In the Evil Day

27

…LONDON…

‘Hear me?’ the voice asked.

Niemand opened his eyes, raised his head, didn’t know where he was.

He was still on the motorcycle, leaning against the rider, who was talking to him, head turned, mouth close, inside the helmet.

He looked around. Rubbish bins, cardboard boxes, walls close.

‘Yes,’ said Niemand. ‘I hear.’

He straightened up, lost his balance and fell sideways and backwards off the motorcycle. It didn’t hurt when he hit the ground, it was like being very drunk, nothing hurt.

Where was the bag?

‘The bag?’ said Niemand.

The yellow helmet was standing over him, holding the bag. ‘Got it. You need a doctor, I’m ringing for an ambulance, okay?’

‘No,’ said Niemand. He was trying to concentrate, it was difficult, he didn’t want to go to a hospital, they would find him there, they had no trouble finding him anywhere.

‘No, hold on,’ he said. ‘Just a sec…’ He put his hand into his jacket and found the harness, found the nylon wallet in his armpit. There was a card in it with numbers, five numbers, Tandy’s number was there, Tandy was a pethidine addict but he was a good doctor, for a mercenary he was a good doctor, he knew a gunshot wound when he saw one.

He wasn’t going to be able to unzip the wallet, find the card, his fingers were too fat, he’d developed fat fingers, no feeling in them.

‘Listen,’ he said to the yellow helmet. ‘Inquiries. Ring and ask for a Doctor Colin David Tandy, T-A-N-D-Y, Colin, that’s the one. Tandy. Tell him Con from Chevron Two…needs a favour.’

‘Tandy? Chevron Two?’

‘Colin Tandy. Tell him Con from Chevron Two. A favour. I’ve got a phone here in my pocket, you can…’ ‘Just lie there,’ said the helmet. ‘I’ll ring from inside. I live here.’

‘Listen,’ Niemand said. ‘Tell him…tell him Con says blood’s a…a bit short. Might need some blood.’

‘Jesus,’ said the helmet. ‘Don’t die.’

He lay there. It wasn’t uncomfortable. A bit cold, but not uncomfortable. He knew what uncomfortable felt like. This was easy. His neck was cold and his hands and feet but it wasn’t bad. He thought about getting up. The car was in the parking garage, wasting money. Money. Shit, the bag? Where’s the bag?

He felt for it, both hands, both sides, but his fingers were too fat and his arms were fat too, heavy, fat arms and fat fingers, it was very difficult to… When he woke, he was on a bed and someone was standing over him, doing something to his arm, two people there, he wanted to speak but his lips felt numb.

‘…fucking lucky prick…’ said a voice, he knew the voice. Tandy. Tandy had taken shrapnel out of him.

He woke again and he was alone, on a bed, naked, tape on his chest. He raised his head, and he could see a railing, like a railing on a ship. He was on some kind of platform, it wasn’t daytime, there was light coming from below, white light, artificial light. Banging, he heard bangs, not loud, chopping?

The bag, where was the bag? But he was too tired to keep his head up and he went back to sleep.

The third time he woke, he was clearer in the mind. He was on a big bed, a sheet over his legs, a black sheet. The bed was on a platform, a platform at one end of a huge room. He could see the tops of windows to his right, five windows, he counted them. Steel-framed windows. Big.

‘Awake?’

He looked left and saw half of a woman, cropped white hair, spiky, a black T-shirt. More of her came into view, she came up the stairs, she was all in black.

‘The guy on the bike,’ said Niemand. His mouth was dry. The words sounded funny, not like his voice. ‘What happened to him?’

‘I’m the guy on the bike,’ she said. ‘I have to give you an injection.

Your friend left it. You have really useful friends.’

‘Are you Greek?’ She looked Greek, she looked like one of his cousins.

‘Greek? No, Welsh. I’m Welsh.’

Niemand knew a Welshman, David Jago. He was dead.

‘Thanks very much,’ he said. ‘Picking me up, everything. Tandy. I’m feeling a bit strange.’ He was feeling sleepy again.

‘He told me to say the bullet seems to have chipped your collarbone and gone out your back. You’ve missed paraplegia by a centimetre. He’s says he’s given you a battlefield clean-up, he takes no responsibility, don’t mention his name to anyone and don’t call him again. Ever.’

She came closer. ‘I’ve got to inject you,’ she said.

Niemand focused on her. Welsh. She had a Greek look. The mouth. The nose.

‘What’s the chance of a fuck?’ he said. ‘In case I’m dying.’

She shook her head and smiled. It was a Greek smile. ‘Jesus, men,’ she said. She held up the syringe. ‘Listen, I’m the one with the prick. Do you need to pee?’