DEATHLOOP Page 9

  “Zack… Zack, wake up…”

  Zack yelled with fright to see Sid’s massive face bang in front of him and his fright spooked Sid who let out a yell just as loud, stumbling back across the room in shock.

  “Shit, why so jumpy?”

  “Sorry, mate, I’ve been strung out a bit lately.”

  “You could have fooled me, man, you could have fooled me,” said Sid, shaking his head and making his dreads dance around like lanterns.

  “Here, I found them,” said Sid, handing over a grubby polythene envelope containing pink and white pills.

  “So which is which?”

  “Don’t ask me, I don’t take the stuff, it’s poison, I and I know better. You just have to embark on trial and error, Mr Fortune. You just have to take your fun finding out.”

  “You’re a gentleman, Sid,” said Zack, scrambling to his feet.

  “That not in question or dispute, I and I got me self-esteem.”

  Zack liked it when Sid did his ‘I and I’ Rasta type stuff, it made him feel part of the clan.

  In the cab on his way back home Zack shook the plastic envelope mixing up the pink and white pills into various patterns. He decided he needed to sleep, really sleep, 24 hours or something, so he was trying to decide which pills to take. If he got it wrong he would have to go somewhere or do something because he’d be up there on Nelson’s Column, but he hoped he wouldn’t get it wrong, white or pink, which could it be? As pink was associated with red, it had to be the livelier of the two, didn’t it? He swallowed three or four white ones, and stuffed the envelope into his pocket, now it was a matter of wait and see.

  As the streets of West London flashed by, Zack sat back and allowed himself a little smile. He’d had the perfect opportunity this evening of taking it easy, of enjoying his own company and gradually winding down. So what does he do? He’d got together with Sid Johnson of all people, who could always be relied upon to lead him astray as a matter of principle. But he’d enjoyed his evening with Sid, and as much as he rated Sam, he felt quite liberated out on his own without him.

  Sam had quietened down so much since Cambridge. Keen to impress Zack in those early years, Sam was as crazy as everyone else then, up for just about anything. Although Clarissa had once told Zack that even during their time at university Sam only pretended to take all those drugs. He was just a straight Jewish boy really, making himself out to be the court jester he knew Zack wanted him to be.

  Zack had found it difficult after Cambridge. All his friends had settled down quite quickly into mundane jobs which left Zack out on a limb. He missed University life, certainly his University life. He loved that complete anarchy, that feeling that he could do exactly what he liked and people would excuse it somehow because he was a student. It had taken Zack a long time to straighten himself out and settle down. Sam and Clarissa told him he had never really settled down and he never would, maybe they had a point.

  Certainly it was true that Sam still kept him on a tight rein and secretly they both knew how far he could go before he was yanked back and brought to heel. This made Zack feel secure and frustrated in equal measure, and there were times when he wanted to take this damn rein and ring Sam’s neck with it. But Zack knew that without Sam’s influence he might well be dead by now, or in a funny farm somewhere howling at the moon, and because of that Zack put up with all his annoying little ways and deep down considered himself extremely lucky to have someone like Sam Stein watching over him.

  Susan was not sure what to expect as she let herself into Zack’s flat. If anyone else was with him she would have to deal with it but Susan knew it was unlikely because Zack didn’t really like people in his area, which was why Susan considered it a privilege to be allowed to stay over as often as she did.

  She crept into the hallway and stood very still. She could hear breathing from the bedroom so she crossed towards it, and peered round the door. Zack was crashed out in bed so Susan went in, picked up the quilt from the floor and laid it gently over him. She watched him for a while, examining the sweep of his shoulder, the muscular brown arms that had held her once, the hands that had brushed tears away from her face when she’d been crying. Then, after a minute or so, Susan started to get undressed.

  Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Zack stirred. Still groggy, he did not wake immediately but gradually became more aware as gentle waves of consciousness flooded back. Then he opened his eyes. For a long moment he could not comprehend the image that confronted him: completely naked, and completely still, Susan was lying beside him, wide awake and smiling, and looking like she’d been there all night.

  “Jesus Christ!” said Zack, falling out of bed with the shock.

  “Surprise, surprise!” said Susan with a grin, leaning over the bed to find him.

  Zack crawled over to his padded Victorian chair and climbed into it. He had always felt awkward sitting in this chair (it was a woman’s chair, after all, and too small for him) but right now he couldn’t have cared less.

  “Zack, I’m sorry,” said Susan. “I’ll get it right this time, I promise I will, and I’m sorry about Bellini’s, I could pay them something back each month. Shall I? Would that be a good thing to do?”

  Part of Zack wanted to grab hold of Susan and drop her from the window and be done with it. She was like one of those characters in a Moroccan market who will not leave you alone, but the kinder side of Zack hated himself for ever having had anything to do with this girl. He knew she was fragile, he knew that right from the start, and now here she was in a thousand pieces and he was entirely to blame.

  She looked beautiful again tonight he decided, like a little fairy with her mysterious smile, she had a lovely body too, firm and slight and boyish.

  “Don’t waste your time with me, Susan,” he said, “you need someone who can make you happy and I can’t make anyone happy, I wouldn’t know how. I don’t even make myself happy half the time.”

  Susan didn’t believe this and so pretended she hadn’t heard. “Was it the film?” she said, as though keen to clear this up.

  “What film?”

  “My film, in East Finchley,” said Susan, earnestly.

  “No, it wasn’t the film,” said Zack, stifling a smile, “not at all.”

  “I know you wanted to see the football and it was unfair of me to make you miss it,” said Susan, thinking this would be a step in the right direction.

  “Susan, look… I’m not very nice to people,” said Zack, privately acknowledging the understatement.

  “But you are,” said Susan, “you are to me.”

  “Especially women, particularly women,” said Zack ignoring her, “I got screwed up pretty early on.”

  “So let’s fix it,” she said, glad to have something to latch onto.

  “It’s not that easy to fix, believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “But I don’t understand why you don’t want to be with me anymore. What did I do?” said Susan, exasperated.

  “Nothing, you did nothing at all. After a while, I just want to move on. That’s me I’m afraid, what can I tell you…”

  “And will you be like this forever, till the day you die?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised… old habits and all that.”

  What Susan wanted, thought Zack, was to be with someone for good, for someone to love her as much as she loved them, but she was one of those people who would never achieve what they most desired because she just did not know how to play the game. She was too much, too little, too open, too closed, too passive, too demanding, too manic and too dull, always too much, and always, always at the wrong time.

  “Do you hate me?” asked Susan.

  “Of course not, why would I hate you?”

  Susan looked at him. “Do you hate yourself then, is that what this is all about?” she asked, surprising Zack with the insight.

  “Probably,” said Zack, “probably.”

  “I read somewhere that you have to love yourself before you can love an
yone else.”

  “Who knows?” said Zack, unwilling to get into any kind of philosophical discussion here, “who knows?”

  “So if it doesn’t make you happy being the way you are, why be like that?”

  Interesting question thought Zack. “Well…” he said, trying to be as honest as he could for once, “it makes me happy for a while I guess, and maybe… being happy for a while is as good as it gets.”

  “What can I do to get you back?” asked Susan, still with a tinge of optimism in her voice.

  “Nothing,” said Zack, “when things like this die, there is no resurrection.” Zack allowed the sentiment to hang in the air for a moment, then he struggled up from the chair, took a couple of very uneven steps and chucked himself across the bed.

  When Zack woke next time it was to the sound of frantic banging on his front door. It took him some time to remember where he was, who he was even, the pills having worked their magic. He heard shouting as well, and more banging, but it clearly had nothing to do with him this racket and Zack hoped whoever was responsible would just go away. Then the noises changed in nature. This was a new sound, like a battering ram smashing against his front door and what sounded like a small army setting siege to the place. As their clomping footsteps got louder invading his space, he looked up to see a bunch of uniformed policemen surrounding his bed, plus a rather handsome Alsatian straining on its lead.

  “Are you Zack Fortune?” said the man in charge.

  “Don’t tell me my road tax has expired.”

  Not one of the policemen found this funny, not one.

  “Get up out of bed sir, please,” the policeman continued.

  Zack obliged, still very groggy, his legs not quite rigid enough at the moment, causing him to slap a hand on the wall for support. All of the policemen had gloves on Zack noticed, what was all that about? One of them gave him a white jump suit and indicated for him to put it on. As soon as Zack had obliged he was led away, most of the policemen remaining in his bedroom where they began to search.

  Zack and the two more senior policemen ended up in the living room, standing awkwardly, a frosty formality between them. Zack could not think what they were doing here, he just hoped that when they realised their mistake they would at least replace his door, because doors like his did not come cheap.

  “Mr Fortune…” said the policeman but just as he was about to continue, he spied the polythene envelope containing the pink and white pills on top of a stack of books. Shit, thought Zack, shit, shit, shit.

  “What are these, sir?” said the policeman, whose lifeless eyes had lit up suddenly.

  Zack thought for a moment. “Can I phone a friend?”

  “Sam, listen…”

  “It’s 3.15 you bastard… are you aware of that?”

  “I’m in one heap of trouble, mate.”

  Sam groaned. “What kind of trouble?”

  “I’ve just been picked up by the cops…”

  “What!!!”

  “On suspicion of rape.”

  CHAPTER 10

  It was 5 o’clock on Saturday morning and Jason Heart was pacing up and down in his room. He had taken all his documents to Emerson Buildings yesterday, just as Zack had told him to but as he stepped inside reception he was met by the old black bloke, Patrick, who had seen him through the window crossing the road and had got up to meet him at the door. Already Miss Betty and he were ganging up, (or so it seemed to Jason), and despite saying he had permission to find Zack Fortune, wherever he was, the envelope was taken from him and he was asked to leave.

  This bugged Jason. What if his stuff didn’t get to Zack Fortune? What if it was thrown in the bin? He said as much when he handed it over to Patrick, but Miss Betty shouting over from behind the desk promised she would make sure Zack Fortune got it. Jason didn’t believe her really, but what could he do? He had wanted to run home and get it for Zack when they’d left the coffee bar but Zack had told him that he was taking the rest of the day off. The only way he could be sure of his papers being handed over was to find out where Zack lived and to ask him directly, but he didn’t think that was a good idea, not after last time.

  Kelly Jones was Jason’s probation officer and the best person he had ever met. She was always so friendly and went out of her way to help him. Jason refused to believe she was like that with anyone else, she just wouldn’t have had the time. He knew they had something special between them so it surprised Jason when Kelly screamed at him and pushed him across her office one day when all he had done was try and kiss her.

  It didn’t take Jason that long to find out where she lived, and he was only standing outside her house for a few hours when he was carted off in a police car and given the news that Kelly would no longer be his probation officer but that someone else would.

  This was a devastating blow to Jason. It was the first time anyone had shown any interest in him at all and now it seemed this person wanted nothing more to do with him. He loved Kelly, but it seemed that she did not love him because even after he had been told not to hang around outside her house he still found ways of seeing her, and that seemed to upset her even more. He would wait at the same bus stop in the morning and follow her home from work, until one day Kelly burst into tears and told him to stop following her because she didn’t love him, he had got that wrong, in fact she was beginning to hate him.

  Later that day Jason decided to get drunk on gin and vodka and his foster family complained that they couldn’t cope with him anymore. He went into a new children’s home but there were too many crazy kids in there for Jason’s liking, so he smashed his room up and clouted one of the social workers and got into quite a bit of trouble because of it.

  Jason realised that finding out where Zack lived and waiting around for him might cause similar problems. That would be like making the same mistake twice and he wasn’t stupid. No, he would leave it a few days, and then write to Zack asking him if he had received the bundle, and if he hadn’t he would get Miss Betty and the black bloke Patrick into serious trouble. Yes, in fact the more Jason thought about this idea the more he liked it. His new enemies would get sacked, and Zack would feel he had to work extra hard on Jason’s behalf because of it.

  At the police station, Zack was put through the usual procedures, all very proper, all very correct. The forensic test was humiliating: scrapings and swabs, hair and nails, skin and groin. The nondescript middle aged man who collected these samples spoke only when he had to, as though vocabulary was a controlled substance. So, deprived of conversation, Zack found himself listening to the crumpling of the suits, the crinkling of the plastic envelopes, the screwing of tops on small bottles. He also found himself wondering if this was all this man did each day - collect very personal things in a very impersonal way, and what kind of satisfaction he could possibly derive from it. Finally the man seemed satisfied with Zack’s secretions, the harvesting was complete.

  A duty solicitor arrived and introduced herself to Zack as Ms Tracy Bright. An unfortunate name for this girl, Zack decided, as her hair was mousy, her complexion was sallow, the whites of her eyes were dull, and her clothes were grey - a swot from a working class background.

  Tracy had been disturbed from her slumbers by the phone call that had brought her here, so she had made no real attempt to impress, it was just too early for all that. When Tracy saw Zack she was thrown - a man with all this going for him, a rapist? Unlikely thought Tracy, unless of course he was completely messed up, and that was always a possibility these days. She really wished she had made more of an effort now, she couldn’t even remember combing her hair.

  Tracy had suggested Zack make no comment at all for the time being, which would give them the opportunity to discuss things in more detail. Zack had often suggested the same thing himself so he knew the score. But it always set alarm bells ringing in his experience because it nearly always signified guilt, and Zack was not guilty. According to Tracy, Susan alleged Zack had attacked her in his flat and raped her, oh an
d she had the injuries to prove it, as well.

  “She’s barmy,” said Zack, “a crackpot of the first order.”

  “I’d guard against comments like that if I were you,” said Tracy, ice cold, “they’re not helpful, and you enjoyed a relationship with this woman after all.”

  Oh blimey, thought Zack, a radical feminist. That lot wouldn’t know barmy if they fell over it.

  In a small dingy interview room, Zack and Tracy sat on one side of an old table. Two policemen in plain clothes faced them. Detective Sergeant Brian Smith was early fifties, gaunt, haggard, with thinning hair and dead eyes, but his well-worn clothes had been cleaned and pressed with military precision. He wore a signet ring on his little finger and it was so at odds with this man - an affectation, that instead of indicating better breeding which was so obviously the intention, it served only to suggest the opposite.

  The other was Detective Sergeant Josiah Cornfield, 35, chubby, black, baby faced, with popping eyes that swung restlessly round the room like they were sweeping for mines. The tape was set up and Brian Smith spoke briefly quoting the time and day. Zack barely paid attention to the formalities.

  “Do you know someone called Susan Wilmot, Mr Fortune?”

  “Yes, of course I do, she’s my ex-girlfriend.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “Not long before you lot smashed down my door.”

  “Where was this?”

  “In my flat,” said Zack, weary already, and wondering how long all this would take.

  “You invited her into your flat, did you?”

  “Okay, here’s what happened…” said Zack, keen to get this over with so he could get back to bed, “I was in bed asleep. A sound woke me, or something woke me and Susan was there lying beside me… oh and she’d taken her clothes off by the way. She suggested we reinstate our relationship, I turned her down, then I went back to sleep. That’s it, that’s what happened… the end.”