The Zombie Room (4 page)

Mangle felt his conscience fleetingly brushed by guilt. Vicky had no idea what he had planned for later that night. If she did, she’d never have let him do it. But this was a necessary step to lay down a building block to begin their life together.

‘I might do a little later if the room continues to shrink at the rate it’s currently doing.’

Vicky’s musical laughter spilled out of the earpiece, and before he realised what he was doing, Mangle said, ‘I love you.’

He’d hung up in a panic and turned his phone off right away. Now, getting out of the taxi outside Sabotage nightclub, Mangle debated turning it back on. If Danny needed to speak to him he wouldn’t be able to get through. But if he turned the phone on, Vicky was bound to call and he wasn’t ready to have that conversation just yet. What had he been thinking? He’d never before told a girl he loved her and meant it, and he’d certainly never said it first. His stomach turned over again like a washing machine on a slow spin cycle. Mangle reckoned he just needed to get this deal over with, hopefully have a good night’s sleep and talk to Vicky in the morning, maybe during his trip back home if he felt up to it.

He took his place in line outside the club. The cash for the deal was tucked down his boxer shorts in case a pat-down from
the door staff revealed the suspicious bulge. He wrinkled his nose as a waft of cheap perfume crawled over him from the group of giggling women queuing in front. The woman closest to him was wearing fake tan and there were streaks down the back of one leg. He felt like he knew a secret. This deal was the only thing he’d ever kept from Vicky, and he felt burdened by it. The queue shuffled forward a few steps and a motorcycle went past, sounding like a fly buzzing against a window pane. The entrance to the club was a nondescript brown double door that opened up between two high-street stores. Above was another brown rectangle the same shade as the doors that the club name was now illuminated through it in brilliant white. During the day you’d probably walk right by and not even notice the place, but at night it was a central hub of social interaction.

The queue moved again. This time the group of women and Mangle passed through the doors, paid at the kiosk and were admitted inside.

Danny had told Mangle to wear his blue sweater, brown pants and black shoes, so his contact would be able to identify him. Perhaps not a great fashion selection, but he was fairly sure there wouldn’t be anyone else in the same attire.

Inside, rough stone walls were covered by wood panelling from waist height down to the grey slate floor. Large mirrors were hung throughout the club, reflecting the same faces from many angles at once which gave Mangle a slightly unsettled feeling. Sparse patches of illumination were created by the seemingly random placement of downlighters in the ceiling. Mangle ordered a bottle of Becks at the bar and went to stand in one of the lit spots to wait until he was approached.

Three beers and twice as many checks of his watch later, Mangle was finally tapped on the shoulder. He turned around to see a wiry-framed youth wearing a blue V-necked sweater and light brown pants, with black trainers.

‘Danny said I was the one supposed to dress like this and you’d approach me,’ he said to Mangle.

‘Yeah, well, he told me the same thing. Fuck it, we’re here now so let’s get it done.’

‘You not wanna chill out in here for a while first? It generally picks up late on but it’s worth hanging round for. My girl is bringing a friend out with her, I could hook you up.’

‘No thanks, man, I’d rather get this done and head off.’

‘Sure, whatever. Follow me out in five minutes. Walk outside, go left, then down the street there’s a car park just round the corner. I’ll see you and wave over.’

‘Right, yeah, OK,’ Mangle said uncertainly.

‘You didn’t think I’d bring it in here, did you?’ the man asked Mangle with a smirk.

‘No, I guess not,’ Mangle lied.

The man nodded, and left the club. Mangle checked his watch once more; he’d finish his beer and then leave. He’d already been anxious enough, but now he had to walk to a secluded spot with all the cash and trust this stranger would be honourable enough to not club him over the head and take it. He took another drink from the bottle with an unsteady hand.

Walking out of the club, Mangle paused. His gut feeling was to turn right and flag down a cab. He told himself it was just nerves and that he’d be fine. He turned left and kept a lookout for the car park.

After a few minutes he caught sight of the meeting place down a narrow side street, and again ignoring his instincts walked towards it. A single mercury vapour lamp cast a cold blue glare onto the tarmac, revealing most of the parking bays to be empty. Six cars were dotted around but not enough light penetrated within for him to see if any were occupied. Mangle kept walking, but slower now. His breathing had quickened and the night air felt colder as he sucked it in.

He heard a soft hum as the driver’s window on a nearby Saab went down, enough that he could identify the occupant as the man from the club. Mangle opened the door and got into the back seat behind the driver.

‘I stink or something so you have to sit in the back?’

‘You have the stuff?’ Mangle said, ignoring the question.

The driver slid back the cover on the centre console and withdrew a package wrapped in brown paper before saying, ‘Cash first.’

Mangle pulled out the uncomfortable bulge of money from his shorts and held it out to the driver.

‘Fantastic,’ the man said sarcastically. Gripping it between finger and thumb he dropped it into the console he’d taken the package from. ‘You couldn’t have put it anywhere else?’

Mangle opened up the crinkled brown paper. A resealable plastic bag full of white powder was inside. He opened it, licked a finger and dabbed it into the powder before tasting it.

‘We good?’ the man asked from the front.

‘We are,’ Mangle confirmed. He resealed the package and got out of the car.

‘OK, see you next time.’

‘Not me. Strictly a one-off,’ Mangle told him.

‘Yeah, you’ll be back,’ the man laughed as Mangle closed the door.

Mangle jammed the parcel down into his pants pocket and hailed a cab from the main street. He flirted with the idea of calling Vicky on his way back to the hotel, but decided to wait until morning.

Surprisingly, sleep came easily and he rose the next day at 8 a.m. feeling refreshed and looking forward to getting back home. He paid the bill to a cheerful receptionist, and on the way out to the car turned on his phone. He half expected it to burst into life and begin ringing as soon as his finger left the power button, and felt somewhat disappointed when it remained silent. Throwing his bag containing the package onto the back seat, Mangle started the engine and began the drive home.

After an hour the phone rang, but checking the caller ID Mangle was disappointed to see it was Danny, and not Vicky.

‘Well?’

‘All OK, no problems,’ Mangle said.

‘You were supposed to ring last night and let me know.’

‘Right, sorry. It was late and I had the phone turned off.’

‘Well played, man, don’t worry about me fretting here all night.’

‘OK, you’re right, I should have called, but it’s done now. I’ll be back in a few hours. I’ll swing by your place first to get rid of this.’

‘Alright, see you soon.’

The morning sun was bright and Mangle reached for his Aviator sunglasses. He cracked the window a little to feel the breeze and turned up the stereo. By the time the phone rang again he had forgotten all about expecting her call.

‘Nicholas. I tried calling back yesterday but your phone was switched off.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. What I said kind of slipped out, and I didn’t know what to say.’

‘Did you mean it?’

‘Yeah, I guess I did.’

There was a moment of silence over the line, and at first the blue lights and siren behind didn’t register.

‘I guess I love you too,’ she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

The police car kept pace a car’s length behind and began flashing its headlights.

‘Vicky, I’m gonna have to call you back. I must have been speeding or something, I’m getting pulled over.’

His whole focus had been on the conversation, and now pulling the car onto the hard shoulder, Mangle experienced a sensation like waking from a dream. He waited for the police officer to approach the car, and wound down the window.

‘Is this your car, sir?’

‘It’s a company car, but mine, yeah.’

‘Can you explain how the registration plate for this vehicle is in the stolen car database?’

‘Stolen?’ Mangle said, incredulous. ‘No, wait. I know what
must have happened. There was another company car stolen from outside the office yesterday; whoever reported it must have given these details by mistake.’

‘I’m going to need to take you into custody until I can have this verified. Please get out of the car.’

Mangle cursed his luck. Just when everything had started going his way. The new account for work, Vicky telling him she loved him, and everything last night had gone great too.

That was when it hit him like a bucket of ice-water. The bag.

‘My bag … on the back seat.’

‘Leave everything where it is,’ the policeman instructed. His partner led Mangle to the patrol car behind and opened a rear door to put him inside.

‘It’ll just take a second, my … my stuff for work,’ he stammered. A guilty sweat beaded his forehead and his hands felt heavy and numb.

‘Are you OK?’ The second cop asked.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ he said forcing a smile.‘I had a late night, that’s all.’

The cop pushed Mangle into the back seat and closed the door after him. Mangle watched as he walked up to his partner who was talking into a radio. A few seconds passed, and he could see the second officer’s mouth gold-fishing as he spoke to his partner. They both turned and looked at him through the windshield. Instinctively, Mangle looked away. He tried to focus on anything outside of the car, to appear natural, but there was nothing to see: a featureless grass verge on one side of the car, passing vehicles on the other.

He risked a look back at the officers again. They both still watched him, but now neither was speaking. Whatever had been written on Mangle’s face must have been clear for them to see. The first cop began talking into the radio again and his partner reached into the car and withdrew the bag from the back seat.

Mangle’s heart slammed against his ribcage. Suddenly the impact of what had seemed like a simple task, something to
alleviate short-term financial problems, weighed down heavily with its long-term consequences.

The cop emptied the bag onto the grass verge. A crumpled shirt fluttered as it was caught by the breeze. His toiletry bag dropped on top of it. The cop unzipped it, emptied it out. His folders containing all the new customer sheets and order invoices that he’d completed the day before were dropped beside everything else; the pages flapped anxiously. It was like watching his life become a train wreck.

The cop opened the bag again and peered inside. His smile spread like warm butter. Looking back he winked at Mangle, before reaching in one last time and taking out the brown paper package.

Decker wasn’t a big fan of cannabis, but when Brian passed around another joint he thought he’d look stupid if he refused. Taking a small inhale he quickly blew the smoke out and nodded approval, before handing it to the blonde who was draped across his lap. He took a swig from his can of beer to get rid of the taste while the blonde – Pamela had he been told she was called? – took two greedy hits from the joint and passed it to her friend.

‘You want one of the girls to fetch anything for you, Decker?’ Brian asked.

‘Yeah, man, good stuff,’ Decker said, his head swimming from the cannabis. ‘I mean, no, I’m good.’ The others laughed at his inexperience.

Decker ran a hand over the still healing tattoo John had done on the back of his neck with a sewing needle and a bottle of Indian ink. Reward for the way he’d handled things. ‘Carpe Diem’, in a murky black italic script: ‘Seize the day’, John had told him it meant. They all had the same tattoo. John had rolled up a shirt sleeve to show off his own, Bri had tapped his breastbone, and Tony pointed to his shoulder blade.

Decker smiled and shrugged off their laughter. Their humour was only barbed if you sat on the outside, and now he was one
of them. During the three weeks since the stabbing, Decker’s standing with the others had risen exponentially. He didn’t just see them during the day now, doing jobs and running errands, but hung out with them in the evenings as well. There had been better parties, better drugs and better girls. People’s attitude towards him had changed as well and he now knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the fearful, respectful and envious looks he’d been giving to men like Brian since childhood.

‘You ever hear anything from Bilaney or the police then, Deck?’ John asked, lying prostrate on the sofa opposite.

‘Nothing. There was no one around and it was done professional. Besides, he wouldn’t dare say anything anyway.’

‘He might not, but his brother is well pissed,’ Tony said. ‘He’s been making all kinds of promises to get back at you.’

‘Yeah?’ Decker asked sitting up straighter in the chair. The blonde kissed the inflamed skin around his healing tattoo and giggled. He pushed her away.

‘You not heard?’ Tony asked. ‘His brother Alex runs heroin over a few estates with some of his friends. Last I’d heard he was just a snot-nosed kid. Guess he came up. Bit like you, Deck.’

‘You’re not worried are you?’ John asked goadingly in Decker’s direction.

‘Course not. Maybe he just needs some of what his brother got to put him in his place.’

The blonde giggled again and put her arm back around his neck. The boys thought it was pretty funny too and laughed along. Decker reckoned he’d saved face. It wouldn’t do to show any weakness. Now he had his spot at their table there was no way he was going to give it up.

An electronic chirping from his pocket alerted Decker that someone was calling him. The ring tone on his cell phone was a classical number, to show he was cultured. He didn’t know what it was but recognised the tune from a bread commercial that had been on the TV when he was a kid.