Dark Video

by Peter Church

  “Johnny’s dead, Devon.”

  Devon stood up and walked to the window, shifted the blinds. He paced back, leaned against the closed door, fiddled in his pockets.

  “Yes. Johnny’s dead,” he said, nodding slowly. “Do you think I should’ve let him get out the water?”

  Alistair said nothing. He had been hot after finishing supper and had stripped down to his underpants. Now he wished he hadn’t; he was uncomfortable and vulnerable sitting on his bed. He wanted to stand up tall and give Devon a piece of his mind.

  “Johnny owed a lot of money to people who don’t take kindly to being stuffed around.”

  “You fired at him with a gun, Devon. You threatened us, you made us act against our will. Johnny is dead because of you.”

  Devon sighed, tapping the back of his head lightly against the door.

  “I know. I know.” He shook his head from side to side. “But there was no choice, the deal was sixty minutes. We needed a better shot.”

  “How ironic.”

  “You do realize that we were Johnny’s collateral, don’t you, Alistair?” A shift in tone, sterner. “He was about to go down and we were next. The Nigerians were already starting to shake me down. And these are nasty people, my friend. Very nasty. And then the Mangle thing too, possibly even those murders we’ve read about. Very heavy stuff.”

  Alistair frowned. What could he believe? Where was the line between truth and fantasy?

  “I can’t believe you involved me. Why?”

  “Sometimes we need to stand up for our convictions, be a man, accept our responsibilities. Johnny was a threat to us all, not only me, and you know it.”

  Alistair shook his head. It wasn’t disagreement; more like despair.

  “You participated in the planning,” Devon pushed. “You offered input, you came on the dry runs.”

  Alistair remained silent.

  “You tried to get a person to agree to—what? Commit suicide? Be a part of an illegal snuff movie?”

  “I went through the motions. To humor you. I knew he’d never do it.” Alistair on the defensive.

  “You never stopped the boat on Saturday.”

  “I didn’t know you were going to shoot him!”

  “I didn’t shoot him! I only stopped him from getting back on board for fifteen minutes. Stopped him from ruining everything.”

  Their eyes met. Devon’s gaze was calm and steady, Alistair’s nervous.

  “I find that hard to believe. You knew!”

  “Yes, I knew, Alistair. I cast the second shark. He cued dead on time.” Sarcasm now a part of Devon’s offensive.

  He walked to the fridge, opened it and stared in. Closed it without removing anything.

  “You have to get rid of the video,” Alistair said quietly. His eyes felt heavy; he wanted to close them, roll over, disappear to another reality.

  Devon sat down again, looked at him. “I don’t think I can do that, I’m afraid.”

  Alistair’s jaw tightened. “Devon. If that film comes out…we’ll be up for murder. Worse. It’s the sickest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

  “It’ll never come out. Dark Video’s business is private.”

  “You’ve got to get rid of it.”

  “I can’t do that. We have a deal.”

  “Fuck the deal!”

  “We owe a lot of money because of Johnny. We’ve got commitments to Carlos. We’re in more trouble if we pull out than if we go through with it. What’s done is done, Alesandro. I can’t change it. No more than I can change what happened to Terri in the forest.”

  Alistair shot Devon a look.

  “Yes. I know she’s been here.”

  Alistair’s expression hardened.

  Devon was quicker. “Alesandro. Be rational now. If you panic, everything will fall apart. I’ll tell you how it is, how it’ll be. First thing, accept that Johnny had to go. He had to! As much for you as for anyone else. What type of person wants to get in the water with a shark? With a great white!”

  What type of person is prepared to film it? thought Alistair. But he was quiet now, resigned to Devon’s bullying.

  “Johnny was crazy. I’ve been intercepting his correspondence for the past few days. You might be interested.”

  Devon produced a small key from his pocket and held it up. “I found this on his desk. I also found a message to Sasha on his cellphone: if anything happens to him, she must fetch the key and retrieve the contents of a safety deposit box at the Rondebosch Post Office.”

  Devon walked to Alistair’s desk, lifted the grey folder and produced three letters. He flipped through them, reciting the intended recipients: “Sasha; Chief of Police, Rondebosch Police Station; Warden of Kopano.”

  He handed Alistair the last envelope; the writing was Johnny’s.

  “Can I get a beer?” Devon pointed to the fridge.

  Alistair didn’t respond, fiddled absentmindedly with the envelope.

  Devon picked out a beer, twisted off the top and sat down at the desk.

  “Johnny wanted the gamble, needed the money desperately. He begged me for it, eventually wore me down. And Carlos wanted the action. So Johnny played the great wheel of fortune…”

  Devon sipped slowly on his beer, his eyes trained on Alistair.

  “And after all his cockups in the last few months, fate really did have it in for him. Can you believe there was a second shark?” Devon shook his head.

  “I couldn’t believe the first one didn’t go for him. I thought of Johnny’s deceptions, him lording it over us, compelling us to pay him out and something snapped.”

  Snapped? It didn’t look like anything had just snapped, Alistair thought. And what about the gun? Where did that come from?

  Devon stood up, placed his half-finished beer on the desk. “Anyway, it looks like we won’t be seeing one another for a while. It’s in our best interest. And I’m sure that will please you. But, Alistair, I need to know whether you’re going to be a problem?”

  Alistair shook his head feebly, wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  “I’m not so sure,” said Devon.

  Alistair looked him defiantly in the eye.

  “Not deliberately,” Devon continued. “But look at you. You look like shit.”

  “My friend just drowned. I’m expected to look like shit.”

  “I don’t think you’re acting.” Devon took out his car keys and swiveled them around his index finger. He looked intently into Alistair’s eyes.

  “Alistair, you and I are very similar. You may not think so, but we are. Now you need to suck it up and be a man. Just relax. Johnny can no longer threaten us. His debts will soon be paid off and everything will be fine, no liabilities. But Terri Phillips…”

  “What about her?”

  “Don’t get sweet on her, Alistair. You’re already in breach of our agreement. If she ever works out how you actually met, it threatens us all. Just fuck her, if you must. And get it over with. But do it quickly.”

  Devon put his keys back in his pocket, picked up the unfinished beer, and drained it in two large gulps. His words seemed to have sucked the air out of Alistair’s lungs. “Why’s she a problem?” he managed. “I thought the forest video was a dud.”

  “Not a dud. Just not as explicit as Carlos would have wanted. But it turns out he’s got a client interested. The video’s been reserved. When a video is reserved, no one else can see it. It becomes private property.”

  Alistair stomach lurched; he felt ill. The thought of some sick freak watching Terri…

  “Where’s Terri’s bra?”

  “What?”

  “Terri’s bra? Johnny took it. You said you’d get it. It’s a loose end.”

  Devon frowned. “I’ll find it. And I’ll get rid of it. Like you must get rid of her.”

  He twirled the empty beer bottle in between both hands, as if molding pottery, contemplating the situation.

  “Alesandro. We’re in the clear.” He deposited the bottle into
the waste-paper basket. “I sent Carlos a rough cut of the attack. Unedited. He is frothing at the mouth. Says it’s the most sensational clip he’s ever seen. Sure, I have some ethical issues, but it was kill or be killed. And now we have created something unique—and acquired a lot of cash in the process.”

  Alistair felt a shiver run through his body. “I’m not interested in the money,” he said. “I don’t want anything to do with what happened out there. Keep it.”

  “I thought you might say that,” said Devon, extracting an envelope out of his pocket. “So I thought I’d bring you a little advance payment.”

  He opened a drawer in the desk and carefully placed the envelope inside.

  “Twenty K. Cash. You deserve it, Alesandro. For your troubles. And when the money from Carlos comes through I’ll keep your cut aside for a while. I think you’ll change your mind.”

  Alistair looked away from the drawer, arms folded, not saying anything.

  “But it never was about the money for you, was it, Alesandro?”

  Still no response.

  “Well, if in a year’s time you’re looking for kicks again, then give me a shout. Otherwise, I think it’s time to say hasta la vista, my friend.”

  Devon picked up the grey folder. A curious look descended over his face: disappointment, perhaps. Or sadness. He waited a moment for Alistair to say something.

  “OK then, I’ve got to run.” He leaned in and grasped Alistair’s hand, warm and clammy, pumped it once, then withdrew. He pointed to the brown phial on Alistair’s bedside table. “Best to take it easy with those for a while.”

  The door closed. Alistair rolled over, head in his pillow. His face burned.

  Silverman woke Alistair in time for dinner.

  “Another day’s sleep. You really have been out of it.”

  “Has Terri been here?”

  “She stayed an hour. Left a note.” Silverman reached for the note on the desk, but Alistair snatched it away. “Chill, I’ve already read it. Hope you feel better. Wah wah wah. Kiss kiss.”

  Alistair scanned the note: “Hope you’re feeling better x x x.”

  “Supper? Lamb chops.”

  “No appetite,” said Alistair. He placed Terri’s note on top of the unopened letter addressed to the Warden of Kopano.

  How could anything ever be the same? Alistair thought. He wanted to rewind. To last week, before the attack. But which attack? Before the forest. Before he’d ever met Devon. He was trapped.

  A message buzzed through on his cell. His father:

  Thinking of you, son. Hope you’re feeling better

  He put down the phone on his desk, lifted the brown phial, twirled it in his hand. Time to stop being anxious, he thought, replacing it on the desk. Time to get back into the swing of things.

  Tomorrow he’d ask Silverman to fetch his outstanding tutorials from campus.

  The brown phial of anxiety pills remained untouched on Alistair’s desk.

  “Babotie and yellow rice?”

  “Ew.”

  “Another note.” Silverman handed it over. He’d inserted his own additions: “I want to fuck your brains out” and a doodle of fornicating stick people.

  “She’s coming back later.”

  Silverman cupped his hand in a whisper. “I caught her checking you out. Your one leg was out the sheets. Like this.”

  Silverman tried to pull Alistair’s leg out from under the sheets but he kicked him away.

  “And she was also looking under like this…” Silverman lifted up the sheet at the bottom.

  “Get out of here, Silverman.”

  “I’ll secure your daily sustenance. Oh, by the way, I collected all your tutorials. They’re on your desk.”

  Alistair shot upright, eyes wide.

  “On top of the letter addressed to the Warden of Kopano.”

  Silverman looked nonplussed; smelled his armpit.

  “Look like you’ve just seen a ghost, Morgan. Time to get your shit on a stick.”

  Alistair exhaled deeply, rubbed a hand down his stubbly cheek. “Right. I’m coming to dinner.” He got out of bed, pulled on clothes.

  “Meet you down there.” Silverman farted as he turned on his heels.

  Alistair’s phone rang. He didn’t answer, waited for the beep of the voice mail, dialed 121.

  “Alistair. This is Derrick Young. I need to speak to you. Please get in touch as soon as you can.”

  AWESOME

  “Awesome! No other word to describe it.” Carlos was pleased. He’d watched the final cut of Grey Suit.

  “Really glad you like it.”

  “Like it! I’m bloody ecstatic over here. A tranquil scene erupts in an orgy of gore and horror. It’s visceral, it’s appalling, it’s your worst nightmare. It’s sweet fucking cinema genius! Down to the look on the faces of the deck hands. I’m thinking of starting my own Oscar party. You’re nominated. How are you coping?”

  “A little shell shocked, I guess.”

  “No surprises. But you’re surviving, I take it?”

  “I’m managing. After what Johnny got up to, I can’t say I’m particularly upset about his loss.”

  “I warned you about him. Only a lunatic would agree to such a bet.”

  “Yes, a lunatic is without doubt what he was.”

  Silence for a moment. Carlos ran a hand down his hairless chest. “You still convinced he was involved in the murders?” he asked.

  “Absolutely. After what you’ve told me before, about Johnny having contacts at Mangle, both of them Mangle clients, both with recent rape video downloads, his erratic behavior here—absolutely. I checked through his computer last night, internet history, emails, and I suspect he’s been in touch with them for a while, may even have sent them videos previously.”

  “Right, right. That could make sense. He sends in a twisted home production, a merry rape scene or similar, discovers who’s been watching his videos in his vicinity, then makes a house call…”

  “That sick cunt deserved what he got.”

  “Fair enough,” Carlos agreed. He was slightly surprised at the vehemence in Devon’s voice; satisfied, though, that Devon’s discoveries backed up his suspicions.

  “Well, let’s monitor that situation, shall we? Keep me posted if you find out anything else.”

  “Certainly. And I’d appreciate it if you let me know what you find out about Mangle. They worry me somewhat.”

  “We’re working on it. Trust me. They won’t be around for too much longer. Now, what about the other loose ends?”

  “Loose ends?”

  “The girl in Johnny’s video, for one.”

  “Sasha. We discussed her. I don’t think she’s a risk.”

  “I do.”

  “With all respect, Carlos, she’s a drug addict. She likely has no recollection of what happened to her. Probably just latched on to some other loser to keep her supplied.”

  “No chances, Devon. I think it’s time our man in Cape Town, your good friend, comes into play and earns his salary.”

  “Carlos, really…”

  “The stakes are high, boy. We need to mitigate risk. If Johnny was involved with Mangle, there’s a good chance Sasha is too. I am comfortable you say your other two, Richard and Alistair, are on side. But the two girls…”

  “Two girls?”

  “The other one. In the forest.”

  “We’ve got no connection to her.”

  “None? Pity. She’s gorgeous. Alistair not getting misled there?”

  “I was concerned briefly. But it’s not a problem any more. He hasn’t seen her.”

  “Well, as long as there’s no link. But the Sasha situation must be….resolved. It’s not your responsibility, though. I’ll leave it to—what do you call him? It’s Warnabrother, isn’t it?”

  Devon stood in the doorway to Richard’s room, Richard sitting on the bed in a pair of white underpants, laptop balanced on his folded legs. The windows were closed and the room was neat, but stuffy. A v
ideo camera above the computer on his desk blinked as Devon’s motion was detected.

  Devon smiled without emotion, waved at the camera.

  “Hi Ritchie.”

  He sat down alongside Richard, running a hand along his arm to his shoulder, his neck. “A masterly performance,” he said, clapping his hands together. “You’re in the wrong profession.”

  He tossed a selection of snapshots onto Richard’s keyboard: images ripped from Alistair’s Grey Suit camcorder showed Richard looking shocked, sniveling in the corner of the boat, retching over the side.

  Richard shrugged, gathering the photos and setting them aside, then continued tapping on the keyboard. “We did what we had to do. But the vomiting was no accident, I can tell you that much.”

  He stopped typing, shook his head briefly as if exorcising a thought.

  “We did what we had to do,” echoed Devon.

  “And made a million and a half out of it.”

  “Each!” Devon leaned in, checked the screen of Richard’s laptop. “You’ve checked everywhere for any last messages from Johnny?” Richard nodded.

  “Facebook, MySpace….What about Sasha’s profiles?”

  “Don’t worry, Dev. When I check, I check. Johnny’s left no electronic messages. The slate’s clean. Sasha’s clean too. Weird woman. Who hangs out with a guy like that?”

  Devon rubbed his hands together. Richard hibernated the computer and placed it on his bedside table, stretched.

  “How’s the rich kid doing? Ego holding up?”

  “He’s fine.”

  Richard shifted on the bed. “You’ve seen him?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “I checked in yesterday, at his residence.”

  Richard turned away, stared at the wall, then retrieved his laptop and restored power. “Why should we carry him, Devon?” he asked, angrily punching keys, navigating through a series of passwords. “We’ve done all the work and he gets a freaking fortune. More than a million rand! For doing nothing. For being traumatized!”

  “Calm down, Richard. Look at me. I have a loyalty to Alistair, as he has to us. From the outset we agreed never to cross the line. And we have crossed the line…”

  “We had no choice. Dark Video…”