Barry was a bad influence on Jester as a teenager. He encouraged wild drinking and smoking and often took him on shoplifting expeditions. He was Jester’s peer. He may not have been the best of influences but he was all he had at the time. Jester didn’t like the man and he wasn’t sure he ever had. He had needed him at one point in his life but he had never thought fondly of him. He wasn’t the sort of man that anyone liked; he was crude, rude, smelly, scruffy, illiterate, egotistical, and always drunk or stoned.
When Jester had made his millions he thanked Barry for all his help by writing him a cheque for twenty grand.
“What are you doing back here?” Barry asked, scuttling over to Matthew like a disabled crab, carrying a lit oil lamp loosely in his left hand.
“I just needed a place to lie low,” Matthew watched as the hairy man shifted next to him. He greeted him with a friendly hug. Matthew found himself gagging at the smell of excrement that hovered around Barry’s aura.
“Are you in trouble?” Barry wanted to know.
“No,” Matthew lied. “It’s nothing. I just needed to get away.”
“So, you came back to the streets?” Barry sighed. “I never understood you, Jez,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch of tobacco, laying the lit lamp down in front of them both.
Matthew looked at Barry. The passing years had crinkled his features, the alcohol had turned his nose into a beetroot coloured cabbage and the drugs had yellowed his eyes. Matthew looked down at the hands of his wrinkled old friend. They were riddled with jaundice and warts.
“I take it you never got a job then?” Jester said, hiding his sarcasm.
“No one will take me,” Barry said, rolling a cigarette. “You know how it is ... they don’t want you if you’re homeless.” He licked the ends of the paper, sealed the cigarette and stuck it in his mouth.
“Or illiterate,” Matthew chimed.
Barry frowned and shrugged. “I heard you hooked up with that singer. How are things going with her? I wouldn’t mind fucking that arse.”
Matthew cringed, the thought of Jennifer with Barry sickened him, but the images of Jennifer’s dead body flooded back into his mind and sickened him more.
“Well?” Barry said, not receiving a reply. “What’s she like in the sack?”
“Fine,” Matthew said bluntly.
Barry noticed a twinkle in Matthew’s eye, something that suggested he should keep quiet. With the burning cigarette in his mouth, he pulled a mobile phone from his pocket, tapped in a few numbers and then waited. He spoke after three rings, four words and nothing more, “Ready when you are,” before ending the call and sliding the phone back into his pocket.
“You have a mobile phone?” Matthew said.
“Just because I’m homeless doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the luxuries of life.”
“Do you consider a phone to be a luxury?”
“It’s fun,” Barry said. “Helps me keep in touch.”
“Yes,” Matthew said tiredly. “I heard. Wouldn’t it have been easier to send a text message?”
“A two-second local call is cheaper than a text message,” Barry said, taking a drag from his roll up. “I think,” he added. “I can’t use the texting thing anyway. The thing fucking pisses me off ... too fiddly,” he smiled at Matthew, exposing his set of not-so-pearly yellows.
“How did you afford that?”
“Nicked it,” Barry said bluntly. “These days, kids younger than nine are walking the streets fiddling with phones worth a few hundred quid. It’s easy pickings.”
Matthew shook his head. “Like taking candy from a baby.”
“Exactly. It’s my new job. I nick the phones from the rich kids and sell them. It’s not much but it helps me get by.”
Matthew nodded. He didn’t like being near Barry anymore. He couldn’t stand to be in his company. In the past he could put up with him, but now he found the homeless man completely disgusting.
“What did you do with the twenty grand?” Jester asked.
“Spent it.”
“On what? Twenty grand was a lot of money back then, hell, it’s a lot of money now. What did you buy?”
Barry shuffled about on the floor, finding a comfortable seating position. “Numerous things,” he said vaguely.
“Coke, heroin, booze, dope, speed, LSD,” Matthew paused. “Need I go on?”
“Okay, so I threw the money away on drugs!” Barry admitted. “I had a good year with that money, for one year I could buy what I wanted and take what I wanted. I was still living on the streets but my head was always on cloud nine. I know you wanted me to do something more… ” Barry struggled for the right word.
“Sensible?” Matthew offered.
Barry nodded and continued. “But that’s not the sort of person I am,” he said. “I like the streets and I like my drugs.”
Matthew lowered his head. “You’ll never see that sort of money again,” he said. “You need–” he paused, a loud clattering sound from the main room of the warehouse alerted his senses, a few shouts followed. Matthew turned to Barry who hadn’t flinched. “What was that?” he wanted to know.
Barry grinned a grin that sent shivers down Matthew’s spine. “That,” Barry said, pointing a grubby finger in the direction of the main room, “is my ticket to easy street.”
Jester heard footsteps, heavy and fast. “What do you mean?” he asked, starting to worry.
“I’m an old man, Jez. I don’t have long left. I want to enjoy my last days and I want to enjoy them in style.” He lifted the lamp, aiming it towards the doorway. The heavy footsteps stopped. A large man stood in the doorway, his figure outlined by the orange glow of the lamp.
“What’s going on?” Matthew asked.
“Do you think I’m a fool, Matthew?” Barry asked.
Jester turned to the hairy homeless man, thought about a sarcastic reply and then decided against it.
“I’ve heard the news. I know what you did,” Barry continued.
“So? What do you care?” Matthew said. “You steal from fucking kids. You’d kill your own mother for a pack of fucking fags!”
“I don’t care,” Barry said bleakly. “I don’t care about your girlfriend and I certainly don’t care about the two coppers you killed as well–”
“I didn’t–” Matthew cut in, thought about his words and then decided to shut up.
“What I do care about,” Barry said, “is the reward. Dead or alive Jez, which one will it be?” Barry pulled out a cutthroat razor, seemingly from nowhere. He thrust it forwards, threatening Jester.
Jester looked down at the blade and then across to the doorway. The man was still blocking it and it was the only escape route. Matthew studied the figure: broad shoulders, heavy back, hulking chest and heaving gut, and he looked twice the weight of Jester. “Who is your friend?” Jester asked.
“Acquaintance,” Barry corrected.
“Acquaintance? That’s a big word Baz, more than four letters as well.”
“Don’t try to get fucking cocky with me, you little shit,” Barry spat. “I know your fucking games.”
Matthew nodded slowly, passively.
“Dean!” Barry spat, his eyes still on Jester. The man in the doorway reacted and walked beside Barry. “Keep an eye on him,” Barry said. “He’s a sly fucker.”
“Cheers.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Barry said, rising to his feet. “My friend Dean here is going to look after you. I’ll be back,” Barry announced, leaving the room.
The man opposite Jester sat down on the floor, his eyes never leaving him. The oil lamp beside Jester still threw light around them, providing an eerie glow.
18
“So,” Matthew said, tapping his fingers on his shoes. “It’s just me and you then.” He looked at the man and didn’t get a response. “Want to play a game?”
The man frowned.
“Perhaps not,” Matthew said blankly.
They sat in silence for a while longer
. Jester and the beaming giant known as Dean, their eyes locked onto each other.
“How did you know I was here?” Matthew asked.
At first the man didn’t reply. After a few eyebrow-raises from Jester, he spoke. “We didn’t,” he said simply, his voice deep and clean.
“Uh-huh,” Matthew nodded. “And?” he pushed.
“At first we didn’t know,” the man explained. “Everyone had heard the news, someone saw you drive into the industrial estate, a friend of Baz. They guessed you were heading this way.”
“And luckily for me I walked right into Barry’s hands,” Matthew said.
The man nodded, a smile emerging on his lips.
“What are you going to do with me?” Matthew wanted to know.
“Hand you in to the police and collect our reward.”
“You do realise that I have a lot more money than the ten million reward, don’t you?”
“Of course, I saw the court case on television.”
“Well,” Jester leaned forward. “If you let me go, I’ll give you fifty-million, half of my winnings.”
The man contemplated this for a moment. “How can I trust you?”
“You don’t need to trust me,” Jester said. “You’re twice as big as me. If I ripped you off you’d break me in half.”
More contemplation followed. “I can’t.”
“Fifty-million is a lot of money.”
“So is ten,” the man replied. “It’s life changing money. I know I’m going to get the ten million, if I took you up on your offer, I have no guarantee that I would collect the fifty-million.”
Matthew nodded. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”
“Thank–” the man paused, frowned, and then sat in silence.
“One hundred million,” Jester said. “I’ll give you all of it.”
“No.”
“What is your cut going to be of this ten million, huh? Three, four million?”
“More or less.”
“Take the hundred. A hundred million will change your life.”
“So will three.”
Matthew nodded. “Okay,” he conceded. He dropped back against the wall, a defeated look on his face. The two men stared at each other.
Something clicked inside Matthew’s tired mind, his eyes flickered from the oil lamp to the arms of the man in front of him. His arms were by his side, poised around his knees, ready to react to any trouble that Matthew might cause.
Matthew held out his left arm. “Dean is it?”
The man looked weary at first but gradually he accepted Matthew’s gesture and reached out his left arm to meet Matthew’s.
“Yes,” Dean said, shaking Matthew’s hand. “I’m Dean–” he paused in a moment of fear.
Matthew Jester had picked up the oil lamp with his right hand. He swung it with all of his might, aiming for Dean’s face.
The bigger man couldn’t react. His left arm – the side of his body closest to Matthew – was still firmly tied up in Matthew’s grasp and he didn’t have time to move his right arm across his body.
The lamp collided with his face, exploding on impact. Drops of hot oil spat out from the broken lamp and ran scolding rivers down Dean’s face. He screamed in agony, clutching his hands to his face, his body toppling sideways. Sparks flew into his hair and soon his scalp was on fire. Still screaming in white hot pain, Dean slapped the top of his head violently in a clueless attempt to extinguish the flame. Inevitably, his hands burned too. Shards of splintered glass stuck into his cheek, jaw and chin. A smell of burning flesh mingled with the stench of scolding hair as the red hot rivers of oil scorched his face.
During the commotion, Matthew quickly jumped to his feet. His legs had taken a drop of the oil but it was nothing he couldn’t brush off. He stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the burning man rolling around in flames on the dusty floor, screaming in heart-filled agony. The dark dusty room was now illuminated by the fiery figure.
Taking one last look at the human fireball, Jester turned on his heels and headed out of the room, towards the exit. He stopped short ... he could hear voices. Barry’s voice, along with two or three others. He stood still, rooted to the floor. He quickly glanced around. He was standing in a corridor, the corridor that lead to the main room of the warehouse, but he couldn’t go there anymore. If he did he would run straight into Barry and whoever else had tagged along for the ride.
There were no more turnoffs in front of him, no more rooms to hide in. The voices were growing closer. Matthew’s heart skipped a beat when he heard the sound of their heavy footsteps on the floor, practically vibrating fear into him.
He cursed under his breath, turned on his heels again and set off towards the other side of the corridor. As soon as his feet left the ground, the voices of Barry and his fellow comrades increased. They had heard the screams of their flaming friend, and now they were rushing to his aid.
Matthew picked up his pace, running blind through the darkness; screams of pain and shouts of anger chasing after him. The corridor arched left after twenty metres. Jester knew this and, even though he could only see a few inches in front of him, he managed to make it around the corner.
He passed three rooms, all empty. He entered the fourth. Immediately he rushed to the far corner of the room – feeling his way around with his hands – and leaned against the wall, struggling to steady his breathing. His eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, but not by much. Instead of a dull black, he saw a dull shade of grey.
On the other side of the room he could see small spots of light. He felt around and discovered a large boarded-up window. Light penetrated through small gaps at the top and a larger gap at the side. He checked the side gap and attempted to pry it open, but he didn’t succeed.
He could hear more voices. It sounded like everyone in the warehouse had run to the burning man’s aid. He heard big Baz shouting, but his words were spat out with such ferocity and anger that they were incoherent.
Searching around the room like a blind man – hands raised in front of his body, fingers tracing every object – Jester failed to find an escape or a safe place to hide. It was only a matter of time before they found him, a check of all the rooms in the warehouse would take them a while, but the rooms were so open and empty that a simple glance, just one look, would expose anyone and anything in there.
Jester walked back to the boarded window and reached for the gap. He used his legs for leverage, grabbed hold of the board and pulled with all his might. Sweat beads popped on his forehead and his face turned a bright red, but he couldn’t pry the board open any further. It had been nailed shut, and it would stay that way.
More shouts filtered down the hallway, commands, orders. Barry was telling his thugs to search the warehouse, splitting them up.
Jester stood next to the doorway. There were no doors in the warehouse as all had been ripped off in anger or torn down and used for kindling to keep the occupants of the warehouse warm during the cold winter nights. He rested next to the door hinge. If someone looked for him inside the room they would have to walk by him first, giving him the advantage.
He slowed his breathing to a steady, quiet pace. He waited, listening as some footsteps encroached on his position. Barry had ordered some of his thugs outside. Matthew had heard that much – clearly they thought Matthew had escaped – but at least one person remained in the warehouse, and right now he was slowly creeping towards his target.
Jester waited until the thug stood just outside the room, until his torch shone inside and filled the room with light. He pushed his arm inside to flash his torch into the corners and crevices and Jester saw that he had a small hand, almost like a child’s. The little hand swooped about, the light from the torch scanning the whole of the room. Jester, pressing himself against the wall, staring at the hand underneath him, worked out a plan inside his tired mind.
He had been through hell. He’d run until he could run no more and he endured pain until he could endure no mor
e. During his ordeal he had managed to overcome three men, all much bigger than him. Now, with his tired eyes fixed on the small hand, Jester’s mind released a sigh of relief. He waited until the hand was withdrawn from the doorway before he moved. He side stepped carefully and poked his head around the door. He couldn’t see the figure in the dark, only the light in his hands which was aimed down the corridor.
Jester took baby steps out of the room, sticking close to the walls in the corridor. The man was in front of him, heading in another direction. Jester kept his back to the wall, his eyes on the man with the torch. He nudged his way along the corridor, cringing when he stepped on something. The object shattered beneath his foot, a popping smash of plastic or glass. He stopped and deflated when he saw the beam of torchlight concentrate on him.
Running Stupid: (Mystery Series) Page 11