Red Mist

by Jan Swick

  "Rape with a fucking vibrator, you fucking freak?"

  "We're not going to fuck, Ivor. I'm going to make love to you with it, and your wife's going to watch. Not sure you'll want to tell this story to friends at a barbecue."

  "I swear you're going to regret the day you were born, dead man."

  "I'm going to go nice and slow, and stroke your hair, and whisper in your ear, and after today you're going to think about me a lot. Usually right after you wake screaming because of another nightmare. Ready, darling?"

  "You're fucking dead. Hey, get the fuck off me, freak. You ain't getting no goddamn name."

  "Liam Hardy," Lisa said. "No profile on any of the social networks."

  Matt shrugged.

  They were driving through London, and Matt had a ghost of a smile on his face, had had it ever since they left Tchevsky's apartment. She thought it was the kind of smile a kid in an adventure playground might wear as he runs to the next play item. Matt was enjoying this, she knew. Each metre they travelled, he was getting closer to what he wanted. No treading water.

  In the end, getting the name had been easy, and all down to Lisa. While Matt was teasing Ivor with the vibrator, rubbing it around his ass cheeks, Lisa had simply whispered into Lizzie's ear:

  "Bet Ivor didn't tell you about all the trouble you'd get in for buying that van, did he?"

  That had done it. Lizzie started screaming at her husband, cursing him for bringing trouble to their door. It was almost a funny sight, two people trussed up like turkeys spitting venom at each other. Lisa knelt in front of Ivor and used the same line:

  "Ivor, I bet this guy didn't tell you about all the trouble you'd get in for buying that van, did he?"

  It worked a treat. Ivor stopped shouting. Lizzie stopped shouting. The married couple looked at each other, as if silently concurring that the nameless man had messed them both about.

  "Tell them, Ivor," Lizzie said, calm now. "Tell man's name."

  But Ivor remained silent. Lisa said, "Think straight, Ivor. We're going after this guy. Make it easy for us, so we're not all worked up when we find him and accidentally mention that you sent us to him. Remember we got to you because you weren't warned we were coming."

  "What the hell is so important about the van?" Ivor said. He shook his head. "Fuckwit's name is Liam Hardy. Don't you go tell him I said anything, okay?"

  Matt already had Ivor's phone and now checked it. He found the name Hardy in the phone book. Nobody would give up a real name if it wasn't the actual guy, because that would mean getting an innocent person in trouble. So Hardy was their man. Next rung up.

  "Tell us about him," Matt said.

  "I'll tell you you're dead if you try to get at him. He's a vicious little prick and he's got connections. Don't you go tell him about all this, me saying his name, okay?"

  He then proceeded to talk all about the man called Liam Hardy. After, Matt knew they would be safe if they let Tchevsky go. He couldn't warn Hardy, because that would alert the man to the fact that his name had been given up. Tchevsky would keep silent and hope the guy never made the connection. Nonetheless, they tied the Tchevskys up, just to buy some time.

  Now, Lisa said, "I always wanted to visit South Kensington. My mum always told me my dad worked here, some kind of financial advisor to a French businessman. There's a big French presence here."

  Matt had been told the story of her dad before. He'd left home, sick of his wife, when Lisa was pre-teens. He thought the same thing now as he had back then: she seemed to not mind, never got sullen about it, but was she jealous of people like Matt, who had both parents? Worse, especially now, did she resent people like him a little, who ran out on their families? He rapidly tried to think of a way to change the subject, but went blank.

  "And money," she said, staring out the windows at high buildings and flash cars parked against the kerb. "And casinos to spend it in."

  She had quickly moved off the subject herself, maybe because she didn't want bad memories surfacing, or maybe because she knew Matt was all business at the minute. Or maybe she had simply mentioned her father in passing.

  "Well our casino is in Harrington Gardens, a right up here on Gloucester Road." He checked his phone's Satnav again. "Half a mile. Park anywhere here and we'll walk."

  They found a spot and left the car. It was quite dark now but the air was cool. She took his hand, saying they should try to look like tourists, since there seemed to be plenty around. He snaked his hands into hers and she squeezed it tightly, gave him a grin. They walked in silence.

  Pegasus Casino was a far cry from what Matt imagined. His knowledge of such establishments came from TV, which invariably showed glitzy places blitzing the night with neon and lines of expensive cars drawing up beneath a vast awning. He expected to see men in sharp suits and women glittering with jewels. But Pegasus Casino was one of a number of businesses in a long, five storey building. It was right on the street, behind a tiny pavement. There was a Pay-N-Display car park across the road. The entrance did have an awning, but it was a simple canvas affair that barely shaded a set of double doors of black glass that bore the name of the casino and an image of a winged horse rearing up on its hind legs. It was hard to determine the size of the casino inside based on the entrance.

  There was foot traffic on the street, but most seemed to be passing through because the casino was the only place open except for a small restaurant along to the left. They watched a man and a woman exit the car park, both in jeans and jackets, and cross the road in the direction of the casino. The guy hauled one of the doors open and Matt caught sight of some kind of foyer, and a portion of a guy in black who looked like security. The noise of electronic gaming machines oozed out. Then the door was shut again, and the street was quiet again.

  "How shall we do this?" Lisa said. "Go in as customers? Not exactly dressed for it."

  The two customers who'd just entered had been dressed casually, but Matt thought it was still risky. "Let's look round the back first."

  At the long building's rear was a walled garden, raised to the eight-foot height of the wall. On the street running parallel behind the garden they found an iron sliding gate in the wall. The dark tunnel beyond went under the garden, sloping down, and presumably into an underground parking lot below casino. The gate was keypad protected, so probably for staff use alone.

  There was a stone stairway giving access to the garden from the street. They went up. The garden had a scattering of benches and Victorian lamp posts. If not for the building looming above them, it would have been quaint. They took a bench close to the wall, overlooking the street, not far from the gateway below them, and waited. Like lovers enjoying the cool night air. Two couples sat on nearby benches, enjoying each other's company.

  Like lovers also, Lisa took his hand again. They sat with their backs to a lamp post, their faces in mild shadow, so they could face the street. It was quiet. Only an occasional vehicle passed along this back road, and the tall building shielded the noise of the traffic on the main road.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, then Lisa asked him a serious question: "Matt, I want to know your plan for when you find the man who…did this. I never planned to ask. I felt obliged to help you, and then I was going to step away and go home and leave you to it. But now I think I couldn't just do that. I will want to stay in touch with you. But for that, I need to know what you plan to do."

  His pause told the story. Too long for that of a man preparing the correct words. Too long for that of a man actually asking himself the same question. It was the pause of a man who didn't want to answer, and that told her everything.

  "That's very risky," she said. "You risk prison. You…" She stumbled here and knew it. Threatening Matt with the personal consequences of his actions was not going to be a productive tactic. "What if we can make it so the killer goes to prison? What if we find evidence, or we can plant some in some way? I'd like you to be a free man so we can chat in places like this again. Not across a pr
ison table."

  "As long as they get punished, I don't care," he said, and was looking away when he did so in case, despite the shadows, she saw the lie smeared right across his face.

  "This is quaint here," she said. "Makes me remember the beach."

  She was trying to change the subject. Knew she had rubbed a nerve with her question. He also tried to get his mind onto something else. Pictured the beach. The first time they had made love, Matt remembered. Like something out of a Mills & Boon novel. On a beach, under the stars.

  But it was no good: his mind forced itself to return to the here and now. To Liam Hardy. He looked at the tall building. Wondered if the man he sought was in there, just fifty metres away. So nearly within reach. Matt could be just minutes away from ending all this.

  "Did you like sex with me?" Lisa said.

  According to Ivor Tchevsky, Liam Hardy was Security Director at Pegasus Casino. Not much was known about him. Apparently not part of the criminal underworld, despite knowing a hoodlum like Tchevsky. Ivor had admitted that he'd boosted Hardy's image a little to scare Matt and Lisa. Hardy had "connections" insomuch as he was on first-name terms with many people, mostly high-rollers at the casino to whom he had thrown a free drink or dinner. If every time Hardy stepped into a restaurant, some politician or gangster there knew him well enough to say hi, onlookers might suspect the pair had a close relationship. Matt could image how that might give the impression of power. Liam Hardy always knew of someone to turn to for whatever he needed, but he was no Al Capone.

  "I've got a boyfriend, so don't you go planning anything like that here," she said with a giggle.

  So when Hardy needed an untraceable van one day, he called Tchevsky. Tchevsky and three friends had done a decorating job at the casino eight months ago, and clearly Hardy, who had hired them, had kept Tchevsky's number, adding to his connections. Untraceable van, no questions asked, a thousand pounds in cash. Tchevsky had suspected the van would be used for something illegal, so he had gotten his wife to fill out the purchase paperwork, and then report the van stolen. Easy money.

  "Although after what he did, I've a good mind to shop around for another."

  If the van was indeed part of this whole thing, then Hardy was a vital piece and therefore guilty. But how guilty? Did Hardy get paid to plan murder? Did he pay to commit murder? Killer or cog in the machine – which role did he play? If part of the machinery, was he top rung or just another stepping stone like Tchevsky? Was Matt's journey to climax with the death of the man in the casino, or was he barely steps into a much longer journey?

  Or was Matt completely wrong about everything? This entire theory had come from a fragment of plastic, a scrap of paper, and some vague Internet story from another country.

  The not knowing was eating him alive.

  And there was something else to consider. Matt wanted the man he was calling the Watchdog, but he also wanted the killer, of course. That meant two men. And he had only one name. The journey would not be over following the death of Liam Hardy.

  "Car," Lisa said, jerking him back to reality.

  They heard the gate rumble open. Felt the vibrations in their feet. Flowers in a nearby bed shivered. Beyond the edge of the garden, they watched the top half of a black BMW X6 cruise down the road. Matt saw that the rear passenger-side window was cracked open slightly, which meant someone was sitting in the back. Someone amongst the staff who was important enough to have a driver. The vehicle drew level with them and turn left, seemingly right into the wall. It disappeared. They heard its engine below them, muted by the soil.

  The engine noise faded, the gate rumbled closed, and all was quiet again. "Now what?" Matt said. He had hoped to see a face when someone exited a car to punch numbers into the keypad, but clearly the gate could be remote operated, too. So they still had nothing.

  Lisa said, "Do we think that was him? Someone was in the back. Someone important." She had the same theory, then: a casino's security director might warrant and be able to afford a driver.

  "Not sure. We could fetch the car and then park on the street. Follow the BMW when it leaves. Someone will have to get out eventually."

  "If it's not Hardy, though, then it's a wasted trip. Five cars might come out at the same time and we wouldn't know which to follow. I have a better plan for finding out if Hardy's inside."

  He was all ears.

  Lisa smiled and stood up. "Let's go check out a blackjack table," she said.

  Matt had a case of clothing in the car, but Lisa's extra outfits were back at her B&B, so they settled for what they were wearing. They straightened their clothing, scraped off bits of dirt, and appraised each other in the lamplight.

  "Shipwreck victim after two weeks," Lisa said, looking him up and down.

  "Homeless prostitute," Matt said. She laughed and slapped his shoulder, but Matt wasn't smiling. The mention of a prostitute put an image of Karen in his mind. He shook it out. "Let's go."

  Pegasus Casino's foyer was a mix of decors tranquil and menacing. The tranquil came from yellow wallpaper, potted plants and colourful paintings. The menacing was a reception desk with three big guys in black suits sitting before a banks of monitors. They had to fill out temporary membership cards and stare into a camera that would probably set a klaxon blaring if it recognised them as barred players or known criminals. No klaxon. After that they got surprisingly realistic smiles and a bid to enjoy the night. Ornate double doors were pointed at.

  The joint was already thriving. Matt had never been in a casino before and he stopped to admire the vast room. Slot machines in rows like a robot army on parade occupied the front of the room. The noises and lights hurt his head almost instantly. They walked down a red carpet that cut the slots area in half. Beyond them was a stage area. Speakers and lights testified that the stage was sometimes used for shows, but tonight it played host only to a sports car revolving on a plinth. Some kind of prize to be won, somehow.

  The people on the slots were not as elegant as Matt had expected. No serious dress code in play here. He saw men in trainers and women in plastic cagoules, and unshaven chins and cheeks devoid of make-up. He no longer felt conspicuous. Lisa said the same.

  The red carpet forked. Either side of the stage it sloped down to a set of double doors manned by a pair of waitresses bearing a tray of drinks each. He figured the area beyond was for high rollers and expected to be stopped because of his jeans, but wasn't.

  Beyond the doors were the gaming tables. Lots of them. As soon as the doors shut behind him, the robot whoops and cries of the slot machines was gone, replaced by soft music coming from speakers high on the walls. It was like another world.

  There was another stage here. Back wall, between the two doorways. Girls in leotards danced to low music. Before the stage was a bar, with another two girls in leotards serving drinks. Matt found a space and ordered two beers. Half pints. Needed to keep his head clear. He sat with his back to the stage so he could watch the room. Here, the females wore a lot of glitter and the men were mostly in tuxedos, although there were enough casually dressed people to avoid making him stand out. Beyond all the tables was some kind of lounge area, with sofas and TVs and coffee tables with magazines. The walls were hung with giant paintings, all of which were crap enough to probably be copies of famous ones, although he recognised none of them.

  As he watched, an oblong portion of one painting, including part of the frame, opened and ejected a woman carrying a tray of sandwiches. A door. His eyes had been fooled. The paintings were literally painted on the walls, frames too. Now that he looked, he could see numerous unmarked doors in the walls, all virtually seamless, reminding him of some giant advent calendar. Some tactic to throw off the robbers, maybe? Was there a maze of corridors and stairs beyond the walls?

  But there was one door that stood out. It was in a corner and at the top of three short steps, and it was blocked by a big ape in a black suit. The door was plain, flush with the wall, almost giving the impression that the steps we
nt nowhere, but the effect was lost because of the ape. His presence indicated that something special lay behind that door.

  As he watched the room, Matt’s ears caught the conversations of the people sat at stools before the bar. He was able to fade out the overlapping chatter and concentrate for a few seconds on each individual conversation. Some guy talking about his house repayments. Some woman moaning about how insulting it was to have skimpily dressed females serving drinks. Some guy detailing what he’d like to do to the redhead prancing on the stage.

  He sensed something, some void, some emptiness, and turned to find Lisa had gone. His eyes took in the whole room, but she was not here. He cautioned himself about needless panic, rose from his seat while the bargirl was still pouring his drinks, and headed for the door.

  He found Lisa in the slots room, staring up at the car on stage as if she’d never seen such a thing before.

  “You won’t win it,” he said.

  “Someone has to.”

  “How did they get it in here? Too big for the doors, won’t drive down the carpet.”

  “Maybe they built the casino around it.”

  “Or built the car right here. Either way, that’s not something you do if you might be giving it away any time soon. Come on, I got you a drink.”

  She went reluctantly. When her eyes finally tore free from the car, they latched like a magnet onto the big slot machine that promised to give away the vehicle.

  They sat at the bar and had their drinks. Chatted and dawdled and wasted time, but they watched everything. After half an hour, Lisa suggested they should go back to the slots area, where there were more people, more conversations to eavesdrop on. They would not learn anything here.

  Halfway to the door, Matt stopped and turned, his attention drawn by a massive guffaw from someone. He watched in awe as a guy was dragged from the bar, laughing, by the redhead dancer. It was the guy who’d lusted after her. Beside him, his mate was saying something, denying something, defending himself, but also laughing. The luster went up on the stage and danced with the redhead.