Nothing Sacred Page 8

  ‘Getting a vodka,’ I said. ‘Anybody want anything?’

  ‘Go on then,’ said Maria. ‘Got to spend all this cash on something.’ She peeled a note off her stack and tucked it under my belt. ‘Off you go.’

  I got up and walked to the bar, my eyes locked on the two men. They could see that I was coming but did not look concerned; they were smiling, entirely at ease. I caught the eye of the barman, ordered two vodka and tonics. After he had taken my order, I turned to the two men.

  ‘You after a bunk up?’

  ‘Do what?’ said one of the men.

  ‘Way you’ve been looking at me. You must fancy me. Right?’

  The men laughed without amusement. ‘Wanted a word,’ the taller man said.

  The barman put my drinks on the bar and I handed him money. ‘So go on,’ I said. ‘What do you want?’

  I waited for my change and looked at them. The taller man was wearing a t-shirt and his arms were unnaturally long, which made them look slender, but his wrists were thick and his arms were covered with light hair and sinewy with muscle. He had a hard, long face and blue eyes. The short man was barely five foot and had a slightly deformed face; his eyes were large and wide apart and his head was almost round with sparse red hair on top. Together they made a slightly disturbing pair.

  ‘This your card?’ said the taller man. He held my business card between his first and second finger.

  I broke eye contact, took my change from the barman, looked back. ‘Where’d you get that?’

  The man ignored me. The short man smiled and it made him look briefly imbecilic.

  ‘Ry-an Low-rie,’ he said in a singsong voice, high like a girl’s.

  The taller man tore my card in half. ‘Stay away from him.’

  I picked up one of the glasses, took a drink. ‘What makes you think you can tell me what to do?’

  The small man sniggered, a child’s giggle. ‘You don’t want to get involved.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Like Magnus says,’ the taller man said, ‘walk away.’

  I nodded, took a moment. ‘You’re Magnus?’ I said to the strange-looking man. Turned to the taller man. ‘And you are?’

  He just smiled, shook his head.

  ‘Well, Magnus and Whatever-the-fuck-your-name-is,’ I said. ‘Here’s the thing. My clients are my business. Clear?’

  Magnus and his partner smiled at each other. ‘That your girlfriend?’ said Magnus, looking over to Maria, who was saying something to Gabe, laughing.

  The other man whistled, low. ‘Looks clean. Bet she isn’t.’

  I squeezed my glass so hard I was surprised it didn’t shatter. I tried to master my temper, closed my eyes briefly. Opened them, looked at them.

  ‘Mention her again and I’ll make you eat this glass,’ I said.

  The man smiled. ‘You cannot imagine the shit you are getting into. Do you realise who you’re dealing with?’

  ‘Have a good evening,’ I said to them. ‘We’re finished.’

  I turned and walked away from them. As I got nearer to our table Maria looked up and smiled and my expression must have been bleak because her smile faltered, and it was everything I could do to summon up an expression that approached human, that contained any warmth at all.

  Maria decided to sit out the last race. She had won enough for the evening and she was aware of the atmosphere I carried back with me from the bar, knew that something had happened to change the mood. Gabe gave me a questioning look and again I shook my head at him: now was not the time. But I am what I am and my intrinsic nature was incapable of accepting what had just transpired between those two men and me; I could not let such aggression go unanswered. When I saw Magnus through the windows below me, shaking hands with a trackside bookie and heading for the exit, the other man next to him, I stood up and excused myself, told Maria I had to go back to the office, asked Gabe to take her home. Without waiting for an answer I headed out of the restaurant. I hustled down a stairwell, hurried towards the turnstiles that led out to the car park. My heart pumped with a sudden release of adrenalin, my vision was dark and narrow. It was a feeling I knew well and that, if I was honest, part of me loved like a junkie loves the needle.

  I reached the car park in time to see Magnus and the other man climb into a car – BMW, dark colour I could not make out in the orange haze of the car park. I got into my car, waited for them to drive past, reversed out and followed.

  10

  THE MEN DROVE out of town, and I followed them around the concrete ring road and back out onto the A127, recognising the shape of their rear lights again whenever I lost sight of them for a second. It had started to rain and it billowed like fine curtains across the road, lit up by high yellow streetlights. They did not travel far, took a left up a rural road, followed it around bends and pulled up a long gravel drive. The gateway was bordered by high hedges and I could not see what was beyond.

  I parked twenty metres further and got out, ran up the gravel drive, the wind so strong I could feel it trying to push me off course. The two men were getting out of their car maybe eighty metres in front of me. I sprinted, the sound of my feet on the gravel drowned by the groan and shiver of trees that bordered the drive.

  The two men were walking towards a large house, the taller man in front, the strange, short man called Magnus some metres behind, looking at his phone, the screen bright in the darkness. I punched down into the back of his head and he fell in front of me and I stumbled on his leg, trod on his ankle and felt it give way. The man in front had not heard anything and was opening the door to the house. I came up behind him and he did not hear me. I put a palm against the side of his head, put everything behind it, slammed his head into the frame of the door. I saw his legs give but he did not go over. I held him by the back of his coat, pushed him into the house. The hallway was lit by a single lamp. He recovered his balance, half turned to me. I put both hands into his chest, shoved him into a white-painted door. He hit it with his back and the impact burst it open and he staggered through. I followed quickly before he got time to recover, before I lost my advantage. He was a big man; if he got the chance, he’d do me damage.

  The room was a kitchen, big and brightly lit. Huge glass doors opposite, black from the night outside. The floor was light, shiny, tiled. In the middle of the kitchen was a large island. Next to it was a man feeding a baby. The baby was in a high chair. The man was my height, early fifties. He had a deep tan and grey hair and was wearing a white shirt, dark trousers. He was holding a plastic spoon and it was frozen in mid-air as he looked at me. I felt as if I had stumbled into a play, a bad dream where I was on stage but did not know the lines. The man did not seem surprised to see me.

  The man from the dogs was backed against a counter, both hands behind him supporting his weight, shaking his head stupidly. The man feeding the baby backed up to the edge of the room, calm, against the dark window. The baby started making noises, unhappy. I did not move. I did not know what to do. There should not be a baby here. Nobody said anything for one, two, three seconds.

  ‘How many of you are there?’ the man said. His eyes showed no curiosity.

  I frowned, took a moment. ‘What?’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Just me.’

  He blinked slowly. His eyes were very blue. ‘Just you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the man I had attacked started. Blood leaked from a wound in his head like parted lips. The man in the white shirt held up a hand, did not look at him.

  ‘Do you know where you are?’ he said to me.

  I shook my head. ‘No.’

  The baby started to cry, crotchety coughs and gulps. He looked at it indifferently, looked back at me. Neither of us said anything. The man was good looking. The hand holding the spoon was steady. Under the bright lights I could see that his knuckles were scarred, showing white against the tan. The spoon in his hand snapped. He did not react, continued to look at me, beige baby food now on the back of his pe
rfectly bronzed hand.

  Something caught his attention and he looked past me, down at the doorway. I turned, looked down and saw Magnus. He was on his front, pulling himself through the door, hands looking for purchase on the tiled floor. He left blood on its pale surface as he dragged himself, slipped. He twisted his strange head up at me and grinned, gaps in his teeth dark with blood. One of his legs was limp like a doll’s, the other toeing the floor, looking for grip.

  ‘Called Carl,’ he said to the man, although he continued to look up at me. ‘Coming. With Jamie.’

  The man in the shirt nodded. He looked disgusted, like he did not want this thing in his home. Magnus did not seem right in here, this pristine place; a grotesque intrusion, a hideous string puppet unsuccessfully brought to life. He spat blood onto the tiles, giggled.

  ‘Carl and Ja-mie,’ he sang.

  ‘What do you want?’ the man said to me.

  I stepped forward. Without looking he moved left, opened a drawer, took out a gun. He did not point it at me, rested it on the counter next to him. I stopped.

  ‘Asked you a question.’

  ‘This man,’ I nodded at Magnus, ‘threatened me. Threatened my girlfriend.’

  ‘That right?’ he said. Beams of light played against his back through the glass doors. His hair was lit up, gold haloed, shirt edges transparent white. I heard a car, the engine, gravel crunch. The lights disappeared, sound of doors slamming. I knew that I was in a bad place. The man in the shirt showed no emotion. Had not done. The baby protested, a bad-tempered hiccuppy ah-ah-ah. The man kept looking at me. He breathed heavily and although he seemed calm, I sensed a rage there, some fury his chest could barely contain.

  ‘Came into my house,’ he said.

  Behind me I heard running feet and a man burst into the kitchen. He stepped over Magnus, who chuckled into the tiles, looked down at him, saw me too late. I hit him under the armpit, felt bulk and then the hard fence-work of ribs against my knuckles. He staggered up against the counter and then I was hit, impact in my head and my neck twisted. I did not know where it had come from, but when I opened my eyes I was looking up at the spotlights in the ceiling and there was another man there, above me, face dark under the lights. Hands on his knees, face so close to mine, blocking out the light. I could smell him, cigarettes.

  ‘Take him across the way,’ I heard a voice say, like in a dream, from another place. It was the man, the man who had been feeding the baby. He had scarred knuckles; I remembered that. The tiles were cool against my cheek. I so much wanted to get up, but they seemed so cool.

  The meaty thunk of a spade. Driven into damp firm earth. Again. Again. Grunts of exertion. A voice. Between impacts: You. Brought it. Back. Here. Silence, breathing. A whimper, something spat out. Scuff of shoes on concrete. Hacking at a root, anger: Back. Hack. Here. The earth giving. Sounds softer now, wetness. Another whimper, mewl of a wounded animal.

  Tried to open my eyes. Dark, distant light through an open door. Legs, shapes, shoulders moving in silhouette. The sound not a spade but the impact of blows, fists on damaged flesh. My head heavy. Pain pulsing like my brain had been pierced. Urge to vomit, bright liquid turbulence above my stomach, below my throat. Shapes moving. A gathering. Dark shapes looking down at a dark mound. Opened my eyes wider and the pulsing grew. Like my eyelids contained my pain. Closed them again, relief. Something was happening. Something terrible was happening.

  A new voice. A man’s, reasoning: Ain’t that enough? The first voice: I say when it’s enough. Again that sound. Spade’s edge in damp earth. Again. Again. Again. Again.

  My cheek stinging. Aftermath of a slap. The man in the white shirt squatting down next to me. Nothing in his eyes.

  ‘Know who I am?’

  My head hurt and I thought I might vomit. I leaned to my left but the feeling passed. I looked back at the man. His eyes were very blue.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m Alex Blake. Mean anything to you?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Say again?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  I knew the name. Who didn’t? If I had known this was the Blakes’ home, I would not have come near. Would have left well alone. Never go near the Blakes. Keep an ocean between you. Past Alex Blake I saw the dark heap of the man I followed here, the man who threatened me. He was not moving. The wreckage of his face was turned to me, against the ground, a soft-boiled eye leaking bloody yolk. A car was parked next to us. A garage? Anything could happen here. Anything.

  Blake looked at me, incurious. Evaluating. A problem, nothing more. Although he was close I felt an impossible distance between us, a gulf in humanity. This was not a man you could plead with. He would pull the trigger on a weeping mother.

  The two men were still here. What were their names? Carl and Jamie. Not moving. Waiting.

  ‘So,’ Blake said. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Daniel Connell.’

  ‘Who knows you’re here?’

  I did not reply. My head. The pain.

  He nodded. ‘Right. You were following Liam and Magnus.’

  Liam. That was his name. I wondered if he was still alive.

  ‘Got a phone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Take it out.’

  There was nothing I could do. I put my hand in my pocket, fumbled, pulled it out. Handed it to him. He thumbed the screen, nodded to himself. He passed it to one of the men. The man I had hit.

  ‘Made no calls, no messages,’ Blake said. ‘Nobody knows you’re here.’

  I did not say anything.

  ‘You didn’t want to get involved,’ he said.

  ‘I have no idea what is going on. He’ – I nodded at where Liam lay, at what was left of him – ‘he threatened me.’

  ‘You said. And?’

  I said nothing. For the first time he seemed impatient. He wiped an eye with flat fingers. He wore a large gold watch. It slipped on his wrist. His knuckles were covered in dark dried blood, cracking, crumbling.

  ‘I can’t have you come here, walk in like that. Let you tell people, let it be known.’

  I tried to nod, show some understanding. Show no fear. The pain shook my body. Again I felt the urge to vomit. Blake stood up. Behind him, one of the men, the man I had not hit, opened the boot of the car. It opened slowly. It was dark inside.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘There’s no need…’ I did not finish. I would not plead. Not to these men. They were going to put me in there. I did not want to be put in there. In this garage, with these three men, I might as well have been in Syria, Saudi, some underground bunker where blameless men disappear daily. Where rules we accept as given do not exist.

  A door to my left opened, showing the night, and a man walked in. He was wearing a camouflage jacket and a woollen hat. He glanced at me, across at Liam, did not react. He waited for Blake to speak, disciplined, at attention.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Got customs outside. Parked on the road. Eyes on us.’

  Blake tightened his eyes slightly, a subtle tell of emotion. He stood up, looked across at Liam, down at me. ‘Saw him arrive.’ Not a question. Nobody replied, waited for him to continue. He sighed.

  ‘Check Liam, make sure he’s alive. And get rid of him,’ nodding at me. ‘I’ve fucking had enough.’

  Carl and Jamie were big men, late forties or early fifties, heads shaved and bearing the nicked eyebrows and damaged ears of old-school muscle. They walked me away from the building where Liam was lying, a large metal-sided barn behind the main house. There were more buildings next to it, and more men standing under lights, hard men breathing smoke. Somebody arrived in a lorry, climbed down, gazed at me without interest. Perhaps I had still not fully come back from my netherworld of unconsciousness, but I could not help but see the men as cruel and wicked souls carrying out some unknown, infernal operation; could not help but feel the evil of this place.

  We passed the house and headed down Blake’s drive, back to familiar surroundings, to normality. As we walked
I felt some of my strength return. Carl or Jamie had a hand on my shoulder and I shook it off, turned to them, gave them the stare. The one I had hit smiled. Carl.

  ‘Any idea how lucky you are?’

  ‘Just to be clear,’ Jamie said. ‘He comes across you again, he’ll take you, and that little piece of yours, to a place he’s got on the coast. Spend a weekend on her while you watch, bury you both so deep it’ll take a fucking earthquake before anyone sees you again. Clear?’

  I did not answer. Away from Blake and his awful presence I felt less fear. These men I was used to. These men I had met before, met their kind. I had never met anybody like Alex Blake.

  ‘You might want to think about leaving Essex,’ said Jamie.

  ‘Not going to happen,’ I said.

  ‘Personally,’ said Carl, ‘I can’t see a future for you.’

  ‘He pay you to have an opinion?’ I said.

  We reached my car. It was very dark. We stopped and Carl said, ‘You hit me. Want to make this easy?’

  He pushed me against my car, my back against the driver’s door. Even through my jacket I could feel the cold of the metal. I looked at them both, moonlight picking out the stubble on their heads, the scars. Weighed them up, weighed my chances. Slim. Fuck it. I just wanted to go home.

  ‘Be my guest,’ I said.

  He nodded, hit me in the stomach, underneath the ribcage. Short take back but the impact was huge, his fist travelling up into my lungs, shoulder forced into my chest, his face next to mine. Must have been a boxer, ex-boxer, timing like that. I exhaled as if vomiting, an uncontrolled whoosh, felt my legs buckle. Carl stepped back and I nearly fell. Jamie pushed me back against my car, gripped my jacket at the shoulder, held me up.

  ‘All right?’