Blood Men

chapter fifty-five

Everything looks normal. Take away the fact that the man sitting down playing on a handheld games unit isn’t anybody I’ve seen before. Take away the fact the floor is concrete and the windows are boarded up and the walls have graffiti on them. Ignore the damp air, ignore the smell that’s etched into the walls like a stubborn stain, ignore the fact the mattress my daughter is lying on is a hundred years old, and it’s all normal, just a night in at home.

The light coming from a battery lantern is pale blue and doesn’t make the room any prettier. There’s a couple of relics in here-an old rusted filing cabinet, a laminated table that must weigh close to fifty kilos, cables and wires hanging freely from the ceiling like spiderwebs. Church lowers the game unit. It keeps making animal fighting sounds. There’s a cell phone on the table next to him and I wonder what he’s waiting for.

“Oh Jesus, please don’t kill me,” he says, and it’s taking all my willpower not to. He’s as thin and as creepy-looking as he was in the photos in his file.

“You took my daughter.”

“I know, I know, but it was just business.”

“And so is this,” I say, and I pump the shotgun.

“Wait, wait,” he says, putting his hands up. “We can deal,” he says.

“Deal?”

“I can give you a name.”

“Yeah? What name? Austin Bracken?”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“Wait, wait, there has to be something I can offer.”

I move toward Sam, keeping the gun trained on Church. When I reach the mattress I squat down but decide not to wake her. My little princess is dreaming of much happier times, her little mouth wide open.

My father walks into the room. He’s found a piece of rebar about half a meter long with a small chunk of concrete attached to the end. He looks at Church, then at me, then down at Sam, and he smiles at her, comes across, and crouches down. It’s the first time he’s ever seen her and the emotion gets to him. I’ve never seen it before-but my father starts to cry.

“So this is my granddaughter,” he says. “She’s beautiful.”

“She’s exactly like her mother,” I say.

Mummy’s a ghost.

I stroke her hair back. “He doesn’t know anything useful,” I say, nodding toward Church.

“You sure?” he asks, wiping at the tears.

“Please, guys, I can help you.”

“I’m taking Sam out to the car,” I say.

“I think that’s best, son.”

“You’ll be okay here?”

“It’s been twenty years, son. I have certain needs. Best you hurry up and get your little girl out of here. If he knows anything more, I’ll find out. I promise.”

I scoop Sam up. She tightens her arms around my neck without waking. “I’m done,” I say to Dad, keeping my voice low, not wanting to wake Sam. “Whether you learn anything or not, I’m done now. The police can do the rest. Whatever this bastard has to say, we’ll hand the information over.”

“Okay, son. I understand. Leave me the shotgun, would you?”

“Come on, let me help you out here,” Church says, “All I know is my old probation officer called me up and told me I had to help him out. He said if I didn’t he’d make life hard for me. I don’t know anything else. There’s no need to do this, any of this. It was business, I swear, just business.”

“Shut up,” Dad says, then turns toward me. “The shotgun, son.”

I think about Jodie and her parents, then I think about the cop parked outside their house and the bank manager and then I think about Gerald Painter. I hand Dad the shotgun and carry Sam outside.