Something You Are (17 page)

I shook my head. ‘He's a nice kid.'

His lip curled. ‘Don't talk about him like that.'

I took the DVDs off him and put them in the pocket that didn't contain my gun.

‘If this isn't all of them, you know I'll come back?'

‘I'm not stupid. They're all there.'

I moved around the double bed and let him lead the way back out of the room, keeping a safe distance behind him again. At the top of the stairs he stopped again and I moved my feet into combat position.

‘You know if you take those she'll get custody of Scott?' he said, turning to face me.

I swallowed. ‘That's nothing to do with me, is it? And she is his mother, anyway.'

‘Some people…' He looked down at his hands and he seemed to find it difficult to speak. ‘She's a great person, but some people aren't meant to be mothers. She doesn't really want him, she just likes having possessions.'

We both listened to the radio for a second.

‘Well…' I couldn't find a reply; the trancelike state of action had vanished and the DVDs felt cumbersome in my pocket. ‘Like I said, it's none of my business.'

‘It is, now.'

I took a step backwards. I had a mental image of him grabbing me by the collar of my coat and hurling me over the edge of the stairs. I could feel the impact, and knew I was too close to react in time.

The moment passed.

Sidney turned and carried on downstairs.

‘Hey, how do you take your coffee?' Scott called from the kitchen when he saw us.

‘He has to go, Scottie.' Sidney stood in the centre of the living room, between me and his son, and stared at me in a way that made me wonder from whom Scott had inherited that intimidating trait. ‘Emergency at work.'

‘Yeah,' I said, waving. ‘Nice to meet you, Scott.'

‘Oh… Bye.'

I'd been concerned about what he might have had to witness. I liked him.

Sidney crossed his arms, and didn't stop watching me until I had left the house. I thought I would feel a greater sense of achievement, having got the proof I needed to show Edie that I could still be relied on for professional integrity. But my first instinct, when I got back in the car and put the discs on the passenger seat, was to snap all of them in half.

When I stopped at home to drop the DVDs off I checked my phone again, trying to drink tea from a polystyrene cup. I had a text and a voicemail.

In the car I'd been thinking about watching Clare's video again.

I jogged up the remaining stairs and let myself in too quickly.

‘Someone was proactive this morning,' Mark called from his bedroom by way of greeting.

‘You ever work any more?' I replied, picking up a pencil and my notepad from under the sofa.

I found my laptop under the coffee table and opened the screen, feeling out of breath. It took a while to start up, but I typed in the link and waited for Mark to leave before letting it load.

‘My hangover is fucking
apocalyptic
. Think it might be haunted.'

His voice was closer this time, and I looked behind me to see him standing with a mug by the kitchen door, still in his boxers and Kurt Cobain T-shirt. He was paler than usual and had a slight sheen of alcohol sweat, but he wore the look better than I ever did.

When I didn't reply he made a noise of distress and rubbed his forehead.

‘You want some paracetamol or something?' I said, knowing that he would refuse.

‘No, I'll just struggle through.'

‘Well, stop fucking moaning.'

‘I never said I'd struggle quietly.' He ran his hands through his hair, grimacing. ‘I'm going for a shower, then we'll talk Christmas stuff, yeah?'

‘Plan,' I said.

As he left the room with a weak thumbs-up, I smiled to myself. He must have been feeling rough, I thought. It was unusual for Mark not to ask what I was up to. I turned back to the laptop and refreshed the site.

Inspiration. That was why I was watching it again. I just felt like drawing something.

I could hear Mark dropping things in the bathroom, singing a Duran Duran song to himself.

As Clare appeared on the screen again, I sketched a rough outline of her body, but then screwed the paper up and decided to just draw her face instead. The adrenalin that had been coursing through my system since the encounter with Sidney and Scott started to ebb.

I looked up at the video every so often, reminded of how surprisingly strong she had been. She disguised it well, with her coy smile and displays of grace, but it was still there.

Drawing her eyes was easy, I realized, because there wasn't much in them. They glared up from the page, more life-like than I had expected them to be.

I glanced at the video, on repeat, and she was twirling.

As much as I wanted this job to be over, so much so that I had started to fantasize about the months before I got that phone call, I had started to live in the future, focusing on the times when I would get to see her again. I wanted to know what was making her tick. I wanted her to keep pushing me, keep provoking, until I had an excuse…

I started the video again.

It only seemed beautiful because she was, I reminded myself, desperately trying to regain some objectivity. Aside from her presence it felt no different to watching a mental patient crying whilst being led along by their carer, or a car slowing down by a children's playground. You watched it and maybe felt uneasy, but you never said anything, because even if it felt wrong, that was just the way things were.

I drew her jawline, sharper than Emma's had been, and the shadow that her cheekbones cast across her face.

I watched the video a few more times, but I couldn't see anything in detail in this light. Nothing that I had missed anyway. Every time I thought she was drawing me closer it felt as if I was still behind a pane of glass.

I looked down at the notepad on my lap and was surprised by how easy it had been to capture her essence on the page. With some unease, I saw that it was because she looked at home in 2D. She wasn't hard to draw because there didn't seem to be much humanity to capture. I had tried drawing Mark once, when he had nagged me to, but after a couple of days I had refused to try again. I knew him too well, all of his idiosyncrasies and his perfections and imperfections, to do him justice on paper.

She looked up at me from the page, and she still wasn't giving me any answers.

‘Eh!' Mark called from the other room, announcing his presence in time for me to shut the laptop before he walked in. He still hadn't showered. ‘Eh, look at this. I forgot to tell you.'

‘What?' I put my notepad down.

He handed me a newspaper, folded back on to a particular page. ‘About a quarter of the way down… You remember that address I sent you to when you were looking for that Kyle
Browning? The one in Shooters Hill? A body was found there – check it out.'

‘Jesus…' I sat up straight.

Mark slouched over the back of the sofa. ‘Just caught my eye, wondered if it was anyone you knew.'

Joseph O'Donoghue.

I didn't recognize the name, but I recognized the picture. I recognized the blond fringe hanging over the eyes and the genial smile.

Meds.

‘Fuck,' I whispered.

‘Oh God, you do know him?'

‘I didn't know him, I… came across him when I went round there. He was…' My eyes focused on one word. ‘Suicide?'

‘Yeah, heroin overdose. Nasty shit.'

‘But…' I started to feel sick. ‘A heroin overdose?'

‘Yeah, really sad.'

I put the newspaper down on top of the laptop, got out my phone and tried calling Matt's number again. There was nothing. Doubt was turning into comprehension. I knew I had to speak to Brinks; he was the only person I knew with easy access to CCTV footage.

The boy had a disarming smile, I remembered. He didn't take heroin; I remembered that as well.

‘Mark, you… read books and stuff.' I looked up at him. ‘“Bring thee to meet his shadow.” Where's that from?'

It hadn't seemed to matter before, the meaning of the words. But everything that had once been inconsequential mattered now; it was a mess, a fucking mess.

‘Edgar Allen Poe… “Silence”,' he said, amused. ‘Um, random. Have I won a prize?'

‘No, I… It's just something that someone said and it's been bothering me a bit. I knew it was Poe but… what's it about?'

‘“Silence”? Well… It's about death, I suppose, like most of his stuff really.' He crossed his arms, eyes searching upwards for the answers. ‘It's subjective, it all is, but you could say that Poe's life was just a sequence of deaths of people he loved.'

‘Jesus… Optimistic guy.'

‘Well, isn't it the same for all of us really?' He shrugged. ‘If you're connected to someone you're always signing up to having to watch one another die. It's in our nature. I mean, you and me, we're not going to live for ever. So which one of us is gonna go first?'

I swallowed. ‘Guess I've never thought about it.'

‘Well, that's what Poe is talking about. Um, the shadow inside him—'

‘“No power hath he of evil in himself”?'

He stared at me, looking tired, concerned. ‘Nic, are you OK?'

I shrugged, shook my head, spread my hands, watching him follow the pointless gestures.

‘I don't know,' I said.

‘I'm going to take that shower, all right?' He gave my shoulders a squeeze, like a boxing coach. ‘Keep your cool, man. Keep your cool.'

‘“I ain't got time to bleed,”' I replied, snorting.

Mark smiled and wandered away into the bathroom, sniffing. When he had locked the door I hid my notepad under the sofa after looking at the picture one more time, and then left the flat again at a run.

I saw a car with blacked-out windows stop a little way down the road. The men who got out recognized me straight away,
and Ronnie O'Connell slammed the passenger door with a smile.

‘Caruana, you elusive bastard, where have you been then?'

Usually I heard Ronnie before I saw him. He came bounding around the car and clapped me on the shoulder with a strength that would have sent me flying if I hadn't been prepared for the impact.

He was a big man, broad and darkly handsome. The Italian in his features wasn't as diluted as mine; he had browner skin and the authentic dark eyes. If he didn't speak and betray his lack of accent he could be mistaken for the real thing; the mythical gangster of seventies films.

‘Just working,' I said.

‘You haven't been in touch for a while. Was Cassie OK?'

I only vaguely remembered the blonde Norwegian girl. It had been at least six months since I had used their services. I remembered that she had a sweet laugh, and a liking for handcuffs.

‘Yeah, God, yeah, she was fine. It was nothing like that, I've just been really fucking busy, you know.'

‘Tell me about it!' He rolled his eyes and indicated at the two other men to start walking. ‘Come on, walk and talk with me, Nic.'

We started walking a few paces behind his accomplices. I recognized them as his usual security. The name Ben came to mind with the tallest one, but I couldn't be sure.

‘So what's up?' Ronnie said, lighting a cigarette with some difficulty.

‘It's about Felix Hudson,' I said.

He leant back a little and watched the windows of a taxi going by. ‘Hudson?'

‘You know of him?'

‘Yeah, who doesn't? Why are you asking after him?'

‘Just business.'

‘Business!' He laughed. ‘Cheeky fucker, just remember I know what sort of business you do. Now, why are you asking about Hudson?'

‘I want to know if he hangs out at the Underground.'

‘You know I can't tell you that.'

‘A source says he does.'

‘Ha, a
source
. And you thought you'd come to me for confirmation?' He shook his head and blew smoke out of his nose. ‘No way, Nic. You're a stand-up guy but I'm not stupid. You know Edie would fucking castrate me if I started talking about stuff like that.'

‘Aw, come on, Ron—'

‘No.' He pointed at me this time, eyes following his hand. ‘Tell me it's not fucking obvious that you're only asking me because you know Edie would tell you to get fucked.'

‘I'll tell you what it's about—'

‘Not interested, I can't help you.' He looked away with finality. ‘God, Nic, you know you have our loyalty after all you've helped us with… but come on, basic confidentiality and all that. Noel will only tell you the same so don't think about going around me, eh?'

I had foreseen this reaction and he wasn't someone open to persuasion. It had been worth a try.

‘It's OK,' I said, slowing the pace. ‘I can ask elsewhere.'

‘Not in the club, you can't.' Ronnie's eyes met mine and he didn't have to raise his voice to convey the threat. ‘Don't ask questions in there or it'll come back to us and then
I promise
it will come back to you.'

It wasn't an empty threat, and I wouldn't mess with him for any price.

Brinks it was then.

Fucking joy.

‘Wait, wait.' Ronnie stopped and threw his cigarette away. ‘Eh, fellas, wait!'

Ben and the other guy halted in unison and we all followed Ronnie's gaze across the road. I couldn't see anything, but he had obviously spotted something or someone of interest. He left my side and stepped off the pavement.

‘Oi! Oi, you!'

There was a small group of boys on the opposite pavement, standing outside a kebab shop and smoking. I guessed they were Turkish, and they looked in their early twenties. Only one of them looked up, until Ronnie shouted again.

‘Hey!' He spread his hands. ‘Long time no fucking see!'

If I wasn't mistaken, one of the youngsters noticed him then. He took a step back from his friends, who were looking confused, and dropped his cigarette.

Ronnie laughed and it made me tense. ‘Fancy a chat?'

To my surprise, the young guy let out a cry and broke into a sprint.

Ronnie started running also, punching a fist down on to the bonnet of a car that had to slam on the brakes. The rest of the street watched in bemusement as his two bodyguards followed him and, compelled by curiosity, I started after them.

I soon overtook the other two, coming up behind Ronnie.

‘Come on, you fuck,' he was muttering as he powered after his prey. ‘Come here.'

My face was stinging.

It felt good to run again, but out of respect I didn't pass Ronnie.

They rounded a corner, down a narrow alley between a pub and a shop of some kind, and I saw the guy make a leap
up a chain-link fence. He made it about halfway up before Ronnie grabbed his ankles and wrenched him off, backwards through the air until he landed, with a yelp, on the ground.

The other two, bringing up the rear, stopped behind me. One of them, the one with the moustache whose name escaped me, put his hands on his knees, gasping.

Ronnie didn't appear out of breath. He gave the guy on the ground an unceremonious kick in the ribs and turned to me, beaming.

‘Who's he?' I asked.

‘Well, it's a great story, really funny,' he said, directing his speech at the Turkish boy. ‘See, this guy here, he actually owed me three thousand pounds. I gave him two months to pay it back… three months ago.'

He burst into hysterical laughter and slapped me across the back. The harsh sound reverberated off both walls and became louder, ringing inside my ears. Ben's expression didn't change, but the Turkish guy had started shaking so violently that he looked as though he was suffering convulsions.

‘Isn't that fucking hilarious?' Ronnie said.

‘Pretty funny.'

‘I lol-ed myself off my fucking chair.'

‘Lol?' I smiled. ‘Down with the kids?'

He made a rap gesture with his fingers. ‘'S how I flow.'

‘Damn, your kids must wish they could
be
you.'

‘You know what they say,' he said. ‘You do anything to make your kids laugh, and if it embarrasses them you do it even more. You should hear me at Ryan's football. He loves it.'