The Disappeared

by Ali Harper

  I felt his breath on my face. Claustrophobia swept through me. I hate small spaces. Even more when I have to share them. I turned and tugged back the bolt on the door. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said, ‘before they come back.’

  ‘I can’t go out like this.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Stay here.’

  ‘You can’t leave me here.’ He sat back down on the toilet with such force I assumed his legs had given way. Out in the garden the dog barked again.

  ‘I have to find Jo.’

  ‘Jo?’

  ‘My mate. She came here. Wired.’

  He shook out his legs. ‘Know how she feels.’ He sank his head in his hands.

  ‘No. I mean … doesn’t matter. She’s disappeared. We’ve got to get out of here.’ I stepped out of the closet and into the kitchen. I listened. No changes in the atmosphere, nothing to suggest anyone had entered the house. I turned to check that Brownie followed me. He held onto the doorframe, white skin pale in the light, two red-brown nipples nestling in a dark patch of chest hair, unsteady on his feet. ‘Come on.’

  He grabbed for my arm, then settled for resting his hand on my shoulder and we set off.

  ‘How long?’ I asked, as we made our way back through the kitchen and out of the house.

  ‘How long what?’

  ‘Since your last fix?’

  He stalled. ‘What you on about?’

  ‘We might need to run.’

  ‘Shit,’ he said, as he caught my thought. ‘The dog.’

  I opened the front door, looked left and right. No sign. But I wasn’t fooled. I knew the thing well enough by now. It didn’t give up, wouldn’t have taken its chance of freedom and done one. In its small mind it belonged to the house. Sure enough, we had only made it three or four steps out the front door before I heard its stupid low-down growl again. I grabbed Brownie’s wrist.

  ‘Run. Fast. Now.’

  To give him his due, he didn’t need telling twice. He managed to match me pace-wise till we got to the end of the path. I vaulted the gate. I landed two footed flat to the floor on the other side, knees bent to lessen the impact. I managed to get out of the way before Brownie threw himself head first over the side. The dog was at his ankles and, of course, Brownie didn’t have the luxury of trousers. I heard him scream and turned and grabbed his torso with both hands, dragged him over the wooden gate. The gush of blood on his left ankle glistened in the glow of the streetlight.

  I yanked Brownie away from the gate and down the street towards where I’d left the van. The dog barked but didn’t follow us. I tried to think of how I could explain why I was accompanying a near naked man out of a probably known dealers’ house, just in case anyone asked.

  But really, I was concentrating on that in order to keep my mind occupied. Because Brownie’s state of undress was the least of my problems. What I really didn’t want to think about was what the fuck had they done to Jo?

  I bundled Brownie into the back of the van and took off my jacket. I handed it to him and climbed in, pulling the doors shut behind me. I crawled to the front. The clock on the dashboard said it was almost quarter to ten. Forty minutes since I’d last heard Jo’s voice.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Brownie as he zipped up my jacket. It was miles too small for him, made him look like a refugee.

  I handed him my tobacco pouch and positioned myself between Brownie and the back doors. I sat on the floor and switched on the camping lamp we’ve got hanging from the ceiling. It cast little more than a glow.

  ‘I want to know where my best mate is.’

  ‘What was she doing in there?’

  My heart hammered my chest, still beating at sprinting pace. I exhaled. ‘Trying to find Jack.’

  ‘Jack? What do you know about Jack?’

  ‘I told you. I’m a private investigator.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘I was hired to find Jack.’

  ‘Hired by who?’ He crouched on his haunches, his hands shaking so much he couldn’t keep the tobacco in the Rizla paper. I watched him drop a second pinch then took the whole works off him, started rolling.

  ‘His mother.’

  ‘His mother’s dead.’

  ‘His stepmother.’

  ‘Doesn’t have a stepmother.’

  Seemed like everyone knew this except us. ‘Martha hired us.’ I handed him a rolled fag and lit it for him.

  He took an inhale of smoke that was so deep I expected to see it coming out of his toes. ‘My Martha?’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I thought you two—’

  ‘Why would Martha hire you to look for Jack?’

  ‘She’s trying to help you.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘That’s not kind. She’s doing everything she can to save your sorry ass.’

  He flopped down onto the cushions we’d put in the back. ‘Don’t trust her.’

  ‘No?’ Junkies trust no one, I knew this. ‘Weird. Who do you trust?’

  ‘No one knows where Jack is. That’s the point,’ said Brownie. He spoke like I was an imbecile.

  ‘Martha thinks he’s got the money that will get that lot off your back.’

  ‘She’s nuts. Where’s Jack going to get £20K?’

  I wasn’t in the mood to answer questions. ‘Right, listen, you moron. My best mate is missing and it’s all your fault.’

  ‘Mine?’

  I needed to focus. ‘Do they have a car?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The guys back there, dipstick.’

  ‘He brought me here in an Escort.’

  ‘Colour?’

  ‘Dunno. It was dark. Red, I think.’

  ‘Who are they? How many? I want to know everything about them.’

  ‘Duck and Bernie. What’s to say? Bernie’s fat; Duck thinks he’s Zayn fucking Malik.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Never mind. They’re both wankers.’

  I shook my head to try and clear some space. ‘Tell me about you and Martha. From the beginning.’

  ‘Nothing to tell.’

  ‘Listen, you want a ride home you’d better start being useful. Else I’ll leave you out there in your under-crackers for the dog.’

  ‘I’m over her.’

  I made out I was about to open the door.

  He held up a hand. His fingernails were dirty, bitten to the bone. ‘OK. OK. What do you want to know?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘She turned up a few months back – just moved to Leeds, needed some smokes. Can’t remember who introduced her.’ He shrugged. ‘I helped her out a couple of times.’

  ‘That’s not how she tells it.’

  ‘She’s all right. Anyway, one thing leads to another, I end up at her place a couple of nights. That’s it.’ His voice tailed off and he took another drag on his roll-up.

  ‘I need more than that.’

  ‘She’s … different.’

  ‘Different how?’

  ‘Established.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Not many people can cook, not vegan. She’s … I don’t know … She’s got a good set up – curries, a mean spinach dahl.’

  ‘I get it. She loves you and you’re using her for nutrition.’

  ‘She’s got a knife sharpener. Like, attached to the wall.’ He glanced up at me, made eye contact for the first time. ‘She don’t love me.’

  ‘Says she does.’

  He stared at me for a moment before returning his gaze to the floor of the van. ‘Whatever.’ He wiped his nose on the back of my jacket, and I made a mental note to wash it before I wore it again.

  ‘She’s worried about you.’

  He tucked his legs up so that they were under his chin and folded his arms around them. ‘Never lasts. A rush of blood and then I’m waking up thinking how the fuck do I get out of this …’

  ‘Charming.’

  ‘Can’t trust ’em, bottom line. Praying bleeding man
tis, that’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘Let’s get back to the story,’ I said, climbing over him into the front seat. I couldn’t sit doing nothing, and it sounded like this story was going to take a long time to tell. I’d already wasted ten minutes. ‘You start seeing Martha. What’s Jack think about this?’

  ‘He don’t talk a lot, don’t Jack. He’s a man of action not words.’

  ‘“A man of action”?’ I turned the key in the ignition. ‘He’s a smack addict.’

  Quiet from the back.

  I turned in my seat to face him. ‘You’d better get in the front. I’m going to drive around. See if we can spot them.’

  He clambered over and joined me, his long milky legs practically glowing in the moonlight. The bruises looked worse illuminated by streetlights. He winced as he fastened his seatbelt.

  ‘If I’m going to get you out of this, you are going to have to tell me everything,’ I said. ‘How did you get into smack in the first place?’

  He shrugged. ‘Long story.’

  ‘I think there’s still some tea in there.’ I nodded at the Thermos on the dashboard.

  He looked like he might cry. He reached for the flask and poured himself a cup. I waited till he’d put the flask on the floor and had the cup in both hands before I pulled away from the kerb.

  ‘You never think you’re going to get addicted,’ he said in a quiet voice, once he’d drained the tea. ‘You’ve kind of worked out that they’d all lied to you – the “just say no” lot. We got into the party scene – bit of MDMA, loads of speed, acid. Me and Jack were at some squat, the first time, after a party. Someone said it was good for the come down. And it was, for ages.’

  I figured a gentle cruise around was better than just sitting there listening. Some of this story I already knew. Some of it was a bit too close to the bone.

  ‘Then, one day you realize, you can’t get through a day without it.’

  I hit one of those mini-roundabouts before I’d noticed it was there, but we were OK. The roads were quiet. We had a while before pub kick-out time.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Brownie continued, ‘if you don’t have to. It’s when the money runs out.’

  A man with a small but well-muscled dog on a lead crossed the road in front of me. I slowed to avoid hitting him. ‘What money?’

  ‘We were tooting more than we were selling.’

  ‘You were dealing smack?’

  ‘No,’ he said, affronted. ‘Dope. A few pills. But the holidays are bad – students piss off home for the summer, sales are down.’

  I had my eyes on every passing car, looking for a red Escort.

  ‘We were in it together, least I thought we were.’ Brownie stared out of the passenger window and, for a minute or two, I let him go silent, as we cruised the streets. I knew there was a piece of the jigsaw missing. A thought, half-formed, lurked at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite grasp it.

  ‘Then Jack meets Carly?’ I prompted Brownie.

  ‘Yeah. He gets this job, down at The Warehouse. Part-time, not exactly coining it, but it’s something. Bernie’s getting a bit unfriendly about what we owe. That’s where Jack meets Carly.’ He says her name in a funny voice. Like he’s imitating a Barbie doll.

  ‘You don’t like her?’

  ‘Psychology student,’ he said, like that was all I needed to know. ‘Regular Little Miss Fix It.’

  ‘So,’ I said, anxious to move the story on. ‘They break into your house, spray-paint the walls, everything kicks off.’

  ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘Martha told us,’ I lied. Pants had suffered enough.

  ‘See. Not to be trusted.’

  ‘Carry on.’

  ‘It’s a right mess – we’d all been down to a gig at The Brudenell – can’t remember who was playing now. Martha was there, comes back to the house. Truth is, by this time I’m trying to get rid, but she’s harder to shake than crabs.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Jack’s there too. All bleeding hell breaks loose. Ends up in a fight.’

  ‘Between?’

  ‘Me and Jack mainly. Jack’s pissed off cos he gave me his wages and I’d not got round to paying Bernie. So I think, fuck it.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I left. Went to Martha’s.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing. We had a toot.’

  ‘Martha smoked smack?’

  He tried to pour himself another cup of tea, but the flask must have been empty. He dropped it onto the floor and slouched in his seat. ‘You should see the way she looks at me. Man, I’ve told her I’m not relationship material.’

  ‘No shit.’

  ‘She nods like she agrees with every word, but you know she’s not hearing you. Women, freaking mental. Wanting to drag things out in the open, put the pieces back together. They don’t realize some things are just broken.’

  I pulled a face at him. ‘Nightmare.’

  ‘That night, we get back, and she’s wanting to know all about the money I owe. I think, fuck it, I’ve been trying to get rid, might as well let her know what’s going on – tell her I smoke brown – should make her run. ’Course, she doesn’t.’

  ‘You’re right. Women are mental.’

  ‘I tell her I can’t trust her. It’s like she wants to prove a point. She’s asking for it.’

  ‘Asking for a heroin habit?’

  ‘But it’s …’ He faded out on the memory.

  ‘It’s what?’

  ‘It’s kinda, it’s nice.’

  ‘Yeah, you get your girlfriend into smack. Beautiful.’

  Brownie didn’t respond. We drove in silence, him staring out of the passenger window like there was something more interesting than dark dampness out there. His voice was quieter the next time he spoke. ‘I try and see Jack the next day, but he’s fuming with me. I’ve done everything for that guy. I’m like his big fucking brother. Swapped rooms with him last week because the sound of someone getting laid every night does his head in. You’ve got to ask yourself, what’s that about?’

  I kind of know what that’s about, but I didn’t say anything.

  ‘So I do one, I think fuck it, I’ll go and stay with Zig for a few days. Get a bit of space, clear my head, know what I mean? I’m not going to tell anyone where I’m going, cos they can all fuck off.’

  I nodded.

  ‘So I go to Newcastle. We get a bit wasted. I get back, all fucking hell has broken loose. Jack’s disappeared. That pisses me off, cos he’s supposed to be giving me his wages. I go down to The Warehouse, Carly’s on one. I tell her I need to find him as much as she does.’

  ‘You told them he’d nicked your PlayStation.’

  ‘Yeah, that wiped the smug smile off her face.’

  We hit the mini-roundabout at forty again. I’d get the hang of it next time, I swore to myself.

  ‘Pants is going mad. I figure I’ll not stay where I’m not wanted, so I go and see Martha, tell her I’m leaving. Figure it’s the kindest thing to do.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She loses it. I mean, seriously. Loses. It.’

  ‘So, everyone’s out to get you?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Brownie.’ I hit the steering wheel. ‘Drugs mess with your head – that’s why everyone says they’re not good for you. Jack’s your best mate. Martha loves you.’

  ‘She’s setting me up.’

  ‘Junkie talk.’

  ‘She’s not what you think she is.’

  ‘Did she tell you Jack had got the money together?’

  He frowned at me. ‘She came out with all kinds of crap. Where’s Jack going to get twenty-four grand from? She’s setting me up. I’m telling you.’

  ‘Why? Why would Martha set you up?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  I switched on the radio. I knew there was no point arguing. House music crackled through the speakers.

  Brownie wouldn’t leave it alone though. After a minute or two he hit the off
switch. ‘It’s all lies. She’s put twenty-four grand in my sock drawer? Bullshit. Must think I’m a right fucking—’

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ I swerved into the left, mounted the kerb and killed the engine.

  ‘Don’t even have drawers in my room,’ Brownie continued.

  I turned and faced Brownie. ‘She said she put twenty-four grand in your sock drawer? She actually said that?’

  He didn’t answer. He’d a whole story in his head and he wanted to tell it. ‘I start following her. See what she’s up to, where she goes. I crash at mates’ houses. Sleep in the daytime cos I figure if they come looking for me, they’ll come at night. Not going to let them catch me sleeping.’

  I couldn’t keep up. If Martha put the money there, where did she get it from? But Brownie wasn’t giving me time to think.

  ‘I’m watching her,’ he said. ‘And what does she do?’

  Fucking student, my arse, is what I think.

  Brownie paused, and I realized he was waiting for me to answer. ‘What?’

  ‘That first night?’ he prompted.

  I shrugged my shoulders and started the engine, pulled back onto the road. Jo was right. We couldn’t believe a single word our client told us. ‘I have no idea.’

  He tapped it out on the dashboard. One word at a time. ‘She breaks into the squat.’

  I was driving so slowly I’d almost ground to a halt. A horn behind me made me step on the accelerator. ‘What?’

  ‘Serious. And not like a novice. She breaks in like a complete fucking pro: 4 a.m. Dressed in black, the entire kit. Crowbar, the works. She’s out again in minutes, not carrying anything. So why’s she doing that then? Eh? Who breaks into a house and comes out carrying nothing?’

  In that moment I believed him, believed his story. I had this flash of a picture of Martha dressed head to foot in black, stealthy as a cat. ‘Who?’ I asked, my voice quiet.

  ‘A copper,’ he said, like he’s cleverer than Einstein. ‘She’s a fucking copper.’

  Chapter Twenty

  I drove in silence for five minutes, running over the information I’d just heard, comparing it to what I had stored in my head. Brownie smoked silently next to me.

  Eventually the mist cleared. ‘A copper? Piss off.’

  ‘Don’t believe me.’