Читать книгу Sudden Death - Phil Kurthausen - Страница 16

CHAPTER 7

Quitting hadn’t been as straightforward as Erasmus thought it would be.

He had gone home and opened a fresh bottle of Yamakazi, and then played some Fall and Pixie tracks from his Mac until the liquid concrete above his eyes had set. Press repeat, Friday through Sunday. He had deliberately not left the house in the evening. The twelve steps were all well and good but Erasmus knew that if he left the house drunk he wouldn’t be returning on his own. His mentor, Martha, swore that this was what had kept her faithful to her husband for the past eighteen months. Denial of service, she called it. Erasmus thought it might just be dealing with the symptoms rather than the cause but if the result was the same –not having sex with random strangers – then who cared? He had come too close that night at the club and wasn’t it true that some of the anger he directed at Gary Jones had sprung from his own self loathing at succumbing once again?

The fact that he might be replacing one addiction with another in the form of alcohol was a risk he was prepared to take, or rather thought he was happy to take until he woke up on Monday morning to the sound of his mobile phone like an electronic rat burrowing into his brain and gnawing on his awake switch.

He swore and reached for the source of his pain. The mobile was lodged under the sofa cushion he had fallen asleep on. He dug it out and answered.

It was Ted.

‘Why haven’t you been answering your phone?’

Erasmus started to speak but his throat seemed to be clogged with cotton wool. He reached for a mug and luckily it had some cold tea in it. He drained it.

‘Business trip,’ he said.

‘I heard what happened. These kids can be a handful sometimes.’

Erasmus dug out a pack of Marlboro lights from the pocket of his trousers and lit one with a lighter he didn’t recognise. This was a bad sign. Instinctively, he looked around for the girl whose lighter this might be.

‘Those “kids” nearly fucking killed me.’

Ted chuckled.

‘I heard you made them pay, as well. I’ve had Gary Jones’s agent, Steve Cowley, on the line screaming at me that I should sack you. Apparently Gary soiled himself and the other players have been taking the Michael ever since.’

Erasmus inhaled, so much guilt and pleasure in one tiny object. They should charge double for them, he thought.

‘You can’t sack me, I quit.’

Ted ignored him.

‘Of course, what Gary wants isn’t so important. He is coming to the end of his career, no one wants him but us now, and so I can ignore that. The interesting thing is that Wayne has taken to you.’

Erasmus shook his head as though this might help dislodge the sharp crack of pain that seemed to be forming on the right-hand side of his brain.

‘Didn’t you hear? I quit. Those fuckers nearly did what the Taliban couldn’t manage.’

‘I’ll double your hourly rate.’

Erasmus stubbed out the cigarette in the nearest receptacle, a chipped tea-stained mug with a picture of Mickey Mouse on it: a relic from a past life. Briefly, an image of his daughter, Abby, came into his mind. He dismissed it quickly, he hadn’t seen her in over six months. He wanted to put all the blame for that on his ex-wife Miranda but the truth was that the fault lay squarely between them.

Double rates. Truth was that the firm only had one client at the moment that was actually willing to pay their standard rates and Erasmus was speaking to him right now.

‘I usually take silence as agreement,’ said Ted, chuckling again.

Erasmus looked around. At the age of thirty-nine he had finally managed to buy a flat with the last of his resettlement money from the army that he hadn’t blown on his two-year voyage of self destruction around the globe. It was in an old Victorian mansion, with high ceilings, damp and a panoramic view of Sefton Park and the local patch of a skag dealer called Eric. The decayed grandeur of the place had appealed to Erasmus and although it still did, waking up cold and shivering most mornings because the place leaked heat was starting to lose its appeal. But it was all he had, and what little it was depended on the mortgage being paid on time.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I want you to go and see Wayne. Turns out that the boy was quite impressed with you. You see Cowley also represents him and he let it slip that Wayne hasn’t stopped taking about the fact that you took out that bouncer. I mean you could have jumped as well but never mind, you’re in, Erasmus! Now all you need to do is find out what’s up with the boy. It should be a stroll in the park.’

Ted gave Erasmus Wayne’s address and told him that Wayne was expecting him. Grudgingly Erasmus agreed he would go and see him.

He flopped off the couch and reached over to his Mac and selected a Doves track, ‘There Goes The Fear’, in the hope it might actually be a statement that would assist with his hangover. He hit play and cranked up the volume. He needed music to get going and it wasn’t like anyone was going to complain. The other two apartments in the building were currently empty. Ali, who lived above him, had moved out four months ago to go and work with a cousin in Iraq. Mark and Sue in the flat below had taken career breaks and by Erasmus’s reckoning would now be either buying beads in Macchu Picchu or selling small beers to large Aussies. They wouldn’t be back for six months. Erasmus liked the fact that he had the building to himself, it meant there were fewer judging eyes.

Before he went to Wayne’s house though there was something far more important he had to do. He dialled the number. It was answered on the third ring, as it always was, by Miranda.

‘Erasmus,’ she said in the clipped tone that conveyed ten years of disappointment, heartbreak and the suspicion that any contact with him brought her and their daughter closer to chaos and darkness then she was willing to allow.

‘How are you?’ he asked.

She ignored his question. ‘Abby’s not here. You’ll have to call back.’

He felt tension in his chest.

‘This happened last week as well. What’s going on?’

He despised the way his voice rose an octave as he finished his sentence but he couldn’t help it.

‘She’s having a sleepover at her friend Rachinder’s tonight. I told you about this last week.’

He had a vague memory of her saying something about a friend but he had been hung-over on Sunday when he thought she may have mentioned it.

‘Who’s Rachinder?’

There was a pause and a sigh from Miranda.

‘Rachinder is her new best friend as of two weeks ago. You know how they are at that age.’

Abby was nine and since the events of two years ago he had seen her only twice. The fact is he had no idea what it was like at that age.

‘Well, who is she, who are her parents, do you know them? Have they been, I dunno, CRB checked?’

‘Jesus, Erasmus, when did you become so suspicious? It’s a friend from school and she’s staying over to watch some silly movie, eat too much food and giggle a lot like little girls do!’ This time Miranda’s voice pitched upwards, this auditory escalation usually ended with one of them slamming the phone down. ‘Look, she’s growing up, she occasionally has to leave the house, meet other kids, it’s normal, Christ, in a couple of years she’ll be going out with boys, half of her class have boyfriends already, childhood’s speeded up since we were kids. You’re going to have to get used to it.’

One thing he was sure of more than anything in the world, he wouldn’t be getting used to it anytime soon.

With the word ‘boyfriends’ rattling around his brain like an escaped tiger he agreed to call back tomorrow.

He grabbed his car keys and headed to Wayne’s place.

The contrast between Erasmus apartment and Wayne’s house was stark. Wayne’s house was another level altogether. A level marked ‘How dare you drive down this road in that crappy car’ to be judged by the stares he had received from the private security guards parked at the entrance to the road in this exclusive part of Formby. The road ran down to the beach and was covered with a fine layer of red sand. Either side of it were mansions set back from the road. Wayne’s was the largest and last one on the road before it turned into a track leading down to the beach. The house seemed to be made mainly from glass and the bits of wall on show were brilliant white. It was, to Erasmus’s mind, more suited for Miami than Merseyside. Envy is not an attractive trait, he told himself.

Erasmus pulled up outside and got out of his car. He hit the buzzer on the gate and a woman’s voice thick with a Scouse accent, answered.

‘Who is it, love?’

‘Erasmus Jones. I’m here to see Wayne.’

‘Never heard of yer.’

‘I’ve got an appointment with Wayne.’

‘You could be the fucking pope love but I’ve still never heard of yer.’

‘I’m his new scorta.’

There was a pause and then a buzz. The gates started to open.

‘Park next to the Aston Martin will yer love.’

Erasmus got back into his Golf and drove through the gates. Sure enough there was a royal blue Aston Martin with the number plate WJ EFC. Erasmus parked his car next to it, carefully opened his door and got out.

The front door of the house was already open and a young woman in her late teens or early twenties was standing there. She looked like she was on her way out to an awards ceremony. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in blonde locks that looked fresh from a salon appointment, her skin was glowing and bronzed, and she was dressed in heels, a short skirt and a tight gold top that squeezed her tiny frame’s bosom into a painful looking cleavage.

‘Hi, I’m Erasmus.’ He offered his hand which she ignored. ‘Hope I haven’t caught you on your way out.’

She pursed her lips.

‘As if I’d go out dressed like a dog’s dinner,’ she said. She stood with a hand on her hip waiting for a compliment. Erasmus didn’t oblige.

‘As I said, I’ve got an appointment to see Wayne. Is he in?’

‘Nah, he popped out but he’ll be back anytime now. I guess you better come in then. I’m Steph, by the way. Wayne’s better, much better, other half.’

She wasn’t smiling but her eyes were twinkling with amusement. She turned and Erasmus followed her into the hallway. The hall was as big as Erasmus’s whole apartment and lined floor to ceiling in marble. A grand staircase flowed up and away from its centre. Steph led him through to a reception room. The facing wall of the room was covered in a mural, ten feet high at least and as wide as the room, of Wayne sitting in an armchair with Steph, wearing nothing but a bikini, sitting on his knee and holding a football. Erasmus nearly laughed but stopped himself just in time.

Steph looked at Erasmus. She took a cigarette from a packet on the mantelpiece and lit it. She blew out the smoke fiercely and then looked up at the massive portrait.

‘It was Wayne’s idea. What can I say?’

She sat down on a white couch and indicated to Erasmus that he should take a seat opposite her on a facing couch. He did so. There was around fifteen feet between them.

‘So, Mr Scorta, what do you want to speak to my boyfriend about?’

She smiled this time but her cool, blue eyes narrowed slightly. Girlfriend or bodyguard, or probably a bit of both, thought Erasmus. It seemed everybody had a stake in brand Wayne.

‘He invited me to lunch. It’s kind of an apology, did he tell you what happened at the Blood House Bar?’

Her eyes rolled.

‘That fucking bar.’

‘You don’t like it?’

‘You’ve been there, haven’t you? You’ve seen the girls throwing themselves at the players?’

‘I have yeah. It’s what my parents would call a meat market but I’m sure Wayne knows how to handle it.’

She looked upwards and blew out a long stream of smoke.

‘So, how did you meet Wayne?’

A look of anger crossed her face.

Erasmus had wondered if that was how Steph had snared Wayne. She must have guessed what he was thinking.

‘I grew up three doors down from him. He played football in our street and his Jenna was my best friend. I was there for him when his dad died when he was eleven. I’ve known him when he was dirt poor and he can trust me. I’m not like those gold diggers. And you can drop the attitude, I know exactly what your job entails. You’re nothing more than a pimp.’ She spat the words out as a challenge.

Erasmus shook his head.

‘Nope, I don’t do that. The club has asked me to look after Wayne and that’s all I intend to do and that doesn’t cover providing him with women. If it’s any reassurance I can tell you that when I’ve talked with Wayne all he wanted to do was talk about music, martial arts and well, you.’

Not strictly the truth but Erasmus’s dad had told him you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, but he had a feeling that his dad had never met someone like Steph though.

She pursed her lips to one side as though chewing.

‘I tell you what, Erasmus – and what kind of a name is that anyway? – I think you’re full of shit but I want to believe you so I’m making a choice that I will, but let’s be clear, if I find out you are lying to me I’ll have your balls,’ she mimed the cutting action of a pair of scissors with her fingers, ‘in a bag and mounted above that fucking picture do you understand?’

Erasmus smiled.

‘Crystal clear. Any chance of a cup of tea?’

Steph laughed and the in-your-face, hard, Scouse façade dropped for a second and Erasmus could suddenly see the young girl, not yet twenty-one surely, who lived under the glitter.

‘Do I look like a scivvy to you?’

Her mouth remained open, her ruby red lips hanging there in a pout of mass destruction that she had no doubt employed effectively many times before.

Erasmus never got to answer the question. Steph raised an eyebrow.

‘I’m vibrating,’ she said. She slid a hand into her top and pulled out a tiny, gold-plated phone from between her cleavage. ‘Hi ya love?’ As she listened her face became stern again. ‘What? Are you fucking kidding me? With that twat! You promised you would be back here. And I’ve got your fucking gopher sitting her looking at my tits, as well. What do you want me do with him?’ Another pause. ‘Cunt!’ she said and threw the phone on the couch.

Erasmus worked on the basis that the ‘cunt’ was not meant for the gopher.

‘Was that Wayne?’

Steph leapt to her feet and nodded quick and angry.

‘Oh yeah, it was His Majesty. He’s decided to stay at the golf club with that tosser Gary Jones and Kristos and get pissed instead of coming home and having dinner with me!’

Steph was pacing now.

‘You’ve got to go. I need you to leave now.’

Erasmus stood up.

‘Which golf club is he at?’

For a moment he thought she was going to ignore him.

‘Formby Golf Club. He won’t be home for the night now.’

‘If I bring him home will you do something for me?’

For a moment he thought she was going to tell him to get lost. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and looked directly at him, challenging him, it seemed to Erasmus.

‘You’ll never get him home now. This happens. A lot.’

‘If I get him home will you talk to me about Wayne. About why he’s playing so badly? Anything might help?’

She stopped pacing and looked at Erasmus.

‘Read the back pages of the newspapers. They’ve all got a theory.’

‘I want to know what you think.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘I’ll tell you what, love. If you bring him home, I’ll think about it.’

Erasmus stuck out his right hand.

‘Is it a deal?’

She took hold of his paw with her doll-like hand. Long red nails with golden stars stroked the inside of his wrist. She held his gaze.

‘It’s a deal,’ she said.

‘I’ll see myself out.’ He turned and headed for the door. ‘And by the way, I wasn’t looking at your tits.’

She arched an eyebrow. He decided not to push the point.

As he drove away from the house he noticed a black saloon car parked in the street that hadn’t been there before. That wasn’t unusual of course, what was unusual was that he could have sworn he saw someone quickly slide down behind the steering wheel as he turned out of Wayne’s drive way. Erasmus looked back in his rear view mirror. There was no one visible in the car. Perhaps, he had imagined it, he wondered, knowing for certain that he had not.