The Dark Place (10 page)

K
arl’s mobile rang as he was about to leave the office. He checked the number. “Number withheld”, said the screen.

“Hello?”

“Mister Kane?” said an archaic voice. “Mister Karl Kane?”

“Yes … who’s this?”

“You’ve been very naughty, Mister Kane.”

“Really? Listen, if this is about getting spanked, I’m seriously not into it – at least not by a man. So you take care and –”

“You’re involving yourself in things that are really no concern of yours.”

“People tell me that all the time, Mister …?”

“I’m not people, Mister Kane. I believe you’ve already been told quite a bit about me by a passing friend of yours.”

“Really?” The hairs on the back of Karl’s neck started nipping as he began searching frantically for a tape recorder in the top drawer of the desk. “Friend? What friend would that be, Mister …?”
Where the hell is the damn thing!

“Oh, I’m sure you know the friend in question – no longer with
us, I’m afraid, buried two days ago. You really need to mind your own business, Mister Kane, rather than mine. Do you watch movies?”

“All the time. It’s all I do.”
Where the fuck is that piece of crap?

“Remember what happened to Jack Nicholson in Chinatown, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong?”

“Vaguely.”
Found it!
Karl quickly clicked a button.

“Good day, Mister Kane.”

“Who was that?” asked Naomi, just as Karl slammed the tape recorder back into the drawer.

“What? Oh
that?
” said Karl, looking at his mobile. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me,” replied Naomi, folding her arms, waiting.

“Some dirty old dog wanting to spank me. I wouldn’t have minded if it’d been a woman.”

Naomi burst out laughing. “
I
can believe it. He probably spotted you walking about the town and saw that sexy wiggle of yours.”

“You mean this one?” Karl began wiggling his arse.

Naomi’s laughter became louder.

“You’re such a tease, Karl Kane.”

“I know. You wait until I get back later tonight, then we’ll get serious about the spanking,” said Karl, kissing her quickly on the cheek. “I’m off to see Tom. Find out if he has heard anything through the grapevine.”

Leaving the office, he displayed little of the unease he now suddenly felt.

I
t was getting late, and Karl was feeling tired as he walked down Hill Street towards home. The day hadn’t been too fruitful. Hicks’s information had been sketchy at best. What little information there was available about Bob Hannah certainly wasn’t being shared – at least not with those outside Wilson’s magic circle.

Already darkness was settling in as Karl fumbled for his keys outside the office.

“Got a light?” asked a figure standing in the shadowy doorway, cigarette dangling from his mouth.

Karl was about to reply when he saw – too late – the fist shooting up like a meaty rocket, sparks tailing it before impact. He had never – at least as far as he could remember – been whacked across the side of the head with a frozen Moy Park chicken. If he had, he held little doubt that this was exactly the way it would have felt after being smacked in the face by this great slab of hand and knuckles.

It wasn’t the pain so much as the surprise. Karl quickly tried steadying.
Tried balling fists into defensive mode. Tried. Failed. His knees began buckling.

Another rocket hit him in the chin. He felt a bone in his face snap.

“I said, do you have a light?” asked Mister Moy Park, calmly, landing another frozen chicken rocket to Karl’s solar plexus.

Struggling to keep the lights on in his head, Karl reached for the wall, trying desperately to steady himself. He failed, hitting the ground, banging his head off the pavement, bloodying.

Suddenly, darkness came running at him.

“You don’t look so bad,” said Mister Moy Park, hovering his boot over Karl’s face before crunching down on it.

Karl felt the impact on the bridge of his nose seconds before Darkness took him into its loving arms.

K
arl?
Karl?

Voices in my head. A whirling of maimed thoughts. Been having a lot of that lately.

“Karl?
Karl?
Can you hear me?”

“Huh?”
Terrible pain. Feels like a train wreck
.

“Karl?”

“Where … where am I?”

“Karl!”

“Naomi?”

“Oh, Karl,” whispered Naomi, practically throwing herself on top of him. He tried wrapping his arms around her, but his arms felt lethargic. He didn’t recognise his surroundings.

“Where … where am I, Naomi?”

“You bastard, Karl Kane! Don’t you ever do this to me again!” she exclaimed, kissing his battered face. “Scaring the fucking shit out of me.”

“You … you just used the ‘f’ word, Naomi Kirkpatrick. That’s the … that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear like that. What’s gotten into … you?”

“That’s you rubbing off on me. I could kill you, for what you’ve put
me through.”

Karl tried desperately to chisel bits and pieces of information from the block of nothing in his mind. All he could conjure up were frozen Moy Park chickens, flying at him from every direction.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Naomi. Where the hell am I?”

“In hospital.”

“What? You know I hate bloody hospitals. Get me the hell out of –
ohhhhhh
…” He shifted the weight from his aching ribs. “My ribs? Are they busted?”

“No, thank goodness. Just badly bruised. The doctor said you were lucky that you didn’t –”

“Yeah. Lucky’s my middle name –
ohhhhhh
,” moaned Karl, easing out of the bed. “Where’re my clothes? Get my stuff, Naomi. I’m getting out of here.”

“But the doctor said –”

“To hell with the doctor. He doesn’t have to pay the bloody medical bills. Where are my clothes?”

Reluctantly, Naomi opened up the door of a tiny metal locker adjacent to the bed and began removing Karl’s clothes.

“You’re going nowhere, Mister Kane,” said a nurse, appearing as Karl’s bare feet touched the floor.

“I’m going home, sister, and there’s nothing you can do. Naomi? Give me those pants.”

“Karl, listen to Nurse Williams. Please,” replied Naomi, holding the bundle of clothes in her arms.

“You’ve been very badly beaten, Mister Kane.”

“That’s a revelation?”

“You have a possible hairline fracture in your chin.”

“My hairline is going thin?”

“Stop being smart, Karl,” admonished Naomi.

“You need to stay here for at least a day, Mister Kane, in case of internal bleeding.”

“I appreciate your concern, Nurse Williams, and all that you’ve done, but if I don’t leave now, my wallet will be the one having internal
bleeding. I really must get going.”

“But … but the police? They want to interview you, see if you can give them any information on your attacker.”

“Tell them he had long flowing blond hair, a winged helmet and goes by the name of Thor. He’s the one who gave me the hammering.”

Nurse Williams looked taken aback.

“Please forgive his ignorance, Nurse Williams,” pleaded Naomi. “He’s still a child at heart – a very spoilt child.”

“Naomi, for the last time,” replied Karl, “will you
give
me those pants, or do I walk out of here commando style?”

“Did you get a look at him, Karl?” asked Naomi, helping Karl ease on to the sofa near the window, an afternoon sun brightening up an otherwise gloomy setting.

“Well, his name could have been Campbell, because his hands were huge soup plates and he hit me with fifty-seven varieties,” grimaced Karl. “Can you hand me some of those painkillers, please, my loveliest love? And a glass of Hennessy to wash away the hospital aftertaste in my mouth.”

“Hennessy and painkillers? I don’t think so. You’ll take water or have them dry.”

“You’re a bloody torturer. Know that?”

“What did he steal from you?”

“Huh?”

“Have you checked what he stole from you, this mugger?”

“I can do all that, later, once I get –”

“I checked. He took nothing. Isn’t that a bit strange, a mugger leaving your wallet and mobile phone?”

“Who’s the private investigator here, Naomi? You looking to take my job?” replied Karl, forcing a grin while licking at a swollen upper lip.

“Is that an answer?”

“Look, he was … he was probably surprised when he heard you opening the door. Now, can I have those painkillers,
please?
You’re starting to act like Kathy Bates in
Misery
.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence. We both know he wasn’t a mugger,
Karl.”

“Do we?”

“Belfast is becoming so dangerous,” said Naomi, filling a glass with water at the sink before handing it along with two painkillers to Karl.

A wry smile appeared on Karl’s battered face. “You mean compared to the days when the IRA and British army topped the bill, shooting the hell out of each other? Nowadays, we have Westlife and Boyzone topping the bill at the Waterfront – though to be totally honest, I don’t think they’re much of an improvement.”

“I’m serious, Karl.”

“Ironic, isn’t it? Bombs and bullets as an everyday occurrence, and bizarrely we felt safer than we do now with packs of marauding thugs looking to beat the fuck out of any poor bastard in their way.”

“He had to know you, Karl. This wasn’t random.”

“Didn’t fool you, eh?”

“Look. I’ve something to say. Don’t get angry. Okay?” said Naomi, looking slightly uncomfortable. “You know my parents are thinking of retiring soon, don’t you?”

“You’ve mentioned it,” replied Karl, popping the painkillers into his mouth, followed by a sip of water.

“Well … we could take over from them.”

Karl coughed loudly. The painkillers almost popped back out. “Run their motel in Derrybeg?”

“Why not? You make it sound like a fate worse than death.”

“Is my name Basil?”

“What?”

“Could you imagine me running a motel? It would end up like Fawlty fucking Towers – a complete disaster. Please, don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.”

“No, it wouldn’t be a disaster. You’d be great at it – you’re great at everything you do.”

“Have you been drinking Bacardi? If getting beat up on a regular basis makes me great, then you’re right – I’m the Einstein of Belfast.”

“At least I wouldn’t have to worry about you each time you leave, wondering what’s happened when you’re late coming home at night.”
Naomi looked away.

“What on earth are you crying for?”

“I’m not crying!” proclaimed Naomi, quickly wiping her eyes. “I’m tired. That’s all!”

“C’mere you,” said Karl, patting the sofa.

“What?”

“C’mon. Sit beside me for a wee while. I can feel the kick of those painkillers you gave me. I’ll be asleep in a minute. Sure they were painkillers?”

Naomi sat down, and Karl pulled her tight to him, kissing her eyes, her nose, mouth.

“I love you so much,” he said. “If that’s what you want, we’ll pack up and leave this dirty auld town. Whadda ya say, kid?”

“You wouldn’t be happy.” She began sniffling again. “You love Belfast, no matter how much you moan and complain about it.”

“Ha! You really have been on the Bacardi, my dear. I hate this old whore with a passion. Love to see the back of her.” Karl stole a glance in the side table mirror and was immediately shocked by the wasted look on his face. Thankfully, the pills were starting to kick in, flattening his feelings.

I’m cursed to stay here for ever. I’m Belfast born, bred and buttered
, were his last thoughts as sleep stole him away.

“K
arl? A Mister Lennon to see you,” said Naomi, standing at the office door.

Glancing from this morning’s Racing Form, Karl asked, “John or Vladimir?”

“Pardon?”

“His name. How’s it spelt? Like one of the Beatles or the communist?”

“What on earth are you mumbling about?”

“Nothing. Just showing my age,” replied Karl, sighing. “Show him in.”

“Are you sure you’re up to seeing anyone? It’s only been a week since the assault. The hospital said it should be a fortnight, at least, before you start doing any sort of work.”

“In the private investigating business, one week
is
a fortnight. Perhaps I should take a Polaroid of my face and send it to that decent, all-loving landlord of ours? Think he’ll let us skip rent for a few months until my mug heals? Perhaps he’ll pay the hospital bills while he’s at it?”

“You can be very ignorant and nasty at times.”

“Only at times?”

Seemingly on the verge of a verbal joust, Naomi simply shook her
head and walked out of the room, muttering something inaudible under her breath.

A few seconds later, a stocky, well-built man entered and, sitting down, placed a black leather briefcase on Karl’s desk. The man’s face looked soft and spongy, with big acne holes drilled into his drinker’s plum-coloured nose and ruddy cheeks. His hands were large, with crescents of dirt under his fingernails.

“Good day, Karl. I’m Stanley Lennon. As in Beatle, to answer your question. How’s it going?” he said with a broad smile, seven o’clock shadow crawling over it like a raw nappy rash.

“Must get thicker walls installed,” semi-smiled Karl, resenting immediately Lennon’s excessive familiarity.

“Did you get the name of the driver?” A smell like battery acid kept emanating from Lennon’s mouth, each time he spoke.

“What driver?” asked Karl, puzzled.

“The bus driver who did that to your face!” Lennon slapped his legs, grinning, the nappy rash spreading quickly.

“What exactly is it you want, Mister Lennon?” asked Karl, testily.

“Stanley. Call me Stanley, Karl. Everyone does.”

“Okay … Stanley. What can I do for you?”

Lennon’s smile suddenly relaxed and there was something about the smothering smirk that needled Karl.

“It’s what
I
can almost certainly do for
you
, Karl,” said Lennon, opening the lips of the briefcase. “Do you know what I have in here?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Karl replied, “Your briefs? If so, I hope they’re clean.”

“That’s funny. I was told you were funny.”

“Okay. I give up. What do you have in your briefcase, if not your briefs?”

“The best painkiller known to man,” replied Lennon, removing five tiny bricks of twenties waist-banded with fat, red elastic bands. “I represent a client wishing to remain anonymous,” said Lennon. “There’s five thousand in twenties, Karl. Count it.”

“I’ve seen enough movies to know the amount is probably correct. I’ve also seen enough movies to know it isn’t free and usually ends
up costing more than its sum,” said Karl, leaning slightly over his desk towards Lennon. “This is the part when the good guy – usually Humphrey Bogart – says whatever you’re selling, pal, I sure as hell ain’t buying.”

Lennon’s smile widened.

If his greasy fried egg smile gets any broader, it’ll slip from his face
, thought Karl.

“You don’t have to buy a single thing, Karl. These are free samples. Take away all your debts and pain.”

“What exactly is it this anonymous client of yours wants?”

“He wishes you to take a little holiday,” grinned Lennon, winking. “Somewhere sunny and good for your health.”

“
Hmm
. I see …” replied Karl, scratching his chin before looking at his watch. “I’m sorry, Stanley, I can’t stand the sun. I’m easily burnt – been burnt quite a few times, truth be told. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve other clients to see. Tell Mister Anonymous that he might be the one taking a holiday soon. A very long holiday.”

Standing, Lennon returned the bricks to the briefcase, snapping it shut. “For such a street-smart person, you seem rather dumb, Karl. Good day.”

“Sorry for being so
brief
, Stanley.”

Less than a minute later, Naomi appeared at the door.

“What was all that about?”

“Just a salesman trying to sell.”

“What was he selling?”

“Dirty underwear and uncertainties.”

“Well, he certainly wants to change that aftershave he wears. Must have bathed in it.” Naomi waved her hands about, distilling the air. “
Phew
. What a stink.”

“Yes, he certainly had a smell of trouble about him,” said Karl, reaching for his haemorrhoids cream. His arse was tingling terribly, just like
Spiderman
.