Half Moon Chambers (22 page)

* * *

I couldn't take them seriously. That was the
trouble
, during the first part of their routine
anyway
. I now had such a broad experience of
pain
that their efforts to inflict more on me
bounced
off the shields I'd built inside. And then
there
was simple comparison. Knuckledusters
being
smacked into my jaw, however sincerely,
couldn
't match a bullet to the spine, or any of the
torture
-garden experiences of the hospital months
that
had followed. My daily life could make a
beating
pale to nothing, really. I'd packed in the
morphine
dope after my last night with Rowan,
switched
to his over-the-counter brand, and they
were
good, but if I slipped or missed a step and
jarred
myself... Well, the efforts of a blank-eyed
gorilla
were enough to make me laugh, that was
all
, and after a moment I did, throwing my head
back
, the sound barking harshly off the concrete
walls
.

"Jesus, Vince! Don't!"

I twisted round to see Rowan. He was
standing
where he'd been told to stand, watching as
he
'd been ordered. I'd blanked him out from my
scene
. His eyes were fathomless with horror. I
wanted
to tell him there was no need
--
that this
was
nursery stuff, coercion for beginners.
I
thought
you said this Foster woman was some
kind
of big deal...

"He's favouring his back," she said suddenly.

The observation was very quiet. She didn't shift
from
her idle slouch against the wall, but she
focussed
like a stoat homing in on a mouse. "When
you
hit him, that's where he's bracing. Sit him
forward
. Get his shirt up
--
let me see."

Her neat, hard little paws probed my spine
--
triumphantly
zeroed in on the place where the
bullet
was lodged. I doubled up in my seat, a thug
clutching
me by the scruff, as if I could bloody
well
go anywhere.

I couldn't bear it. I broke. I gave her chapter
and
verse on the Mansion Street drug squad. I told
her
what Maric had said, what Bill Hodges knew
about
her operation, exactly when and where he
intended
to join battle with her. I went into detail. I
wished
it hadn't been sobbed out between great
raw
gasps and pleas for her to stop, but she'd
found
her way into me.

The fact that it was all a pile of steaming
bollocks
made me feel slightly better. Released,
sliding
off the chair, I tried to calculate how
long
I'd get before she found out. A few hours tops
--
I'd
said
the first op was at dawn, and sadly for me
,
Bill had a raid booked for just after midnight. She
and
her heavies were striding off. I fought to stay
conscious
. My hands and my feet were still tied.
If
I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes now, God
knew
what would happen to that embedded bullet.

It felt loose inside me, floating. My guts and
kidneys
too felt awash, as if they'd been dislodged.

I wished my cries of pain had been as fake as my
story
. I wished I could stop. I wished I wasn't
falling
like a stone.

Something caught me. A lean warm grip I
now
knew well closed tight on me, lowering me to
the
ground. If my hands had been free, I'd have
shoved
him away. If I'd been able to speak, he'd
have
got an earful. As things were I couldn't even
see
the bastard
--
my eyes were swelling shut, and
he
was behind me, the muscles in his chest and
belly
jerking with silent sobs. I felt a warm splash
on
my cheek. I knew my head was gently lifted,
something
woollen tucked underneath it. And that
was
all for me.

* * *

I recognised the music blasting through the
dusty
air. At least I thought I did: a poignant violin
phrase
from that Verve track I'd liked so much a
few
years back.
Bittersweet Symphony
, that was
it
. Up and down, sweet, a rush of strings that
sounded
like a promise of better days to come. I
tried
to let it bear me back into sleep, but each
time
it came it broke up into percussion, a skull
-
shaking
avalanche of bass. Some kind of mix, then.

I didn't mind it. My sister's kids had used to keep
me
current, turning up for weekend car drives,
i
Pods pre-loaded with whatever they
thought
Uncle Vince's ageing brain needed to rejuvenate it
next
. I liked the thunder drums. Jack had liked
fucking
to dubstep. I'd liked being athletic enough
to
cope.

Someone was dancing. A fiery shadow swept
across
my field of vision, once and then again. My
eyes
were heavy and sore, and I wouldn't have
been
able to keep track of him, except somehow he
was
leaving his mark behind him, a trail. I
squinted
, trying to make sense of my view. The
flame
-shadow passed again, in perfect sync with
the
beat. He swung one arm up in an arc, and a
broad
black curve leapt out across one wall
--
random
until I worked out how it linked to the
other
wild shapes already in place there,
dynamically
waiting, and then a vast human form
took
life and sprang out of the 2D plane at me.

My Rowan was dancing. He'd found a can of
black
spray paint, and the bittersweet thunder of
the
drums was sweeping him round the car park's
barren
space, conjuring men, beasts and alien
flowers
as he went. He was almost in flight. His
eyes
were vacant. He was unleashed,
transcendent
--
a beautiful animal himself, fulfilling his life's
natural
function.

Not natural, no. Not unaided. His flight
brought
him close to me. I called out to him
through
parched lips, but he was oblivious. He
reached
high above his head for his next stroke
and
I saw the fresh bruises down his inner arm.

I couldn't look any more. He wasn't
unleashed
--
he was the most trapped thing on earth, just
like
Phil, just like anyone who got into the barbed-wire
thickets
of uncontrolled human desire. Booze,
pills
, drugs, even the coins the blank-eyed kids
spent
their days shoving into the machines on the
quayside
arcades... We were pleasure-seeking
apes
whose brains took a twist from their
satisfactions
and never straightened out again. It
could
happen to anyone. For years I'd let my
knowledge
of that, my compassion, sour out into
hate
. Even now I couldn't watch Rowan's dance. I
pressed
my brow back into the wool of his jumper
and
closed my eyes.

Chapter Eleven

V
al Foster didn't seem too concerned by my
lies
. She'd let me rest longer than I'd thought before
calling
me out on them
--
I could see dawn light in
the
strip between the two floors. Maybe she'd
wanted
to give me my sleep. Apparently she'd had
hers
. She was washed and dressed in a fresh set of
carefully
anonymous clothes, as if she'd spent the
night
comfortably in a hotel. Who was putting up
drugs
barons these days? I'd thought the
new
Malmaison too posh, but maybe it was catch as
catch
can in these difficult times.

She came to crouch beside me. I tried to lift
my
head to confront her, but I'd stiffened from my
beating
and nothing seemed to work
anymore
.

"What a mess," she said conversationally. "You
must
be exhausted by now. Thirsty. Busting for a
piss
, apart from anything else."

Three out of three. I still didn't see it was any
of
her business. I lay watching her, waiting for
whatever
would come next. She was far more
dangerous
than the tantrum style of villain who'd
have
roared back in here and broken my legs the
second
she found out she'd been duped. I cracked a
painful
smile. "Good morning, Val."

"Cheeky." Without rancour she tugged
away
Rowan's sweater. My brow hit the concrete. "Who
said
you could have a pillow? I'll give you your
comforts
, as and when I choose."

"I won't hold my breath, then."

"Oh, you might be surprised. You were
convincing
, Vince. By the way, it's Miss Foster to
you
."

"DS Carr."

"What?"

"It's DS Carr to you, Miss Foster."

She shook her head. "Why do all the decent
ones
pick the side of the angels? You could've
made
a fortune with me. I'd have sent you to a
surgeon
in America who'd have popped out your
bullets
and sent you home feeling like Superman. I
look
after my staff."

"I've been looked after."

"Yeah, it looks that way. As it is, I'm stuck
with
skinhead thugs and little pricks like Rowan.
Did you think you could change him? Fuck him into
salvation
?"

I made a silent appointment for some future
place
and time when I could strangle her, run her
over
in the biggest police truck I could find and
toss
the remains off Tynemouth cliffs. "Where is
he
?"

"Oh
--
proper sorry for himself this morning.
Paying the price for turning this hole into the
Tate
Modern." She glanced around. If painted looks
could
kill, she ought to have dropped dead from
the
passionate dark eyes staring down from the far
wall
. "He's good, isn't he? Shame he's so fucked
up
. That one's a self-portrait, Vince. I think he tried
to
leave a part of himself watching over you. Come
on
. I'm tired of this game."

I didn't understand her way of ending it. She
had
her heavies drag me to my feet and slice away
the
tape from my ankles and wrists. The freedom,
the
return of balance and circulation, almost
overwhelmed
me, and I bit my lip not to show my
relief
, swaying in one big thug's grasp. He let me
stagger
to one dark corner which, from the
evidence
, had been used as a toilet before.
Clearly
I hadn't done anything to win anybody's trust: he
held
a gun on me the whole time it took for me to
unzip
and have a piss. I might once have found that
off
-putting, but I was far past such delicacies now.

When I was done, he marched me back to Val, who
was
sitting in the open rear hatch of the Mondeo,
pouring
what looked and smelled like tea from a
thermos
.

She held out a plastic cup to me. "Here. You
must
be parched."

"You've got to be kidding."

She rolled her eyes. "Jesus. Like I'd waste my
time
poisoning you with tea!" Nevertheless she
took
a swig herself, held the cup out again. "Go
on
."

"Like you couldn't drink raw sewage and
thrive
on it, you toxic cow."

"Ah, now, Vince! That's not nice. Think of all
the
trouble you've given me. I lost two of my best
lads
in your cop shop's midnight raid, not to
mention
six kilos of perfectly beautiful H. You
know
, up until that point, I'd nearly believed you."

I took the tea. There was about to be all hell
to
pay, I could see that. I didn't know why I was
being
wined and dined like this beforehand, but I
reckoned
I'd better make the most of it. I drank
deeply
, then chucked the cup away into the piss
and
garbage. "All right," I said, leaning back
against
the heavy with the gun. I had to make the
most
of him too
--
my knees were weak, the room
starting
to lurch. "What now?"

"Now I kill two birds with one stone. I'm a
busy
woman, Vince. I need that information
--
straight
this time. Since smacking you about doesn't
work
, I'm going to make a little investment."

I swallowed hard. I'd known this was coming.

Hopelessly
I
looked for escape routes
,
distractions
, any damn thing to put distance
between
myself and Val Foster's plans for me. I
didn
't know for sure I was any better than Phil, any
stronger
. Some cops on the drug squad tried the
goods
, made sure they knew the enemy. Not me. I'd
been
too scared, and not of hating the damn stuff.

"Don't be daft," I said uneasily. "I can't talk if I'm
off
my face."

"There's more than one bottle to drink out of.
You know that better than anyone. Some make you
tall
, some make you small... One makes you sing
like
a fucking canary."

"That reminds me. Who's your other bird?"

Instantly I wished I hadn't asked. I'd been
trying
to divert her, give myself another few
seconds
of thought. My legs had been free for five
minutes
now
--
even if they felt like boiled
spaghetti
, I ought to be good for a short run. She
was
grinning nastily, for the first time resembling
the
monster she was. "My other bird? Your
lad
Rowan, of course." She snapped her fingers in the
direction
of the car. "Come on, you. Rise and
shine
."

The figure slumped in the front seat barely
disturbed
its contours. I'd never seen anything so
lifeless
as the man who climbed out at her
command
: had to look twice to persuade myself it
was
last night's flame-shadow dancer. He was
sheet
-white, shivering. Not with cold, either. I
knew
that look. I rounded on Foster, as hard as I
could
before her bouncer grabbed me. "
Jesus
Christ. What have you done to him? Nothing works
that
fast!"

"Doesn't it? Don't you think there's a
reason
I've swept like a hot wind up this bloody country?
There's just no competition after me, copper. Once
you
've had Val's crack, you never go back."

I'd drag her crushed body up out of the sea,
dry
her out long enough to douse her in petrol and
then
set fire to her. "That good, is it?"

"Oh, it's good enough. The difference is, it
hooks
you like a fucking fish. One dose, one night,
and
you're mine. Like little Rowan here." She
stretched
out a hand, and Rowan stumbled to her
side
and passively took it. "He ran so far away.
With his fresh new start and his policeman
boyfriend
... When someone goes that far, they have
to
prove themselves before they can come home."

"Oh, shit. Foster, don't do this. He isn't worth
it
."

"It's a shame you think so. You were worth a
lot
to him." She gave Rowan's hand a sympathetic
squeeze
. "Just not enough
--
eh, Ro?"

Rowan led me back to the chair. I didn't feel
inclined
to fight him, and even if I had, the Walther
was
trained on me again. He crouched beside me,
pulling
out the roll of gaffer tape and a sharp
blade
. His head was bowed. If Foster hadn't been
malignly
watching, I'd have caressed his tangled
hair
. I put out my ankles for him, then my wrists.

His hands trembled violently over their task, but he
bound
me up efficiently again.

Foster nodded when he was done. "That's
good
. Now go and get the kit from the car. Take a
few
deep breaths, son
--
you'll never hit a vein with
shakes
like that."

I tried to catch his eye when he returned from
the
car. I didn't know what I'd say to him if I
succeeded
. I couldn't dissuade him from this, and
he
'd be shot for his rebellion if I did. Maybe I
wanted
to tell him not to bear me on his
conscience
. "Rowan," I whispered.

He didn't look at me. He pushed up the sleeve
of
my jacket and produced a rubber tie. He
snapped
it round my arm, expertly filled a syringe
from
a vial. Then he leaned in close.

His voice barely carried across the distant
purr
of early traffic. Only I would hear. "Wait till I
give
you the signal. The tape will tear free when
you
pull. And when I shoot this stuff into you
--
for
God's sake,
act
."

I knew how to do that. I'd bust into enough
council
-house living rooms, thickly curtained
against
daylight, their occupants sprawled across
the
sofas and floors. If the squad had arrived at the
right
moment, there'd still be needles in slackening
hands
, eyes opening wide on unimaginable inner
vistas
. For the old stagers, the lifers, relief would
be
most prominent in their emptying masks, release
from
withdrawal, the unremitting nag of want. The
newcomers
still looked surprised.