Die Tryin' (36 page)

Charlie listened to her words, and then acted.

The fridge was full—chicken, ham, cheese, eggs, salad stuff,
halloumi
, apples, oranges, kiwis, grapes, yoghurt, some left over
spanakopita
. Mum had been shopping and there was plenty to eat, just as he liked it.

But, for the first time in a long while, Charlie had no appetite. Nothing. He closed the fridge door, and then rubbed his eyes, tired and emotionally spent.

He’d just finished recounting the events of the last few years—from that night at the fair to the present day— for what felt like the millionth time. His mind just wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t rest.

The last few days had lasted an age. He hadn’t eaten nor slept, and it wasn’t because he’d taken drugs. Even though he wanted them so badly, wanted them to shut down those fucking voices that fizzed around his mind twenty-four seven, he grit his teeth and soldiered through the torment.

No, this time, his lack of any food and sleep was down to two things: seeing Maria with Nick for the first time, and anxiously awaiting Marco’s return, which would mean a step closer to the endgame.

It was when he went and sat on the park bench outside the estate on Lynton Drive that Marco finally came to see him. Charlie waited with baited breath, his bladder feeling like it was about to give way as Marco took a seat next to him and began speaking. At first Charlie thought for a crazy moment that it might be his turn to go, and not Nick’s, that he had misjudged the whole situation. But Marco had something else in mind.

‘That’s all what you want me to do?’ Charlie asked out loud, making a woman hanging washing on the balcony of her flat turn her head in his direction. ‘And that’s it? All this will be over?’

‘That’s it, Charlie,’ Marco confirmed, staring at him from behind his visor like shades, which were remarkably similar to the pair he wore that day in the mausoleum. ‘You just have to do this one last thing and it will all be put to rest.’

Charlie looked away and bit his bottom lip. He had been recollecting, reliving the story from the start in his mind non-stop. Every moment. Every painful episode. He reflected how he had been used, abused, taken for a ride for years, and still Marco wanted more from him. He wanted more and more. Do this, do that, go here, go there. But this time was it—the endgame, and the end zone was finally in sight, after all this time, all this torture, there was a sliver of light at the end of the slime-infested tunnel.

‘It’ll all be over, Charlie,’ Marco said in a toneless, robotic voice. ‘They’ll learn their lessons, and we’ll all be square.’

‘What if I don’t?’ Charlie dared. He turned his head to the side to view Marco’s face out of the corner of his eye; it was scrunched up in anger, his teeth bared beneath a top lip curled back in a snarl. For a second, he looked to Marco like the stereotypical Devil, minus only the horns and goatee beard.

‘You’re gonna fucking do it!’ Marco said sternly, pointing his finger down at him. ‘You got no choice. An eye for an eye, Charlie. A tooth for a tooth. Payback.’

Charlie nodded his head in both agreement and understanding. Marco
did
deserve payback, he didn’t disagree there at all.

‘Now you get to your feet and go do it, or I’ll make sure your life is a never ending nightmare. You think it’s bad now, you haven’t seen anything…’

Charlie wiped the tears from his eyes with a trembling hand. ‘You promise me all this will end?’ he asked.

‘This
is
the end, Charlie. Now make the call.’

Charlie sat upright, taking a long deep breath to try and control both his shuddering body and tortured mind.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll do what you say.’

*****

Nick pressed ‘end call’ and stared from his kitchen window at the fat pigeon that was ambling across his lawn. Charlie just called. Nick
had
been expecting a call from Charlie any day. And he had made the necessary preparations for it.

‘I know what we can do to end this!’
Charlie had said in an excited voice, and the first thing Nick thought to himself was:
come on then, Charlie, let’s hear it…

‘We can save ourselves, re!’
Charlie added. Nick told him to get to the point.
‘Meet me at the cemetery. And bring the key to the mausoleum. You still got it haven’t you?’

Nick replied that he did. ‘What’s this about, Charlie?’ he then asked.

‘I’ll tell you when we get there. Listen. It’s midday now. I’ll meet you there at two. Okay?’

At that point, Nick had clocked the fat pigeon fly from a nearby tree down onto his grass; it began bobbing its head between random pecks at the ground. ‘Okay, Charlie,’ he replied. ‘I’ll meet you there. You sure you know what you’re doing?’

‘I hope so, re,’
Charlie said.
‘I fucking hope so…’

The line then went dead.

Nick sighed and tapped his phone lightly on his thigh. Charlie sounded eager, and very certain that he had found a solution to the Marco thing.

And very convinced.

He left the pigeon in his garden to do its business and went straight up to his bedroom. He entered his walk-in wardrobe and rummaged through the various crap stuffed at the back of it—old shoes; golf clubs; books; memorabilia, until he found the shoebox he was looking for. He removed the lid, and looked inside. The key sat there on a pile of old receipts. Laying eyes on it for the first time since he put it in there sent memories flooding back into his mind as if they had just been injected into his veins and shot right up to his brain—Marco, Tony, Nick Black, Taki,
Charlie…

The musky smell of the tomb, the rancid stench that seeped out as they lifted its lid. The sight of Tony freaking out and killing Marco, and then burying him. Burying Taki in the dead of night. He could see it all; hear it all; taste it all. And it was about to come full circle, about to come to a conclusion, he was certain.

He took in a deep breath. He listened out for Maria. When sure she was nowhere nearby, he reached inside the box to take out the other thing he kept hidden there along with the mausoleum key. Ice cold steel was now in his grip, sending a shiver running through him like a hit from a taser. It was a Glock 9 mm, fully loaded and ready to fire. He thought of Charlie, wondering what state of mind he was in, wondering just how dangerous he would be at this moment in time. If Charlie was close to the edge, then Nick knew he would need protection.

He nodded his head and puffed his cheeks.

The time had come.

The moment had arrived.

He placed the gun in his belt like in the films, put the mausoleum key in his pocket, and began replacing all the crap he had taken out of the cupboard. He would then get ready, prepare himself; feed Maria a small lie about where he would be for the following hour or two; kiss her goodbye; get in his car.

And then go and meet Charlie.

*****

Nick arrived at the cemetery a little after two.

He kept an eye out for Charlie, but he wasn’t on the street outside. Nick knew Charlie wouldn’t be late, so guessed he must be inside, waiting. He pulled into the cemetery gates and was hit with a wave of déjà vu—he was tripped back to that day they first came here with Marco, all of them in the car, except now he was on his Jack Jones.

As he pulled in, he looked for the barrier guard. The barriers were still there, but the guard was nowhere to be seen, the small building he usually stood beside smoking fag after fag was all locked up, the windows closed. As Nick approached the barrier, a sensor was triggered, causing the barrier to rise. Nick smiled wryly. The guard had finally been replaced by a laser; the local council doing their bit to cut costs.

He rolled under the barrier, keeping an eye out for Charlie.

He spotted him sitting on the same park bench he kept lookout from with Snoop that day. He was staring into outer space, his head and legs twitching.
He’s Probably out of it,
Nick thought grimly to himself.
Better watch him…

Nick crawled up the road and over to the kerb, the barrier falling back down behind him. As he got closer to Charlie, his head twitched up, and he met Nick’s stare with what looked like black holes for eyes.

He hasn’t slept for a while,
Nick instantly realised.

Charlie’s facial expression remained solemn as he lifted a solitary finger and pointed away, down the road Nick was parked on. Nick followed the trail of his finger to be met with the mausoleum in the near distance.

That was where Charlie wanted him to go.

A shiver crawled across the back of Nick’s neck and cheeks. Something about the way Charlie just did that pointing thing along with the expression planted on his face made him look like Death, and Nick had just arrived at the river Styx.

Nick glanced back at Charlie, who was now getting to his feet. Nick pulled away and headed for the mausoleum, watching Charlie carefully in his rear view as if he were a suicide bomber. When he reached it, he pulled over a little way up and waited, still watching Charlie like a hawk. He reached down beneath his seat and pulled out the Glock he placed there before he left. He quickly stuffed it in the back of his belt before Charlie reached him. He took in a deep breath and removed the mausoleum key from the glove compartment. He stuck it in his pocket.

Charlie reached the mausoleum and stopped. He looked round him, then caught Nick’s stare in his wing mirror. His head twitched (no, he was twitching his head purposely, saying ‘come here’), and Nick slowly got out of the car. Once outside, he too took a sly look round, not wanting anyone to clock these two weirdoes hanging around a mausoleum. But, the place was empty. It was a grey, dreary autumn day; a fine slime like drizzle coated the air. Not the kind of day people would want to be visiting the dead.

Nick approached Charlie cautiously.

‘Quickly,
re,’
Charlie said, his voice loaded with anxiety. ‘Open it and let’s go inside before someone sees us!’

Nick knew that wide-eyed look on Charlie’s face and what it meant. Charlie had something in his head, and that usually meant bad news.

‘Why do you wanna go in there, Charlie?’ he asked in a loud whisper as he reached him. ‘What is this all about?’

‘I’ll tell you when we’re inside,
re,’
Charlie replied. ‘You gotta trust me.’

Nick wasn’t so sure about doing that right then. He went up to the door, took out the key and placed it in the lock. It slotted in smoothly. He then looked over at Charlie.

‘Come on then,’ Charlie said. ‘Open it!’

Nick let out a sigh and then turned the key. It clicked. He then reached out and grabbed the handle. He took in a deep breath and pushed it open.

‘Come on,’ Charlie urged. ‘Go in before we get caught…’

Nick stepped inside, Charlie swiftly following, taking a final quick look round beforehand. Once inside, Charlie closed up the door and they were both swallowed by darkness. It only lasted a second or two as Charlie flicked on a torch. The whole place was illuminated again, the first thing Nick laid eyes on was that dragon gliding across the tomb, breathing its eternal fires at them both. Charlie went and stood at the head of the tomb, opposite to where Nick was standing. He placed the torch carefully on top of it, and stared at Nick, his face a collage of yellow light and shadow.

Nick took in a deep breath and chuckled nervously. ‘Well,’ he said, holding his hands out to the sides. ‘Back where it all started.’

‘It didn’t start
here,’
Charlie replied without hesitation. ‘It started that night at the fair. You know, you should have left Tony to beat the crap out of Marco, then he would have just limped back home and none of this would have even got started.’

‘And
the jewels would still be in there,’ Nick said, pointing to the tomb.

‘And that’s where they belong. They’re fucking cursed. You can’t steal from the dead. That shit bites you in the fucking
kolo
twenty-four seven.’

A second or two of silence ensued, in which Charlie stared solemnly. ‘He came to see me, Nick,’ he then stated.

‘Really?’ Nick replied in a blasé tone.

‘Yeah, he did,’ Charlie said defiantly, not caring if Nick believed him or not. ‘He told me that to end this, all of this, we have to put back what we stole.’

Nick lifted his face to the ceiling and laughed casually, licking his bottom lip. ‘How are we gonna do that, Charlie?’ he asked the ceiling, then faced him. ‘I sold my cut. And Tony sold his too, remember?’

Charlie pulled a small bag from the inner pocket of his battered leather jacket and lifted it up in the air.

He stared at Nick with wide, bug eyes that gleamed in the gloom. ‘But
I
didn’t,
re
. See?’

Nick stared at the bag in his hand. ‘You mean your cut of the bling’s in
there.
In that bag?’

‘Yeah!’ Charlie replied in a half-excited voice. ‘If we put these back, Marco and the other spirits will forgive us. We’ll be even—
we
cashed in some of the gold;
they
took away Taki, Nick Black and Tony. It all evens out. We can still save ourselves,
re
.
Do you see?’

Nick nodded, his stern face half shadowed. Charlie didn’t like that facial expression. It was neither happy nor sad; neither angry nor excited. It was flat, like he was wearing a mask. No expression at all.
‘Nick?’
he said.
‘Do you see?’

Nick put his hand behind his back. ‘Yeah, I see…’ he said before he thrust his arms out in front of him, bringing his hands together and pointing them at Charlie.

Charlie’s neck stiffened once he saw what Nick held in his grip; his eyes widened.
‘Nick? Where the fuck did you get that?’
he exclaimed, genuinely surprised. He had never seen a gun in real life, never mind in Nick XR2’s hands. ‘Is it
real
?’

‘Just give me the bag, Charlie,’ Nick said coolly, but sternly, letting Charlie know he meant business. He held out his free hand and curled his fingers inwards, beckoning Charlie to hand over the bag.