The Hard Cold Shoulder - L A Sykes

by Near To The Knuckle

  “The counter boy, Danny is it? He mentioned it being a special occasion?”

  “Yea, it’s the auction. It ends tonight. If you like ‘em young, you’d best get your bid in. Big, big money coming in from all over mate, I mean ridiculous amounts. But I suppose it’s the only way you’re going to find a virgin in this town,” he giggled. The same giggle triggered a flash of recognition; from the alley. I stared hard at him, and thought back a minute. No let on. It must have been his brother. He walked over to the condom machine, took out a handful of change and said, “Course I’m going to have to do with one of the strippers as usual. They’re a lot cheaper, but take my advice, if you want to go upstairs with one at the end of the night, use three of these fuckers per ride. They’re riddled pal, I’m telling you. Got a gobble without one once and I pissed lava for a month. If I had the dough I’d love a pop at the young one, though. Oh aye, I’d giv-”

  Revulsion reached for the pistol and I interrupted his speech with a bullet to the back of the head, sending it forward into the wall machine as coins descended like a brass and silver waterfall.

  Pink and red spatter glowed from the white tiles. I took off my overcoat and wrapped it around the gun. I walked with my head down, quickly back up the stairs and onto the balcony, booming beats melodied with the ringing from the gunshots. Billy stood with his arms folded, eyeing the staggering suit with disdain. I smiled and gestured with the coat. He nodded, then leaned in, shouting into my ear over the music, “You know that knobhead over there? He’s one of your lot, in’t he? He’d best start behaving.”

  “Must be new the new DCI. From another area, has to be. I don’t know him.”

  “Me neither. I know Don Iverson and a couple of the others. He used to knock about with my brother years back.”

  “Forget him, what about the King Street thing? I think we’ve met, haven’t we?”

  He shook his head.

  “Tommy Rellis is a pal of yours. I’m working for him. You saw me shaving, remember?”

  He looked genuinely puzzled and gave me a funny look, starting to worry I was mentally unstable. He looked over my shoulder. “Where’s our kid, squeezing out a turd is he?” He giggled the same distinctive giggle, nervousness sweeping into it.

  If the voice in the alley wasn’t a creation of my own mind, he was aiding and abetting this sickness and I felt justification and the seeds of rage sowing into my being.

  “Probably. Your bowels empty themselves when you’re dead.” I grinned and squeezed the trigger, giving him two in the chest and one in the stomach. I pushed him down, speeding up the slump and went back into the blue corridor. Looked at the entrance; the scouse bouncer was gone. Back to the receptionist. “Danny isn’t it? I forgot something.”

  “Oh yes, my fault, officer. Sling your coat here, I’ll get you a ticket.”

  “No, no, Danny. I forgot,” I pushed the gun barrel underneath the hatch pointing it at his gut, “I forgot. As I’m the guest of honour, I want my backstage pass. Do me a favour and open this latch up to the top.”

  His eyes widened and panic stung his voice.

  “It, it doesn’t open.”

  “Bullshit son. It’s on runners. It has to in case of a fire. Health and safety. God bless the fussy fuckers, eh?” I showed him my teeth.

  “Don’t kill me, please, I only work on the till,” he begged.

  “Fair deal. Open the hatch and I won’t kill you.”

  He stood frozen for a moment then got to work on a plastic crank. The booth hatch lifted and I scrambled over into the office. I put my coat back on and swung the gun towards Danny, huddled against the back wall, shaking.

  I walked straight up to him and he started to whimper, “You promised. You promised you’d let me live.”

  I nodded, let my gun arm fall and said, “I did. I always follow up on a promise. Besides, you’re not worth a bullet.” I swung my arm back up, catching him just under the ear with a sharp crack of the stock. His eyes rolled and he collapsed to the deck. I shoved him under the window with my foot and gave him a couple more boots. He’d live, but in what state I couldn’t give a fuck. I opened the till and stuffed wedges of cash in every pocket and headed out through a panel wood door at the back of the office with my pistol leading the way like a divining rod dredging for the depraved.

  Nine

  I ran down the narrow, dingy corridor and turned up a short staircase onto a long landing with three doors on my right.

  The first door was wide open. Through a dense fog of cigarette and weed smoke I saw a couple of strippers parading in front of a wall length mirror doing buttock toning exercises. White powder dusted the dressing table in smudging piles.

  I cracked open the second door slowly. The room was lit with soft pink lamps on tables either side of a giant bed covered with a plush burgundy quilt. The headboard had cuffs attached at either end, hanging limply. Behind it there was another wall length mirror from the ceiling to the floor. A single red rose lay with its bud on one of the white pillows. Bile rose in my stomach as I moved to the last door. I grabbed the handle and stiffened when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  A scouse voice said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa there, fella. No admittance backstage. Be a good punter and fuck off back where you came from.” His sweaty grip tightened and I felt his pulse in his wrist, blending with the muffled music thumping against the wall.

  I raised my empty hand with my fingers splayed. “Sorry, guv. Got lost en route to the pisser.”

  “Well get your way found sharpish or I’ll throw you out the bac-”

  I ducked and spun under his outstretched arm, pressed the Browning to the base of his spine and sent his intestines to the bare floorboards with two clicks. He dropped to his knees and lolled forward.

  Turning back to the door, I kicked it open and struggled to make sense of what I saw. Tabitha lay on a small cot in the far corner, writhing in restless sleep and dressed in a long yellow silk chemise. Beside her, a flame haired woman mopped her brow and whispered to the girl. On a dressing table, two syringes lay on a red bar towel, one empty. A tablespoon and discarded tin foil sheets barely concealed a burnt, congealed residue. The walls were bare and the room was lit by a dangling shadeless bulb.

  She paid no attention to my entering so I made myself known by digging the gun into her scalp and said, “You’re Tommy’s nurse from A and E, aren’t you? You fucked up the first time and gave her too much. She needed just enough to keep her quiet, but she’s a tough little scrapper judging by the scratches on your arms. Tommy went apeshit and called off the deal and got scared. He found that slither of decency from his rotting soul and finally woke up to what the fuck he was putting his own offspring through. The Joey won’t back down on the set up, though will he? Talk. Talk! Now! I swear I’ll fucking do you anyway, so get yapping.” My voice rose to a shout, seeming further away with every word. I slapped her hard across the ear, knocking her off the chair.

  She looked up at me. Mascara had smudged under her dilated pupils. She smirked and said, “Tommy knew the deal from the beginning. He knew full well what he was getting into. He only wanted out when he was told his cut of the auction money wasn’t as big as he thought it’d be. You’re fucked, you know that, don’t you? We’re protected, you cunt. So fuck him and fuck you.” She spat hard on the floor and rubbed at her head.

  I tucked the gun into my belt and grabbed her by the hair. Her finger nails dug into the back of my hand, but I was beyond feeling pain. She screamed, so I hit her hard on the back of the neck and she stopped struggling. I dragged her over to the dressing table and snatched the syringe. I jabbed the needle hard into her carotid artery and depressed the plunger. I watched Tabitha as she wept in her sleep.

  I picked up the chair and went back to the red room and barged open the door. I fired four rounds into the centre of the mirror and climbed onto the bed. I swung the chair into the mirror, shattering it into thousands of shards.

  A man sat in a leather swivel chair with ear
phones atop his head with his eyes open, frozen in posture. He wore a yellow towelling bath robe, open, revealing scrawny naked flesh beneath. His shock wore off and he lunged for me, ripping out the headphones from the stereo. Bobby Darin crooned “Dream Lover’ at top note. He drove his shoulder into my waist. Clawed fingers dug into my ribs, nipping at the skin. His teeth gnawed at my stomach through my suit. I drove the butt of the gun into his skull over and over and rolled on top. I stood up, looking down on him. Blood drenched his face. Wild grey eyes flickered and snarled lips pinned back over his filed canines in a vicious grin.

  He reached down and stroked his flaccid member.

  I pointed the Browning at him. “You’re The Joey, I take it?”

  He stared into my eyes and masturbated faster.

  “The show’s over,” I said. I winked and shot him in the groin twice, taking half his hand with it.

  He snapped into the foetal position, squealing and bucking, the grin long gone.

  I raised the gun but didn’t want to end his suffering and I had a feeling I’d need to save the thirteenth bullet. I kicked him hard in the temple and he quietened.

  I climbed into his room and turned down the stereo. Four laptops sat on his desk. Two played gangbang porn videos. One was the auction site with bids showing worldwide, the money flying as a digital clock in the corner ticked down the remaining three hours. The fourth displayed Manchester airport arrival times. There was a paper pad with handwritten notes about limousine collection services and another timetable I couldn’t make out. I collected the paper and snatched a lighter from next to an overflowing ashtray on his desk. Climbed back into the bedroom.

  He was wheezing into the duvet and I crushed his scalp with three heavy blows. I wrapped his limp form in the sheets, piled the duvet on top and ripped open a pillow, sending duck feathers swirling into the air. I stuffed the pillow with paper, shoved it underneath him and set it alight. I watched small wisps of black grey smoke form coils. As soon as I smelt the singe, I ran to get Tabitha.

  ***

  In the corridor, a brunette in an electric green thong wept convulsively over the scouse bouncer’s entrails. Heavy green eye shadow smudged and trickles of thick mascara drizzled down her cheeks. She cradled his head and I caught sight of her profile. Emma, the girl from the nursing quarters. I watched her grief enter delirium; shaking her head wildly, heaving out “Terry” like a stuck record. I spat on the floor by the embracing couple and carried on past.

  Ten

  I stepped over the prone nurse and knelt next to the girl. Her eyes were open but she wasn’t conscious. Whatever visions her dream world was playing for her to make sense of her circumstance did little for comfort. I carried her in my arms out of the room. Flames licked from next door and the fire roared, doing little to cover The Joey’s shrieks.

  Naked women ran toward then past us and round the corner shouting, “Fire!’ They raced down another staircase and I followed them with the girl’s head bobbing into my shoulder. I reached the landing and a familiar giggle sent my head spinning.

  I’d seen two of these faces distort into death just moments ago and now a third smiled and raised his eyebrows at me from the bottom of the stairs, arm extended, propping open the fire exit as the women ran past us barefooted into the gardens.

  “You made the party, big fella. The lads were worried you’d not come through to be honest. Congratulations. Didn’t think you were up to it to be brutal. Hope my brothers didn’t give you too much jip. I should have warned you really, but time was of the essence and this cloak and daggers stuff is not my thing normally. As long as you didn’t do ‘em too much harm you’ll not see me again. Might teach them a lesson in morality anyway, a bit of a hiding. I tried to persuade ‘em to help me get her out myself, but there you go. We all have to live and learn at some point. Cest La Vie. Go on, get gone.”

  I didn’t know what to say to the man, so I just nodded.

  Suddenly panic spread across his face as he looked back up the stairs.

  I followed his line of vision and froze.

  Emma stood on the landing, bawling through a contorted face, with a handgun pointing down at me. Racked sobs wavered her aim.

  The triplet reacted first and slowly ascended towards her. He lowered his voice and soothed, “Emma, come on, give me the gun, love. Come on, cock, let it go.”

  She screamed, “He killed them! That fucking bastard’s killed them! Terry’s dead!” The triplet fell back two steps with the blast of the gunshots.

  Plasterboard exploded over my head, popping a white dustcloud. A second later a scorching singe tunnelled through the front of my shoulder, spinning me into the wall.

  The triplet shouted, “Jesus Christ, put that fucker down,” and lunged for her wrist.

  I held onto Tabitha over my good shoulder and willed my other hand to raise the Browning with no response. They wrestled and my legs located themselves with the weeping of the young girl. I heard two more gunshots and the voice of the triplet roar, “You’ve fucking shot me! You’ve fucking shot me, Emma!”

  Don Iverson’s panting form rounded the corner and he snatched Emma by the throat, dragging her back. She gurgled in the choke hold and swung the gun. He locked her arm, twisting her wrist with a sick snapping. We locked eyes and he looked at me in silence for a second. He threw the woman aside and descended to stem the flow from the third triplet’s wounds, looking for all the world a vain exercise. I fought off a riptide of emotion mixing with shock reaction as I ran into the hostile weather.

  The women huddled together, shivering and arguing hysterically between themselves about what they should do with make up running down their faces in the downpour. A chubby blonde pointed at us and shouted, “Another O.D? Jesus, you’ll kill the poor little bitch.”

  ***

  I cradled Tabitha’s head and got to the taxi. The driver snored with his chin in his chest. I kicked the door and he woke with a jolt. He smiled at me until he registered the girl over my shoulder and the blood seeping down my shirt. Perplexed fear spread across his face and he fiddled with the keys. I slid her on the bonnet and waved the pistol. He stalled the engine and I opened the door, lying her gently on the back seat. I climbed in and said, “Don’t speak.

  Just do not say a fucking single word. Get us to the Royal Infirmary.”

  He looked up at the smoke billowing out of the roof of the Kangaroo Klub and did as he was told. I looked through the rear window, watching the sharp-suited gentlemen pour out into the horizontal rain, surrounding the fountain with mobile phones pressed to their ears and panic in their gestures. The cherub had stopped pissing.

  The engine kicked and we screeched down the track. The driver hit the brakes and I was thrown forward into the back of his seat.

  “What the fuck are you doing? Drive!” I yelled, reaching for the gun.

  “I can’t. There’s somebody blocking the road.”

  I looked through the windshield and saw the drunken Champagne Charlie still in the same suit from A and E, flapping his arms and sticking his thumbs out.

  “Run him over.”

  The driver twisted around, “What?”

  “Run him over. It’ll be good for a laugh if nothing else..”

  “Well, if you’re putting a gun to my head,” he shrugged, “you’re the boss.”

  He released the handbrake and gunned the accelerator. The suit looked up at the sky and waved his hands up prayer-like, beaming and waving. He quickly realised the car wasn’t stopping for him and his face dropped. He turned and broke into a sprint, white untucked shirt flapping in the wind. We gained to within ten feet and he dived into a clump of reeds. I watched him roll down an embankment through the back window, his form growing smaller as we sped back to town. The cabbie’s raucous laughter rattled through the car. Pain endorphins ripped through my bloodstream at breakneck pace.

  For a fleeting moment, I felt like smiling.

  Eleven

  We hit the town centre and passed Ki
ng Street, still heaving with all-hour customers oblivious to the chaos. Past the sprawling tower blocks on our right and round towards the hospital and up the hill and into the ambulance bay. Two paramedics wheeled a prone form on a stretcher with an oxygen mask.

  I climbed out of the car and picked up Tabitha. The cabbie looked at me in the rearview and said in a sing song voice, “I know, I know. Stay put or you’ll come and do me in. Bust a gap in my arse or whatever they say.”

  I winked, “Good lad.”

  I carried her across the blacktop over my good shoulder and into the A and E waiting area.

  People in plastic chairs snatched swift glances at us and quickly looked away. Another drunk was being pinned to the floor by the two security men as two of his mates looked on laughing with lager cans in their hands. The paramedics got priority and were rushed to resus, so I passed the empty reception desk and walked right into medical admissions, dripping a trail of luminous red splashes on the white tile flooring.

  The senior nurse burst into tears at the sight of the girl. She trembled at the sight of my sopping shirt. Panicked, darting eyes flickered between mine and the girl wriggling and whimpering against me.

  “Calm down, please. It’s not her blood.”

  She reached out, opening my jacket and pressing against my stomach where smears of The Joey’s claret soaked the cotton. I stiffened at her touch and gripped her wrist and said, “It’s not all mine either. I took one just above my collarbone. It missed the bone and it’s just a nick in the muscle.”

  She shook her head and gently took Tabitha from my shoulder and into her arms, laid her on the only unoccupied bed.

  I closed the cubicle curtains and said, “Get social services, child protection and whatever else there is. Get security and phone police from all neighbouring counties. Under no circumstances let anyone bluff you into letting her be taken. Tell them she’s critical or something. I’ll be posting her something here in a few days. Please make sure it ends up with her wherever she goes. Got it?”