Alexander (9)

9

 

 

‘They came this afternoon and took everything, noisy pricks.’

 

‘Who took everything ?’

 

‘The police! The special police - the twats who drive around in unmarked cars.’

 

Alexander was standing in front of Padgett’s bedroom door. Luther’s neighbour was wearing his red and orange Bermuda shorts as well as a faded brown bathrobe, untied at the waist, enabling Alexander to see the full extent of his pale, skinny, tattooed body. A piece of blue and white tape had been fixed across the frame of Luther’s door: POLICE - NO ENTRY.

 

‘And somebody else came…’ said Padgett.

 

‘Who ?’

 

‘A woman.’

 

‘What woman ? What did she look like ? Can you describe her ?’

 

Padgett tried to recall the woman’s appearance, his dope-induced brain straining as he did so. ‘Old and well-to-do...looked like a judge...wore a green tweed jacket...she was giving everybody orders, the old bat.’ A trilling sound from somewhere in his room interrupted him. ‘Gotta go’ he said. Alexander gave him money and took hold the key.

 

Once in the empty house Alexander placed his bag in the living room and lay his sleeping bag on the floor. It was close to seven thirty pm. The house was so cold he was obliged to sleep in his coat. How much longer will I be able to endure living like this ? he wondered. The week was nearly up; the new tenants would soon be moving in. Then, if nothing else came his way, he’d be forced to return to the viaduct.

 

Before he slept he went into the kitchen to splash water on his face and rub his teeth clean. An envelope was lying on the kitchen floor. It was a white A5 envelope and was addressed to Alexander. At first he didn't want to pick it up. Only Luther and Padgett knew he was staying in the empty house. But on closer inspection he realized that the handwriting - square uncertain childlike capital letters - was familiar to him. Above the sink a small window was partially open. The envelope must have been shoved through the gap, landing on the kitchen floor. He picked up the letter and took it into the carpet-less living room.

 

Inside he discovered six photographs. Each showed a young black girl standing next to a masked, seated man. The girl was partially naked, wearing only a short grass skirt. In some of the photos she was either sitting on the man’s lap or kneeling between his legs, facing the camera. In one photograph she held a spear.

 

Alexander began to re-wind the days he’d spent with Luther at Brook Manor, when Luther had marched around looking for a way in. Had he known something all along ? Were these photographs the reason Luther had disappeared ?

 

Alexander stuffed the photos in his rucksack. Luther was in hiding and the viaduct was the most likely place. He decided to head down to the homeless encampment and speak with Tomas. But first he needed to rest. Working at Brook Manor had left him dog tired and his body aching with exhaustion. Luther would have to wait.

 

-*-

 

It was after 2am when Alexander arrived at the homeless camp. He’d slept soundly for six hours before waking in darkness, his mind consumed with thoughts of Luther. He got up and walked towards the town. The streets were deserted. Alexander felt engulfed by a strange, cloying atmosphere. When he arrived at the viaduct a small group was gathered beside the fire. Tomas was sitting on a fold up stool warming his hands.

 

Alexander crouched beside him and asked if he knew anything about the man named Luther. Tomas asked Alexander to describe him. ‘Do you work with this Luther ?’

 

‘Yes’ Alexander said. ‘We worked for gang-master Terry. But something happened. Luther’s disappeared.’

 

Tomas shouted towards a man on the opposite side of the fire. ‘Marek - come over here.’

 

Marek edged his way forward. He was skinny and had a haunted, frightened look about him. He carried a large plastic bottle of cheap cider wrapped in a supermarket bag.

 

‘What do you want ?’ said Marek. ‘I’ve told you everything.’

 

‘I want you to tell my friend exactly what you saw an hour ago.’

 

It proved to be a painstaking process. Not only had Marek drunk too much cider but he was scared - scared of recounting the story Tomas had asked him to repeat. He began to plead with Tomas, so much so that he fell to his knees and held on to Tomas’s leg with both hands. He said: ‘You promised me I wouldn't ever have to tell the story again.’ Tomas stroked Marek's head, as if giving comfort to a condemned man, and whispered into his ear, soothing words that eventually began to stem the tide of Marek's terror. ‘Please Marek, tell Alexander, as simply as you can, what you witnessed in the town.’

 

Marek steadied himself with a long draught of cider. Then he began.