Killing Freedom

by Ryan Casey

  ‘Which one of them?’ he asked.

  Faith tutted and shook her head. ‘What?’

  Jared waited for the lukewarm water to grow colder. ‘Which of them did this to you?’

  Faith sighed and skulked off towards the kitchen table. ‘You see, this is why I don’t tell you these things. You always just freak out. It’s nothing, really.’

  Jared threw the cold towel he had been soaking onto the floor and marched towards Faith. ‘You’ve been fucking beaten, Faith. Of course it’s something. You’re just going to let that happen, are you?’

  Faith grabbed Jared’s hands. The bruises on his knuckles looked raw in the glow of the lightbulb. She let go and toyed around with an unlit cigarette in her mouth. ‘Big brother, you have to learn to let go. I get hurt sometimes. That’s just a part of my life. I just have to accept it. It’s shit, sure, but it’s just a part of what happens.’ She reached for a lighter. It was shaped like a woman’s body, and it lit up at the nipples when ignited. Ramworths Catalogue, 2004 edition. Probably stolen from a bloke. She took a puff at the cigarette and closed her eyes as the smoke hovered in front of her.

  Jared shook his head and retrieved the towel from the floor. ‘I just don’t get why you put up with it. I can help you—’

  ‘I don’t want your pity,’ Faith snapped, holding her cigarette between her fingers.

  Jared edged back, and then reached towards the red mark circling around her eye with a fresh towel.

  ‘Anyway, judging by your knuckles, you’ve hardly been an angel yourself,’ she said.

  Jared paused as he dabbed the sore patch gently. Still fresh. Maybe hours, could be days, depending on the health of her skin. Probably days.

  He attempted a smile. ‘We do what we have to do.’

  Faith laughed, coughing out a cloud of smoke. ‘Exactly. You and me do what we have to do. It’s not our fault that we were dealt a shit hand of cards. We do this shit because it’s life.’

  Jared pulled the cloth away from Faith’s head. A small red stain marked the center of the cloth. He took it towards the sink and rinsed it, letting the cold water seep through his knuckles.

  ‘Anyway, you fucking reek, bro,’ Faith said, stubbing the half-finished cigarette into a pile of ash in the center of the table. ‘Why don’t you have a shower or something?’

  Jared’s stomach turned at the thought of taking a shower in this shithole. ‘Nice to see you doing so well too, sis.’

  Faith pulled herself away from the table and walked up behind Jared. ‘I know, I know. But you’re usually so clean cut and so smart. You’re used to seeing me in the dog. Right now you’re rivalling me in the scruffiness department. I mean, that beard? Come on.’ She giggled as she wrapped her arms around his back.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve been abroad. Big job. But that’s done now.’

  Faith let go. ‘I’m surprised you still do things for him, especially abroad.’

  Jared flicked his eyebrows upwards. ‘You’re beginning to sound like me.’

  Faith walked back over to her cigarette packet and popped another in her mouth, clicking at the temperamental lighter for another drag. ‘I know, but you could do so much better. You could be a businessman, or anything like that. Or—what was it—a lawyer?’

  Jared smirked and poured himself a glass of water. Unidentified debris floated around in the bottom of the glass, so he tried his best to avoid swallowing it as he eased the liquid down his throat. ‘Oh, but I’m not strong-minded enough to be a lawyer,’ he said, in a mock accent.

  Faith nodded her head and wrapped her arms in front of her body, taking another puff of her cigarette. ‘Believe it or not, they were never quite the same after you left.’

  Jared’s face remained distant. ‘I’m sure they were even more disappointed when you left.’

  Faith edged her eyes towards her feet and shuffled her arms, rubbing them against each other as they folded. She looked skinny. She’d always been thin, but maybe it was the fact that she was in such an unflattering room. ‘So, when’s big Raymond finally going to give you that pay-off he promised?’

  Jared took a gulp of the water, forgetting about the bits at the bottom. ‘Someday soon. And when he does, I’ll get you out of here.’

  Faith scoffed. ‘Right, you keep on believing that, bro. You keep on dreaming of freedom. How many jobs has it been since you were promised a break? Ten? Twenty?’

  Jared continued fiddling with the tap. The fucker wouldn’t turn. He felt his nostrils twitching. Deep breaths. Calm and controlled.

  ‘Look,’ he said, turning round to face Faith. ‘I can get out of this whenever I want. Raymond understands. But he’s been good to me. He’s taken me in, and I owe it to him to get things done. He only wants what’s best for me. He’s been through some real shit, and I guess I’m all he has.’

  Faith shook her head from side to side before turning back to Jared, disbelief painted across her face. ‘Wow, and you’re lecturing me about breaking free?’ She placed her hands on Jared’s shoulders. ‘Hun, you need to listen to yourself. He’s your fucking pimp.’

  Jared shrugged Faith’s hands away and walked across the room towards the door. That was enough. Raymond had his ways, but he had Jared’s best interests at heart. He always had. ‘You’re not one to lecture me about pimps.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Faith said, jogging after Jared and blocking his exit, leaning her hands against either side of the wall. ‘I accept that. I realise I never had a shot, and I get on with it. Call it what you want, but I realise that’s what my life is. You’re living under a curtain, bro, and I’m worried about you.’ She grabbed his hands and moved in closer, trying to look him in the eye, but Jared kept turning away and dodging her gaze.

  ‘I said, I’m worried about you, Jared. Dreaming of freedom, and all this “normal life” shit, it’s not healthy. You… you need to accept that it’s not going to happen, sooner rather than later. This is our life. We’re no different, you and me. You have to accept it.’

  Jared and Faith stared into each other’s eyes. She looked just the same as she always had done, underneath that scraggy hair. Her eyes were a piercing, shocking green, her cheekbones pushing through her olive-skinned face. She could’ve gone so far in life. She could’ve gone so far. One day, she’d get the happiness she deserved.

  ‘I can’t accept it, Faith,’ he said. ‘I can’t accept it because I want to see you do well. I want to be there for you and… and whatever. Mum and Dad always said we’d go nowhere without them. This stuff I do, these… these jobs. They’re all temporary. I—I don’t enjoy it. It’s not perfect. But it will get us both out of here. I’ll get us both out of here, and one day, we’ll be free from all of this. You’ll be able to find a life of your own, and I… I’ll be able to start again. I promise.’ He leaned in to place a kiss on Faith’s forehead.

  Faith’s eyes were heavy when she pulled back. She walked back towards her bed again before turning to Jared. ‘You just stay safe. Stay out of trouble.’

  ‘You too,’ Jared said, pulling the door open and looking out at the dingy corridor.

  ‘When will I next see you?’ Faith called.

  Jared took a deep breath as he strode outside the door and clenched his eyes together. He could never give her a straight answer to that question. She knew it, but she still tortured him by asking every time she saw him. It was just the nature of his job, and her job. Unpredictable things happened. Jared spiralled round and turned to face Faith again. He let himself smile, just a little. ‘Soon,’ he said. ‘You stay safe.’

  He closed the door and sighed as he disappeared back down the grubby corridor and out into the darkness with the whores and the neon lights.

  Chapter Four

  The shouting echoed through the streets as Jared walked back to his place, his eyes cast towards the ground. A chubby man in a vest threw himself in front of him to make him jump, but Jared just eased round him and moved on, trying his best not to make eye contact. Good id
ea not to make eye contact. Didn’t want another scrap, not tonight. These guys were just waiting for that one person to acknowledge them—begging for it—before finding any excuse to ram a rusty blade into the side of their neck.

  The assorted coloured lights of the main strip, which the rain on the street reflected, reminded Jared of the time he’d infiltrated a nightclub. That was such a clean job. If only all jobs were like that. The owner was a fat, coke-snorting cunt, so he was easy to deal with. He owed Raymond some money. Ripped him off a few years back. Jared befriended him, acted as his bodyguard for a few days, then shoved the cold metallic end of his gun down his throat, forcing him to suck on it and beg for dear life.

  When the salty tears were rolling down the owner’s cheeks and his throat began to gag, Jared pulled the gun away and broke the news to him that he’d already poisoned his food.

  He dropped dead in a heap twenty-four seconds later.

  Then he walked away, smiled and nodded at the fellow bouncers, and left it all behind. That identity, too, choked to death on the floor with the owner, never to re-emerge again.

  Jared didn’t have to worry about getting caught—Raymond saw to that. He had contacts everywhere, even in the most unexpected of places. War, conflict, and the whole idea of ‘internationalism’—that was all nonsense when you realised how tight knit the powerful really were when they shared common interests. Not that he’d never had a close shave before—he’d been thrown in a cell in Brazil for two weeks, and there had been countless police chases—but Raymond always came good. A little nod of the head, a flash of the wallet, a pat on the back, and all was resolved.

  The truly dangerous people were the ones walking in plain sight.

  Jared peered around the street as he slipped his keys into the doorway. The rain fell heavily now, cars splashing the sides of the road and drenching people as they passed. A couple walked by, arms wrapped around one another, giggling and smiling. The man had slung his big coat so that the woman could fit inside it too. As Jared watched, turning the stiff key in the door, he noticed a small envelope slip from the woman’s pocket and flutter towards the ground. The couple carried on walking. Should he say something? Give them a shout? His jaw dangled open as the couple stepped further and further away, laughing in the rain.

  Screw it. He rushed down the steps, his throat swelling up. Calm. Stay calm. Just be… be normal. ‘Scuse me,’ he said, reaching down towards the dampened envelope on the sidewalk.

  The couple half-glanced over their shoulders then muttered something to one another.

  ‘Ex—excuse me, you’ve dropped this,’ Jared said.

  The man turned around, frown engulfing his bearded face. He took a sharp breath of realisation when he saw Jared holding the envelope. He rushed back towards him. ‘Thank you so much,’ he said, clapping Jared on the shoulder.

  Jared flinched. He saw the bump on the woman’s stomach. She must have noticed him looking, as her eyes dropped down towards her belly.

  ‘Ready to pop any day now,’ she said, grinning at him again.

  Jared scratched his neck, the hairs on his arms spiking upwards. ‘Well, stay sa—stay safe,’ he said. ‘Look after your kid. They—they grow up so fast.’ His eyes twitched back towards his keys, still dangling in his door at the top of the steps.

  The woman half-smiled and turned back towards the man, who cleared his throat to break the silence. He shuffled his coat over her shoulders again and nodded at Jared. ‘Well, thanks for that. We’ll—we’ll be off. Thanks again, Mister…?’

  ‘Tom,’ Jared said, feeling the confidence seep through into his body. ‘Tom. Nice to meet you.’ He smiled back at them. New identity. New skin. Always easier.

  He turned back towards his door as the couple stepped down the road, attached to one another. The sweat dripped from Jared’s armpits, and his teeth gritted together. He walked up the steps and twisted the lock, disappearing into the darkness of his flat.

  Jared stepped up the creaking stairs leading up to his room on the third floor. They were stained yellow and coated with dust, probably hadn’t been cleaned for years.

  He reached the green-carpeted hallway of the third floor. From somewhere down the other side of the corridor, the soft hum of the lift cut through the silence. At least it was peaceful. Sure, there was the distant buzz of the city, but that was hard to escape wherever you were. People kept themselves to themselves in here. They came, stayed, and went. Everyone moved on.

  Everyone except Jared.

  He edged the key into his door and let himself in. As he pushed the door open, he heard something drop to the floor. A white jiffy bag—no name, no information. Average weight, Airkraft Size Four, according to postal regulations. Pretty standard job material. He picked it up and carried it into his room, tossing it onto his tidy white-sheeted bed, disregarding the light switch. The lights from the launderette below enveloped his room in a green hue.

  The landlord once commented that his room was too empty. Bed. Wardrobe. Desk. Computer. But it had everything he could possibly need. There was no point getting attached to material goods because they just weighed a man down. If he did have to shoot off one day, there’s no way he’d be able to get out if he had, say, a telly, or a load of books and baggage to carry around with him. It was empty, but it was enough.

  He reached inside the wardrobe and browsed through his multitude of clothes. Sailor outfits from that job on the boat. Assorted mock-up uniforms for the times he’d been a chef or a gardener or a handyman. He got rid of the majority of them, but it was a waste of money not to reuse them when he could. Generally, he wore protective clothing over them anyway, so they were clean. When they weren’t, he had the geographical advantage of living above a launderette. The Chinese owners didn’t raise any eyebrows.

  If they did, Raymond would have someone see to them.

  His hands stopped searching through the wardrobe as he spotted the army costume.

  Burma.

  He probably should have thrown it away by now. He didn’t need to remember.

  The screams as he watched the house erupt in flames.

  No. Should probably get rid of it. Nothing for—

  Screams.

  He threw his jacket into the wardrobe and slammed the door shut. Deep breaths. One, Two, Three. Deep breaths in through the nostrils, out through the mouth. Hands relaxing, muscles easing. It worked better now than it used to. Raymond taught him how to calm down. Raymond was good at explaining that sort of thing.

  Jared stripped down to his boxers and slipped into bed. He didn’t look in the mirror at himself because he didn’t have a mirror to look in. He didn’t check his emails. There would be nothing of great importance anyway. Maybe a spam email or two. Something from a cam site, Viagra pills—nothing of pressing importance.

  Raymond said Jared’s lack of connections was an advantage because having responsibilities was a burden in life. Raymond said that man was born to be free.

  Jared reached to the foot of the bed, remembering the jiffy bag he had thrown to one side. He slipped his finger inside the top and began to tear it open, being careful not to rip any contents. The papers dropped into his hand. He reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on to get a closer look.

  There was a black and white scan of a family photograph. Three people: man, woman, child. Nuclear family. Smiling, therefore happy. Posing on what looked like a… a park. Or maybe that was a filter effect? Must remember to investigate. They looked nice enough. Harmless enough.

  The man had his arms rested on the young boy’s shoulders and was wearing a black coat. He was rather well built and smiled in mock-surprise. The kid laughed as the man clutched his shoulders.

  The woman held onto the man and rested a solitary hand on the shoulder of the boy. Distance? Or passive affection? Maybe not his mother. Must check in the documentation. She looked younger than her husband—no, boyfriend. No rings. She had a slender figure, her eyes bright even in the black and white of the photo.
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  Jared stared at them for a moment before scratching his face and placing the photo to one side as he shifted to sit upright in his bed. The documents were long-winded and several pages long, often consisting of all sorts of legalities and terms and conditions. Raymond’s way of saying, ‘if you die, it’s through your own consent.’ That was reasonable enough: This business was unpredictable and the jobs had to go on. Jared turned to the penultimate page and scribbled his signature on the dotted line before flicking back to page one.

  The chunk of instruction was always in bold and always around the middle of the first page. Sometimes it was only two or three words for the shorter jobs. This time, the description was somewhat longer.

  BRIAN MCDONE WORKS FOR CALLUM THOMSON, DWIGHT’S MAYORIAL CANDIDATE. MCDONE HAS INFO ON WHICH OF OUR SUPPORTING GROUPS HAS BETRAYED US. WE NEED ALL CURRENT SUPPORT. BLEND IN, FIND OUT WHO’S BEEN SINGING ABOUT US, & DISPATCH HIM (& HER IF NECESSARY).

  Jared yawned and stretched his arms as he flicked through the pages. It seemed like a regular enough job. He looked at her face again on the photo and he smiled. She looked a bit like one of his cousins. He couldn’t remember her name.

  The girl in the picture was called Cindy. Twenty-two years old. Works at a coffee shop in town. Raymond had managed to get Jared the job of organising Brian’s personal and business files, which should give him enough time to get as much information as possible before getting the job done.

  It wasn’t ideal, this whole killing business, but it was just the path he’d fallen onto. Sometimes, the jobs were more difficult than others. He tried not to remember the difficult jobs. It was important not to remember. But when he left home against his parents’ wishes all those years ago, Raymond gave him a chance. He fixed him up with enough money and time to make something of himself; promised he’d keep an eye out for Faith if anything ever got to be too much with her. He’d helped him get his life back together again. At first, just a few easy jobs—corrupt businessmen, twisted manipulators.