Cucumber Coolie (2 page)

“Bit harsh.”

“On GTA, I mean.”

“Oh. Okay. Bit more reasonable.”

Danielle cancelled the call.

I lowered down and squeezed my phone, tapping it against my head. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Danielle. What wasn’t there to like about a hot blonde ten years my junior with an interest in me?

It’s just my bubble. I wasn’t lying about my bubble. Just the way I’d always been, the way I probably always would be.

I slipped three Lockets into my mouth and inhaled, the coolness tickling through my chest. Since I’d been paid half a million quid in the Chipps case, my Fun Funds had enabled new levels of serious investment. Televisions in every room, iPads for every chair arm.

I deserved rewards for my “heroic actions.” Not my words, but the words of the internet, which seemed weirdly infatuated with me nowadays. Especially the Lancashire News. Some kind of frigging local hero or another. “Superman Without the Abs,” they once called me. Wasn’t sure what to make of that one. I always thought my abs were alright.

I opened my mail. Bills. Letters about Groovy Smoothie ideas. Groovy Smoothie is my smoothie stall I run in the middle of town. Yes, I might be a wealthy bounty hunter, but no bloody way were any of my bounty earnings going down the drain on tax and bills.

My solution? A smoothie stall. And it did alright. It covered the costs of bills.

It left me with a nice pot of funds to spend on electronics and a whole manner of geeky items.

I pushed the mail across my kitchen counter and walked into my bedroom. The air conditioning flicked on the second I stepped inside, something I don’t think I’d ever get over the coolness of. Ha—coolness. Get it? Cool because it’s amazing, and because it blows cool air.

I chuckled to myself. Maybe I should try out standup someday.

I put on a red and white checkered shirt, some grey jeans, and my dark blue Converse trainers. I supposed I should go for lunch with Danielle. See what she had to say. Truth was, I liked her. I actually liked her. But I wasn’t sure she “got” me yet.

Then again, my transgender best friend Martha didn’t even “get” me, so that was saying something.

I had to up my game. Show her I cared. ‘Cause it was rare I did care, so it had to mean something.

Besides, she was really frigging good at GTA Online. I’d only fallen even more in love with her since her Darkangel revelation.

I turned off the PS4, then told the television to “switch off” via voice control. Voice control—so cool. The future. Almost foolproof.

“You requested: ITV.”

“No, off.”

“Volume: up.”

“No, off.”

“I am already switched on.”

I reached over and flicked the “off” switch.

Like I said: the future. Just not the “now.”

I walked out of my flat and caught the lift down. Had it all to myself, which was a nice relief. Wasn’t one for lift small-talk. You could guarantee one of the following topics would come up: weather, how warm it was in the corridors, or something sports related.

If one of those topics didn’t come up, then there was usually something very wrong with the person.

The doors opened up with a gentle “ping!” and I walked out into the light, airy reception area.

As I walked through reception, chilled music playing, the smell of disinfectant in the air, I noticed someone by the rotating glass doors.

It was a man. He had dark hair, which flopped onto his forehead like he was from a nineties boy band. He was wearing a white Fred Perry shirt inside out, but that wasn’t even the weirdest thing about him.

The weirdest thing about him was the way he was looking at me.

Lips quivering.

Hands rubbing one another.

Tears in his bloodshot eyes.

I took a deep breath and lowered my head. Didn’t have time to deal with a nutjob admirer of my bounty hunting work right now.

“Mr—Mr. Dent?”

I half-glanced at the guy. Nodded and smiled, picking up my pace.

He stepped out in front of me. Pulled something out of his pocket—a little tape about a quarter of the size of a VHS. “Mr… Mr. Dent, I—I need your help. I—”

“I can give you a business card,” I said, looking over my shoulder. Sure, most of the city respected me, but my work was only barely legal. “But if you’ve got a problem, I’d recommend trying the police first.”

I didn’t really recommend trying the police first. The police were idiots. People wouldn’t come to me, a bounty hunter, to solve their problems if the police were up to scratch. Hell—even the
police themselves
wouldn’t come to me anymore.

But hey. Procedure was procedure. Just the way I had to work now I was in the spotlight.

This guy let out some shaky breaths and shook his head, still up in my face. “No, I—Mr. Dent, I really need your help. I… I can pay good. I just… this tape and—and this letter. I can’t go to the police because—”

“Look, sir,” I said, pushing him aside. “I’m very sorry but I’ve got important business to attend to right now. So like I said…” I pulled out a business card, which I’d crafted on my expensive new printer. “Here’s my business card. There’s my email address. Contact me. I’ll be in touch within twenty-four hours.”

The guy’s eyes reddened some more. His cheeks went pale.

I forced a smile at him then I walked through the rotating doors.

“I don’t—I don’t have twenty-four hours,” he said.

I ignored him and headed in the direction of Chiquitos restaurant just across the docks.

The strong late summer wind blasted against me. Jesus, if I’d known it was this bad, I’d have brought a frigging coat. I looked back at the Wilmslow Apartments doorway.

The guy was still standing there, holding that tape in his hand.

He stared at me with a look of sheer wide-eyed grief.

I turned away.

He’d be fine. Besides, I couldn’t go helping every old shmuck who approached me in the street. I had a life of my own to live, too.

The rain peppered against my skin and a storm cloud built overhead.

He’d be fine.

THREE

I’d told Danielle a million times about my views on restaurants, but I think she just brought me to them on purpose to prove a point.

“Chilli poppers are good tonight,” she said. She tucked into her starter, crunching away at the breadcrumbed cheese and chilli. My tongue stung from my attempt to do the exact same thing a few seconds earlier.

“Dunno how you eat ‘um like that,” I said. Almost suffered death by hot cheese. I was lucky my trachea was still intact. If it
was
still intact, of course. But it was okay. I’d give the chilli poppers a good nine days to cool down.

Danielle smiled and nodded.

I wiped the corners of my mouth and sighed.

“Danielle, you’ve… you’ve barely spoken to me tonight. If this is about—”

“It’s not about the PS4, Blake,” she said. She looked me in the eyes now. God, she was hot. Blonde, wearing a loose cream cardigan with a cleavage-friendly red T-shirt underneath. What she was doing with a guy like me, I had no idea.

Hey. I’d got lucky. Everyone deserved a bit of luck from time to time.

“Well if it’s not about the PS4, then what is it about?”

Danielle looked away from me. Stared at the waiters as they walked past, sizzling food and drinks on their trays.

“It’s… Well it kind of is about the PS4.”

“So it kind of is and kind of isn’t about my PS4?”

Danielle shook her head. “Look, this is exactly what I’m talking about. All your little smart-arse comments. It’s impossible to have a proper conversation with you.”

I crunched down on the chilli popper, allowing the boiling hot cheese to frazzle my mouth. I’d felt my cheeks heating up, so I figured it was better to feign pain than to look like she’d genuinely hit a nerve.

“I just… I just need to know that you’re in this. Like, you and me. Because I’m in it. I just… I get the feeling your heart isn’t there half the time.”

I forced the steaming hot chilli popper down my throat. Damned thing brought tears to my eyes and made me look even more ridiculous. I leaned across the table. “Danielle, I… course my heart’s in it. My life’s been a shit ton better since I met you.”

“Poetic,” she said.

I shrugged. Licked some loose cheese from out of my stubble. “If you want poetic, go stalk some artists or something.”

She smiled. Showed off that cute gap between her teeth. “I just… I dunno. I like you, you know? You’re a good guy.”

I couldn’t help but smile, which made me feel even more of a sap. “I guess I like you too.”

“You guess?”

“Oh you know what I mean.”

Danielle rolled her eyes. The smile had dropped from it completely.

I didn’t know what to say, really. I mean, life was good. Groovy Smoothie was running… smoothly. I had plenty of money in the Fun Funds to spend/waste (depending on your perspective) on all kinds of electronics that I’d use once or twice.

And hell, I was dating a hot blonde ten years my bloody junior. I should be in heaven.

“I guess I’m just not used to, er… to this.”

I pointed around the restaurant.

Danielle reached over. Grabbed my hands. “I
know
you’re not bloody used to this. You wear a checkered shirt every pissing date, for heaven’s sakes.”

“There’s nothing wrong with—”

“But life’s about taking chances. About taking risks.” She pulled her hands away. “So take a risk, Blake. For once in your life, step out of that little bubble of yours and take a risk.”

I wanted to throw that one back at her. My bounty hunting was hardly risk-free, after all. Far from it. But she’d say what she always said: “Your professional life and your private life are separate things, blah blah blah.”

“You’ve ordered Bambino chilli bean burger every frigging time we’ve been here,” I said. “Hardly think you’re one to start lecturing me on risks. But sure. I’ll wear a non-checkered shirt next time, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She narrowed her eyes, but I could see she was smiling. “Watch yourself, matey. We only get a few chances in life. What d’you think you’ll remember when you’re old and grey? Your iPads and your 4DTVs or the little moments you spent laughing with people you… people you like?”

I narrowed my eyes in turn. Tapped my chin.

“Dick,” she said, laughing.

I went with the laugh. In all honesty though, I wasn’t sure what I’d look back at. My beautiful tech would be hard to look past.

Maybe Danielle would run a close second in the memory bank.

Sorry.

Not sorry.

Our main meals were served. I’d opted for a chilli con carne, while Danielle went for her usual.

The meat was way too chunky. Way too slimy. Roll on my Dominos later.

Except Danielle didn’t like Dominos. Said it was unhealthy. Said it was a rip-off. Said it was an unhealthy rip off.

“Everything’s bloody chilli something in here,” I said.

“Tends to be the case in Mexican restaurants,” Danielle said. She wrapped her mouth around a burger that was nearly as big as her face.

I crunched down on my tortilla chips. Wondered how things would be if Danielle and I ever did take things to the “next step.” Would I still be allowed to play PS4 when I wanted? To sit around in my pants eating takeaway food? To spend hours organising my collectible vinyl that I never took out of the shrink wrap?

I felt my phone buzz and jolted out of my thoughts.

“Just a second,” I said, lifting my phone out. “Ah, Martha.”

“Oh how is Martha?”

I widened my eyes and pointed at my vibrating phone.

“Oh okay smarty-pants.”

I answered the call.

“Afternoon, Mrs.”

“And a good afternoon to
you,
sir.”

Martha and I chatted for a few minutes. Martha was the closest thing I had to a best friend, I suppose. I used to collaborate with her in bounty cases back in the day, before an accident in ‘07.

Oh, and Martha used to be a man called Mart. Don’t ask.

“Still on for tomorrow, hmm?”

“Tomorrow?” I asked. “What’s… what’s tomorrow?”

Martha gasped. “Now don’t tell me you’ve gone and forgotten your dear friend’s birthday.”

I felt my stomach sink. My cheeks went hot. “Of… of course not. Happy birthday for tomorrow!”

“My birthday’s today, Blake.”

“I knew that. Totally knew that.”

Martha tutted. “Ah, whatever. Just another wrinkle on the forehead to mark it with anyway. As long as you’re at mine for drinks tomorrow evening, we’re all fine and dandy.”

My stomach sank even further. I’d been planning a night in on my own doing an Expendables trilogy marathon. Never seemed to get any bloody time to myself nowadays. “Ah, sure Martha, sure. Listen, I’m just out at the moment so I’ll be in touch tomorrow. Have a great birthday, though.”

“Me and my friend Merlot will have a smashing party indeed. Laters, hun.”

She cancelled the call.

“All okay?” Danielle asked. Damn, she’d nearly scoffed her entire ginormous burger in the space of my phone call. Better keep an eye on that. Don’t want her getting fat.

I scratched the back of my neck. “Yeah, erm… It’s Martha’s birthday today.”

“And you forgot?” she said, sticking a chip into her mouth.

“Thanks for making me feel even more terrible about forgetting my friend’s birthday.”

Danielle shook her head. “Like I said. You need to get your head out of the iCloud and into the real world.”

“Head out of the iCloud. I like that one. I really like that one.”

Danielle and I exchanged a smile.

“I’ll make a bigger effort,” I said. “An… an effort to—dammit, what is it with this phone?”

I felt it vibrating again. Lifted it out of my pocket.

“It’ll be Martha again. Just give me a sec… Hello?”

The line was quiet.

“Hello? Martha?”

“Mr—Mr. Dent?”

The man’s shaky voice took me by surprise. “Speaking.”

“Mr. Dent we… we met earlier. My—my wife. I got a tape and I… I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know who else to talk to. Please help me. Please.”