by M W Foolster
Wearing their distinctive black baseball caps with the red logo of a bat, black scarves wrapped around their faces, are stood three of the Knarlswood Squad. The look of menace in their eyes leaves him in no doubt as to their intent. Fortunately, he is the quickest to react. A perfectly executed side kick makes contact with the face of the one closest, his nose exploding in a red spray as he’s sent flying backwards. Now looking completely stunned and confused, the remaining two are slow to respond, buying Gabriel a few precious seconds. He takes the initiative. Feet adjusted, he takes a defensive stance, almost inviting them to attack him. Opponent two duly obliges, lunging at him with the knife pulled from his jeans. Gabriel comfortably deflects the hand with the knife to one side with his right elbow, immediately responding with a left handed palm strike directly into the ribs of his second opponent. He feels bones break beneath the impact. No sympathy, the guy could have killed him. Two down, Gabriel turns his attention to the hesitant third thug who dithers momentarily before turning and running. Shocked onlookers back away, a woman screams and a guy shouts something about police into a mobile phone. Swearing under his breath as he slips in the pool of blood on the pavement, Gabriel goes down on one knee. Any respite he’d felt was short lived because six, perhaps seven, more have emerge from the station. Same black baseball caps, black scarves covering their lower face, a glint of something metallic in the hands of several of them. The odds heavily stacked against him, Gabriel turns and runs.
Past the newsagents. He has to hurdle several pavement advertising signs to avoid the oncoming and horrified shoppers. A Greengrocers ahead, shoppers blocking the pavement, is left with no alternative other than to leap up on the table. Slips and slides his way through the wooden crates crammed with fruit and vegetables. A shop assistant in a blue and white apron charges out of the door, bellowing at him. Stumbling from the table, he can barely keep his footing and collides heavily with a lamp post. He hears shouting behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder shows the shop assistant swinging a baseball bat. He catches one of the thugs attempting to run across the table in the knee and sends him sprawling. But then something whistles past Gabriel’s ear, followed by the sound of smashing glass ahead. No time to hesitate, he needs to keep going.
Past a clothes shop, jumping over the mannequin that’s fallen through the shattered window. Catches sight of a brick in amongst the glass shards. Hurdles yet another advertising board outside the estate agents. Now past a Mongolian restaurant, that's new, and he darts down a narrow side alley to the side of it. High brick walls either side of him. Throws the large industrial bins to the ground behind him as he runs. It’s a dead end, the wall ahead maybe six foot high. No choice, he will have to jump it. Hears the dull thud of trainers hitting the ground behind him, they’re getting closer, he doesn’t look back. Barely scrambles over the wall, lands heavily but manages to stay on his feet. Now sprinting across a large paved backyard. A blue door to a brick extension is to his right but most likely locked. The railway embankment to his left, too steep a drop, a five foot high wooden fence directly ahead. He opts to jump the fence. The fence wobbles precariously as he scales it, but he makes it over and starts running on grass. A long narrow garden. Ducks beneath the washing line. Almost collides with a small trampoline. No obvious entry into the back of the house to his right. Railway embankment to his left. A much higher wooden fence directly ahead. Possibly six foot. A wooden shed runs adjacent to it. Scrambles onto the roof of the shed. Leaps over the fence. A twinge in his ankle as his feet impact a concreted patio, he stumbles forward, kicking a terracotta plant pot, no time to stop.
Fence ahead lower, maybe five foot, manageable. Over it in seconds. A flash of something black and tan coloured to his right moving fast, he takes a sharp left towards the railway embankment. Another five foot fence ahead. Deep barking. A male voice screaming .Takes a brief glance behind him. A huge Rottweiler on a chain now has its teeth buried into a leg. Gabriel grins. “Good Doggie.”
Scales the next fence. The back door to the house on his right is wide open. A full washing basket on a black wrought iron table close by. And yet another wooden fence ahead of him. At least six foot, maybe higher, either way, it’s too high. Nothing he can use to get over it this time. Too steep a drop down the railway embankment. No choice. Through the heavy wooden back door. Slams it behind him. Sees that there are heavy bolts top and bottom, pushes them across. Leans against it. Saturated in sweat. Catches his breath. Hears a scream behind him. Turns to find a brunette woman standing there. Her bathrobe has fallen open, revealing a black bra and panties. She looks petrified. A heavy impact against the door, feet kicking at it from the outside. He looks through the kitchen window, and furious eyes meet with his. Mumbles an apology as he races past the distraught woman who is now backed into the corner holding a carving knife pointed towards him. Down a wide purple hallway. Through the front door. Into a Cul-De-Sac. Noticeably newish houses, judging by the orange brickwork. A narrow alley to the left. Most likely leading back towards the railway line. A road to his right, hopes that they would expect him to take that route. Into the alley. Broken tarmac, grass growing through, dark wooden fencing either side, runs the full length of it.
Reaches a black, metal, pedestrian bridge crossing the railway track. He’ll be highly visible crossing it but has no alternative. Ducks low as he makes his way across. Looking back along the track, the gardens are out of sight, he should be safe. Down the other side. And then comes distant shout,
"He's on the bridge."
'Shit'
Looks over the wire fence at the steep railway embankment. No alternative this time. Jumps over the fence, and slides down the steep grass verge on his backside, stops just short of the track. He will at least spot an oncoming train. His ankle still twinging, he runs at a sensible speed, pacing himself. He wants to put as much distance between himself and the bridge as possible. A level crossing in the distance, he estimates about fifty feet. Looks behind him, nobody following. Speeds up. Spots the rear of a supermarket to the right of the level crossing. Huge wooden gates, partially open, he runs into a delivery yard. An articulated lorry is backed up to a raised level, the staff all talking amongst themselves, one having a crafty cigarette, but all are preoccupied. He spots an open door next to the loading bay. Heads through it.
Walking slowly now, past a canteen, head down. The staff in there pay him no attention. Gents toilets to his right, five cubicles, enters the far one locking the door behind him. Toilet lid down, he sits, leans back and closes his eyes. His chest feels tight, the physical exertion having left him exhausted. Hears the toilet door next to him open and close. And then a male voice speaking loudly, “Hello.”
Gabriel feels that he has little choice but to respond,
“Err… Hi.”
“How’s it going?”
Gabriel could really do without this,
“Ok, I guess.”
“So all stripped bare and ready for me now?”
“What?”
“Difficult getting them off was it? Can imagine you getting all hot and sticky with the effort. You must be exhausted. But you are ready for me to do my bit, right?”
“Look, man, what the fuck is with you?”
“Like I said, if you want to take a breather and don’t mind waiting awhiles then I will help you get it up.”
“Fuck this.”
Gulping loudly, Gabriel is about ready to make a swift exit from the toilet.
“Look, can you hold on a minute, babe? Got some crazy geezer next door trying to talk to me.”
Startled by the loud banging on the toilet wall, Gabriel swears quietly under his breath on hearing the voice from the cubicle next to him.
“Look mate, what is your problem? Am trying to have a conversation with my Mrs in here. Bad enough as it is that I have got to leave her at home decorating on her own so can you maybe shut the fuck up? So she can hear me, you know?”
Having heard the door to the cubicle next to hi
m slammed shut, Gabriel attempts to call Louise but it keeps going to voicemail. Surely this wasn’t her doing, but what other explanation is there? Nobody else could have known. None of this is making any sense. Having now been in the toilet for over an hour, he’s feels as though he’s starting to go stir crazy, and kicks out at the door in frustration. Too many months spent in a cell. He would take his chances and head back to Borrington, to the Comfort Zone. One way or another, he would find out the truth. Head down, he leaves the safety of the toilet cubicle. Back through to the white tiled corridor. Up ahead, there’s a security guard turning his back to him and Gabriel is fortunate that he hasn't seen him. Another door a few feet down to his right, unlocked, enters the room quickly. Lockers on either side, a wooden bench against the far wall. Notices a blue jumper dangling from the top of one of the green lockers, and tugs on it. Smiles at seeing that it has a name badge attached, Mike, and that the label displays XXL. Finally having some luck. Pulls it on, extremely tight around the shoulders but better than nothing. Receives a few enquiring glances from several staff on their way to the canteen but they don't challenge him. Notices two female shop workers pushing a roller stacked high with beauty products, keeps his distance but follows them. Listens as they complain about having to work with the rumours of a riot brewing in the high street. That the store should be closed immediately, surely their welfare should be taken into consideration and that they should be allowed to go home to their families. Always about profit margins, never about staff. Now on the shop floor, he walks down a brightly lit aisle, picks up some bottled water and heads for the check-out. A cheerful assistant smiles up at him, Debbie on her name badge, and asks for his staff discount card. He returns her smile. They engage in some polite conversation. Him explaining that it's his first day, her offering to buy him a coffee in the canteen in fifteen minutes and discounting the bottled water for him anyway. He leaves Debbie serving another customer, heads towards a photo booth, grimacing at his own reflection in the mirror as he passes it by. Wanders out of the wide entrance and into a large car park. The sound of sirens wailing in the distance. What had the two employees said about a riot brewing? Bottle top unscrewed, he gulps down some water, and heads back to Borrington High Street
21 Selena Trott
"Look, said I was sorry, Gov."
"Sorry? Made a right feicking eejit of yurself in there. Whit wis yah thinking?"
DS Fuller shrugs his shoulders, now looking as though he is about to get into a strop.
"Look, I get it, ok? This Susan French has really taken yur fancy but dae yah really think that wis helpful?"
"As it happens, Gov, yer I do. And was only following your lead. At least I now know she's single right? And is into pub quizzes, and, well, that she doesn't like beds."
A tutting DI can only shake his head.
"But if that Sinclair guy is off the hook, who's it leave now, Gov? Kouchevski?”
DI Jordan's vein starts throbbing again, is tempted to bang the DS's head on the steering wheel but forces himself to breath slowly.
"OFF THE HOOK? Why have we sat here in the car watching the library for the past feicking half an hoor, John?"
“Well... Good question as it happens. Just thought you needed a rest."
The smack around the back of the head takes him by surprise.
"For fuck sake, Gov, that bloody hurt."
"Good. It wis bloody well meant tae. Jason Sinclair is as guilty as they come. He virtually confessed in there. Wis yah even listening?"
"Well, yer, and I did kind of wonder what it all meant but since we didn't apprehend him…"
"Sae tell me, John, why would we arrest him?”
"Hmm… Because he's guilty."
"Guilty o' whit?"
"The theft of the ghost from the Jolly Roger. As reported.”
DI Jordan removes the soft ball from his jacket pocket, his stress reliever, and sits there squeezing it hard in an attempt to calm himself.
"Reported, John? Who reported it?"
"Hmmm. Good question, Gov. You didn't say."
“BECAUSE IT WIS NEVER BLOODY REPORTED.”
The DS cringes,
“But you said…“
DI Jordan swivels and throws the soft ball he'd been squeezing, his stress reliever, at DS Fuller. But it whizzes straight past his nose and out through the open window
“I KNOW WHIT I SAID.”
“No need to shout, Gov. I can hear you. And you've lost your ball now. Want me to go look for it?”
Fist clenched tight, the DI thumps it down on the dashboard.
"NAE. Feick the ball."
"No need for that, Gov, was only asking."
“I… I… Arghh.”
DI Jordan hunts around in his pocket. Finds the crumbling sausage roll from earlier, and drops it out of the car window. Hand back in his pocket, deposits some mints, a lighter, four biros, half a dozen lollipops and several toy bricks on the dashboard before eventually pulling out a brown paper bag. He then sits breathing into it. A sighing DS Fuller reaches for the free copy of the Borrington Informer he’d picked up in the library, and heads straight for the crossword.
“One across, eight letters. Clue: all is elementary for this fictional Victorian sleuth. Right... A toughie, this one... Or... No, hang on… GOT IT... Read about him in school, Dickens right? Bugger, not enough letters. Come back to that. So, one down, seven letters, clue… Hmmm, interesting, this one. They may be considered guilty but without any proof, they're no more than these. Bloody hell, Gov, would you credit it, Sinclair only sodding well fits. Wow, that's so cool. Well ok it's only a coincidence but it makes you think. An omen right?"
DI Jordan’s eyes glare menacingly at the DS as he mumbles incoherently into the brown paper bag. DS Fuller decides that it would probably be a good idea to keep quiet. But then he spots Jason leaving the building, and in his excitement, the DS points towards their suspect yelling at the top of his voice.
"LOOK"
DS Fuller’s over grown finger nail catches the brown bag, And it is just unfortunate that it’s now full of air with the DI only having just exhaled. Consequentially, it literally explodes into DI Jordan’s face.
Now gasping for air as he attempts to wriggle free of the huge hands that have him around the throat and threatening to throttle him, the DS desperately struggles to make himself heard. Frantically pointing towards Jason, his rasping voice barely audible as he squawks.
“Sinc… Leaving… Gov.”
A phone call to Club Escargot confirms Jason's worst fears in that Jean is still the head waiter. A change of plan was needed. The call to the restaurant is quickly followed by few exchanged texts with Selena, Jason eventually arranging to meet her in the Comfort Zone. The cosy little wine bar at the end of Borrington High Street. Guaranteed to protect your privacy, it offers snug little candlelit booths with big comfy leather chairs in its basement area, providing a very discreet and romantic setting for the many couples who regularly frequent the bar. It's larger and more formal booths upstairs are supposedly the ideal location for private meetings and business lunches. He has decided to stick with strictly non-alcoholic drinks after over indulging the previous evening, that's despite his nerves screaming out at him for something stronger as he sits waiting on a tall bar stall. He looks around anxiously for a free booth but with no success, the bar heaving with the lunchtime crowd, can only hope that she won't think him presumptuous by suggesting the dimly lit basement. Selena arrives punctually, complimenting him on the choice of venue as she admires the art deco themed wine bar. A white wine now in her hand, the pair of them retreat to a candlelit booth on the lower level. Selena elegantly perches herself on the edge of a brown leather chair, Jason however is savagely sucked into the chair opposite her. Fidgeting uncomfortably, several lumps of ice having worked their way beneath his backside, and hoping that she hasn't noticed the spilt fruit juice threatening to stain his trousers.
"Impressive, Jay. So how many women have you wined and d
ined in here?"
"None. It's my first time in here, honestly."
The mischievous glint from earlier is back in her eyes,
"Really? And so you just happen to arrange to meet in what is probably the most romantic wine bar I've ever been into. What exactly did you have in mind?"
"Ohh. I... Sorry Selena. Look, if you feel uncomfortable we can go somewhere else. Didn't mean… I wasn't…"
Now flustered, he can feel himself blushing. Selena winks at him, and starts giggling.
"You are so easy to tease, Jay, and so cute when you get embarrassed."
He suddenly feels very under dressed as he watches Selena remove her designer jacket to reveal a figure hugging blue skirt, and white silk blouse. A waft of expensive perfume drifts across the table. He recognises the fragrance, Cathy's favourite, a brief pang of regret.
"You look fantastic, Selena."
"Why, thank you kind sir,"
She runs her finger around the rim of the wine glass before seductively sucking it dry. Her amber eyes sparkling in the candlelight, holding his in a hypnotic stare.
"Had forgotten how dreamy those blue eyes are. You've barely changed, apart from the beard that is, and I definitely approve. Always find beards so sexy, what made you decide to grow it?"
"Needed a new image, all part of my attempt to start afresh.”
“Start afresh?”
“Yep, to get on with my life. The separation from Cathy and well... Look, it’s all very boring really."
"I doubt anything about you is boring, Jay. No chance of a reconciliation with, what’s her name, Cathy?”
“No, not now, it's too late for that. We're getting divorced. She has moved on and… Well, so have I. At least, I am trying to.”
“Speaking of moving on, who is still at the library? Surely Tammy and Jazz can’t still be working there, not after all these years.”