Tedd and Todd's secret (14 page)

Aidan considered Lance's strange story. He was capable of inventing almost anything in the name of his perverse humour but, judging by the look on his face, this was no joke. And it was backed up by a newspaper article. No doubt they could find it on the Internet too. It made a weird fit. And then there were the women in the ladies' to reckon with. If Lance was right they were talking about something like teletransportation here. Jesus, what a day.

"You're not going to believe this clown, are you?" Fletcher asked, looking at the doubt on Aidan's face.

"I don't know what to make of all of this," Aidan admitted. "I know when Lance is lying. I believe what he's just said. And as strange as it all is, it seems to fit. What else can we find out to make this a tad clearer? How exactly did the man in this bag die?"

"Another mystery to solve," Fletcher said, reading the report. "They found him on the ground, it says, with three black metal arrows in his body. I'm no archery expert, but I doubt they would've been metal. They’d have been too heavy. It doesn't make any sense."

"Just about as much sense as finding a man with his head severed by a medieval sword does. Unless I'm losing it, everything's connected," Aidan suggested, as his mobile phone rang. "Yes."

"It's Carol."

"Carol, we've got to meet," Aidan said.

"That's why I'm calling. I've just finished with Dylan Blair. We can visit James Black now."

"That'll have to wait," Aidan informed her. "Can you come down to the mortuary?"

"Sure, I'm close. Has anything happened?"

"You're not going to believe this. They've just brought in the body of a double of that giant you bumped into in the ladies' last night. And he's called Earl White."

"I'll see you in five."

"While Carol's on the way, let's check the story out about the football game you were talking about," Aidan suggested to Lance. "The more this business about Blacks and Whites goes on, the more confused I am."

Like a powerful magnet, the breadcrumbs that Peter scattered on the ground attracted two dozen pigeons. Coming here to the park and doing this was one of the few pleasures the eighty-five-year-old still had. He was carrying a bag full of dry bread and, after wandering through the trees and letting his old lungs work a bit, he sat down quietly on his favourite bench seat.

It was a pleasant afternoon, the sun warming the wooden bench and his cold bones, and while he continued lazily to toss bread the pigeons' way, he let his thoughts drift over the better moments of his life.

The peace and calm that had just enveloped him like a warm blanket was suddenly ripped away by a sudden intrusion into his world.

"Stupid idiot," Peter exclaimed. A pair of shoes flew past his nose into the birds. "You could've been more careful."

The old man stiffened, his old eyes wide open and wary as an abusive, smiling stranger sat down beside him.

"Don't take it serious, pops. They're just a few insignificant birds whose only purpose is to go around shitting all day long. Have you checked out the statue in the centre of the park, yet?"

Peter was far from impressed by this newcomer's behaviour. He didn't like seeing the pigeons frightened like that and, even though he knew it wasn't important, he felt his anger rising.

He took a long look at the other man on the seat. He was short, around thirty. His hair was very fair and the shade of his light blue eyes made them appear almost transparent. He was wearing old faded jeans and a pullover way too big for him. His expression was provocative and at the same time indifferent, the curious mix making him look vague. His voice was sure, and created the impression of someone who knows what he is talking about, or at least who thinks he does. Maybe he was just arrogant.

"I don't give a damn about the statue. Why don't you take a hike?"

"You're a grumpy old granddad, aren't you?" the stranger said, leaning back on the bench, seemingly pleased with himself. "Don't worry. I won't be here too long. I only have to wait for a student who's bought a few things."

"And you have to wait here? In this very spot? It's obviously not my day."

"Anything else, pop? How old are you? A hundred?"

"Less than that, you fool," he snapped, moving uncomfortably on the bench, the proximity of his own death not bothering him as much as being near this bum. "I'd like to see how you look when you're my age. I hope young people then won't treat you like you're treating me."

"That won't happen, pops. I'll never make it that far, luckily. I don't want to hang around that long in this stink pot of a world."

The comment made Peter curious to know why someone so young would talk that way.

"The point on which I can agree with you is that you shouldn't hang around here. Leave this place when you like."

"C'mon, pops. Don't be like that. I'm sure my company is breaking the monotony of your life up a bit. It's not every day you get to talk to a street bum like me. Isn't that true?"

The comment pushed the old man's thinking another way. He nodded without knowing why.

"My name's James. James White."

"And what's your problem?" Peter asked, bitten by curiosity. "You look like you've got a self-confidence problem."

"Who me? You've got it wrong, pops. I'm all right with myself. We could say I know too much. You just have to understand me, that's all. I've lived a long life. And finally found out that life stinks."

"Only a fool would think like that. Life's precious and my long experience has led me to–"

"Feed the doves," James White finished the phrase.

Before Peter could reply, a youth appeared. It had to be the student this James had mentioned before.

"I almost missed you," the student said to James. He threw a quick glance at Peter and added: "I didn't know your father was also here. Should I give them to you now?"

"This must be Idiot's Day in the park," Peter lamented.

"Don't worry about him. He's a charming old bastard who's convinced that life is wonderful," James advised the student, drawing a wad of notes out of his pocket. "Here's your bonus."

The student grabbed it, while James White, his eyes sparkling with excitement, took the bag the youth had bought and slowly pulled out, one after the other, three porno movies.

"What do you think about that, old man?" James asked, putting the movies in the form of a fan so that Peter could see all of them. "I can give you one if you wish, to thank you for the nice talk."

"You sent this boy to buy you porn movies?"

"That's correct. I have a problem, you see, I cannot cross this street." James stood up and looked at the other two men. "It was a pleasure, but I have to go now," he said, raising the movies high above his head.

Looking really happy, James walked away through the park. Passing by a flock of pigeons, he carefully went round them, trying not to frighten them away. Then he turned to the two men once again, and made a bow to Peter.

The old man looked at him till he disappeared and thought that the person he had just met was definitely a peculiar one.

CHAPTER 10

"And you call this a dry-cleaner's?" Kodey yelled, banging on the counter. The owner took a step backwards. He had his share of problems with customers but there was something wild about this man. "I'd call this fuckin' place one big swindle."

"What a rude man, you are," a woman standing at the counter said, not worried about standing up against what she considered unacceptable behaviour. She'd been in this shop many times but had never seen anything like this. Her anger spilled over into a shove in the stranger's back. "You should be ashamed of yourself. In my days young people showed their elders respect. They were much more polite."

Kodey had come back into the dry-cleaner's only a few seconds after leaving it, and gone straight to the counter, cutting in front of the woman. He'd stormed back in, angry and impatient, and had no time to wait for the woman to collect a dress, or a curtain, or whatever.

Now, with the din of her abuse in his ears, he had to do something to shut her up, and concentrate on what had maddened him in the first place, and brought him back in.

"Don't get involved in this, granny," Kodey advised her, blocking another blow, then pushing her back from the counter towards a chair, with a look that meant business. "It's between me and the owner, so you keep out of it. Have you got that clear?"

She nodded, sitting down on the chair. He released the woman's wrist and approached the owner.

"Come here!" Kodey ordered, arriving at the counter.

"Is there a problem?" the owner asked meekly, inching forward.

"From where I stand, yes," the man roared, grabbing the dry cleaner by the scruff of the neck and forcing him to look down at the counter. "This is supposed to be a dry-cleaner's, isn't it?"

The owner watched him put a black suit on the counter, not certain what was coming next.

"Then what's this?" the customer demanded to know.

The two men stared down at a tiny yellow spot on the black suit.

"I… I don't know what to say, Mr Black," the owner stuttered, unable to lift his head because of the pressure the man was applying.

"Have you got any idea how important this suit is to me?" Kodey Black demanded, sinking his spare finger repeatedly into the suit jacket. "For you it's just another garment, another piece of material. But this means way more than that to me."

"I didn't know, Mr Black. I'm sorry," the dry cleaner offered, unable to think of anything else to stop the customer's tirade, which only seemed to be getting worse.

Kodey continued, "It's part of my identity and I won't accept it back like this. I paid you to clean it. And clean it you will. Have you got that clear, you old fool?"

"Of course," the dry cleaner replied, in little more than a whisper. "If you could bear with me a second, I'll show you something."

"Well, what is it you want to show me?"

Kodey Black frowned and watched the owner's trembling hand move the plastic bag the suit was wrapped in up and down, and the yellow spot with it. It was a humiliating discovery and even though the thought of apologizing entered Kodey's head, he found himself incapable of doing so. He'd acted like an imbecile and needed to set things straight but couldn't.

He suddenly changed tack, and now nothing else mattered other than his new objective. The dry cleaner and the woman, still on the seat, watched in amazement as Kodey began undressing. In mere seconds he stood before them nude, save for the socks on his feet. The old woman covered her eyes, repeating her previous assertion that people didn't do things like this in her time, while the dry cleaner was speechless.

With careful rapid movements, Kodey perforated the bag and took the elegant black suit out. He dressed quickly and left the shop without saying another word. Once outside, he stopped a little way along the pavement. The dry cleaner and the woman watched his strange movements from behind the shop window.

Kodey arched his back slowly backwards, stretching his right arm. And without seeing where he'd got it from, the dry cleaner saw Kodey produce an iron bar in the form of a V. It was very large and glittered in the sunlight.

The dry cleaner went outside, driven by curiosity, and watched Kodey come out of his strange position, launching himself into a throw that had the huge metal boomerang zoom down the street with astonishing speed. It reached the end of the block and swung right, disappearing into a junction a hundred yards away.

Kodey watched the strange object disappear, and then threw another one, with the same result. The enormous metallic V-shaped object flew through the air but slowed down with a slight variation in its trajectory, which saw it slam into a lamp post, cutting it in half, as it sped on without deviating. Half of the lamp post crashed down into a car, which then slammed into two others.

Kodey Black ran after the boomerangs in his mighty black suit, while the dry cleaner stood in front of the shop in shock, wondering if the lamp post had been the target of the mysterious boomerangs.

As soon as the man in black was out of sight, the dry cleaner went back in, collected Kodey's clothes and began hand washing them with the utmost care.