A Smaller Hell (7 page)

I sat in the chair outside the meeting room for twenty minutes waiting for Rachel, still able to hear nothing through the huge, padded oak door.  In the dry silence of the corridor, the latch clacked loudly and she barged past me with tears streaming down her face.

‘Rachel?’

‘Mr. Black, you may enter now.’ 

As I entered the office, Graziano shifted in his seat to face me directly.

‘Please, sit down.’

‘What did you say to her?’  I said. 

Graziano stirred under his blanket of darkness, rising from his chair as he sensed the stress in my voice like a panther catching the scent of his prey.

‘Oh, nothing. 
Feminine concerns
.  That's all that's wrong with her.  But then you probably knew that, didn't you?’ 

Doyle raised her eyebrows and looked at me over her glasses. 

‘Rachel and I are good friends.  That’s all you need to know.’

‘Don’t tell me what I need, Mr. Black.  You don't even know what
you
need.’ 

Doyle's tucked and lifted face creased with barely contained rage, making her skin look like processed cheese.  Graziano stepped forward once more, now only a couple of steps shy of revealing his face in the light.  He inhaled through his nose, his suited chest expanding in the shadows. As he exhaled, the stench of his breath carried across the table, like a butcher’s shop on a summer’s day. 

‘Let me make this clear, however: sexual relationships between staff are not allowed.’ 

Doyle searched my eyes, while Graziano sat back down in his chair, his heavy jungle cat breath escaping with a grunt.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘You should know that we are well aware of your situation.’

‘What situation?’

‘Your legal situation, but don’t go having another panic attack.  That wound on your hand has only just closed up.’

‘If you knew about my
situation
, why did you hire me?’

Doyle sighed.  ‘I'm bored, Mr. Black.  And look at you in that suit,’ she said, looking me up and down.  ‘Just don't let those principles of yours run away with you.  I'll keep your little secret as long as you do as I say.’ 

‘Do as you say?’

‘Glad that’s settled then,’ Doyle said, glancing at Graziano.  ‘Today, you will be needed in …’

She flipped through several sheets of paper.
 

‘Toys.’

Mr. Robinson had been at the store for twenty years, having taken up a job here as soon as he had left university.  In that time, he had suffered two divorces, been fired from the job and rehired, and battled with numerous health problems that had arisen out of being stabbed whilst tackling a shoplifter one Christmas.  He was tall, slightly chubby and very quiet, despite having been surrounded by screaming kids and obnoxious parents for his entire working life.  I'd learnt all this whilst waiting for him to return from the main stock room.  My fellow sales assistant for the day was Stephanie, who was blonde, bubbly and highly prone to gossip.  She hadn't stopped bleating since I arrived at the till.

When Robinson greeted me, he was friendly enough, but still insisted that I call him Mr. Robinson.  He went over the basics of working in Toys, but not how to work the till, claiming that till training should have been given to me prior to working the floor.  I explained that the meeting with Doyle had been somewhat unusual and that I was glad to get down here to work as soon as possible.

‘The people out there are strange,’ he said, nodding at the shoppers walking past the store outside the window.  ‘But they're a lot stranger in here.’

‘She made my friend cry on her first day.’

‘One of her favourite pastimes,’ Robinson said without looking up from the till's instruction manual.  ‘Was it by any chance a lady friend?’

‘Yes.’

Robinson raised his eyebrows as he continued to read the till’s instruction manual.

‘Can you teach me how to work these tills?’ I asked, as he continued to delve ever deeper into the book.

‘Don't worry about the till for now.  First rule of working here: always look busy.  Take your time with any set task.  Drag it out for as long as you can.  We're always being watched.’

‘Watched?’

‘Graziano watches over the CCTV, reporting to Ms. Doyle
any
infractions of store policy.  We're all in the same boat here.  And, for the love of God, don't overrun on your breaks.’

With that, Robinson handed me the manual and wandered off with a notepad and pen to check the stock.  On the notepad was written:

Be ever engaged, so that whenever the devil calls he may find you occupied. – St. Jerome

My fellow sales assistant seemed to have run down her batteries with the barrage of gossip she unleashed upon me at the beginning of the shift and now stood quietly behind the till, hands clasped in front.

‘Robinson said we should look busy,’ I said.

‘I need coffee.’

‘Late one last night, was it?’

Stephanie swayed, the blood draining from her face as if about to faint.  She fell into me, managing to hang one arm over my shoulder like a Friday night casualty, except that there was only the lightest hint of booze on her breath.

As I was pulling a chair over with my other arm, she threw up all over the till I had been trying to master.  It registered £20,000, bleeped, blooped, fizzed, crackled and eventually ker-chinged, shooting out the drawer like a greedy black iron hand.  I closed the till and took her outside through the main doors to sit on a graffiti-covered bench.

‘Can I get you anything?’

‘Why did I do it?’ Stephanie blubbed into my shoulder.

‘Do what?’ I asked.

‘Last night.  I didn't know what to do, so I just went along with it.  Ms. Doyle …’ she said.
 
‘I've never done that before.’

‘Done what?’

‘Well … any of it.’ 

She looked at me with her red eyes.  People were rubbernecking as they trundled past in a blur of shopping bags, cans of super lager and fast food. 

‘She took me back to her place last night after work.  She told me she had to talk to me about a promotion opportunity, about moving up to Cosmetics,’ she said, drying her eyes on her sleeves.
 
‘We were inside her library and she gave me some wine.  An hour later, she gave me some … It was all fine until …’

Stephanie fell silent.

‘Until …?’

‘Until she started taking my clothes off,’ Stephanie mumbled, staring at the ground.
 
‘I didn’t want to do any of it.’

‘It's ok; you don't have to tell me.’

‘They hurt me.’

‘Someone else was there?’

‘Nikki and Helen from Cosmetics,’ she said, her eyes filled to the brim with fresh tears, her hands quivering with shame.  ‘And Graziano.’

I told Robinson that Stephanie had gone home sick.  He nodded to himself as if it had all been expected, then told me to clean up the mess.  I did as I was told, eager to get on my lunch break and find Rachel.  Once I was done with the puke, Robinson excused me for lunch, reminding me of the importance of timekeeping and that I only had forty minutes.

I ran to each department looking for her, but no-one had seen Rachel.  The only place I hadn’t been was the kitchens.

The restaurant's walls and upholstery were a deep crimson, while nearly everything else looked like expensive polished mahogany and brass.  It was mostly elderly people huddled over cups of tea and marmalade on toast.  They smiled and talked with each other, occasionally looking away at the huge panoramic window on the east side of the restaurant, overlooking the square outside the main entrance.  The view was reminiscent of that from Doyle's window, although not nearly as grand.  Diners were high enough off the ground to feel removed from the filth of the street, but not so high that it allowed them to forget that they had to return there once lunch was over.  They were only being allowed to rest a while before being returned to their natural habitat amongst the murderers, perverts, thieves and junkies.

I barged into the kitchen and one chef looked set to stop me, but changed his mind when he saw the badge attached to my suit that read
Mobile
.  Rachel was nowhere to be seen working the grills, so I pushed on back to the Kitchen Porter's area.  There she stood, washing dishes with her hair tied up in a hygiene cap, up to her elbows in soap bubbles.  She picked up her eyes from the sink as my brogues clopped on the tiles and flung her foamy Marigolds around my neck. 

We sat on the bench by the ferry terminal, watching lovers hold hands and nuzzling each other in the salty air while tourists chattered like pigeons pecking around the city for a few crumbs of culture.  Businessmen's loveless hands tightened on their briefcases, turning their knuckles white in the wind.  I told Rachel what Stephanie told me.

‘And you think she has designs on
me
?’ Rachel said.

‘I don't know; just thought you should know about this.’

‘She put me on dishes in the restaurant as a punishment for being late.’

‘What did she say to you?’

‘She said that my father would have been disappointed in me being late for my first day. I just couldn’t handle it.’

I had previously thought it unnecessary to share the lurid details about Stephanie with her, but once I started, the words came tumbling out of my mouth like boulders of dirt, piling up into quite the mountain.

Back at the entrance to the store, we basked in the glow of the tiny electric stars twinkling from the window display, procrastinating our re-entry into the strange world beyond the glass. 

‘Let it go,’ I said.

‘She’s vile.’

‘Just watch your back ... and everything else,’ I said.  ‘I think we both need a drink tonight.’

The Captain's Rest looked desolate under the blanket of night as we drove by it slowly.  Having parked round the corner, we cherished the final breaths of the car's heater before we had to brave the fierce cold to go and inspect the boarded-up building.

‘Very funny.  Can we go now?’ Rachel asked, looking around the deserted streets.

‘Wait ‘til you taste this ale.’

We walked to the main door, finding it chained and padlocked.  As I peered through the boards and frosted glass of the windows, there seemed to be no sign of life.  I grabbed Rachel's hand and walked round to the other side of the pub, but it was empty.

‘Can we go now?  It's freezing,’ Rachel shivered.

‘I don't understand,’ I said, looking the lonely building up and down.  ‘They were all in here just the other day.’

‘Who was in here?  Can we just go somewhere warm, please?’ 

‘I’m going to look round the back.  Get back in the car if you like.’

Rachel looked at the shadows scurrying under the bridge further down the street.  ‘No thanks.’

We managed to break into the pub through the back door.  The wood was rotten and a firm push sent the bolt clattering to the floor.  We passed through a dark, damp corridor and I was just able to make out the battered doors that we passed on either side.  I was curious, but I was more eager to see the lounge in which I had been drinking with the Captain.

We climbed a creaky wooden staircase and pushed open a door leading into the lounge.  In the dusty moonlight, I saw that the barrels were no longer where they’d been.  The rich smell of exotic tobacco had vanished, as had the murmurs of the patrons and the rants of the heartbroken Captain.  All that remained was the damp that smelled as if it had been there for years and the whistle of the cold wind through the boarded-up windows.

‘Lovely,’ Rachel said, her arms folded across her still quivering body.

‘I don't get it,’ I said.

I led Rachel back down the old staircase to the corridor in the cellar.  I thought that if I could just get her out of there without encountering a rat, my chances might not be completely shot.  As we trod into the darkness of the corridor, I noticed a dim light flickering beneath one of the doors.

‘Was that there when we came in?’ I asked.

‘Now is really not the time.’

‘I'm going to take a look.’

Rachel was becoming more agitated by the second, but I had to satisfy my curiosity.  I pressed my ear to it and knocked twice.

‘I swear to God if this is some stupid joke, I'll never ...’
Rachel's said as the door squeaked open to reveal the source of the flickering light.

There was a small table with a clay flagon on it and a fire had been lit in the old fireplace, providing some warmth and revealing the bare brickwork of the walls.  In the corner was one of the barrels and underneath, two pewter tankards.  I looked at Rachel to gauge her reaction, but she was already upon me, her arms around my neck and her lips locked to mine.

‘It's very romantic.  Thank you.’

I was about to explain that I had nothing to do with it until she kissed me and brought me to my senses. 
No harm in letting her run with the idea
.  Rachel sat down on one of the rickety stools laid out for us while I filled both our tankards.  As soon as I saw the dark rusty liquid leave the barrel, I knew it was the same magical elixir as I had drunk with the Captain.

‘Wait 'til you try this,’ I said, placing the tankard in front of Rachel. 

‘Where did you get it?’

I smiled and shrugged. 

We drank ale and talked into the night until Rachel stood up and declared that she was tired of talking.  She held my eye as she sat down on my knee and ran her hand inside my shirt and across my shoulders, which were stiff and sore from weeks of sleeping on cold floorboards.  Her warm hands dispelled any residual pain.  With every button undone, it felt as if Rachel was dismantling my fear.

We both lay naked on the bare slate of the floor in front of the dwindling fire.  The coolness of the slate soothed our hot skin as we stared up at the ceiling, both breathing heavily.  Rachel stroked my face and, seeing that my mouth was dry, got up to fetch me a tankard of ale.  Her smooth, pale legs looked perfect in the dim light of the fire. 

I took a swig then handed her the tankard back.  She stood upright and drained it, leaning back as she did.  As she drank, a drop escaped her lips and ran down her chin, onto her neck and the temptation proved too much, so I lunged forward to stop the trickle with my mouth.  She ran her fingers through my hair as I kissed the dark, sweet liquid from her body.

Our moment was cut short by the sound of breaking glass and the heavy footfalls of at least two individuals across the floor of the lounge above us, making for the staircase.  As they descended it, their sounds became more measured and deliberate, as if they'd become aware that someone else was in the building.  I blew out the candle in a vain attempt to disguise our position: the smell of the fire and the dim light still fluttering off it was sure to give us away anyway.  Rachel remained silent, but held me closer and searched my eyes for reassurance.

‘It's alright.  It will be ok,’ I lied. 

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Rachel whispered.

I held my finger to my lips as I heard the intruders mumbling to each other.  Suddenly, the large oak door shuddered under the force of a kick or a shoulder from without.  Rachel screamed into her hand.  I searched for a weapon and the gleam of a metal object caught my eye.  It stood in the corner behind the giant barrel of ale.  I reached behind and pulled it out, feeling the notches in the leather sheath: the Captain's sword.  I drew it from the scabbard and held it towards the door, poised on the brink of violence, my nervous system bristling furiously. 

I could hear laughing from beyond the door. 
Was it a woman
?

‘I'm tooled up.  If that door comes down, I'll … cut your fucking arms off,’ I said.

The banging stopped after a while and Rachel emerged from behind me and asked if we should make a break for it.  I let the sword hang by my side just as the door came crashing down.  The two women standing in the doorway, half-lit by the dying fire, looked as if they could barely lift the fire extinguisher they were holding together.  They were both dressed in a lot of PVC, their thigh boots and their micro skirts giving the impression that their lower halves had been dipped in crude oil.  Their long legs began tiptoeing forwards, the firelight revealing their faces, one of which was more ravaged than the other.  I lifted the sword again.

 ‘Now, now, love.  Don't you know it's rude to point?’ 

The pair cackled and steadied themselves against each other.  The smell of vodka filled the room. 

‘Is there any room at the inn?’

‘We were just leaving,’ I said, still pointing the sword in their direction.

‘I do hope we didn't interrupt anything?’ 

‘You really ought to be careful where you point that thing.’

I lowered the sword.

‘Not that thing.’

I covered myself with my shirt amidst the vodka shrieks and PVC squeaks as they fell over each other like doomed seals in an oil slick.

‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.

‘Business meeting,’ the older hooker said.

I began gathering up my clothes as Rachel emerged from behind me to do the same. 

‘Oh, don't leave on our account.  Why don't you stay for the show?  We won't even charge you,’ the younger one said, winking one of her wet, emerald eyes at me.

‘You can watch from the next room through here.’ 

The older one loosened and extracted one of the ancient bricks from the wall like a dentist extracting a tooth.

‘Maybe you'd like to join us?’ the younger woman said, looking at her companion.

‘I don't think they're quite ready for that, Emma.  Besides, I think our man here is spent for the night.’ 

They locked together in a passionate kiss.  Rachel was slack-jawed at the spectacle unfolding before us.  I was still sweating and trembling from the adrenaline as I pulled on my clothes.  We left the hookers still locked together and pulled the door to behind us.  As we began pacing down the freezing corridor, Rachel stopped.

‘I want to see.’

‘We have no idea who's coming here.’

 Silence.

‘I want to see,’ she said, tugging on my hand.

We heard a car come to a halt outside and the powerful engine grumble at being shut down.

Rachel pulled me towards the room the hooker had shown us.  The only source of light came from the hole in the wall where the stone tooth had been pulled.  We closed the door and through the peep-hole, we saw the two women smiling at each other.  The elder pushed the younger's hair out of her eyes and stroked her face.  They were about to kiss again when the door slammed open and the client prowled into the room: another woman wearing an old wedding dress.  Her face was obscured by the veil, but I could see that she was large and walked like a man.  I looked at Rachel and circled my temple with my index finger, mouthing the words
let's go.

Ignoring me, Rachel leaned closer in to the cavity.  Her eyes twitched, registering every dysfunctional frame of this 2 a.m. matinee.  I leaned in closer myself to observe the bride unpacking a small leather case, such as that which a traditionalist doctor might carry.  From it she drew a pair of white uniforms similar to those used by the kitchen porters at the department store, finishing off the outfits with a pair of Marigold gloves for each of the hookers. 

It was difficult to gain a clear view through the small hole, especially with Rachel so eager to take it all in.  I could only see the bride from the back, but upon closer scrutiny, it was obvious her dress had been altered across the shoulders and that it wasn't a trick of perspective that had caused her to appear much taller than the other women.  The bizarre scene ground to a halt once the girls had dressed in the uniforms, Marigolds and had their hairnets in place.  They waited in silence, all staring at the ground, resembling the kitchen workers Rachel had been working amongst that day at the store.

We could not see, but we could hear the footsteps down the cellar staircase, then the door open.  The expensive scent that Doyle wore carried through the hole in the wall.  Unable to see past the broad, lumbering bride, we could only hear whispers, followed by a chopping sound, some scraping and then two deep, prolonged sniffs.  The sound of the bride's clenched Marigold glove connecting with bone and flesh.  Quiet sobbing.  Now that the bride had moved, we could see the older hooker sprawled face down on the table, holding her mouth.  She was ordered to remain silent and still by a voice of broken glass and syrup. 

Rachel mouthed the name
Graziano
. 

Doyle made her way past him over to the younger whore who was still bent over the table, face down and sobbing.  Doyle was wearing a green paper surgical gown and a thick black rubber apron, like a huge glob of tar running down her front.  She rustled and squeaked into position and hiked Emma's white jacket up on to her hips.

Rachel’s grip on my arm tightened as she whispered, ‘Let's go’.

I had no qualms about leaving even
before
I heard the scream.  It made the hairs on my neck stand up as I stopped in my tracks.

‘We can’t just leave her,’ I said.

I shook free of Rachel's grip and wrapped my hand in my belt to protect it from the damage Graziano's granite head might inflict.  The Captain’s sword caught my eye from the corner of the room.  I imagined the steel tearing Graziano's skin, puncturing his hot organs, making his body gurgle and shudder and felt damned just thinking about it.  I looked down at my leather-wrapped fist and reasoned that one more broken nose wasn’t going to send me to Hell.

I told Rachel to stay and hide, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me back.  

‘No.  Let's just go,’ she said.

‘We can’t just leave her.’

‘She’s getting
paid
for this.  It’s her
job
.’

As I tried to move away from her, we both stumbled and knocked an empty steel keg, which created an unmistakable
gong
in the darkness, making our decision for us.  We both scrambled up the cellar staircase as quickly as the rotten wood allowed.  Just as we reached the last step, the door burst open and a tornado of lace came storming up the stairs, each thunderous footfall threatening to collapse the entire building.  I readied my improvised knuckleduster, hiding round the corner, waiting for Graziano.  Rachel was already unlocking her car.  The squeaking of nails and the groaning of breaking wood became a crash as the stair case collapsed.  I peered over the edge to see Graziano up to his waist in rotted wood, looking like a dropped ice cream; the wedding dress mushroomed about his chest.  Trying to free himself, he let out a cry of frustration and smashed his fists into the wooden boards around him until they began to splinter and break.  The surgeon emerged from the room in the black apron, which was steaming with some kind of bodily fluid.  I said a silent prayer for forgiveness as I heard Rachel start the car and sprinted through the pub to escape the clutches of the demons emerging from the cellar.