Blood Red City

by Rod Reynolds

  Lydia hauled herself out of the cab and looked across the estate. She hit the button to redial Michael’s mobile, but after a silent pause it went straight to voicemail, same as before. She kept her phone in her hand and made her way along the passage that cut between the blocks into the central courtyard.

  It was surrounded on three sides and the buildings seemed to absorb the noise of the outside world. Her shoe clipped a piece of broken glass and sent it skittering across the gravel, the sound ringing out like a bell. A man crossed in front of the block across from her, a weary-looking dog padding next to him, the pair alternating between light and shadow as they passed under the security lamps mounted on the wall above.

  It was all inside her, she knew that. But it wasn’t fear jangling her nerves, it was the sense she didn’t belong. The irony of feeling like she was intruding in Michael’s life when he’d trampled all over hers. Readying to confront him over Suslov, despite the risk to herself.

  She stopped in front of the block called Palgrave and looked up at the fourth floor, counting doorways from the left end of the balcony until she got to the one she’d seen him go into. She went over to the intercom panel and buzzed number forty-five.

  The speaker crackled into life, catching her unready. She brought her mouth closer to speak…

  The system beeped to indicate she’d been buzzed in. She pulled the heavy blue door open and entered the stairwell.

  Stringer came down the escalator at Canary Wharf station, the moon framed in the giant, glass latticework dome above his head. He had his phone pressed to his ear, Lydia’s message playing out, straight fire coming out of the speaker. She’d clicked about him and Suslov, she intimated as much; but the other thing she said was new – a link between Suslov and Tan going back three years.

  She’d been on his heels the whole way, none of his lies throwing her off course for long – and now she’d overtaken him. She was as smart and tenacious as anyone he knew, and it wrecked him to think she’d never trust him again.

  He deleted the voicemail but as he did, the screen burst into life with a call – Milos.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Bro, it’s me.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You get my stuff?’

  ‘Yeah, you did good.’

  ‘Cool, cool. Listen, that other thing we was talking about…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Mans nosing in your shit.’

  The line started to break up as he reached the concourse at the bottom of the escalator. He jumped off and ran a few steps back up the staircase to try and keep the signal. ‘What about it?’

  ‘I spoke to someone who was into it.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Chatroom thing, just a username innit.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Thing is … Listen, this ain’t right, that’s why I wanted to tell you…’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, say it.’

  ‘The thing the buyer wanted most was deets on your family.’

  Stringer gripped the metal handrail. In his mind he saw the glass high above splinter and break and rain down on him, a blizzard of razor shards that sliced him into a mush of skin and blood. Milos’s voice pierced the vision, a young couple on the adjacent escalator staring at the lunatic on the staircase looking up as if the sky was falling.

  ‘Bro, you there?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m here. How much did they know?’

  ‘Not sure, I couldn’t ask that. But look, I’m saying, you got anyone you care about, maybe get them to be somewhere else for a while, hear me?’

  The staircase was bare brick, no numbers on the landings to indicate which floor she was on. Lydia counted four sets of stairs and went out onto the communal balcony. A lock turned somewhere along it, and a cone of light spread on the concrete where someone had opened their front door.

  A woman craned her head out, looking at her, then peering past.

  Lydia stopped a few paces short and the woman focused on her again.

  ‘Did you just buzz my flat?’

  Lydia nodded. ‘I’m looking for Michael.’

  The woman stepped over the threshold and wrapped her arms around herself. ‘What for?’

  Lydia looked at her and knew she’d got it wrong. She had the same blue-grey eyes, the same high cheekbones; the family resemblance was easy to see, even in the dull light.

  ‘My name’s Lydia Wright, we’re working on a story together.’

  ‘A story? You’re the journalist.’

  Lydia frowned. ‘He’s told you about me?’

  The woman looked out across the estate and back. ‘In passing. Can’t you call him on his mobile?’

  ‘He’s not answering.’

  The woman re-wrapped her arms around herself. ‘What is it you want him for?’

  ‘It’s just to do with the story.’

  ‘Which is what exactly?’

  Lydia glanced at her feet. ‘How much has he told you?’

  ‘Enough. Enough that when a stranger knocks on my door at ten o’clock at night I know to worry.’

  ‘Were you expecting him? When you let me in?’

  She shrugged. ‘I just assumed.’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’

  The woman didn’t answer, disappearing back inside. Lydia stepped forward far enough to see she’d gone into the kitchen, off to one side just inside the doorway, and was looking at a phone charging on the counter. She put it to her ear, eyeing Lydia with a look that said to stay where she was. From the concentration on her face, it was obvious she was listening to a voicemail.

  The woman hung up, touched the screen and put it to her ear again. ‘Mike, call me when you get this. Thanks.’

  Lydia planted her hand on the wall. ‘What did he say?’

  The woman came out onto the balcony again. She leaned on the rail and looked out, scouring the courtyard and the grass and the parking spaces below, all of them occupied. She turned back to Lydia. ‘What paper do you work for?’

  ‘The Examiner. Here…’ She took her card out and held it up to catch the light, a circular yellow fitting above their head.

  The woman brought it towards her to look at, then let go. ‘Come in for a minute, yeah?’

  Lydia followed her inside. The woman directed her into the kitchen while she locked the front door. It was long and narrow, a large window looking out onto the balcony and the flats opposite.

  Lydia leaned against the countertop. ‘Listen, I don’t mean to be pushy, but what did his message say?’

  The woman held up a finger, already calling someone else. ‘Dad, it’s me. Has Mike been there?’

  Lydia looked her over again, the same slim frame, the ‘dad’ clinching it – brother and sister.

  ‘Okay, thanks. Look, will you call me if he shows up? No, I just need to talk to him. Give Mum a hug from me.’

  She put the phone down on the counter, staring at the wall as if it was on fire. ‘What the hell is going on with my brother?’

  ‘How much has he told you?’

  ‘I know someone died. I know that person was into something bad.’

  ‘And the message?’

  She looked away, swiping an imaginary film of dust off the countertop. ‘He said he’s on his way here now.’

  ‘Okay.’ Lydia was nodding. ‘Okay, cool.’

  The woman sleepwalked across the room to the kettle. ‘Do you want a tea?’

  ‘I’m fine. Thanks.’

  She flicked it on but seemed to forget about it as soon as she did. ‘Why did you come here tonight? Because this is really starting to mess with me.’

  ‘I couldn’t get hold of him, and … I need to talk to him. I didn’t know what else to try.’

  ‘I know he’s in danger.’

  Lydia held her stare, seeing tiredness and apprehension. ‘Did he say who from?’

  The sister closed her eyes. ‘If you know Mike, you know the answer to that.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘He didn�
�t tell you?’

  ‘Like you said, he doesn’t talk much.’

  The woman gave a quiet laugh, rueful. ‘Abi. That’s why it was weird he told me about you.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That you were caught up but didn’t know how bad it really was.’

  ‘Patronising bastard.’

  That brought a genuine smile to her face. ‘Yeah.’

  The kettle finished boiling and clicked off, and the silence stretched between them. Lydia opened the top of her bag to check her phone screen.

  ‘Anything?’

  A knock at the door startled them both.

  Abi leaned over the sink to look sidelong out the kitchen window. She brought herself back slowly.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s not him.’ She stepped into the hallway to stand by the door. ‘Yes?’

  Lydia came over and stationed herself behind her.

  ‘Police, Miss Howton. Open the door please.’

  Abi snapped around to look at her, eyes dancing with uncertainty. She spoke to the door again. ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘Your brother. Open up and we can talk.’

  Abi took hold of the handle but hesitated. She slipped the security chain on and opened it a crack, not showing herself. ‘You got some ID?’

  ‘Yep.’ There was a pause, each waiting for the other to speak. ‘I’m not going to put my hand through there, though.’

  Lydia found herself creeping slowly backward. Abi glanced around at her, haunted, seeing her backpedalling. She gave a slight nod. Then she turned to the front again. ‘Put it up against the kitchen window. It’s the one on your right.’

  Lydia reached the end of the hallway and found herself in the living room. She stepped off to the side, craning to look.

  Abi turned back to her again, shooting her a question with her eyes. Lydia shook her head, mouthing, No—

  The door crashed inwards. Lydia jumped back in shock, hearing Abi cry out and then fall silent. She could hear a man’s voice in the hallway. Someone turned the catch to lock the front door.

  Lydia glanced around, shaking. There was a reclining chair at an angle across one corner. Without making a sound, she stepped on the cushion and climbed over the back of it, pulling herself into a ball and screaming in her head.

  Then she saw the toys.

  There were crates of stuffed animals and plastic dolls and action figures of TV characters. There was a kiddy’s table, pretend food and miniature cups and plates arranged across it. She looked up at the ceiling, feeling like she was seeing through it. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

  The man’s voice was muffled and she couldn’t make out his words. She peeled the flap back on her bag, her phone right there, and dialled 999. Then she heard footsteps coming down the hall. She jabbed the red disconnect symbol just as Abi and the man came into the room.

  ‘All I want is to talk to him. Your brother understands how this works.’

  The voice wasn’t what she expected, the man well spoken. She could just see them through the gap between the chair and the sofa next to it, but only as high as their waists. He was wearing a dark suit and polished black shoes. As she watched, the man lowered his hand to his side. He was holding a gun.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  Did the call connect? If it did and the cops called back now…

  She waited a second until one of them spoke again – Abi. ‘I don’t know where he is, I swear to god.’

  Lydia swiped her screen in silence and turned on airplane mode. She pressed her eyes shut tight—

  There was a thump from upstairs. Everything stopped.

  ‘What the fuck was…?’ He raised the gun again.

  Abi took rasping breaths.

  The man was silent, and she could picture him doing the same as she had – seeing the toys, the jigsaws…

  He moved across her line of vision and out of sight, her only sense of where he was the sound of measured footsteps when carpet gave way to laminate. Then they stopped.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart. Why don’t you come down and see your mummy?’

  CHAPTER 51

  Stringer ran up the stairs at Euston already calling Abi’s number.

  He turned left out of the Tube entrance and bombed along Euston Road towards her flat. Her phone kept ringing until the voicemail kicked in. He swore and looked at his watch – 10.30. Nowhere else she’d be that time of night, her phone normally switched off if she’d gone to bed. He pushed on faster.

  Lydia was on her knees, her head just above the chair back, craning her neck so she could look down the hall. The man was out of sight but she could see Abi in the doorway, peering up at the top of the stairs through the banisters.

  ‘It’s alright. Just go back to bed, poppet.’

  ‘Your mum’s just joking; don’t listen to her – come down.’

  There was a shuffling sound, then it went to shit.

  Abi charged forward, screaming, ‘Don’t you fucking dare!’

  Lydia scrambled to her feet, just in time to see Abi crash into him, clawing at his head. He grabbed her wrist with his free hand, trying to wrestle her off, but Abi screeched, slashing at his face with her nails and drawing blood on his cheek. Before Lydia could move, he threw Abi back and she stumbled to the floor, her skull hitting the laminate like a gavel.

  He aimed the gun at Abi, his fingers probing the wound on his face with his free hand. ‘You crazy fucking…’

  Lydia had already dropped out of sight again. It was over in a heartbeat. She swore at herself for not doing something, and again for thinking it would’ve helped.

  The man spoke again, calling up the stairs. ‘Come down here now. Please.’

  Abi said something to him under her breath she couldn’t catch. Then she spoke again, louder: ‘Just go back to bed, sweetheart, everything’s going to be okay, I promise.’

  ‘Mummy, I can’t sleep. It’s too noisy.’

  ‘Please, honey, just go to your room and—’

  ‘Enough. You, down here, now.’

  Abi dropped her voice, slow and guttural now. ‘I will kill you if you touch her.’

  ‘Just shut up. Get her down here and she can stay with you where I can see her. Then we’ll get him round here to sort this out. Where’s your phone?’

  Lydia clamped her hands around her head, cursing herself. Trying to think straight was like seeing through smoke. Her whole life, searching for the edge; and now it’d found her she could barely move. She wasn’t ready for this. Never had been. Her the only one that couldn’t see it.

  ‘Tell her. I won’t say it again.’

  And if he turned the gun on the kid? That had to be the red line. If he aimed at the kid she had to be in front of it. She dug her nails into her skull, her fingers already going cold at the thought.

  A buzzer sounded, a grating tone, resounding in the quiet.

  Lydia’s heart stopped. She heard the kid cry out, startled. Then her footsteps, light and fast, up a couple of steps, and across the ceiling above her.

  ‘Shit. What was that?’

  Abi’s voice: ‘The entry phone.’

  ‘Who are you expecting?’

  Abi didn’t reply.

  ‘Him?’

  The silence was loaded, could only mean he’d guessed right.

  ‘Answer it.’

  She heard Abi rising to her feet.

  Lydia looked behind her, the windows just above her head but too high and looking out the wrong way to see into the courtyard. She took her phone off airplane mode, typed a message to Michael:

  In your sister flat. Man with gun here

  She cradled the phone in her hands, waiting for an acknowledgement.

  Stringer walked along the balcony to Abi’s door. He stopped just short, something nagging—

  She’d answered the intercom. Sounding throaty, as if he’d woken her up. But she’d answered. Normally she just buzzed him in if she was expecting him.

  He looked ahead, the light on
in the kitchen, the glow blossoming from the window. He stopped to listen, hearing a car passing along the road outside the estate, echoed snatches of a teenager talking on his phone somewhere unseen below.

  He knocked on the door. ‘It’s me.’

  Movement inside and then it cracked open. Straightaway something wrong, Abi’s expression off, her eyes downcast. Then the door opened the rest of the way and Dalton was standing behind her, hands out of view but her face clueing him to what he was holding. ‘Inside.’

  Stringer stepped onto the doormat as Dalton backed up with Abi. The door swung shut behind him and Dalton prodded Abi forward to lock it again. ‘Where’s Ellie?’

  Abi raised her eyes to the ceiling, indicating the bedroom. Dalton waved him down the hallway with the gun, then manoeuvred Abi around so she was at the foot of the stairs, his back to the door. ‘Call her.’

  Stringer held his palms up, slow and calm. ‘You’ve still got options, Dalton. There are ways we all walk from this. But if something happens to either of them, all those options disappear.’

  A sniff at the top of the stairs made them all look up. Ellie was standing there in bright-green princess pyjamas, clutching her bunny toy. ‘Uncle Mike, I can’t sleep.’

  ‘It’s alright, kiddo.’

  Dalton beckoned her and she waited a few seconds then started down the steps, slipping her feet over the edge of each one until she dropped onto the next, an agonising procession until she stopped halfway down.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me what you want,’ Stringer said.

  ‘The wife.’

  Stringer looked from Dalton to Abi and back. ‘Alicia Tan?’

  Dalton nodded. The same thing he’d wanted in the garage; his assumption that was a test starting to break up. The significance a mystery. ‘What does she matter?’

  ‘You met with Andriy tonight?’

  Stringer nodded.

  ‘And now you’re here, so you must have talked him onside. So you think you’re in the clear.’

  Ellie started moving again, lingering on each step. When she got to the last one, she pressed herself against the wall, eyeballing Dalton with the directness only a child can muster. Abi called her over, and she thought about it, then made the short dash to her. Abi scooped her up in her arms and turned her away from the weapon. She started to move into the kitchen.