Chapter 14.
“She was a dream after all?”
“Yeah. Well I think so. But damn, she was so real. You know, I could – feel her, you know I could – smell her. Even after I turned around, and she was, you know, gone.”
“However” Strange mused, “people are not wont to disappear, without leaving any trace. Or… perhaps she did leave a trace?”
“Yeah, well, no, yeah, exactly, she did, I mean, you know, the broken glass, the champagne and everything, that was still there. I mean, how else would that have got there….”
“How indeed. Or perhaps you ordered them yourself. Or possibly not, as you rarely drink.”
“Yeah, exactly! It doesn’t make any sense! So she must have been there, right… But then” and he looked down, “then none of the rest of it makes any sense.” Nat put his hands over his eyes.
Strange started meticulously rolling another cigarette. “Please don’t start crying again. It really is rather tedious.”
“I wasn’t!” protested Nat, his voice shaking. “It’s just that…”
“Yes, yes, I know, this whole situation feels absurd and full of despair, and when you pause to think about it, you feel that weight of despair sit heavily on you. You don’t know how to resolve it, and it feels like a weight that just grinds you down…”
“Yes! Exactly!”
“And what else can you do except give in to it! Et-cetera, et-cetera, et-cetera. Grow up and be a man! You’re here, and blubbing won’t help that. Deal with it.”
“S-sorry.” Nat sniffed and wiped his nose.
“Good. I can see why Terri found you tedious.”
“Excuse me?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
There was a noise at the cell door and they both looked up.
“Ah. Now, much as I would love to hear the next part of your story, it will have to wait, as it seems we have a visitor.”
Nat looked nervously as there was a click, then a whirrrr, and the metal door slid open to reveal a man, silhouetted against the opening. His uniform was black, from the cap, to the sunglasses, through the stiff black shirt and tight fitting leather trousers to biker boots, complete with studs. The only clue to his vocation was a tiny emblem on his shirt, just over his heart, that said “HMP” in white lettering. The man was well built and he made a show of rippling his arm muscles before removing his sunglasses and smiling.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” He stepped inside the cell.
“Ah, Phil, what a pleasant surprise” said Strange, with a genuine smile on his face. “I thought Dolan was on today?”
Phil made a dismissive gesture. “He was held up on something else. How’s your new roommate settling in?” he nodded at Nat.
But Nat was gaping up at the man.
“He’ll settle in eventually” answered Strange. “Nathanial, I’d like you to meet… oh, but of course, you know each other.”
“You’re Detective Maker!” cried Nat.
Maker coughed. “Actually, I am Prison Services Director Phil Maker.”
“Address the man by his proper title” snapped Strange. “I’m sorry about him, Phil” he said apologetically to Maker.
Maker brushed his hand aside. “Not your fault, Richard.” He turned to Nat and squatted down so they were at eye level.
“Now listen carefully, sunshine. What I am out there” he gestured with his thumb, “is none of your concern right now.” He nodded to himself.
“But… you can’t…”
“Can’t what?” asked Strange.
“Yeah, can’t what?” asked Maker.
“Well, I mean, you can’t be a policeman AND a prison guard….” Nat flapped his hands in the air.
“Why not?” asked Maker.
“Good question. Why not, Nathanial?”
“Well, I… surely it’s, I mean, surely there’s a conflict…”
“Why’s there a conflict?” asked Strange.
“I don’t see a conflict” Maker agreed. “Out there, I arrest people. In here, I make sure the dirty scum pay for what they have done. I’d say it’s fairly well aligned, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t see a problem…” said Strange.
“Take yourself for instance…” Maker looked at Nat. “I mean, you’re a common, sneaky, good for nothing m…”
“Hang on” Strange put his hand up, “he’s still telling me his story. I don’t want to ruin it by knowing the ending.”
“Sorry. Suffice it to say that this man here” he pointed disdainfully at Nat “committed some pretty heinous crimes, and it fell to myself and my partner and good friend, Justin Dredd, to bring him to justice. And now…”
“But I haven’t been convicted yet! I’m just on remand!” Nat shouted.
Maker clapped his hands and smiled. “You see this is entirely the point. He damns himself with his own mouth. I haven’t been convicted, yet, he says. Yet! An admission that he deserves to be convicted!”
“It was just a…” started Nat but Maker talked over him.
“And yet, with a good lawyer and a corrupt judge, he has a good chance of avoiding conviction. Circumstantial evidence, they’ll say! Lack of motive, they’ll say! They’ll pick a jury of bleeding heart liberals, people who will respond to the type of spineless sniveling individual that we have here, and they’ll pound them with lie after lie about police incompetence or brutality, until the lies will start to seep through, like the drool that starts to seep through the blood red lips of a dying prostitute. And it will spread. And it will infect the jurors, who are susceptible in any case, and make them question the hard, conclusive evidence that we provide, and make them doubt what they know is right. And it will spread through to the journalists from left wing magazines, who sit there, rapt, scribbling notes furiously but at the same time trying to work out ever more ways of twisting what they hear into tales of corruption, to feed the hungry hearts of the proletarian masses that are desperate for the lies that make them feel that they are better than they really are, that there is a reason, beyond their own lazy selfishness, for the situation in which they find themselves. And it will seep through their minds, into their consciousness, and they’ll believe it, they’ll drink everything in, because they’re too feeble, or too naïve, or too drunk, to be able to see the truth behind things. And there will be placards, and debates, and demonstrations, and it will lead to enquiries, and convictions, and mass clear outs, and then good, honest, hardworking people in the police force and the prison services will face losing their meagre salaries and their pathetic pensions, for which they put their lives on the line every day, and they’ll have to work, cleaning the streets, or stacking shelves, or sitting behind the till in a supermarket checkout, serving the very people that should be behind bars, because we don’t have the guts, or the balls, to do something about it. And so we accept that this is the way it will be, this is what our world, and our society, will become. So don’t tell me…” he pointed angrily at Nat, “don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, I have to fight every day to make sure that there is justice for all, and I will do what it takes.”
“Bravo!” Strange stood and clapped, “Bravo, well said!”
“Thank you” Maker made a small bow.
Nat got up as well, and the three of them stood in the crowded cell, close to touching, Nat in the middle between the heavy sweat of Strange and the intimidating presence of Maker. He shivered but stood his ground. “But what you said makes no sense”
“It doesn’t?” asked Maker.
“It doesn’t?” asked Strange.
And they both seemed to step towards him, in unison, until their bodies touched, until he felt like he was being squeezed from both sides, and the smell, the odorous scent, was overpowering.
“You sure?” asked Maker in a low, dry voice.
They stood there, facing each other, for moments. Nat could feel his nerve draining away, as he stared into the man’s eyes. Maker was cold, calm, as
he returned the look. Then just as Nat knew that he would have to back down, Maker surprised him, and started laughing. He laughed and laughed, and Strange joined in, and despite himself, so did Nat and they all stood there, together, in the cell, laughing, until their sides hurt and tears came to their eyes, and Nat couldn’t remember for the life of him why he was laughing, or what was in any way funny.
“Ah, you’re all right, really” Maker slapped him hard on the back and Nat sat down, stunned.
“Right” said Maker, clapping his hands, “time for your dinner. Weekly trip to the canteen. Time for you to meet your new associates. Best to get to know them, you’ll be spending the next forty years with most of them.”
“But I haven’t been convicted yet!” protested Nat again.
“So you said, so you said” Maker replied, and then somehow, they both started laughing again, as they all trooped out of the cell, and its door slid shut behind them.
White Eyes Page 12