Acts of Violence

ROSS HARRISON

Copyright © 2014 Ross Harrison

Cover by Mark Williams, copyright © 2014 Ross Harrison

The right of Ross Harrison to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents act 1988.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

ONE | QUITTING TIME

As his nose cracked under my
knuckles, I reflected on how much I hated violence. Not violence stemming from
my own unresolved anger issues. That I was fine with. It was violence against
women that I hated. I didn’t know why, but the prettier the girl the more I
hated it. Maybe I was shallow.

This worthless
little shit lost his cool when she put too much ice in his drink. Lost his top
altogether when she tried to take one cube back out with those little tongs and
it fell back in. Pulled her halfway over the bar to explain to her real close
how she was going to pay for the splash on his silk shirt. Maybe if he’d
explained who his daddy was, it would have actually rung a bell. Less of a drug
store tinkle, more of a gong furiously beaten with a hammer. Cole Webster owned
the club. Owned her. Little Dick Webster – though he probably preferred ‘Rich’
or ‘Richie’ – didn’t think to mention that. She gave his left cheek a bright
red hue that didn’t match the sprayed on tan. He repaid the favour.

That’s when I
stepped in. Wrong foot first.

The bar stool
followed Little Dick to the sticky floor. His shiny purple shirt hissed at me as
his movements tore a seam. Then hindsight grabbed my shoulder. Hindsight was a
six-three, two-fifty-pound bouncer with egg-shaped eyes. His boss’ jumped up
boy was lying on the ground and he wasn’t about to risk his job by reacting too
slow.

‘Big mistake,’ was
all he said. The only words he knew, maybe.

‘I noticed,’ I
said. I didn’t know why. A witty one-liner always seemed the way to go at a
time like that. Problem was, I was never particularly witty under pressure.

The bouncer wasn’t
trained. He made a mistake. I’d like to say choosing me to play the punch bag
was the mistake, but that wasn’t it. He threw me into the side of the bar.
Little Dick was just clambering to his feet beside me. I banged the back of my
head on the shiny steel, but if I’d let the bright white flash in my eyes deter
me, I’d have woken up in hospital. Or in my car. Halfway to the bottom of the
lake.

I wrapped both
hands around the legs of the nearest bar stool. Made out I was dazed and
pulling myself up. The bouncer didn’t see it coming. Felt it though, when the
stool hit his jaw. With that bulk, there wouldn’t have been much I could have
done if he hadn’t thrown me aside like an empty steroid needle. Now he was
unconscious. And fired. Maybe for that failure, he’d wake up in his car, halfway
to the bottom of the lake. I didn’t feel bad.

‘Do you have any
idea what you just did?’ Little Dick was referring to his own humiliation. He
didn’t care about the bouncer. ‘You just signed your own death w—’

As his nose cracked
under my knuckles a second time, I reflected on how much I hated violence. I
hated violence directed towards women. I hated violence directed towards me. I
hated the threat of violence directed towards women or me. I decided then that
I hated Little Dick Webster.

The drunk, drugged
up social elite, such as it was in this pitiful town, continued to thrash about
on the dance floors. No one but Little Dick’s friends took any notice of what
just happened. Them and the other bouncers. His friends were as much of a joke
as him. Rough with girls perhaps, but not with someone who’d hit back. They
weren’t prepared to risk denting their pretty faces on my fists. Just as well.
One more punch like those two and my hand would have probably shattered.

The bouncers were
another story. Three of them were shoving their way through all the spoiled teens
barely old enough to set foot in this place. They looked angry. And their faces
definitely weren’t pretty. I decided it was time to pull out my safety blanket.

‘Harem P.D.’ The
dull brass shield made them hesitate. ‘We’ve had reports of underage barmaids
working in this…establishment.’ Swanky shithole didn’t seem like a wise term to
use just then. ‘I’m taking the girl with me.’

‘Ain’t no one here
underage,’ the middle bouncer said.

I shrugged. No
point discussing it. I was making it up as I went, and it wasn’t a good lie.
The barmaid, wherever she’d disappeared to, maybe could have passed for as
young as twenty-two. Maybe.

I flicked a five-credit
chip in Little Dick’s direction.

‘For the shirt.’ He
was unconscious, but his friends would pass on my humorous remark.

I stepped past the
bouncers. Kept my badge held high. I didn’t know how long a hired goon’s memory
lasted. The barmaid pushed through the toilet door ahead. Her eyes were as red
as Little Dick’s nose. I grabbed her arm. She saw the badge.

‘I didn’t do
anything!’ she shouted. Or nearly did. Crying had chased off her voice.

‘Then what are you
worried about,’ I said.

She glanced back at
the bouncers. They weren’t going to help her.

On the way out,
some bleached blonde tried to dance on me like a pole. I didn’t know what these
idiots were on. That was a problem for another time. Or for someone who gave a
damn. That wasn’t why I was in the club that night. My little stakeout was over
the moment I clenched my fist. I was going home with nothing but bruises.

Outside, the sounds
of the city were like gentle caresses after whatever noise they were blasting inside.
The streets were shiny under the moon, but the rain had stopped for now. I
manhandled the barmaid away from the club. Only let go of her arm when we were
out of sight of the bouncers.

‘You know goddamn
well I’m not underage,’ she said. Pulled away from my open hand to make a
statement. ‘Why’d you drag me out here?’

She probably
thought I had something bad in mind for her. She didn’t run though. Yet.

‘You’re welcome to
go back if you want to get slapped around some more,’ I said. I patted my coat
pockets out of habit. ‘End up in a dumpster somewhere.’

Her brow furrowed. Dark
brown eyes narrowed for a second. She didn’t say anything.

She wore too much
lipstick. Her lips were smooth red, like the side of a car. If I tapped my nail
on them, it would probably echo back at me from across the street. One corner
was smudged by the back of an over-tanned hand.

‘That was Dick
Webster,’ I said. ‘Cole Webster’s boy. You hit him, the next time anyone sees
you is the E.R. or the morgue.’

She stared at me
for a while. We crossed the street in silence. Was this even her way home? My
night’s investigation might have been blown, but I wondered if she might know
something useful. The fact that she’d hit Little Dick told me it was unlikely. I
didn’t mind squeezing her anyway.

‘Underage.’ She was
smiling this time. She reached into her bag. ‘That’s the best you could come up
with?’

‘When you have a
badge, you just open your mouth and whatever falls out usually works. I
couldn’t exactly tell them I was investigating Little Dick Webster.’ I
shouldn’t have told her that. I noticed a hesitation though.

Finally she found
what she was looking for. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Looked me up and
down. ‘I think I have what you want.’

She offered me one
from the pack. She’d seen me pat my pockets but…did I imagine the innuendo?
Maybe I’d bumped my head harder than I thought. I looked past the half-empty
pack to where her fawn-coloured breasts forced the tight black top so thin it
was nearly transparent. Webster’s staff rules said no bras. They were pretty derogatory
and didn’t exactly favour women, but right then I liked those rules.

‘You do.’ Finally,
a cab came into sight. I signalled it to stop. ‘But I quit.’

The cab pulled up
beside us. The driver was thoughtful enough to keep the static thrusters away
from the big puddle at the kerb. He didn’t want to splash his customers before
they paid. I opened the door and held it for her.

‘You want me to go
home?’ She asked. She made her chocolate eyes look sad. Like a scolded puppy’s.
‘But what if Webster’s waiting for me?’ Maybe she was going for frightened. She
was a bad actress, but it wasn’t meant to convince. ‘According to you, you
saved my life tonight. I’d feel much safer with you. Then again, I only have
your word for it. Maybe all you did was lose me my job. Maybe you owe me a
drink and a nice, warm place for the night.’

‘You lost your job
the second you raised your hand against Little Dick.’ My eyes moved to the see-through
top again. ‘But you’re right, he might go looking for payback tonight. And you
do have what I want.’

I took the
cigarette out of her mouth and took one drag. It was against the law to smoke
in a cab. I threw it at the gutter and climbed in behind her. It made me want
more.

TWO | DÉJÀ VU

I stared out the patrol car window.
My neighbours lined the wall, pointing, and whispering in each other’s ear.
The blue and red lights made the rain glow. The rubberneckers had to squint
against them to see in the car. The cuffs were too tight. The magnets were too
strong for someone twice my size to pull apart. I tried anyway. Hurt my
shoulders.

The driver got in
first. Then his partner. The partner turned in his seat and waved his little
bracelet at me. One touch of the red button and I’d get some free electroshock
therapy.

A third uniform
climbed in beside me. This one preferred the splatter my insides all over the
car door approach. I didn’t think the compact shard gun was a regulation police
weapon. I didn’t feel the need to share my doubt.

The detectives
would follow behind. Keeping a close eye on me. The blue lights flashed on the
hoverbike in front. It pulled off, leading the way. A lot of manpower for just
me. But I was a special case. A special kind of sick scum.

‘Come on, Jack,’
the electroshock cop said. ‘You’re not going to let us drag you away like this,
are you? Where’s that famous anger of yours? You burn it all up on the girl?’

He wanted an excuse
to shock me. I looked at the strip on his shirt with his name sewn on: Holt. I
didn’t know the name. He obviously knew of me. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want
to look at his any more. Didn’t want me eyeballing him to be that excuse,
either.

Out of nowhere, my
bones started vibrating. Every muscle tensed. I hit my head on the padded car
ceiling. It was like jumping in an ice cold shower and hitting my funny bone at
the same time. Except my whole body was the funny bone. And it wasn’t funny.

Beside me, the cop
with the stupidly powerful weapon pointed at my stomach jumped too. He brought
the gun up more. Nearly squeezed the trigger I thought.

‘Jesus, Holt!’ he
shouted. ‘Don’t do that. I thought he was trying something. I nearly shot him!’

‘You do that again,
Holt, and you’d best
hope
he shoots me.’ That’s what
I wanted to say. But I couldn’t get my tongue to move and my teeth ached. The
only sound I could produce was a groan.

Holt smirked as the
car pulled away from the kerb. I wanted to remove the smirk. But there was
nothing I could do with my muscles pulsing every few seconds and the sensation
of needles sticking through my skin. Just as well. The shard gun cop didn’t
want to shoot me for no reason, but he wouldn’t hesitate if I gave him one.

I settled for
watching the grey city pass by on the other side of the rain-streaked glass. Yeah,
the rain had started again. It never seemed to stop for long. Pathetic fallacy I
thought it was called. The rain mimicked the city perfectly. Barely a ray of
sunshine ever seemed to break through those clouds.

Here and there, entrepreneurs
slinked casually into the alleys as the cop cars passed. Their customers were
less casual. The cops had something more important in their back seat. They
didn’t care about pushers or users today. Not that they cared much any day.

We passed Cole
Webster’s club, The Web. Little Dick stood outside, talking on his comm. One of
the bouncers held an umbrella over the spoilt shit’s head. There was technology
to render those needless, but Little Dick liked to have someone wait on him
like that. Added to his delusion of power.

Little Dick looked
up from his call. He waved into the back of the cruiser with a grin.

The smell of the
wet city drifted in through the air vents. It wasn’t a refreshing smell. It
smelled of the sewers. Human waste. That was the all-pervading stink of Harem. At
least it overpowered the smell of blood still in my nostrils.