A Smaller Hell

by A. J. Reid

  I nodded.

  ‘Good,’ he said, turning his back and disappearing into the darkness beyond the quayside lamps. ‘Don’t forget it.’

  Spine

  The apartment was empty when we returned. Rachel poured wine while I turned on the heating and found us a duvet.

  ‘Tell me how we get these tapes,’ I said, slumping into the couch.

  Rachel took a big gulp from her glass. ‘We need to get into the library. I know where she keeps them.’

  ‘And how do we get past the electric fence, armed guards, razor wire, starved Dobermans, alarm system … ?’

  Rachel smiled and rooted in her bag for a few seconds. ‘One electric gate,’ she said, holding up a remote control in her right hand. ‘And one alarm system.’

  ‘I took them when they were all … Doing whatever they were doing with each other in Doyle’s pool that night.’

  ‘It's a trap. She's baiting you. She'll wait until you're in there, then call the coppers she has on her payroll. Trust me: she meant for you to take those things.’

  ‘Don't you think I'd thought of that? Do you even know what I've been through the past two years? Maybe you don’t have the spine for this.’

  ‘The spine for what?’ I asked.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘So what am I? A henchman?’ I drained my glass and went to get a refill. ‘I don’t like being used.’

  ‘That's not it,’ she said.

  ‘Do you know what will happen if we get caught? I'll go to prison and never come out. I really thought ... that this was, we were ... you know.’

  ‘This is the only way that we can stay together,’ Rachel whispered in my ear.

  ‘I don't want to hurt anyone,’ I replied.

  ‘You sound like my mother. How about another drink?’ she said, turning her back on me.

  ‘Your mum’s had it rough, too. You can’t blame her.’

  ‘She doesn’t know what Doyle’s like. She says I’m just looking for someone to blame.’

  ‘So your mother blames herself?’

  ‘Of course she does,’ Rachel said. ‘But I know my dad wouldn’t have left us the way he did without a good reason.’

  ‘And Doyle gave him one,’ I said. ‘A reason, I mean. He only left to protect you and your mum.’

  ‘If he did sleep with her, he can go to Hell,’ she said. ‘But I know he didn’t: he wouldn’t have done that to us.’

  We drank the rest of the bottle, made love and fell asleep together on the couch. The sea air from the ferry ride, the warmth of Rachel’s body and the wine conspired to sedate me enough for my first decent sleep in weeks.

  Stuffed

  When Rachel and I woke in the morning, there was no sign of Emma. No thigh-length boots slung on the living-room floor, no empty bottles or rolled up notes lying around, no garish, barely-there underwear draped on the arms of the sofa. Admittedly, she always made an effort once she was up and about, but that usually wasn't until mid-afternoon. Upon checking her room, her bed was still made and the windows shut, which she always opened when she slept, no matter what the weather, usually making her door shudder with every gust of wind.

  I tried her mobile, but it went straight to voicemail, leaving me no choice but to carry on as planned. Not turning up to work was sure to seal my fate. I packed up my Father Christmas suit and knocked on the bathroom door to hurry Rachel up.

  While I was waiting, I stepped out on to the balcony of the apartment. The sun was rising, the city only just stirring into life. The car horns and the sirens and the squealing of brakes were few and far between, but an hour from now the mayhem would resume, as it did every day. The glow-in-the-dark hands of my watch read a quarter to seven. I inhaled deeply, catching the scent of the bakeries, the docks and the exhaust fumes from the tired buses wheezing their way around the city.

  Christmas Eve had never felt so doomed.

  I still had no idea what I was doing. I felt like an actor who was about to step out in front a packed theatre without ever having read the script. Pulling my reefer jacket's collar up round my neck, I folded the lapels inside each other to keep the jacket closed and looked over the circuitry of the city one last time before Rachel called me to help her find her coat.

  As we stepped out of the apartment building, the snow-covered cars, streets and buildings lulled us into a false sense of serenity. The world about us was not cool and picturesque today. It was ablaze with terrible possibilities, with faces hiding behind every corner and whispers from the depths of every shadow, our plan being to break into Doyle’s place while the Christmas staff party was going on.

  From the moment we entered the department store, every CCTV crocodile eye whirred at us as we walked past. Rachel and I walked the path to the staff changing rooms like tightrope walkers without safety nets.

  ‘What do you think we’ll find on those tapes in Doyle’s library?’ I whispered to her.

  ‘Anything that will help me find my father,’ she said. ‘Or get revenge on Doyle. Anything at all.’

  The sweat had begun to trickle into the small of my back and I felt light-headed, so I stopped walking and leant on a display cabinet full of expensive teddy bears. I rested my head against the glass and stared into the bear’s unsympathetic eyes until Rachel dragged me away.

  Tomato

  As I pulled on my Father Christmas outfit in the changing room, I enjoyed a few last moments of silence before casting off into the sea of shoppers and their kids. Everyone else was already dressed and out there. My shiny black boots tapped on the tiled floor, echoing around the showers and the locker room. I half expected Brett, my old boxing coach, to come shuffling through the door in his moth-eaten cardigan and battered old shoes.

  ‘You look like a squashed tur-mart-ih.’

  The changing room door was opened slowly and deliberately. Completely dressed now, I stood up and brushed myself down. I made sure that my beard was positioned correctly and picked up my security card. I was expecting someone in management since all the sales assistants were already out on the floor, hustling away in their affected pronunciation, so when I was confronted by the Cosmetics girls in the middle of the men's changing rooms, it came as a surprise. The Audrey Hepburn look-a-like produced a key and locked the door behind her.

  ‘All set for the Christmas party? It looks good on you,’ she said, picking at the gold belt buckle with her long fingernails.

  ‘I can think of something else that would look good on him,’ said the blonde one.

  ‘Have either of you ever been in love?’ I asked.

  ‘At least twice a week,’ said Audrey

  ‘He's so sweet. He still believes in ... that.’

  ‘I might ask you the same thing,’ Audrey said.

  ‘Not until recently,’ I replied.

  Audrey stepped towards me, her breasts heaving in her white shirt, her hips swaying in her black skirt.

  ‘I know who you’re talking about. She's beautiful,’ Audrey said, resting her cool hand on my cheek.

  I stepped back and picked up my sack of toys, declaring that I must get to work. Only after I'd already turned to exit did I remember that Audrey had locked the door. She slinked past me and handed me the key.

  ‘See you at the party, then.’

  Having met Rachel outside her changing rooms, we continued on our way to the grotto until we saw Robinson at one of the water coolers. He was filmed in sweat and his skin was grey. After draining the paper cup, he threw it aside and ushered both of us into his small, but highly-furnished office.

  ‘Sit down. We haven't much time,’ he said, scurrying around the desk that was too large for the cosy dimensions of the room.

  ‘What's this about?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘You should both get the hell out of here while you can,’ he said. ‘I don't know what she has on you, but it must be bad.’

  ‘And what does she have on you, Mr. Robinson?’ I asked. ‘What’s making you sweat this morning?’

/>   ‘It’s not appropriate ...’

  Rachel interrupted. ‘I think that ship has sailed, don't you?’

  Robinson was clearly uncomfortable with the adversarial tone in his hallowed tomb, where he had resigned himself to eking out his life under Doyle's thrall.

  ‘Mr. Robinson, you should tell us,’ I said. ‘We have a plan.’

  ‘Yes, the house,’ he sighed, twirling an expensive-looking pen on his ink blotter. ‘The library crossed my mind once or twice. Have either of you any cat-burgling experience?’

  Robinson didn't even lift his eyes from the blotter to drive home the sarcasm. Rachel and I looked at each other, remaining silent. She cast her eyes towards the security card she had hidden in her breast pocket and smiled at me.

  Robinson leant on his desk with his head in his hands. ‘How did it get to this?’

  ‘Mr. Robinson ... we don't need to know what Doyle's got on you. We know what she's capable of,’ I said. ‘Why don't you help us? Give us something we can use.’

  Robinson's hands dropped from his face, making him look more like a lost child than a department manager. ‘If she goes down, I go down.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘I could have stopped it. I could have saved him,’ mumbled Robinson, his eyes glazing over.

  I went rooting in the cabinet in the corner of the room and poured him a large whiskey, resisting the temptation to take a swig from the bottle. He picked up the crystal tumbler from the green ink blotter with a trembling hand and drained it in one go, holding it up for a refill.

  ‘Everything used to be just … Normal. The same fears and dreams as everybody else,’ Robinson said, draining the second glass.

  ‘My father ...’ Rachel began.

  ‘Your father …’ Robinson spluttered, choking on the fiery remnants of his glass, ‘… was no fool. I should have done what he did.’

  ‘Is he dead?’ she asked.

  Robinson got up and refilled his tumbler himself, his back to us. The whisky glugged from the bottle before he lifted the glass to his head and tipped it back.

  ‘Only Doyle knows where he is,’ he murmured, looking out of the panoramic window across the snow-covered town.

  ‘Then he's alive?’

  Robinson brought the glass to his temple as if to cool his brow, then resumed drinking from it. ‘He's alive.’

  Rachel broke down into tears on my shoulder. ‘I'm sorry,’ she said.

  ‘No need to apologise, Miss Mackenzie,’ Robinson said, draining his third large glass of scotch. ‘I should be the one apologising.’

  There was silence as we waited for him to explain.

  ‘I love my wife. And I love my children,’ he said, leaning his head against the icy glass of the window. ‘They must never find out.’

  ‘Find out what, Mr. Robinson?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘I don’t know if I can say it.’

  ‘Did you hurt anyone?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Not me. But I knew.’

  ‘Tanner?’

  Robinson turned to look at me with red, impatient eyes. ‘I should have told Albert myself, but she had me by the balls. The tapes ...’

  ‘Tapes?’

  ‘Video tapes she threatened to show my family,’ Robinson said.

  ‘We get the idea,’ said Rachel.

  ‘We were all consenting adults. It was never ... we didn't ...’

  ‘Forget it,’ I said, remembering the bizarre scene at the Captain's Rest. Robinson shook his head.

  ‘Well, I think things have escalated a bit since the good old days.’

  ‘Graziano and I threw Albert’s body in the river,’ Robinson said, slurring from the scotch and walking over to the window. ‘I helped them cover it up. God forgive me.’

  Rachel steadied him on his feet and led him back to his chair. ‘Where are these tapes?’ she asked him.

  ‘I'm taking a leaf out of your father's book and getting the hell out of here,’ Robinson slurred, picking up his briefcase and heading for the door.

  ‘No,’ Rachel said, standing in his path.

  Robinson postponed his drunken hustle for a second to look at us. ‘You must leave.’

  ‘Where is my father?’ Rachel asked.

  And with that he stormed past her and out of the office, only to return five seconds later to swipe the remaining bottle of scotch from the cabinet for his journey into the unknown. ‘Please forgive me,’ he said, closing the door behind him.

  All Ye Faithful

  The afternoon had been filled with all the chaos one might expect of a department store grotto on Christmas Eve. Tantrums, screaming fits, pushing, shoving, spitting … And that was just the parents. Mercifully, the queue had dwindled to only six kids and their mothers, who seemed desperate to get the whole affair over with as quickly and painlessly as possible, creaking under the strain of their shopping bags. Even the gormless security statue moved to glance at his watch.

  There was an announcement through the speaker system that all employees should report to the staff changing rooms immediately upon finishing their shift, which animated the statue further, causing it to look skywards to the crackly voice of God and sigh heavily.

  Shortly afterwards, when all the customers had gone, the speakers crackled to life again with the strains of Oh Come, All Ye Faithful, followed by Doyle's electrified purr:

  Would all members of staff please report to Clothing? Men to Men's, women to Women's.

  One of the security silverbacks appeared and said that he had been instructed to accompany us to our respective departments.

  The speakers hissed and crackled one more time before falling silent:

  I have a surprise for you.

  Christmas Bonus

  The only sound was the heavy breathing of the uniformed colossus and the hum and clank of the lift mechanism. I felt an urge to tell the security guard everything: the Captain's Rest and the violent sex games, the disappearance of Emma's lover, the blackmail of Robinson, the cocaine parties, Rachel's father, Tanner’s murder and about her cruelty to Sean, the tailor. Maybe he would join us in our plight to topple Doyle?

  I tightened my grip on Rachel's hand as the lift pinged and the doors opened. The security guard gestured to allow her to step out on to the floor where there were already fifty women giggling and fluttering around each other in anticipation of the party. I let go of Rachel and she wandered into the middle of the crowd, greeting one or two of her friends along the way. The security guard's breathing remained steady and constant as he pushed the button for Menswear. He couldn't even afford me a glance in his sweaty, bitter contempt.

  ‘Ms. Doyle asked me to tell you that all the exits are locked,’ he croaked, eyes still fixed on the brushed steel doors.

  The lift pinged after what seemed like an hour-long journey downwards and the doors opened. The male members of staff doddered around the men’s department, like murmuring moths. Amongst them was Luke, who was more like a butterfly. As had become customary, I went to shake his hand and he ignored the gesture, giving me a hug.

  ‘Alright, lad. What's going on here, then?’

  ‘Well, if you don't know, I shouldn't imagine anyone else does,’ I said, smiling at him.

  ‘Are you saying I'm a gossip?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Outside, there was darkness and only the sound of the snow falling. The streetlamps blazed needlessly, for the roads and the pavements were deserted. The last chance for late shopping had long since passed and it now felt as if we were the only living creatures in the town, save for the seagulls and the people who had no home to go to for Christmas.

  The Men’s Department speaker system crackled. Gentlemen, in return for all your hard work, there will be an extra Christmas bonus this year. I am well aware that you were counting on returning home to get ready for your Christmas party tonight. Instead, I would like to offer you all the chance to choose your own outfit for the evening. Choose anything you like. There is no spe
nd limit. The girls have already been offered the same and are pillaging as we speak. The changing rooms and the showers will be available for you to use to get ready. We will be making our way from the store in an hour in a convoy of limousines, each with a fully stocked, open bar.

  Luke turned to me, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. This was clearly a dream come true for him.

  Go and make yourselves beautiful.

  He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me through the crowd of uncertain moths towards the Armani section of Menswear.

  As Luke rifled through the suits, I looked for a chance to slip away.

  ‘Luke, would you do me a favour?’

  I tapped him on the shoulder while he searched through the racks of clothing. ‘Luke … ’

  ‘Yeah?’ he said, his head still buried under a pile of very fine cotton.

  ‘I need you to cover for me if anyone asks. I've got to go.’

  ‘Well, what do you want me to say?’

  ‘Just say that I'm not well or something.’

  ‘That's the worst excuse ever. I'll think of something better.’

  ‘Whatever. I'm off.’

  ‘Where are you going? Don't you want your suit? Don't you want your bling?’

  ‘You enjoy yourself, pal. Fill your boots.’

  Amidst the chaos, I made for the concealed room that Miss Allister showed me and texted Luke, asking him to create some kind of diversion for me. He texted back immediately: Drama level 1, 2 or 3? I texted back 2 and waited for Luke to do his thing. I could see him and his group through a gap between a moleskin jacket and a cream linen suit. Luke started his act by appearing unsteady on his feet, to which his colleagues responded by asking him if he was alright. Luke nodded and attempted to walk away, clattering deliberately into the biggest, and most intricate display for maximum effect. The excitable murmuring ceased abruptly in the room and all heads turned to the location of Luke's performance. Bodies started pushing through the suit jungle to see what was going on. In no time, there was a dense circle of bodies around Luke, all rubbernecking to catch a glimpse of the drama. I took my opportunity and dashed across the opening to the door, entering the code quickly. The door clicked and I entered, closing it behind me. The corridor seemed longer and darker than I remembered, so I moved as quickly as possible to the square of dim light marking the door to Lay Away. Upon entering the room, it seemed that the only light source was a small ornamental Christmas tree pulsing in the darkness.