out the scene in the VIP room, running it back into the previous days. It jumbles, tak
ing on a new level of confusion and adding to my panic.
I can feel another headache beginning to build. I need to back off. A car in front flashes its brake lights. I swing out to overtake. The man in the car flips me the bird, a snarl on his face. I keep my foot down and he drifts backwards, vanishing with the headache.
The relationship between the headaches and violence is now clear to me. How it works? Why it works? None of that makes sense. Common patterns in the last few days are thin and few. That the violence is focused on others and not me seemed clear until the Days Inn duo decided to chase me down. But maybe they were just the exception that proves the rule.
The sight of the senator abusing the young girl was testament to the extremes of behavior I seem to be able to generate.
A couple of dollar tolls and I reach my turn-off. I contemplate not returning to the house. After all, the car may be tied to that address, and the police might be waiting. Maybe even the suits. But there are no blue and white flashing welcome lights. Once in the garage I take a few breaths before making for the house.
The cool air hits me and I wish I had put a few beers in the fridge.
‘Hi.’
The voice makes me leap.
Sharon pops up from the sofa. ‘Did you have a good first day?’
My wife has never used those words. My only job was in Iraq. ‘Not really,’ I reply.
‘Pray tell.’
I walk her through the evening. When I reach the death of the girl she draws her feet up and gasps.
‘What?’ It’s the only word she can find. She isn’t buying it. I can’t blame her. I’m ex Hatch Roll. A trained killer with a screw loose. As far as she knows the whole thing is a fantasy. Or I’m the killer?
‘The police will be here soon,’ I say.
‘Probably.’
‘And they’ll be after you as well.’
‘Yip. After all, I recommended you for the job.’
‘They’ll blame me.’
‘Yip.’
‘But I didn’t do it.’
‘Yip.’
‘You believe me?’
‘I should say yes and make some excuse to go to the wash-room. Huh. Then run. If what you say is true, things will get messy. If you’re lying I should get the hell out of here anyway.’
‘But you’re not going to?’
‘No. I told Charlie I’d help. So let’s say the senator did what you say. I’d say the chances of you staying out of jail are nil. Huh.’
‘No kidding.’
‘But I don’t think the police will come.’
‘Why?’
‘A senator caught in a brothel with a dead hooker. Huh. I don’t see the club being quick to dial 911. I see them cleaning up the mess or maybe phoning some guys from the FBI, CIA or even KFC first. Senators don’t go down that easily. What I do see is someone else turning up here soon. If I were you I’d probably want it to be the police. Anyone else and I don’t fancy your chances.’
‘You seem surprisingly well versed.’
‘Maybe. Five years in a military nuthouse can teach you a lot about how the world really works.’
I drop on a chair, leaning forward, placing my head in my hands. I’m so out of my depth I can’t see up from down.
‘I don’t think self-pity is a good call. Huh.’
I lift my head up. ‘What would you suggest?’
‘We need space to think.’
‘We?’
‘I told Charlie I would look out for you.’
‘You must really like him.’
‘A lot.’
‘Oh yeah, you two were an item.’
‘Were?’
‘You still are?’
‘On the nose, Mr McIntyre.’
‘But he’s in LA and you’re here?’
‘No dodging the bullets when you’re around is there? Huh. Things are bad on the job front unless you hadn’t noticed.’
‘So you work here and Charlie in LA?’
‘I work in St Pete’s.’
‘Not Hudson?’
‘I made that up. I’ve a senior administrator’s job with a health company. The pay is too good to quit.’
‘How long have you been doing this?’
‘About a year and a half. I used to work in LA but the company closed the office. It was St Pete’s or nothing and they offered me a promotion. Charlie’s looking for a place out here but he can’t sell the LA bar.’
‘He never mentioned you.’
‘Maybe you didn’t ask.’
‘Maybe I didn’t.’
‘Anyway, do you think getting my life story is a good use of time? We need to move.’
‘Where to?’
‘No idea.’
She gets up and I follow.
There’s a thump and the window that looks out onto the front lawn shatters as a smoke bomb bounces into our lives.
Chapter 28
The lights die. A second smoke bomb follows the first. I grab Sharon around the waist, pulling her back into the TV room. ‘Hit the floor and follow me.’
I start to crawl towards the door that leads to the garage. She follows.
‘Where are we going?’ coughs Sharon.
‘They’ll be ready for us. The garage is our only chance.’
‘Who’ll be ready for us?’
‘Guess. Crawl, don’t talk.’
There’s a small gap between the back of the kitchen and the master bedroom and it’s clear of smoke. Rising to a crouch, I fumble for Sharon’s hand. I pull her into the laundry room, slamming the door behind us. I grab the door to the garage and throw it open.
The darkness beyond could hide an army but it seems quiet. I hear footsteps from the front and a smash as the front door is caved in.
‘The car,’ I whisper.
Sharon obeys. She jumps into the passenger seat. I leap into the driver’s side and nearly drop the key as I try to insert it into the ignition. I miss the keyhole and miss it again. Sharon looks at me. I draw a breath and use my other hand to guide the key into its slot. I turn it enough to switch on the electrics. The dashboard lights up. I look for the garage door remote.
Shit. It’s in the house. There’s no time to go back. The noise from outside is now inside. I have seconds. Twisting the key, I fire up the engine, push down on the clutch, take the revs up to the limit, slide the car into reverse and wheel-spin it backwards.
Ten feet of space to cover before we hit the garage door. I’m not sure that the small car will have the momentum to punch through the aluminum shell.
Sharon screams as we hit the door. It gives – crashing from its mountings – but not enough and I’m forced to shoot forward and try again. The car makes it further on the second hit but the metal door is strong. This time we get jammed. Our rear is in the driveway and the front still in the garage. I floor it but generate tire smoke and little else.
Guns click. A million lights surround the car. I kill the engine. We’re going nowhere.
Chapter 29
‘Hands where we can see them. Don’t move.’
The order is loud as men with guns appear through the door from the house, flooding onto the driveway. I lift my hands into the air, urging Sharon to do the same. Her face is white, as she stares at the men. A hand grabs the door handle, yanking it open. A gun barrel appears next to my head.
‘Quick. Give it to him now,’ a voice spits.
A gloved hand grabs my forearm. I try to pull away. The hand holds firm. A needle is rammed home.
*
There is no slow slide from oblivion. One moment I’m in the car, the next I’m in a room, strapped once more to a bed. The ceiling lighting is low and the air-conditioning hums. The restraints feel the same as the ones used in Iraq. I test them but there’s no give.
‘Welcome back, Mr McIntyre.’
The voice is way too familiar. ‘Still wearing the crumpled white linen suits?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know about the crumpled bit – but yes.’ He laugh
s. ‘Mr McIntyre, you are – and I say this with the greatest of respect – a very, very dangerous man to be around.’
‘Pop in and we can chat about it.’
‘You’d like that wouldn’t you?’
‘You don’t know how much. Where am I?’
‘Safe.’
‘Who from?’
‘From yourself.’
‘Bullshit.’
He blanks me. ‘So, down to business. You possess an ability that we find interesting.’
‘Do I?’
‘Oh you do, Mr McIntyre. You do. And I have a lot of very excited people who can’t wait to stick some probes into you, wire you up, open your head and play around inside. You’re highly unusual, and in my experience – and believe me when I tell you that my experience is very extensive – I would say you are close to being unique.’
‘Wow.’ My sarcasm misses the mark.
‘Before I let my colleagues have their fun with you I need to test a few things.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘I’m not sure that this’ll be as bad as you think.’
‘So tying me up, torturing me, torturing my wife, hunting me down, drugging me – not bad?’
‘Let me make this plain. You work with us and we work with you.’
‘Or?’
‘Switch on the monitor.’ The words aren’t for me.
A large TV monitor replaces the ceiling lights above me. The screen is blank save for a small white dot pulsing in the top left. I try to twist my head but the restraints hold tight.
The monitor fires up and splits into two images – divided down the centre. Two rooms come into view. The camera angle suggests that the cameras are high up in the corners. Each room has a single occupant. One is sitting on the floor, the other is standing in the corner.
Both are familiar. Way too familiar.
‘No!’ I shout and deny what I’m seeing. I close my eyes and pray, and for the first time in an eon, really pray, that what I am seeing is not real.
Energy flees my body, leaving me boneless, devoid of blood – a sack of nothing.
Lendl interrupts my panic. ‘So, Mr McIntyre, here’s how I read the whole game. You have a special talent for bringing out the worst in people. In your presence people seem to lose their inhibitions – an inhibition amoeba you might say. Whatever it is that you do, it takes individuals, strips them of their usual social norms and leaves them free to vent violence on others. After the event it would seem that they have little recollection or, at best, remember the incident but seem to see no wrong in their actions. Almost as if they never actually did anything. As far as we can ascertain – from interviewing our colleagues back in Iraq and the senator – there’s little more that they can tell us.’