by Conrad Jones
Peter stopped in the doorway for a second to shovel another forkful into his mouth. They tasted divine. He ate there most nights of the week when he wasn’t working. It was possibly the best fish and chip shop that he had used since that trip to the Lakes when he went to Vinegar West’s chip shop at Bowness. The memory made him smile. His dad had been sharp and agile back then. That was before the cancer came. The disease had devoured him internally until the pain was unbearable. That was the worst bit. Watching him suffer had been soul destroying to the point where he wanted the hospital to ring him in the middle of the night to say that he had passed. It had made him feel so guilty but he had wanted him to die so that it would be over. When the call did come, it was almost a relief. At least he was free from the pain now. Life had to carry on regardless. The world didn’t stop revolving for anyone, grieving or not.
Peter stepped out of the doorway and turned left, tucking into his chips as he started the short journey home. His flat was a hundred yards from the pub and two hundred from the chip shop. That was a key factor in where he wanted to live following his separation from his wife. His marriage equated to fifteen years down the toilet. Fifteen years of walking on egg shells to keep her happy. The miserable bitch wouldn’t know happiness if it crept up behind her and bit her on the arse. If it wasn’t one thing then it was another. At first, his job as a sales rep wasn’t good enough. It was commission only and his wages were too unreliable. Then he joined the prison service but she didn’t like the night shifts and he didn’t get promoted quickly enough. She could emasculate him with her tongue. Nothing he did was good enough. The crux of the problem was that she had wanted children but it didn’t happen. They went through three rounds of fertility treatment before the NHS pulled their funding and another one paid for by themselves before their money ran out. Her moods became worse and more unpredictable as time went by and then one day she turned around and asked for a divorce. ‘I’m not happy,’ she had said. No shit Sherlock. She had never been happy. She wouldn’t know happy if it punched her in the face. A week later, Peter was moving into his flat. It was a massive relief at first. He went out wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. The divorce went through a year or so later and everything was done amicably. No one had lied or cheated after all. They had simply grown apart. Things trundled on for a while and then a year later he bumped into her on Lord Street, in Liverpool city centre. She was obviously flustered and embarrassed but she managed to introduce her new husband, Rupert. That hurt more than he thought it would but not as much as spotting the huge bump in her stomach had. He didn’t ask how far gone she was, the words just wouldn’t come. She had pulled her coat closed so he couldn’t see it but it was too late. He had seen it. She was pregnant. As he walked away, tears had trickled down his face. She had been impregnated by a man called Rupert. He felt emasculated yet again. Rupert had refreshed the parts that Peter hadn’t reached. Frustration and anger bubbled beneath the surface, forcing more tears from his eyes. He felt jealous. That was an emotion that he never expected to feel about her. Jealous. He was jealous and angry that she was having a child with another man. Another husband. Another life. A family. That was his dream when they had married and it had been shattered. Now another man was living his dream with his wife and it didn’t seem fair. All that time and heartache that they had invested trying to conceive and he had nothing to show for their pain. He had nothing and now she had everything. It wasn’t fair. It was at that moment that he realised how desperately lonely he was. He gravitated to his only remaining parent, his father. They regularly went for a pint and played golf once a week. It filled a void in his life. Eighteen months later, his father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and his world was shattered once again.
Peter mulled things over as he walked and chomped on his takeaway. He had taken some emotional knocks but he had weathered the storm. There was only one way from the bottom and that was up. He would take each day at a time and he would grow stronger. It wasn’t too late to be happy. One day, he would meet his soul mate and he would have a family. Maybe he would meet a woman who already had children. That would be ideal. He would make a good dad even if the children weren’t biologically his. He genuinely believed that it would happen, it was just a matter of time.
A car pulled up alongside the kerb, disturbing his thoughts. The passenger lowered the window. His face was vaguely familiar and a shiver ran down his spine. He couldn’t put a name to the face but he knew that it wasn’t a face that he wanted to see. There were two more men in the back seat. Peter sensed danger immediately.
‘Good evening, officer Clough,’ the passenger said, making a mock salute. He had a twisted smile on his face. ‘It’s been a long time. You’re out and about late aren’t you?’
‘Do I know you?’ Peter said, glancing at him. He looked up and down the street, hoping to see someone that he knew but it was deserted.
‘You don’t remember me?’
‘No., Should I?’
‘I’m Charlie,’ the man said, grinning. ‘Charlie McGee.’ The name echoed around Peter’s brain. ‘Don’t tell me that you don’t remember me?’
‘I can’t say that I do.’ Peter lied.
‘That hurts my feelings,’ Charlie said sarcastically. He opened the door and climbed out. Peter kept on walking. He picked up the pace, trying to put distance between them. ‘Don’t walk away, officer Clough. I just want a quick chat.’
‘I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ Peter mumbled. He pushed chips into his mouth and looked over his shoulder. Now he could see him properly, the memories rushed back. Charlie McGee was a big man, an unforgettable man. Peter remembered him alright and he remembered that he was trouble. Big trouble. He was a bully inside, a nasty piece of work but he was also wary of the big fish back then. Charlie McGee wasn’t on the top tier of the underworld but he wanted to be. Peter didn’t doubt that he would get there in the end.
The car pulled ahead of him and the men inside opened the doors and climbed out, blocking his path. They formed a wall of muscle and ink. There was nowhere to go. Peter had no choice but to stop and turn to face Charlie.
‘Alright, I remember you vaguely. What do you want?’
‘Just a little chat. You could call it a business opportunity.’ Charlie stepped closer.
‘I have no interest in your business.’
‘You haven’t heard what I have to say yet,’ Charlie said calmly. He reached into Peter’s tray of chips and grabbed a handful, stuffing them into his mouth greedily. ‘They’re nice aren’t they.’ Bits of fish and potato sprayed from his lips as he spoke. ‘Grab a chip, lads,’ he said, gesturing to his men. ‘Officer Clough won’t mind sharing.’ The men crowded in on him and grabbed handfuls of his dinner. Peter snatched the tray away from them and glowered at them. ‘What’s up, officer Clough?’ Charlie sneered. ‘Are we not good enough to share your chips?’
‘What the fuck do you want, McGee?’
‘Like I said, I have a business opportunity for you.’
‘And I told you that I have no interest in your business.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Charlie said, shaking his head. ‘You could be missing a golden opportunity.’
‘I doubt that very much.’
‘I’ve heard that you have had a rough time lately.’
‘You’ve heard wrong.’
‘I heard that you might need to earn a few extra quid.’
‘I don’t know where you get your information from but I’m fine.’
‘Funerals and divorces are expensive,’ Charlie said. ‘You have had both haven’t you?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘I heard your old man snuffed it?’ Charlie feigned sadness. Peter was stunned. ‘My sincere condolences. I lost my father a few years back. I mean it, sincere condolences.’
‘Thanks,’ Peter muttered uncomfortably.
‘It’s never easy losing a parent.’
‘No.’
‘How did the fu
neral go?’
‘As well as can be expected,’ Peter answered, frowning. ‘Look, I don’t have the time or the inclination for this conversation.’
‘Sorry to bring up the funeral.’ Charlie raised his hands in apology. ‘I couldn’t go to my old man’s funeral.’ Peter shrugged. ‘Because you cunts wouldn’t give me a pass out for the day. I spent the day in my cell, crawling up the walls.’
‘That’s nothing to do with me. Decisions like that come from the governor. You know that.’
‘Oh, I’m not blaming you,’ Charlie said, looking around. ‘I know what a tough time it is, that’s all I’m saying. An expensive time too. Funerals cost a small fortune nowadays.’ Peter remained quiet. ‘I heard that you were struggling and could use a bit of extra cash.’
‘You’ve heard wrong. I don’t need extra cash and I certainly don’t need any cash from you.’ Peter held Charlie’s gaze. ‘So, if we have that straightened out and that is [EM6]all, you can take your gorillas and fuck off and leave me in peace to eat my chips.’
‘There you go again, being rude,’ Charlie said, wagging his forefinger in Peter’s face. ‘You could at least hear me out.’ Charlie winked at one of his men. The man sniffed and cleared his throat and then spat a thick green ball of phlegm onto Peter’s food. Peter glared at the man but kept his temper under control. Reacting to these men was unwise. He had worked with criminals long enough to know that they would attack at the first opportunity. Despite his rising anger, he held his tongue. ‘Ah, look at that. Your chips are ruined now.’
‘I’d had enough anyway to be honest,’ Peter said, tossing the tray onto the floor. His calmness rattled the men. He could see them getting angry. ‘Okay, you have sixty seconds of my time. What do you want, McGee?’
‘McGee?’ Charlie frowned. ‘We’re not on the landings now, officer Clough. There’re no uniforms out here, no locks, no bars, no keys, no truncheons or pepper spray. You’re on your own out here. This is the jungle and we’re the predators. We eat people like you for breakfast. You’re fuck all on the outside.’ Charlie paused to allow his words to sink in. Peter remained calm on the surface although Charlie had seen a flicker behind the eyes. It was fear. ‘I am a reasonable man, Peter. Can I call you, Peter?’ Peter nodded. He didn’t see the point in riling them. ‘We do a lot of business on the inside. You know what I’m talking about.’ Peter nodded again.
‘You sell drugs.’
‘We do sell drugs, you’re right. They keep the inmates quiet and the violence down. We are doing you prison officers a favour really,’ Charlie grinned.
‘Well, I’m sure we’re all very grateful. Get to the point.’
‘The prisons would explode without drugs. You must turn a blind eye to it every day. We have a lot of officers on the payroll but we don’t have anyone working on your wing. There’s a vacancy there that I need to fill. I’m offering you the position because we have history. We go back a long way.’ Charlie paused to gauge his reaction.
‘Have you finished?’ Peter asked, checking his watch. He looked from one man to another. Charlie shrugged. ‘I have given you my chips and I’ve given you my time and listened to what you had to say.’
‘And?’
‘The answer is no. Thanks for the offer but no. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.’ A young couple walked by hand in hand. Neither looked at the men. They were too intimidating to make eye contact with. Peter grasped the opportunity. He sidestepped Charlie and tried to pass. Charlie stuck out his arm and blocked his path. ‘Let me pass or I’ll call the police.’
‘Try and call them,’ Charlie said, in a whisper. ‘You’ll be dead before you dial the number.’ One of the men opened his coat to expose a machete hung from his hip. ‘I’ll fucking gut you and leave you to bleed out in the gutter.’ Reluctantly, Peter stepped back. ‘That’s better. Let me explain a few things to you, officer Clough. We have officers working for us, some get paid for what they do and some don’t. You really don’t want to be in the ‘not paid’ category. They are my bitches. You might as well get paid for what you do for us.’
‘I have no intention of doing anything for you, paid or unpaid. When I get home, I’ll be calling the police and reporting you. I bet you’re still on licence, aren’t you?’ Charlie snorted and laughed. ‘I bet you’re in breach of your probation. I’m not frightened of you or the muscle-bound retards that you employ in your gang.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes. It is. Do you know why?’
‘Enlighten me. Because I’m associated with a gang that is bigger than your gang. It’s called the police force. Now, get out of my way!’ Peter sidestepped him and tried to push his way through the men. Charlie aimed a punch at the base of his skull and it landed heavily with an audible thud. Peter’s knees folded underneath him as he crumpled to the ground. Charlie grabbed him by the hair and put his face close to his.
‘I don’t see any of your gang around now, officer Clough.’ He sneered. ‘Put him in the boot of the car. We’ll do this the hard way.’
CHAPTER 3
Brian Selby spent over an hour reburying the body. His head was in a spin. He had buried Stuart alive. Charlie McGee hadn’t killed him, Brian had. This fact was bouncing around in his brain like a marble in a jam jar. There was no excuse. When Stuart reached out through the soil, Brian could have phoned an ambulance but he didn’t. He had used an entrenching tool to murder him. He was a murderer. Try explaining that to mum.
Brian used the topsoil from the surrounding area so as not to leave any holes or divots that might alert a passer-by that someone had been digging. Then he gathered twigs and fallen leaves to cover the topsoil so that no one could tell it had been disturbed. He was nearly finished when he noticed the crushed cigarette butt.
Brian remembered seeing an empty mineral water bottle when he was foraging for leaves. He returned to the spot where he had seen it and picked it up. The top was missing but that was okay. He walked back to the grave and knelt over the cigarette stump, using the mouth of the bottle to lift it from the soaking dirt. He tipped the bottle and allowed the stump to fall inside before placing it in the rucksack. He muttered to himself as he cleaned the blood from the entrenching tool, sliding it into the rucksack with the drone. The bag slipped from his hands and clattered onto the floor. He stooped to pick it up, still muttering. ‘Do everything that he said, Brian or he will shoot you just like he did to Stuart and then he’ll kill Mum and put her through the meat grinder and feed her to the pigs.’
It would pain him to throw them into the river but he had no choice. He couldn’t risk angering Charlie. Watching him shoot Stuart was enough to convince him that he was capable of anything. He would have to bite the bullet and toss the drone into the drink. There would be other drones, he only had one mum. Charlie McGee was a murdering psychopath. He had threatened his mother. Evil bastard. Who could think about putting a senile old lady into an industrial mincing machine? Charlie fucking McGee, that’s who.
Brian wiped the sweat from his brow, put the rucksack on his shoulder and headed down the lane to the road. He tried to calm his breathing as he looked both ways and then clambered under the barrier onto the pavement. As he stood up, headlights bathed him in white light. He turned and looked into them, dazzled by their luminance. The vehicle was parked on the garage forecourt. He heard the engine start and its tyres squealed as it lurched over the pavement towards him. It screeched to halt next to him and his heart stopped when he saw the markings on the vehicle. The driver and the passenger doors opened at the same time and two, young-faced police officers climbed out, placing their hats on as they approached him.
‘Stay where you are please,’ one of the officers ordered. Brian froze.
‘What is your name, sir?’
‘Erm, Brian.’ Sweat trickled down his temples, mixing with the rainwater. He wanted to vanish. His mouth went dry and it was difficult to swallow. He felt dizzy. His heart was threatening to jump out of his chest.
‘Brian Selby.’
‘Well, Brian Selby,’ one of the officers stepped in front of him. ‘Do you want to tell us what you’re doing out here at this time of night?’
‘Walking.’ His top lip quivered as he spoke.
‘Walking where exactly?’
‘Nowhere in particular. I was just walking.’
‘Just walking?’
‘There’s no law against that is there?’ Brian tried a smile but it didn’t work. It made him look more nervous, guiltier.
‘What are you up to, Brian? You look nervous to me.’
‘I am a bit.’
‘Why would that be?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What’s in the bag?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Your shoes are very muddy,’ one of the officers said, pointing at his shoes. Brian looked down. They were very muddy.
‘I stepped in some mud.’
‘Did you step in it with your hands too?’
Brian looked at his hands. They were caked with dirt. He blushed red with guilt.
‘I tripped.’
‘You tripped.’
‘Yes. It’s very muddy on the path.’
‘What happened to your neck, Brian?’ Brian instinctively touched his throat. ‘It is scratched. They look like finger marks to me.’
‘Finger marks?’ Brian scoffed but it came out a high-pitched squeak. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘I’m not being ridiculous, Brian. You look you’ve been in a struggle and I need to know who with,’ an officer challenged him.
‘I must have got tangled in some branches, that’s all. It was dark.’
‘It tends to be dark at this time of night.’ One officer commented.
‘Where is your torch?’ the other asked.
‘What torch?’ Brian stammered.
‘Exactly. What torch. Why are you stumbling about in the woods in the dark?’