One Night (14 page)

Joel looked at Eve for a moment as she stood there with her eyes flashing. She looked so beautiful, so alive. He felt like he’d seen every side of her now: the laughing girl in the pub, the worried daughter, the seductress, and this, this magnificent fierce woman. He wanted her. Wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman.

He knew he couldn’t resist her, that he had to take her with him. Because she was determined to go on the journey with him and because he was glad that she was.

“Okay,” he said.

She shook her head at him, that long hair swinging back and forth. “Okay?” she said. “O-fucking-kay? I give you a speech from my heart and you give me ‘Okay’?”

He laughed, a throaty sound that started as a chuckle and built to a full on belly laugh. The laugh made the bruise on his stomach throb and his shoulder ache but he couldn’t stop. The pain almost made him laugh harder. Eve looked at him and smiled and then she was laughing too. The two of them threw back their heads and filled the deserted cafe with a joy that it didn’t normally know in the winter months. A mirth that echoed off the cold walls and trickled out into the night beyond.

“Thank you,” said Eve when they had finished. “I needed that. I don’t think I’ve laughed here s
ince the last time I came with dad.”

“I never had a d
ad to lose,” said Joel, “or at least I lost the dad I had before I even knew him.”

“What happened?”

He shook his head, “I don’t know. All I ever knew was the children’s home. I didn’t know my parents at all.”

“Have you ever tried to find them? To meet them?”

“No. I know they must have had their reasons. Now that I’m an adult I know that, understand it, but as a child I didn’t. All I knew was that I was where I was because they didn’t want me. It wasn’t just that they’d given me up, it was that they’d let me go somewhere so...” He stopped, unable to find the word. “Empty. So empty of love.” 

“Was it that bad?”

“Yes, it was.” He went quiet, she could see he was lost in his own memories. Bad ones.

“Losing d
ad was horrible but I can’t imagine how much worse never having him at all would have been. After he died I went a bit wild. Boys and booze. Too much too young just like the song. Mum calmed me down in the end, first because she was there for me and then because she needed me to be there for her. It brought me back down to earth.”

“
I’d like to have met him. Your dad I mean.”

“You’d have liked him,” she said. “Everyone liked
dad. And he’d have liked you.”

“I doubt he’d have approved of you seeing someone like me.”

“Am I then? Am I seeing you? Don’t say that Joel, don’t give me that hope. When the sun comes up over the pier you’re gone aren’t you? Disappeared like Cinderella’s coach turning back into a pumpkin.” 

That hurt him but he knew she was right. Whatever
this thing was that they had it was for this night only, this one bleak cold night that had suddenly been made so much warmer.

He stood up and took her hand. “Let’s just enjoy the time we have,” he said. “I’m sorry Eve, but it can’t be any other way.”

“I understand, I think. I don’t like it but I’d rather have you for one night than not at all.”

“I’m sorry.”
She grinned. Her face had been dropping but now it lit up again with a smile. “Stop with the damn sorry. I’ve told you about that.”  

He laughed again and apologised, begging her eternal forgiveness with mock gravity.

"I forgive you,” she said. “And I’m yours for the night but you have to trust me. You have to let me in." She wasn't looking at the bag when she said it but he knew that was what she meant, part of it at least.

"Okay," he said and decided then to show her. He didn’t know if it was a good idea but he knew right then that he wanted to share everything with her. Hold nothing back. He wanted her to want him but it had to be the real him, warts and all.

He knelt beside the bag and took hold of the zip on the top of it. He’d not opened it since he left the dealer’s house and part of him wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing. If he was going to open it up to reveal a load of dirty washing. .

He unzipped it.

"Jesus," said Eve. "Wow."

"I thought you might say that."

"How much is there?"

"Half a million, I think. About that anyway."

"Jesus, no wonder it’s so bloody heavy."

He laughed and zipped the bag back up.

“The thing is Eve I don’t know how I feel about it. All that money it looks like a dream come true but I don’t know that it is. I brought it all the way here last night. I’ve carried it around on my back all day and all night but I still don’t know if I deserve it or even want it. It still stinks of blood. You know I haven’t touched it, not spent a penny of it, and I don’t know that I ever will. At dinner tonight I was worried I wouldn’t have enough in my wallet to pay the bill with half a million quid sitting next to me at the table. The whole point of coming here was to get some space, some room to think and figure out what to do. It’s not working. I’m lost.”

Eve looked at him.

”So the men who are after you are the ones you took it from?"

"No, no. I think they’re working for the guy I took it for somehow. I don’t even know who he is.
Some big shot in London with connections everywhere who put up the cash for the job in the first place."

"Who did you take it from then?"

“Someone who it didn’t belong to either. Someone who deserved it even less than me.” He sat down hard on one of the chairs, all the strength going out of him. “I'm not a good man, Eve," he said.

"You're good enough for me." She kissed him on the cheek.

He smiled. "Thank you."

“Tell me what happened,” she said. So he did.

He told her all of it, from that first meeting with Danny in the bar to him opening the door to the panic room. Until the end the part that was most difficult was talking about Danny. It was still fresh, the pain of the betrayal.  

“You haven’t said it but you talk about him like a father,” Eve said to him.

“He wasn’t that, but I did respect him. And liked him, I really liked the guy and I thought he liked me too. All my life I’ve shut people out. Twice I’ve let them in, twice in nearly thirty years. Both times they’ve turned on me.” She saw that his hand had moved to his face, his finger was tracing that scar again.

“Someone you trusted did that to you?” she said.

“Yes,” he stopped. She could see how difficult it was for him.

She was about to tell him not to worry, to just leave it when he spoke again.

“Anyway,” he said. “It doesn’t matter about Danny any more.  He’s dead.”

“What happened, Joel
?”

“What happened was it all went to shit.
Fast.”  

Paterson was dead instantly. The bullet went straight through his head, in one temple and out the other with a spray of blood and brain and bone. He fell to the floor and the blood started pooling underneath him, pumping steadily from the two holes in his skull until his heart stopped beating.

The shot had come from the left side of the doorway. That’s where Parker the dealer was, Joel realised, not miraculously vanished just hiding out of sight and waiting for them to walk in front of his gun.

He stepped out now. Standing between his wife and son and the three men who had invaded their home. Joel had seen a photo of him but he hadn’t expected him to be so small. The man stood maybe 5’6” and was built like a jockey. Small framed and fragile looking. The pistol in his hand was still smoking slightly though and he held it steadily, with an assurance that said he knew how to use it. Not that any more evidence of that was needed than the corpse on the floor in front of him. The smell in the room was overpowering and made Joel want to puke, the rich mix of gunpowder and blood. Poor Paterson, he thought, the first real victim of the job's shitty luck.

Danny shouted something that Joel couldn’t make out over the ringing in his ears and the screaming of the woman. Joel turned in time to see him raise his gun and fire it. Parker saw the move and fired too, the two pistols going off in unison. Joel watched as the dealer’s shot caught Danny in the left cheek, a gaping, spurting wound appearing magically there. It was a weird mix of the now flapping latex of the mask and the ruined flesh beneath it. Blood sprayed from the hole and also cascaded from the bottom of the mask, trickling down between his skin and the rubber. Danny's injured right hand went to the hole, the blood leaking from between his fingers, running down his forearm and staining his shirt a vivid crimson. Behind him Joel heard glass breaking and he realised that the bullet had passed through and carried on into the house. Danny fell to the ground, blood streaming from his face and the back of his neck.

Danny's shot had been made with his left hand and even as he watched him pull the trigger Joel knew it wouldn’t hit the target. Parker was only a few feet away but the shot went harmlessly past him. It hit the woman instead, stopping her scream instantly. The bullet tore through her throat, severing her jugular vein which sent a great gout of crimson into the air. The blood showered her son, streaking his pale skin, staining his blue and white striped pyjamas. The boy was beyond crying now. His eyes were fixed on something Joel wasn't sure was even in the room, glazed with the look of someone whose mind has shut down. Jesus, thought Joel, what have we done?

The dealer let out an enraged sob at the sight of his dying wife and then turned and pointed his gun at Joel. His eyes said he was going to shoot. They were sad and angry and
a little bit crazy. Did it make it easier that they were all wearing masks? Was it like he wasn’t shooting real people or did he just not care anymore? Parker’s hand was steady, Joel could see the index finger starting to tense on the trigger, little by little building up to the shot. Then Reynolds hit the dealer like a freight train, powering into him, knocking him sideways and into the wall of the panic room. The gun fell to the floor as Parker’s head smacked against the wall. Joel watched as the boxer punched the small man repeatedly, pummelling his stomach and chest with a series of hard blows until only the wall behind him was holding Parker up. Blood was running from his mouth now, not just from his split and swollen lips but from something broken inside him. Reynolds didn’t let up, he kept shaking the dealer’s body with his brutal fists.

“Leave him for fuck’s sake,” said Joel. “You’re going to kill him.” He didn’t add the “too” but he thought it. The room looked like an abattoir. On the floor Parker’s wife had stopped moving less than a minute after she’d been shot. The pool of blood around her was growing, her son sat in the middle of it.

“Stop it,” said Joel, but Reynolds ignored him. The ringing in Joel’s ears had faded and all he could hear now was the repeated smack of the boxer’s fists. He saw the gun on the ground and picked it up, pointing it at Reynolds.

“Stop it,” he said again. There must have been something extra in his voice this time, some hint
, because the boxer turned to look at him. Joel could see the bloodlust in his eyes, the same look he’d seen in the watch shop.

“We’re not orphaning this kid,”

Reynolds turned away dismissively, Parker had slumped to the floor in front of him. He reached down and grabbed the man by his hair, Joel could see the dealer’s scalp stretching as the boxer pulled him upright. Reynolds pulled his right arm back for another punch.

“I’ll shoot you where you stand,” said Joel.

Reynolds let go of Parker. He turned to Joel and walked towards him, his fists up in front.

Joel tried to pull the trigger but he couldn’t. He visualised the boxer’s head splitting open as the bullet carved its way through his flesh and his finger froze. It was like one of those middle of the night moments when you wake up and you can’t move a muscle, your whole body locked by whatever it is that stops you acting out your dreams.

If I don’t kill him he’s going to kill me, thought Joel with terrible clarity. Still he couldn’t pull the trigger. Reynolds swung at him and he jumped back just in this to avoid the massive fist. It passed by his face close enough for him to feel the breeze from it. He could smell Reynolds over the blood and gun smoke, the stale aroma of rage and tension. He could hear him too, the boxer’s breaths coming in ragged, angry gasps that sounded almost painful.

Joel danced backwards, suddenly aware of how
small room there was. He couldn’t get more than seven feet from Reynolds unless he ran back into the house and if he did that what would happen to Parker and his son?

The boxer jabbed at him and Joel dodged it. Reynolds’s wound seemed to be slowing him down slightly but that was all Joel had in his favour; he knew he couldn’t beat the bigger man in a fair fight. He looked at the gun clenched uselessly in his hand and dropped it to the floor. Rightly or wrongly he couldn’t use it.

Reynolds laughed at him, “You think you can beat me without it?” he said. Then he swung again and this time the punch connected, hitting Joel in the chest and knocking him backwards.

Joel thought for a second that his heart had stopped, he tried to keep his feet under him as he staggered back but it felt like a losing battle. Reynolds advanced on him, leading with his left shoulder, pulling his right arm back for a punch to Joel’s head that he thought would finish him. When he was almost on top of Joel the boxer’s body twisted as he brought that powerful right arm forward, Joel watched the meaty fist coming towards his face. He was still staggering backwards, his feet spinning beneath him, arms waving to keep his balance, unable to dodge or block the blow. And then his heels struck something and he felt himself falling backwards. Reynolds’s fist passed over the top of Joel’s head as he tripped over Paterson’s corpse. He landed hard, Reynolds looming over him, readying himself to punch Joel again. Joel drew his right leg back and then kicked it forward, driving it into the base of Reynolds kneecap as hard as he could. He felt something move, slipping sickeningly upwards and heard a crunch. Reynolds gave a howl of pain and stepped backwards, hands grabbing his dislocated knee, trying to force the patella back into place. Joel scrambled to his feet and brought his toe up into the boxer’s face. Reynolds’s head didn’t move but Joel felt the man’s nose give and a stream of blood splattered onto the floor in front of him. Joel kicked him again and then knitted the fingers of his two hands together and brought them down on the back of boxer’s head. They smashed into the closely shaved flesh. It felt like he had hit a brick wall but Reynolds went down, crumpl
ing to the floor and lying still.

Joel bent and tried to catch his breath, his head was spinning. On his wrist his watch started beeping. He knew he had to run but he had to get the boy out of there first.

The kid was sitting utterly still surrounded by his mother’s blood. Joel wasn’t sure how old he was, eight or nine probably. Would he ever recover from this? Joel could see Parker on the floor across the room. He was out cold but still breathing. At least the boy still had that much, if it was any consolation at all. Joel put a hand on the kid’s shoulder and shook him but he didn’t react. The blood was starting to dry on his face; his eyes were still dead, staring at nothing. Joel put his hands under his arms and lifted him. He was small like his father and light. The floor was slippery from all the blood but Joel managed to carry him out of the room. He took him to the en suite bathroom and placed him in the shower cubicle, taking the boy’s pyjamas off him and throwing them into the corner of the room. Then he turned the shower on and let the boy stand beneath the stream of water until the blood was gone.

The boy was silent the whole time and remained so while Joel dried him and wrapped him in a dressing gown that was hanging on the back of the door.

“Why were you even here, kid?” Joel said when he was done.

The boy looked at him. “It’s my birthday,” he said.