Watching You Chapters Eleven and Twelve

Chapter Eleven

 

Black slipped through a fence as dilapidated as the house he was about to enter. As he strode through the weeds, moonlight flooded the interior, creating crazy symbols on the stone floor, through the shards of broken glass that still hung in place.

The authorities had abandoned these slums to the demolition crews or would do once the order was finally passed. He was in the heart of the eastern suburbs now, the grottiest, grimiest part of town. Shit really was shit here, with a capital S, but Black didn’t care about that; he’d things on his mind. He’d come close that evening to fucking things up big time. Main Man had approached him in a rage, accusing him of conducting business conflicting with his own syndicate, which was true enough, he supposed, though not in the way the man thought. He should vacate the area for a while, lie low, things were getting too hot, even for him. But he couldn’t do that. It seemed he was bracketed to the area, and to her, the girl with the corn-coloured hair, who Main Man had ranted, he’d upset just by being in the vicinity.

The images of this evening stood out as sharp as the syringes scattered across the floor of the doss house he’d just entered. Lowering himself to the floor, careful to avoid the expended syringes, and then resting his back against the wall, he reached into his holdall and pulled out his little bag of dope. He detested the stuff, but it was a necessity he couldn’t avoid.

For a while, the white fury he’d felt tonight would dissolve, but he needed to be careful, needed his senses intact, he was expecting someone.

Raising his head to a ceiling barely visible in the moonlight, he travelled back a couple of hours in time to the face that had haunted him. Seeing her in the flesh wasn’t so much different from meeting her in his visions, except that it stirred him more than he’d thought possible. Much more.

But the rousing he’d felt had brought with it something more, something vital and urgent that couldn’t be resisted, that needed addressing before it was too late –

His awareness of that began to give way to a pleasing warmth, his mind beginning a journey now, not entirely under his navigation. A peaceful sleepiness not born out of tiredness was removing the haunting scenes of this evening at least for a while, like an extractor, gently purifying the air, replacing them with scenes from places he knew he’d never go. Gradual, soothing –

Then the sensation of something on his shoulder, an eagle’s claw come to carry him away. Except that it wasn’t an eagle’s claw, the sudden realisation causing him to smash the hand away.

‘You wanna be careful, fella,’ never know who could drop in on yer in a place like this. You’ve enough enemies as it is, I’ve heard.’

‘What are you on about? Spit it.’ Black was jerked out of his tranquil state; this new intruder had a violent edge. On his feet now, he grabbed the newcomer, pinned him against the wall, head reeling. ‘I said spit it out.’

‘Hey, take it easy fella,’ from a voice suddenly breathing heavily, ‘it’s no big secret yer a pain in the arse to the law. Cops ain’t always as scrupulous as they make out – that’s all I’m saying.’

‘Sure, don’t you think I know it?’ Black released his grip, sank back down on his haunches, scowling at Hastings.

Hastings grunted. ‘You should try it this way … it’s quicker, more effective, don’t know why yer don’t. Yer seem a total novice when it comes to smack.’ Hastings took a syringe from a pocket of his tattered coat, plunging it into his upper arm. Black saw the whites of his eyes suddenly dim in the moonlight.

‘I’m squeamish,’ Black said and saw Hastings’ look of surprise.

‘Don’t mind admitting it; never have been one for needles. He took a deep snort. ‘So where are Bug and the others?’

‘Trish and Angie are on their patch; if business ain’t good, they won’t be long. Bug is coming soon as he’s finished at the corner shop.’

‘Paki’s takings are dropping like a penny down a well, so they’re saying.’ Black stretched his legs, slithered down the wall, more relaxed again now. ‘I can’t see him keep shelling out like that; more and more of these pits are standing empty, soon he’ll have sod all customers, he’ll just sell up and go.’

‘He’ll shell out if he knows what’s good for him.’ Hastings smirked, twisted the cap on a bottle of cider, ‘Open from dawn to dusk and fer what?’

‘Bug’s stake in his profits.’ Black smiled without mirth. Bug had his day coming as far as he was concerned. Like a good many of them, Bug was becoming too big for his boots, just waiting for someone to shoot him down, and what a shame that would be. But Bug knew the ropes as well as anyone; you had to grant him that much. He knew which shop to pick and when, knew the profile of every security guard in the city as if he’d hand-painted it. Their habits, their breaks, and all done without them seeming to know it. In fact, he was a walking reference book on security guard behaviour and routine. Main Man held him in high esteem, so it was said, and for the time being, that would be his saving grace.

For the time being.

Black glanced across at Hastings. He was practically prostrate, his head resting against the wall as though it was a kind of raised stone pillow. The bottle of cider stood at his side, waiting for the mechanical raising and lowering of his right arm, the only outward sign he was conscious. He never stirred when the shards of glass threw out a new shape in the moonlight.

But it wasn’t Bug. It wasn’t Trish or Angie either. Black started out of his relaxed state at the realisation of that. He felt his heart beating a little too quickly, and it had nothing to do with the dope.

It had everything to do with the unexpected appearance of Main Man.

 

 

Chapter Twelve

 

The policemen who called late that night had asked for a description. It had been difficult to see, she’d said, the streetlight overlooking the alley had been out. But nonetheless, she had a description: the man had definitely been tall and slender; she thought his hair had been dark and his top, white. In short, it had matched that of Carl Black as far as she was able, even if she hadn’t got a good look at him at all. She just knew it was him, though how could she tell the policemen that? How could she tell them about her belief in his psychic senses without making it seem like paranoia? How could she tell them of her unsettling experience down at the jetty? Of course, she couldn’t.

So she’d had to keep quiet about his identity. She’d thought about mentioning McCain; he’d likely back her up, particularly as he’d seemed incensed with Black himself. But she didn’t want to drag him into anything without his knowledge; first thing tomorrow, she’d call, he’d no doubt be worried by the incident and verify what she said. She could speak to the police later with McCain’s backing, and McCain’s statement, having once been a policeman, would no doubt add weight to her cause.

Joe had arrived in the middle of the police interview, later than normal. She’d guessed he hadn’t wanted to be the first one in, something to do with the ‘man thing’ she supposed. This meaning that men had every right to be out later than women. Typical of Joe really, he went well with the ark. 

He’d actually been attentive and concerned, as far as his inebriation would allow, at least during the policemen’s presence. When they had left, he’d impressed upon her the wisdom of getting a cab directly to the door and not trying to cheapskate on the fare by leaving it a couple of hundred yards short.

She hadn’t been able to argue with that, except, of course, she hadn’t been brought back in a cab, and that much she wasn’t prepared to divulge.

The two policemen had left to join others who had already begun searching the area. Joe, following his little lecture, had trudged up to bed, saying she should do the same. She’d agreed, but given it ten minutes or so, hoping that those ten minutes would do the trick, that he’d be asleep by the time she got up there, probably snoring his head off. One night, every so often, he’d grope for her, and she’d give in, not enjoying it one bit. Because although Joe had never so much as raised his hand to her, there was a marked aggression in his manner whenever he’d been drinking, and at night, he normally had. Tonight, she sensed by his step and speech that he’d had more than enough. Even one of the policemen had raised an eyebrow, not at his manner but at his state.

As luck would have it, he was well away by the time she got to bed, and yes, he was snoring, but thank heaven for small mercies.

Next morning, she rose early, it wasn’t so difficult, really, and it wasn’t Joe’s snoring that caused her lack of sleep. Sleep came in fits and starts, images of Carl Black flicking through her mind and dreams like quickly turning leaves of a book. Now, she needed to make that phone call, and a quick glance at Joe told her that he was still in the land of nod. He never worked weekends, so she didn’t expect him to rouse much before noon.

She went downstairs to phone McCain. It was early, but he wasn’t going to mind, not in the circumstances. But the phone just kept on ringing, and she was about to put the receiver down when he answered, his gentle brogue now throaty and rough.

‘Yeah, McCain.’

‘McCain, it’s me, Kelly. I need to talk to you.’

‘Be Jees, Kelly.’ There was a delay; an object sounded as though it had hit the floor, and she pictured him fumbling for the clock, ‘Can’t it wait?’

‘I was attacked last night, accosted in an alleyway after I left you. I managed to get away, but I think …’

‘Be Jees – attacked you say, were you hurt?’

‘No, in fact, I think he got more than he bargained for, but that’s not the point. McCain, I just know it was Carl Black.’

‘It can’t have been Black.’ McCain’s reply was snappy, abrupt.

Kelly frowned. McCain was dismissing her outright. Why?

“Why can’t it have been Black, McCain?’

The other end of the line was so quiet she thought he’d hung up.

‘McCain, did you hear what I said?’

‘A deep sigh. ‘I heard what you said, Kelly. It’s just that I’m dubious, is all. Are you sure? Did you get a good look?’

‘No.’ She paused. Her voice had that high tinny sound again. ‘Well, yes, in a way … the light wasn’t good, but he was tall, slender, dark-haired. I just know it was him.’

‘Have you told the police about this?’

‘Yes, of course. I wanted to tell them more, that I was sure it was Carl Black, that he followed me home, but I doubt that they’d believe me, not without your …’

‘Aw, come on now.’ McCain’s voice seemed to rise a touch, ‘You’re not telling me …’

‘McCain, you saw him on the jetty last night … you saw the effect it had on me … you were so incensed you went after him, gave him a piece of your mind, you said.’

‘Yeah, sure I did that, Kelly, but we can’t be putting two and two together and making five, now can we?’

Kelly swallowed; there seemed to be a hundred pounds of acid burning her throat, ‘So you won’t back me up, thanks, McCain.’

‘Look, hold on now … I didn’t say that. You know I’ll help, but don’t you see you’re going to need a whole lot more evidence before you can accuse the fella. Take it from me. I was a cop, you know. Listen, you’re off today, right?’

‘Right.’ Kelly felt hot breath funnelling through her nose.

‘Then meet me at two, the Plough out on the fen, you know it?’

‘What will I tell Joe?’

‘Fuck Joe, if this is important to you, you’ll do it, right?’

Kelly reeled at the sudden animosity in McCain’s voice and turned to stare right into the face of Joe.

‘Who are you talking to so early in the morning, might I ask?’

‘Just a colleague, that’s all.’

But Joe’s face was like thunder, and Kelly, replacing the receiver, all but froze.