The Society Of Dirty Hearts (26 page)

Mr X grinned impishly. “I think I’ll keep you guessing on that for now.”

Hope turned into rage. “You fucker,” spat Julian, his fingers flexing as if itching to wrap themselves around Mr X’s throat. “You twisted, sick little cunt.”

Mr X clapped his free hand against the videotape. “That’s
it
. That’s what I like to see.”

Julian wrenched his eyes away from Mr X, shading them with his hand as if to conceal some deformity. Mr X tut-tutted. “There’s no need to hide. You don’t need to worry about showing who you really are here.” He made a sweeping gesture at the rows of tapes and discs. “You’re amongst friends.”

“You’re not my fucking friend.”

Mr X screwed up his face in mock hurt. “What am I then?”

“I…I don’t...” A strange, uncertain light came into Julian’s eyes.

“You have the look of someone who doubts the reality of what they see. Believe me, Julian, this isn’t a dream. This is as real as it gets.”

Julian heaved a breath and spoke, dragging the words out one at a time. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to succeed, of course. This is your time, Julian. The world could be yours. All you have to do is reach out and take it.” As he spoke, Mr X glanced meaningfully at the videotape in his hand.

“You want me to destroy my father?”

“All sons destroy their fathers, one way or another, sooner or later. That’s just the way of things. Besides, if you don’t do it, he’ll destroy himself and the business with it. And I’ve put too much hard work into building that business into what it is today to let that happen.”

Julian’s face twisted into an incredulous scowl. “My father, and my father alone, built that business.”

Mr X gave a placatory wave of his hand. “Don’t get me wrong, Julian. I don’t mean to claim I’ve had a direct hand in the business’s success. But I’ve always been there, in the background, giving a prod in the right direction when it’s needed, pushing your father onto greater efforts. And when you takeover the business, I’ll do the same for you.”

“And what if I don’t take the tape?”

“You will.” Mr X spoke with the absolute confidence of a man used to getting what he wanted.

“Give me one reason why I should.”

“I’ll give you two. For starters, there’s your mother. She deserves to know the truth about the man she loves before she dies. Don’t you think?”

Julian blinked with uncertainty at the mention of his mother. Did she really need to know? Wasn’t the trail of misery, pain and loss left in his father’s wake long enough already? Before Julian could think anymore about that, Mr X continued, “Then there’s this.” He took a disc from his pocket. “I’ll bet you can guess what this is, can’t you?”

“My film.”

“Correct.”

Julian’s gaze flicked between the disc and Mr X’s face. His fingers flexed again.

“You’re thinking about taking this from me,” Mr X said, reading his mind. “Well it’d be pointless. This is just a copy.”

“So what’s the deal? Either I do as you say or you send that to the police?”

“Something like that. But I really hope it doesn’t come to that, Julian. You’re a young man with a brilliant future ahead of you. I’d truly hate to have to have to rob you of that future.”

Julian’s lips drew up into a grim smile. “More like you’d hate to lose out on all the money you’re going to squeeze from me.”

“There’s that as well.”

“And what if I don’t give a fuck about my future?”

“Don’t kid yourself, Julian. You know the value of the future. People like you –privileged people – always do. Besides, there’s not just you to consider. Spare a thought for your poor mother. If finding out about your father doesn’t finish her off, finding out about her son almost certainly will.” Julian grimaced at the threat. Mr X sighed as if the thought of carrying it out pained him too. “And then there’s your brother, Jake. What future has he got to look forward to? A short, miserable life of addiction and prison, that’s what. You could change that, give him the future he deserves. It’s all in your hands, Julian. So what’s it going to be?”

A long speechless moment passed, disturbed only by the gentle click of Mr X’s breathing. Click, click, like a lock falling in place, the sound of entrapment. Locked in a nightmare, Julian thought despairingly. No way out, no way out…

Slowly, as if afraid it might burn him, Julian reached to take the videotape. His arm dropped straight, as if the tape weighed a hundred pounds.

“Good lad,” said Mr X. “I knew you’d see sense. This calls for a celebration.”

“A celebration?” Julian repeated, as if unsure he’d heard right.

“Yes, a celebration.” Mr X looked past him. “Champagne.”

Glancing around, Julian saw a man stood on the threshold of the room, his bulk almost filling the doorway. He recognised him as the driver of the Mercedes. Hands like bunches of bananas dangled from the sleeves of the chauffeur’s jacket. Julian swallowed at the thought of what those hands could do to him. The man nodded and moved away. As they awaited his return, Julian’s gaze moved over the shelves of videotapes and DVDs. “Who are they?”

“They’re everybody and nobody. Businessmen, politicians, judges, solicitors, accountants, priests, doctors, teachers, policemen, and the like. Decent, honest people.”

Julian’s breath came in a sharp hiss. “They’re sickos, perverts.”

Mr X tutted. “You know something, Julian, you really must learn to stop seeing things in black and white. It’s not healthy. People are more complex than that. We all have God and the Devil in us. And we need to understand and love both sides, if we want to understand and love ourselves.”

“Who says I want to love myself?”

“Of course you do, Julian. You want to love yourself above all. That’s your nature, that’s everyone’s nature.”

You’re wrong, Julian wanted to yell, but the words would’ve rung hollow. Most of his life he’d clung to a reality that was in conflict with his dark side. He was tired of fighting with himself. He took a deep, sighing breath. So very, very tired…

The chauffeur reappeared with two flutes of Champagne. Julian looked dubiously at the glass proffered him. “Don’t worry, it’s not spiked,” Mr X assured him, raising his glass in a toast. “To you, Julian. To the great things you’re going to do.”

“What makes you so sure I’m going to do great things?”

“Don’t be so down on yourself. I can see the potential in you, even if you can’t. The way you found me was remarkable. But what really impressed me, what convinced me you were ready to take this step, was the way you bargained for Mia’s life. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such single-mindedness in one so young before. If you can apply that to the business, well, there’s no limit to what it could become.

Julian scrutinised Mr X’s face for signs of disingenuousness, but found none. He might’ve been a father lavishing encouragement on his son. Mr X quaffed his champagne, making a queer gurgling in his throat. Julian raised his drink to his lips, but didn’t swallow any. “So what happens now?” 

“Now it’s time for you to leave.” Mr X extended his hand. “Goodbye, Julian, and good luck.”

“Don’t we need to talk about money and stuff like that?”

Mr X shook his head. “Don’t worry, when you’ve got something I want, someone will be in touch.”

“What about my clothes?”

Mr X gestured with his chin at the chauffeur. “My friend here will take care of that.”

With a nervous glance at the hulking figure, Julian reluctantly shook Mr X’s hand. His handshake was warm, damp, repulsively tender. His gaze flicked down to the videotape. “Just to make sure we understand each other, Julian. That’s for you and your parents’ eyes only. If it was to find its way into anyone else’s hands, the consequences would be, well, very possibly fatal.” Shuddering, Julian pulled his hand away. As he turned to leave, Mr X piped up, “Oh, I almost forgot to say, welcome to The Society of Dirty Hearts.” His lips curled into a horribly triumphant smile. “We’re proud to have you as a member.”

Chapter 22

The chauffeur led Julian to a bathroom where his clothes were folded on a chair. When Julian reached for them, the chauffeur shook his head and pointed to the shower. Julian stepped into the cubicle and turned on the water. The chauffeur watched through the glass as he washed away every external trace of whatever had happened in the bedroom.

After towelling himself dry and dressing, Julian followed the chauffeur down a flight of stairs. The same red carpeting ran all the way through the house. Apart from that the house’s interior was fairly nondescript – unadorned white walls, flat panelled doors, no furniture. The exterior was equally unremarkable. It was a large, square, brick house with a flat roof, the only unusual feature being that its downstairs windows were high enough above the ground to prevent anyone looking in – as if the isolated location wasn’t private enough in itself for the purposes of what went on within. There was a time when those windows would’ve appealed to Julian, but not anymore. Now they just seemed sinister. A broad lawned area surrounded the house, rising to some dense shrubbery, split by the driveway. Julian’s car was parked beside the Merc in front of the house. The chauffeur mutely handed Julian his keys and, to his surprise, the survival knife. He approached his car, his step faltering as he spotted the dog sat on the lawn a short distance away. It sprang into motion suddenly, the muscles on its flanks rippling as it raced across to him with long, loping strides. He glanced back to see if it was responding to some signal from the chauffeur, but the hulking figure remained as impassive as ever. He broke into a limping run. The dog reached him as he opened the car door. He tensed, expecting to feel its teeth sink into his flesh again, but all it did was press its nose against his bandaged ankle, sniffing.

As Julian drove away, a pain far worse than any the dog could’ve inflicted ate at his mind – the pain of knowing about his dad and of not knowing about Mia. And a burning sense of guilt filled his heart, scorching away the last vestiges of unreality, leaving behind something that seemed to him too dirty ever to be made clean.

The morning sun peeped over the heads of the trees, dappling the road with shadows, as Julian neared town. Panic drained through him at the thought of confronting his dad, but he didn’t hesitate. The stomach-churning images he’d seen kept replaying in his mind, propelling him onwards. They made him feel like thousands of insects were crawling over his skin. He tried to banish the sensation by opening the window, letting air rush over him. A bad smell hit his nostrils. He closed the window, but it made no difference. The smell seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, almost gag-inducing. He glanced at the suburban houses, wondering how many of them were inhabited by Mr X’s ‘decent, honest people’.
All of them and none of them
, came his mind’s embittered reply. Lies everywhere. Nothing but stinking, rotten lies.  

When Julian pulled up outside his parents’ house, he sat gripping the steering-wheel. Seconds passed, minutes. He couldn’t bring himself to get out of the car, couldn’t even bring himself to look at the house. He stared at the garden – its manicured lawns, its well-pruned shrubs and well-weeded flower beds. He looked at the forest beyond, pressing close to the fence, the trees digging their roots under it, the ivy creeping over it. How long, he wondered, would it take for the forest to reclaim the garden if there was no one to care for it? How long would it take for a lifetime’s labour and love to be obliterated? Ten years? Twenty? Not even the blink of an eye on an evolutionary timescale.

“Not even the blink of an eye,” he murmured, tears pinching the corners of his eyes.  

Julian jerked around at a knock on the passenger-door window. His dad’s smiling face was peering through the glass at him. He was ready for work, his hair neatly combed, his face closely shaven. His eyes were full of anticipation and hope. For the first time in a long time he looked truly happy. Julian hated him suddenly. Hated him with every cell of his body. He felt like springing out of the car, grabbing a fistful of his throat and demanding to know, how the fuck can you smile when your daughter’s missing?

Julian lowered the window and Robert said, “Where’ve you been all night?” Before Julian could reply, speaking fast and excitedly, he went on, “Never mind. Great news, Jules. The buyer decided to go with us. He’s put in an order that’s even bigger than I’d hoped for. Big enough not only to keep us afloat, but to make us profitable again.”

“Great news,” agreed Julian, his voice flat, hollow.

Robert didn’t appear to notice. “You’d better hurry and get changed for work. It’s going to be a busy day.”

“I’m not going-”

Robert spoke over Julian. “We’ve got a hell of a lot to do if we’re going to get this order out on time. We need to contact our suppliers and order extra, well, extra everything. We need to talk to the staff, find out who’s willing to work overtime. We might even need to look into taking on some new-”

“Shut the fuck up!” The words burst out of Julian like bullets. Robert stared at him, wide-eyed, mouth hanging open. Anger pulsing behind his eyes, Julian said, “I know, Dad.”

“Know what?”

“Everything.” Julian stabbed his finger at the videotape on the front-passenger seat. “I know everything.”

Robert looked at the tape. ‘Robert Harris. 14/9/94’ was written on it. He screwed his eyes shut and opened them, blinking as if unsure where he was. An expression of sudden, sick clarity settled on his face. He clutched the window-frame as if for support, head sagging. His mouth worked soundlessly a moment, before he managed to say, “How?”

“Mr X gave it to me.”

Robert lifted a stunned, bewildered face to Julian. “Why?”

“He says you’re all used up, squeezed dry.”

“But I paid him.” Anger flashed in Robert’s eyes. He drove the heel of his hand into the car door with enough force to dent it. “I fucking paid him! I fucking…” His voice trailing off, he stared as if dead at the ground for half-a-minute, before murmuring, “I always knew this day would come. I’ve been waiting for it for fifteen years.”