Killing Freedom

by Ryan Casey

  So… city.

  ‘Come on, we should—’ Jared tried to pull Cindy away, but she walked over towards one of the stalls. The man in the suit and glasses brought his hands from behind his back and began to walk towards her, slowly.

  Jared stepped forward closer to Cindy. Something wasn’t right about the man: his posture and how he was walking set off alarms in Jared’s mind. He needed to take her home. They needed to get out of here.

  The man in the suit grabbed Cindy’s hand as she reached to touch one of the dogs on show.

  ‘You shouldn’t touch them, miss,’ the man said, smiling and looking up over her shoulder to Jared. ‘They have a nasty bite.’

  Jared stared through the sunglasses and into the suit’s hidden eyes. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  Cindy looked at Jared and then back at the man, the cries of the market almost completely faded in the tension of the moment. ‘Thanks, mister.’

  The suit nodded his head. ‘Stay safe.’

  He turned around and disappeared behind a crowd of beggars and hagglers.

  As they approached Mustapha’s place, Jared slowed down and held up his hand in front of Cindy.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked.

  An undercover police car was parked outside Mustapha’s. He knew it was an undercover police car because they were always the same brand: a shiny black Ford with a white light on top, the kind of which wouldn’t be seen elsewhere. Mustapha stood at the door shaking his head and waving his arms, scanning the area in discomfort. Some of the nearby locals turned to Jared, judgemental glares swallowing them from all round.

  Someone had ratted them out.

  ‘We need to… let’s just go down this alleyway,’ Jared said, grabbing Cindy’s hand and pulling her away from the entrance to Mustapha’s place. His heart raced. Someone had ratted them out and called the police. They needed to lay low. If undercover police worked in the same manner as usual, they would have another officer on duty elsewhere in the village, blending in with the public.

  The man in the suit.

  Jared pulled Cindy down a narrow alleyway, open windows blocking their path as the smell of sewerage polluted the area.

  ‘Who was that? Was that the police? Was it about Brian?’

  Jared pulled Cindy into a shadow in the alleyway. Somewhere deep within the window opposite, an old woman with leathery skin stared out at them with narrow eyes.

  ‘Well? Is it—’

  ‘The police don’t care about you,’ Jared said. ‘They don’t care about you or about me. The police, they’re working for the people who killed Brian and… and Carl. Don’t you see that now?’

  Cindy shook her head. ‘I just don’t get why—’

  ‘When Brian called the police, after you tied me up in your house, remember what happened then? Hmm? The police and them… they are the same people. Those are… those are the people I’m working against.’ If he kept on telling Cindy that, perhaps he’d be able to believe it himself.

  Cindy sighed and stared at the floor. ‘I just don’t understand why this is happening to me.’

  Jared reached his arm out and placed it on her shoulder. ‘It won’t be like this forever. When… when we get this sorted out, it’ll be better, I promise. But right now, this is why we need to get away for a while. Just for a short while. You with me?’

  Cindy looked at Jared, her eyes shaking as she tried to get a read on him. ‘What do we do now?’

  Jared turned to look at each side of the narrow alleyway, the steam from cooking clouding out the windows. ‘We wait until it’s safe to go back.’

  After waiting for around ten minutes, they sneaked back down the alleyway and towards Mustapha’s house. Jared peeked his head around the corner: The black car had gone. Mustapha was standing outside the building with a cigarette in his mouth, kicking at the stones and looking around. Jared emerged from the alleyway and crept towards him, gesturing with his thumb to catch his eye. When Mustapha saw him, he shook his head and waved at him to return.

  If Mustapha was still the same man as he used to know, then that bloodshot-eyed look meant that he was in big trouble.

  ‘What the fuck d’you think you were doing wandering out there anyway?’ he asked.

  Jared rubbed his forehead and scooped a forkful of curry into his mouth. ‘If we hadn’t been out there, we’d have been caught, wouldn’t we?’

  Mustapha’s nostrils twitched but he couldn’t quite find the words to reply. ‘That’s why you need to leave. That’s why you shouldn’t be here. Forcing me and your sister to lie like that, it’s not right. D’you realise how much shit you could’ve got us in right now? Real family man, aren’t you?’

  Jared didn’t bother arguing. It wasn’t worth it, not with Mustapha.

  After they’d eaten, Mustapha told Jared of his plans for the following day.

  ‘We shove you three in the trailer of a pickup truck, and it goes out west. You’ll stay at a little house we’ve got set up until it’s safe. I don’t know what the next move after that is, not yet.’ He tipped his whiskey glass to one side and sighed a smoky breath.

  ‘Something still bothering you?’ Jared asked.

  Mustapha dropped the glass against the table, rattling the cutlery. ‘This isn’t right, Jared. I’m helping you because you’re family, and I’m supposed to be looking out for you, but it’s not right. How you gonna get by in the long run?’

  Jared thought of the bag of money stashed underneath his bed. He never had told Mustapha how much exactly he had in there. ‘I’ll figure something out.’

  Mustapha shook his head. ‘Yeah, yeah. But it’s not real, man. You’re living a fantasy. You need to screw your head back on, because you know the sort of man you’re dealing with. He has people everywhere. He has contacts.’ He paused again and took a breath. ‘You’re not safe, Jared. You’re going to be looking over your shoulder every day for the rest of your life, and their blood is on your conscience.’ Mustapha gestured in the direction of the guest rooms towards Faith and Cindy, where they’d gone to sleep. They hadn’t gotten on like a house on fire, but then again, Faith rarely did accept new people so willingly. ‘Did you see him today?’ Mustapha asked.

  The words took Jared by surprise. ‘The suit?’

  ‘Yes, the suit,’ Mustapha replied. ‘I haven’t seen a fucker so well-dressed in town for years. The last I saw was some evictor man. And the second you three roll up, so does a fucking suit. And then the police… You’re not safe here, Jared, and it doesn’t matter what you think, you ain’t gonna get much safer wherever you are.’

  Jared took a sip of water. ‘What do you propose?’ He’d dealt with men like the suit before. He just had to make them believe the illusion that he was safe before planting a knife in their neck.

  Mustapha grunted as he stood up and walked towards the door. ‘I “propose” you get up tomorrow morning and get the fuck out of here. You might be family, but you’re trouble. I’m not going to let you screw things up for me again.’

  Jared nodded. ‘When do we leave tomorrow?’

  Mustapha stopped by the door. ‘My man Gurdit will drive you out at 5am. Make sure you’re awake, you lazy cunt.’

  Later that night, Jared’s thoughts buzzed while he reclined on the rough surface of the mattress, springs digging into his back. Mustapha had let him take one of the rooms upstairs, which was supposed to be a ‘deluxe,’ but it was still a painful experience to endure.

  This is happening. He was getting away—they were getting away. Him, his sister, Cindy: It wasn’t ideal, but it was something.

  And sure, people would come looking for them, but they didn’t matter. He had money. He could keep his family protected. In time, people would stop caring.

  Raymond would stop caring.

  Jared reached under his bed and into the money bag. At first, he thought it was just a loose strip of cash brushing against his fingers, but on closer inspection he saw it was a torn piece of notepaper. The words �
��I know’ were scribbled on it in light, fading pen.

  A shiver brushed its way down Jared’s neck as the brown curtains swayed in the breeze. He stood up and pulled the curtains aside when he saw him: A figure walking away down the street.

  He let out a sigh as he reached into his drawer, still dressed his boxer shorts, and pulled out his handgun. Then, throwing on some trousers and a white shirt, he sneaked out of the room.

  They’d leave tomorrow morning, but there was a problem he had to deal with first, and he was wearing a blue Armani suit.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jared sneaked from alleyway to alleyway in the glow of moonlight, getting closer to the suit. He had to keep his eyes on him. He had to stay focused, stay controlled.

  The suit walked on, unaware of Jared’s presence. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and paced down the alleyway adjacent to where Jared crept, only disappearing for brief moments when buildings blocked his view. Timing was important: run too quickly and he’d end up exposed, run too slowly and he’d lose him completely.

  He had been watching Jared. Perhaps he had been tracking his every move, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It was the only logical explanation. He had to deal with him. It was the only thing for it.

  He felt that craving growing inside. He didn’t enjoy it—he never enjoyed it. He couldn’t. It was just something he had to do. The ones who enjoyed it were the dangerous ones. He wasn’t one of the dangerous ones.

  He didn’t enjoy it.

  Jared closed in on the suit as they reached a dead end near a hotel, the walls smudged with grime. It was hardly the most aesthetically appealing building, but that way the suit could hide in plain sight. The suit turned the handle and looked over his shoulder before disappearing inside.

  Jared waited.

  One, Two, Three…

  A light flicked on upstairs. The balcony door was still slightly ajar.

  Foolish.

  Jared scanned the area for life: Nothing but discarded carrier bags dancing in the breeze. When he’d made sure nobody was watching, he pulled himself up on top of a recycling bin and edged onto the balcony, crouching to be sure his figure wasn’t visible behind the curtain. He heard a voice inside, someone beginning to talk.

  ‘We’ve located him. We’ll bring him down tomorrow.’ Then, the bleep of a phone and an exhalation of relief.

  The suit had his back to the window.

  Deep breaths.

  …Two, Three.

  The next thing the suit felt was the cracking of his skull as it smacked against the metal edge of his bed.

  ‘You’d better talk.’

  The man spluttered and tried to wriggle free of the binds Jared had tied around his wrists and ankles. His neck was propped up against the foot of the bed by a thick fluffy towel, wrapped around his throat. Jared wasn’t trying to strangle him, but the towel would provide him with considerable discomfort. As he opened his eyes, he didn’t look baffled by the situation, rather expectant. ‘You… Let me explain.’

  Jared stood up and shoved the crumpled piece of loose notepaper into the man’s face. ‘Explain this.’

  The man’s eyes darted around the words on the piece of paper as blood trickled down his face. ‘It looks like—like a piece of paper.’

  Jared shook his head and stood up to survey the room. It was pretty bare: a picture of the suit with a woman in the same sunglasses he’d worn down by the market, this time wearing a blue t-shirt. A watch on the side of his bed. The room looked lived in. A day, two days, maybe?

  ‘Who are you?’ Jared asked.

  The man whimpered. ‘Jason. Jason Kliene. I’m here—I’m here on a job.’

  ‘Too right you’re on a job,’ Jared said, crouching beside him. ‘Who sent you?’

  The man squeezed his eyelids together and shook his head.

  ‘Hey, hey,’ Jared said, slapping the man’s face. ‘Answer the questions, and you give yourself a better shot. You want a better shot, right?’

  The man inhaled deeply through his mouth and opened his eyes again, looking up at Jared. ‘I’m here for my boss. Dwight… Dwight Goodstein. I’m keeping an eye on someone for him. Someone we want to bring in. I swear—nothing dodgy is going on, not really.’

  Jared’s thoughts froze. ‘Dwight Goodstein… the mob leader?’

  The man spluttered with a slight laugh. ‘Only his enemies would refer to him in such a derogatory way, eh? What’s your problem with him, hmm?’

  Why was he so confident? And Dwight… Why would Dwight be watching him? The way the man smiled back at him, completely ignoring the binds around his arms… It wasn’t right.

  ‘I’m the one interviewing, not you, okay?’ Jared said. He needed to be dominant again, get back on the high ground. ‘So you’re here about Dwight. How di—’

  ‘Let’s quit fucking around: I know who you are,’ the man said, smiling. ‘We all know who you are. His Bitch. What happened to your eye?’

  Jared shook his head. His Bitch. Was that how they all referred to him? ‘Nothing, I—it’s none of your business.’

  ‘You should come and work with us. Get your revenge on the people who did this to you. We’ll look out for you. We’ll look out for your sister.’

  The words made Jared’s stomach turn. ‘Don’t say her name.’

  The man grinned, blood staining the cracks between his teeth. ‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘But my offer—’

  Jared thumped the man in the face, his knuckles cracking against his front teeth. ‘Just shut up, okay? I work for nobody now.’

  The man opened his eyes and began to cackle from deep within his chest. ‘You think you can just walk out on that, huh? You think after all the people you’ve killed, all the shit you’ve caused, you can just walk free of this life? Man, I thought better of you. We all did.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Jared said, his face flushing. Calm the fuck down, Jared. Calm down.

  ‘Turn the TV on, and you’ll see that it’s actually you that’s wrong,’ the man said.

  Jared paused for a moment before reluctantly reaching for the remote at the foot of the bed. He kept an eye on the bound man and flicked the telly on.

  Images of the house from above, neighbours on their pavements squeezing their children’s shoulders as tears poured down their faces.

  ‘Suburban Nightmare: The Hunt Spreads’ drove itself across the bottom of the screen, the volume playing out in Jared’s head. He didn’t need to hear it—he could imagine the words.

  ‘I can help you,’ the suit said. ‘You think your boss is just going to take the blame for that?’

  ‘He’ll figure something,’ Jared said, still transfixed by the screen.

  ‘Too right he will. He’ll figure out that ratting you out so you go crawling back to him is the best way of getting what he wants. The girl you were with on the market earlier, she looked nice. Little bit shaken up, but nice.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We can help you. I can help you. Don’t fuck things up.’

  ‘Just tell me one thing,’ Jared said as he turned around to face him.

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘The note on the paper. Were you just trying to psyche me out? Why didn’t you just take it?’

  The suit’s fragile smile twitched at the corners. ‘Like I said, I don’t know anything about that. You might want to keep an eye on those closest to you.’

  Jared turned back to face the television set. Close-ups of the front of the house now. Policemen leaving the house with bodies resting on stretchers.

  A bigger body followed by a smaller body, and then nothing.

  ‘I think we both know that I can’t just let you go,’ Jared said.

  The suit tried to cough up a few words of protest, but Jared chose not to listen as he tightened the towel behind his neck. The man spluttered, coughed and squeezed his fists together, every ounce of his strength dripping into his one last protest.

  After thirty-nine seconds, his eyelids closed around
his bulging yellow eyes.

  After sixty-four seconds, his body was limp.

  Jared splashed some water on his face as he looked out over the streets from his upstairs room. He’d left the light on in the suit’s room and the balcony window slightly ajar. In the morning, or the afternoon, the trashing of his drawers would make it look like a break-in.

  Tonight, it wouldn’t look like anything as the village slept.

  Jared opened his bedside drawer and placed the pistol he’d taken from the suit inside. It wasn’t too different to his old gun. It could come in handy.

  He moved onto the bed and closed his eyes. He’d be away from all of this soon.

  He definitely hadn’t enjoyed it.

  It was just business.

  The sound of the toy Ferrari as it cracked against the floor.

  Limp fingers, bulging eyes.

  His own smile.

  Then a knock at the door. ‘I hope you’re up and bloody ready.’ It was Mustapha.

  ‘Ye-yeah, course,’ Jared said, pulling himself out of his sweat-stained bed.

  ‘Good. Gurdit’s waiting outside, so get a move on.’

  Jared peeked through the curtains to the other end of the sun-lit street: No sign of any commotion, not yet. These things took time. Maybe it would be tomorrow, or maybe his employer would be trying to get ahold of him.

  He couldn’t afford to speculate.

  Cindy and Faith were already waiting in the back of the pickup truck when Jared walked outside, money bag over his shoulder. They were exchanging a few words, although they hardly looked engrossed in conversation. That was just Faith’s way. And Cindy was hardly going to burst into monologues with her current predicament.

  But they were there, together. That’s the main thing.

  Mustapha held out his arms as Jared approached. ‘Stay safe, son,’ he whispered. ‘Gurdit will look out for you for the time being. I… I don’t know how long you’ll be able to stick around the place I’ve sorted, but it will have to do for now. You need to realise that things are always going to be tempo—’