Bloodstorm (10 page)

“‘Y
ou are
S
LEEPING
. Open your eyes. Where’s the dog?’” said Naomi, translating the message on Karl’s mobile.

“Are you sure that’s what it says?”

“‘
U. R. Zzz. Opn Yr Iyz Whrs k9?
” repeated Naomi. “
U R
is short for you are. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“
Zzz
means sleeping.
Opn Yr Iyz
means open your eyes.”

“How silly of me not to recognise that.”

“Keep the sarcasm up, Karl, and you’ll do the deciphering yourself.”

“
O.K. G.O.
”

“Very funny,” said Naomi, before continuing with the deciphering. “
Whrs
is where’s, and
k9
is short for dog.
You are sleeping. Open your eyes. Where’s the dog?
That’s what it means in text world language.”

“What kind of shit is that? Doesn’t even make sense. I don’t even have a dog,” said Karl, flopped out on the sofa, mentally and physically drained after his encounter with Jim’s probing finger earlier that morning.

“Could be a scam,” suggested Naomi.

“What?”

“A scam. Easily done. They text you, your curiosity gets the better of you, and you naturally answer it. Next thing you know, you’re being charged prime rate phone calls. It’s an old trick. You didn’t answer it, did you?”

“How could I answer it, when I can’t even understand what the bastards are talking about, for fuck sake?”

“Hey! You asked me to decipher it for you. Remember? No need to bite my head off.”

Karl closed his eyes, sucked in air, before slowly breathing out.

“I’m sorry …” he finally managed to say.

Sitting down beside him, Naomi placed her hand in his. “It’s me who should be sorry. I know you’ve had a stressful day at the doctor’s, but at least it’s all over. Wasn’t it worth going, just for the peace of mind?”

Karl nodded. “Yes. You were right, insisting that I go. Thankfully, Jim reckons that it was nothing more than me sitting about on my useless arse all day.”

“I won’t have you saying that about your arse. I’m quite found of it, to be honest.” She kissed him gently on the right cheek. “You
are
telling me everything, Karl, about the doctor? There was nothing? Just haemorrhoids?”

“I love it when you talk like that.
Haemorrhoids
. No one else says it quite like you do.” Karl forced a smile. “Now, end of conversation concerning my arse. It’s off-limits for the rest of the day, thank you very much.”

The mobile phone rang.

Naomi reached and answered it.

“Hello? Oh. Yes, Katie, your father’s here. Hold on a sec.”

Her face expressionless, Naomi handed the phone to Karl.

“Katie? How is ma wee bonny lass doing in Edinburgh?” pronounced
Karl, in a heavy Scotch accent.

“You’re still with
that
woman, Dad,” accused Katie’s voice at the other end.

“And I love you too, my wee lovely. How are things at school?”

“It’s
not
a school; it’s a university, and I’m doing crap.”

“Cut that cursing out. You know you’re not allowed to use any swear word with more than one letter.”

Despite her initially confrontational voice, Katie did a soft laugh, and Karl’s face suddenly lit up with relief.

“Stop trying to make fun of a serious situation, Dad.”

“Okay. I’ll try. So what have you called for? But I must warn you, if you say money, I’m going to scream.”

“How loud?”

“How much?”

“One hundred.”

Karl screamed very loudly, making Naomi jump.

Katie giggled.

“If that is pennies you’re talking, Katie, then I’ll sell something and get it sent to you for your fiftieth birthday.”

Loud laughter from the other end could be heard flowing from the phone.

“Don’t laugh. I’m serious, Katie.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“Not half as much as I love you. The usual address?”

“Yes …”

“I’ll send it first thing tomorrow morning. Okay – oh, Katie?”

“Yes?”

“Keep away from those Scotchmen. I don’t trust any man wearing a skirt.”

Laughing, Katie replied, “Love you, Dad. Bye.”

The sound of kisses being blown at the other end of the phone brought the conversation to an end.

“Katie sends all her love,” said Karl, half smiling at Naomi.

“I know. I could detect all that love in her voice.”

“Give her time, Naomi. She’s young, torn between loyalty for her
mother and me. It can’t be easy for –”

The buzzer to the front office door sounded.

“Can’t they read we’ve gone to lunch?” asked Karl.

“C’mon. Let’s go downstairs. You’ll never make your first million ignoring business.”

Making her way downstairs, Naomi saw clearly the silhouette of a stocky figure standing outside the frosted part of the outside door, and that the
Gone To Lunch
sign had fallen from its nail.

Opening the door, she quickly apologised.

“I’m sorry, normally we –”

“Good afternoon, Naomi,” said Bill Munday, with a slight nod of his head. “No need to apologise. I was just in the area, and thought I could kill two birds with one stone. Is Mister Kane available?”

“You can go straight in. He’ll be with you in a minute or so,” replied Naomi, leaving Munday standing at the doorway.

Munday entered the tiny office, and sat down. Less than a minute later, Karl appeared through a side door, the sound of a toilet flushing in the background.

“Ah, Mister Munday. How are you on this unusually warm day?”

“For all its warmth, I felt a distinctive coldness from the usually friendly Naomi,” replied Munday.

“You know what they say? If you want something with a permanent smile on its face, get a duck.”

“That’s a good one, Mister Kane. I must remember to keep that one for my duck friends.”

“I think you missed a spot, when you were washing this morning,” said Karl, smiling, tapping his forehead. “There’s a large black smudge on your forehead.”

Munday’s face suddenly tightened. His eyes darkened into knots.
“Memento homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris.”

“Remember, man, that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return?”
smiled Karl, proudly.

“Your Latin is flawless.”

“Next to English – though I was crap at spelling – Latin was my favourite subject at school.” Then the revelation finally hit home. “Hold
on a tick. Today is Ash Wednesday, I think? Of course! I was wondering why Naomi was feeding me all that crumpet, yesterday. And there’s me thinking it was my sex appeal.”

“You shouldn’t mock redemption or repentance, Mister Kane. They might come knocking at your door, one day.” Munday’s face relaxed, only slightly. “What have you got for me?”

From a drawer, Karl removed an envelope. Pushing it across to Munday, he said, “I think this is yours.”

A watered smile appeared on Munday’s face. The smile quickly disappeared as soon as he opened the envelope.

“Money?”

“Count it. You’ll find it’s all there.”

“Why?”

“Must be getting old, but I don’t think handing over a list of working girls can lead to any good. Hope I haven’t offended you, but there you have it.”

“I thought I knew you, Kane. Obviously I was wrong.”

“That makes two of us.
I
thought I knew me.”

“Are you sure about this? In your predicament, that’s a lot of money to be saying no to.”

“Or a lot of trouble to be saying yes to. Either way, you leave here a bit richer than you came in.”

“It leaves you poorer,” said Munday, pocketing the envelope.

“No. Not in the least. Good day, Mister Munday. It’s been … interesting.”

Waiting until Munday had left, Naomi entered the office.

“Satisfied?” asked Karl.

Naomi smiled. “We’ll soon find out. I’ve put the
Gone To Lunch
sign back on the front door. Firmly this time. Let’s hit the sheets …”

T
HE LATE EVENING
Belfast traffic was thinning, making driving semi-bearable, as William McCully’s Merc pulled into the privately owned car park, two streets away from the prestigious Odyssey Arena. Most of the city workers had headed home, creating pockets of calmness in the surrounding streets. In less than two hours, the madness would return with people flooding back for entertainment and the savoury taste of the unsavoury: the city’s thriving nightlife and dark underbelly spiced with drugs and prostitution.

Just as he emerged from his car, a dazzling display of streetlights came on, performing their nightly task of showcasing the impressive waterfront area. There was something magical about this time of evening in winter, thought McCully, as rows of soft golden lights encased in fat-belly glass lanterns guided him along the pathway to the apartment.

The two-bedroom apartment – although located in a prime area – had remained mystifyingly unsold for almost six months. Rumours of a homeless shelter being built two streets away had hindered a sale, even though McCully’s well-greased cronies on Belfast City Council had assured him of their success at blocking the shelter’s building permit.

Ten years ago, it would have been impossible to sell an apartment like this at such an extortionate price. The area had been as dead as the habitual corpse floating on the greasy, polluted water of the
foul-smelling
River Lagan. Even the rats turned their noses up, deserting the area, in their shiploads. Now, where once scenes of neglect and dereliction had fermented, new buildings and innovative public areas had been developed and refurbished, giving the area a cosmopolitan skin and overdue confidence in the future economic performance of the city. Even the river, it seemed, was coming up smelling like roses instead of corpses.

McCully gave the place a final once-over, checking that everything was picture-perfect for the client, a Mister Peter Stapleton, an eccentric millionaire artist.

Almost five o’clock and on cue, the doorbell rang a gentle soothing tune.

“
Sell sell sell
…” whispered McCully, seconds before opening the door. “Mister Stapleton! Come in, please.”

Forewarned on the phone by Stapleton’s secretary of the artist’s aphephobia, McCully barely resisted the urge to offer a handshake.

“Is it always this cold?” asked Stapleton, slapping gloved hands against his legs.

It’s not cold at all
, thought McCully, slightly baffled.
But I should have had the heating on, anyway. Mistake number one.

“Er, this winter has been a record-breaker in the city,” responded McCully. “Normally, it isn’t quite this cold. My apologies for not having the heat on, Mister Stapleton. I should have remembered.”

Stapleton waved his gloved hand, slightly. “Shall we proceed with the tour? And please, let’s be less formal. Peter will suffice.”

“Yes … yes, of course … Peter.”

McCully walked down the spacious hallway, followed by Stapleton, 
into the roomy reception/dining room with its excellent views of the waterfront.

To McCully’s relief, Stapleton looked impressed.

“Lovely view of the Albert Clock. How times have changed …” commented Stapleton, gazing out the window.

“A great view, indeed,” encouraged McCully.

Being situated close to the docks, the impressive Albert Clock was once infamous for being frequented by prostitutes plying their trade with visiting sailors. Now, the most dodgy visitor the old clock could expect was a manic-depressive clown or a slightly off-balanced juggler on stilts, when the circus came to town.

“Did you know that the classic film
Odd Man Out
, starring James Mason, had the Albert Clock as a central location?” asked Stapleton.

“Really?” replied McCully, hoping to sound interested. He studied the grand clock quizzically, as if it were a curious abstract painting he was now trying hard to interpret. “You can’t beat the city lit up at night, Peter. Beautiful. To be honest with you, I almost bought this apartment for myself. Five-minute car ride to the airport, five-minute walk to the train station …” McCully’s sales pitch flowed fluently. He had good vibes about the prospect of closing the deal. Then things suddenly went belly-up. The pain was excruciating, unbelievably so, sending McCully into involuntary, bone-shattering spasms. He could smell his skin burn; could hear it sizzle like bacon on a well-greased pan.

The pain. Oh dear lord, the pain …

Every molecule in his body was exploding at the speed of light.

Thankfully, the darkness came, and he no longer cared about pain …

M
C
C
ULLY’S INSENTIENT BODY
stirred sluggishly as his vision emerged from total darkness into a yellowish glow. Something acerbic rushed his nostrils. He scrunched up his nose, shaking his head violently. Smelling salts? The salty pong was overpowering.

“William? Wake up, William.” Two hard slaps to either side of his face felt like vindictive whips. “Wakey-wakey, sleepy head. Rise and shine.” Two more slaps.

His surroundings blurred and grew indistinct. Someone was kneeling over him, staring directly into his face. The person’s features were wavy,
almost rubbery. He squeezed his eyes tight; reopened them, hoping to focus. A woman? She looked like a junkie needing a fix, badly. He tried to move, but his hands were tied behind his back. His ankles bound, also.

“Oh … my neck …” The pain was unbearable. His neck felt like someone was standing on it, slowly crushing.

“Let me see,” said a voice.

He could feel her fingers touch the raw patch of purple skin camped on his neck. He jerked as she pinched the skin.

“Oh, did that hurt? It’s nothing, really. Looks like a large hickey. You’ll be able to boast to your friends about it. You like boasting. Don’t you, William?” There was laughter in the voice. Not jolly. Sinister. “Actually, you got more voltage than I anticipated. The carpet’s static components did that, adding an extra mule. There’s usually numbness after the shock, but in your case this has dissipated very quickly.”

“What … what’s this all about? Where’s Peter? What have you done with him?”

Her expression darkened. “He’s no longer with us. Be more concerned about your own situation, not his.”

“You … you’ve killed him, haven’t you? Why? What did he do? What’s this all about?”

She said nothing, studying him, in her eyes a predatory curiosity, unnervingly cold.

“A … drink … can I at least have some water … please?” he pleaded.

“
Hmm
,” she eventually muttered, but made no move to grant his request. “Later, perhaps. If you’re good, William.”

“What do you want with me?”

She placed a finger gently on his lips, bridging them.

“First rule, William: no lies. Lies make you look small; make me look insignificant. Lies are punished; truth rewarded.” From her handbag, she produced a small handheld device, no bigger than a mobile phone. “Japanese technology. Wonderful, don’t you agree?
King Zapper
, it’s called. A few years ago, these things were the size of bricks. Now look at them. No bigger than a mobile phone. Able to ground a bull in a split
second.” To prove her point, she pressed a tiny green button. A bright forked-tongue of cobalt light emerged from the evil-looking device, crackling menacingly along
King Zapper’s
metal ridge of teeth. Bringing the device to McCully’s face, she hovered it close, as if administering a shave.

“Please …” Instinctively, he pulled his face away from
King Zapper.

Undeterred, however, she quickly transferred
King Zapper
to the boundary of his mouth, allowing it to hover over his lips.

He closed his eyes. Felt
King Zapper
buzzing close to his lips. Gritted his teeth, waiting for the jolt.

“Eyes open, William.”

Reluctantly, he obeyed.

“Good. Why do you boys always close your eyes? It doesn’t lessen the pain. Trying to prevent the inevitable, perhaps? That’s rule number two: eyes wide open. Close them without permission, and your balls get a kiss. Not from me, of course.
King Zapper
.”

She brought
King Zapper
closer. McCully could taste its filthy electricity in his mouth. It tasted like wet copper. His teeth began to rattle. Down his face, sweat trickled, making him think of its salty conductivity, dreading what would happen if
King Zapper
touched it.

“It’s okay. I know we won’t have to use naughty
King
again,” she whispered reassuringly, hitting a red button.
King
slumbered.

“Who … who are you? What do you want with me?” His petrified voice sounded like tin.

“Some information. That’s all. Then I’ll be gone from your life forever. How does that sound, William?”

He tried to nod but his neck was too sore. “What … kind of information?”

“
That’s
what I want to hear,” she encouraged, while removing a large envelope from a leather attaché case stationed a few feet away on the floor. Flipping the corded lip of the envelope, she extracted a family of black and white photos. Other than a few scuffmarks staining the edges, for their age, the photos looked quite unspoiled.

“I want you to study these, carefully. Think before you speak. I already know the answers. I’m simply testing your truthfulness.”

Outside, the Albert Clock did its roll call, chiming three times. Early morning, and the city was slumbering peacefully.

McCully’s eyes scanned the first photo held in her hands like a storyboard. A group of young men gathered in random positions, some on their hunkers, others standing rigidly in what looked like a patch of darkened ground. The group resembled inquisitive meerkats.

“Recognise anyone?” she asked.

He scrutinized the photo again, baffled at her question. “No … don’t think so …”

She quickly replaced the photo with the next photo in line. Same group of men. Slightly different poses. A zoomed-in close-up. Clearer. Only one of the group was standing now, seemingly staring directly and defiantly in the direction of the lens, a slight puzzlement scribbled upon his face.

“Well?” she prompted.

“No. I’m sorry … I don’t recognise any of them. What’s this … all about …?”

Her hand moved so fast, it was a blur. The
King
zapped his crotch.

“Ahhhhhhhhh –
fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
!” A million kicks in the balls. There was a smell of burning cloth in the room.

“
Fortunately
for you, William, your trousers took most of that voltage, otherwise you would be undergoing an emasculation right in front of my eyes.” She zapped his forehead.

“Arrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

“
Unfortunately
, your forehead doesn’t wear pants. I warned you about lying,” she said, withdrawing her hand. A horrific-looking imprint of
King’s
teeth was horrendously tattooed on the bare space of McCully’s forehead. A small wisp of cathode blue smoke hovered from the ghastly imprint. The stench of burning flesh was everywhere. “Now you have the mark of the beast because of your lying. Don’t lie, William! Lies get fried. Understand?”

“
Oh god oh god … please help me … the pain
…” he whispered in agony, swooning, fearing a blackout; praying for one.

“Don’t lose consciousness. If you do, I have ways of reviving you, William. Not very fun ways. Do – not – pass – out.” She said the last
four words in measured tones, as though she had pronounced the words many times before. “William? Can you hear me, William?”

“Water … a drink … please … the pain …”

“I’ll help your pain later,” she said, producing photo three. “Now, back to our private screening. This time, allow your mind to drift back. Open that door you have kept closed for so long. I am here to help you confront all the monsters from your past.” Her voice was suddenly soothing, bedtime motherly.

Photo three revealed a young man holding up what looked like rags, and even though the photo had been shot in black and white, the darkened area of the rags had the tell-tale design of hardened blood. Darker than the darkest shadow. Two other men appeared to be staring at the rags, smirks on their wild faces.

McCully suddenly jolted, not because of the
King
, but of voices flooding his head.
No stomach, Basil? Feels like she’s still inside – not that you would know what to do with it …

“I …” McCully tried to speak, but his tongue had become unmanageable. “I … oh, god …”

She nodded, kindly. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Take your time, William. There’s no rush now. Everything is going to be just fine.” She eased closer, placing her hand on his swelling chest. Calmed it flat. “There … there … easy … easy … you feel a lot better now. Don’t you?”

He nodded, despite the excruciating pain in head and neck. “Yes …”

“You poor man. Keeping all that poison bottled inside you, all these years, allowing it to ferment. It couldn’t have been easy. How you must have suffered. You’ve had urges all your life to come clean, but never acted on them. I understand the torment, the way it rationalises in your head.”

He nodded again. Her kind words were bringing tears to his eyes.

“The pain … please …”

“You
will
get help to take away the pain, in a minute. Promise. First, I need you to answer one last question. Okay?”

“Yes … yes … anything …”

“I know the names of all the people in the photos. What I want you to do is confirm the name of the person
not
in them.”

“I … what do you mean?”

Lifting
King
from the floor, she sliced Zorro’s Z across his face. His skin sizzled.

“
Arrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
!”

“
Shhhhhh
. We don’t want to disturb the neighbours. Do we, William?

“
Ahhhhhh
. The pain. My god the pain … please take it away from me. I beg you.
Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease
…”

“Why don’t you want to listen to me? All this terrible pain can be avoided. If you’re naughty again, William, I’ll disfigure you for life. You
must
respect my questions.”

“
Please
… I … I want to help. Really. I just don’t know what you mean.”

“
Hmm
.” She studied him for a moment. “Okay. I believe you want to help rectify this terrible wrong. So, here we go, one last time. What is the name of the person
not
in the photos? Not the monkeys, but the big ape, the one you were all answerable to.”

All William wanted to do was close his eyes. So tired. He tried one last appeal.

“He’ll have me killed, if I tell you.”

She looked at him before glancing towards the far window. A few seconds later, her eyes returned to his. “You have my word. I will not allow him to harm a hair on your precious head. That’s a promise. Now, whisper the name in my ear. No one else will hear. Promise.”

With a sigh, he answered, a private murmur fearful of listeners.

She listened intently. Closed her eyes. Sucked in air. Opened her eyes. She had changed. “Despite all you have done, there is a modicum of goodness in you. Never permit anyone to tell you otherwise, William.”

William nodded at her kind words. “Thank you …” The relief on his face was evident. If only all confessions felt this good …

Without a sound, her hands slipped into her handbag, before extracting an item. A handgun. Tiny, yet somehow it looked massive in her petite hand.

“Oh fuck, no …” William tried closing his eyes.

“Unlock your eyes, William. Don’t be a coward. This is the last
station. Everyone off the stagecoach.”

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, becoming nauseated at what awaited.

Her left hand was attaching a bulbous silencer, extending the length of the gun. The tiny gun was now truly impressive.

William’s face was quickly losing colour, bleeding itself white as he peered fixedly at the gun and its horrible addition.

Gently, she pressed the gun against his chest. Cold metal on clammy skin. “Time to pay the piper, William.”

“Please … I …”

The sharp attention in her eyes derailed for a second, focusing on something else. “You believe in this?” she asked, the gun capturing the silver relief medal and chain on his neck.

“It’s my … Saint Christopher … a present from my mother, god rest her soul.”

“Do you
believe
in it, I asked?”

His lips were sandpapery dry and he tried licking them. No saliva.

“
Yes
,” he whispered hoarsely. “I believe …”

She pulled it violently from his neck, watching the chain’s links fragment, spilling to the floor.

“Heads or tails?” she asked.

“What?”

“Heads or tails. You call.” She placed the medal on her thumb, balancing it perfectly.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“For such a supposedly intelligent man, you seem easily confused, William,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “If you don’t understand now, you will never understand. Your moment for understanding has turned to dust. I’ll call for you. If your saint lands face up, you live. Simple; nothing complicated.”

“Please …”

“There is no more please.”

She flipped the medal into the air.

He watched it spinning, a silver blur. He sucked in air, just as the medal fell soundlessly on the carpet, inches from his feet. The angle of his face prevented him from seeing which way it landed. His heart kept
drumming in his skull. The rich cloying scent of overripe bananas and pungent onions hung in the air: the tangible smell of fear.

Without haste, she inspected the coin’s outcome.

“He’s turned his back on you, William.”

Her words were a blunt blow to his chest. His breathing began to collapse.

“Please. I’m begging you for my life. You don’t have to do this.”

“I do. It’s predestined. You created this moment in time. I’m simply the harbinger of that creation, bringing it to a successful conclusion, for us all.”

With those words, communication of some sort finally passed between them.

He shivered, not because he was cold, but because his body instinctively and finally recognized what he could only imagine but had not fully grasped, minutes ago.