I put the kettle on and we settled into the lounge with warm drinks and warm conversation. They were almost over-friendly. I guess they must have been worried about me. Seeing me smile and laugh seemed to calm Rachel’s fears and she settled down more and more. Jack still looked concerned and was studying me like Dr Davies. Had I really looked that bad when we last met? Thinking back, almost definitely.
The day passed far too quickly for my liking. As lunchtime approached I offered to make them lunch but after minutes of their laughter, Rachel took over and somehow made us omelettes and chips for lunch. I wasn’t aware I had either eggs or chips in the house, but I loved her cooking and was too hungry to question it. We wolfed the food down and began drinking before two o’clock, just because we could. I had remembered to get beers in and we made our way through those handsomely. By the time the evening arrived, I wouldn’t say we were drunk, but we had certainly begun our journey there.
*****
‘What are we doing tonight?’ Rachel asked. She was beginning to get restless and wanted to go out. Dancing, ideally, but that idea was soon quashed by both Jack and myself. I may have been happier than I had been for a while but I certainly wasn’t ready to go out clubbing. Baby steps.
‘We could go out for some food,’ I said. Now I had started eating, my body was starting to remember how good food could be.
‘BORING,’ shouted Rach.
‘OK, you choose,’ I replied, opening another beer. It went silent for a second while we all thought. Despite living in London and having every entertainment available to us, we always struggled to come up with ideas. We must have spent hundreds of nights together but they usually consisted of eating food, drinking alcohol and making fools of ourselves. So trying to come up with a new idea now was proving more difficult than you would think.
‘I’ve got it.’ Jack finally broke the silence. ‘What about Plateau 64?’
Plateau 64 was a club Jack and I used to go to when we were younger. It must be a chain although I have only ever seen two. In Birmingham (the biggest major city near to where we grew up) we found this small club that had good beer and a lax attitude towards age restrictions on drinking. Looking back I’m pretty sure it was a gay club. There were certainly a lot of butch men and Jack and I were always incredibly popular. I barely remember having to buy my own drink once. At the time we just thought they were being friendly.
However, in the last few years it had turned into a comedy club and Saturday nights were ‘open mic’ nights. I assumed this was more what Jack was referring to. I hoped, at least, he wanted to watch people try their hand at stand-up comedy.
The day I moved in with Emma, I got a little lost and found myself driving around the back-streets of North London. I eventually found her place but before I did I spotted another ‘Plateau 64’, sticking out of the grey scenery like a sore thumb. I immediately took a photo of myself outside it and sent it to Jack. Since then we have sporadically visited the club watching various stand-ups, with varying degrees of success.
‘You up for it, Rach?’ I asked. She never replied but was jumping up and down with excitement. She seemed up for anything.
‘Alright, let’s do it!’
*****
The club was particularly busy that night. Occasionally it hosted acts you had seen on the telly and I could image those nights being packed out, but I was surprised to see it that busy for an ‘open mic’ night. We even had to queue! Luckily the queue didn’t last long and I’m British anyway so can queue with the best of them.
We eventually got in and managed to squeeze around a table. Jack went and got us some drinks while I attempted to talk to Rach. I say attempted as, despite it being a comedy club, the music still blared invasively loud between acts. Even if you had never known it was a gay club before the choice of songs might have given you a clue. We exchanged a few words between Abba tracks and gave up communication entirely during ‘It’s Raining Men.’
Jack eventually came back with the drinks (which had actually been bought for us by ‘Big Daddy’ at the bar) and we turned our attention to the stage in anticipation. Presently, the noise hushed, the music died out and the first act was ushered to the stage.
‘Open mic’ nights as a general rule are a disappointment. Most people that attempt stand up comedy do it for a laugh (literally) and don’t have any set planned. Now and then they get a good vibe going and their five minutes are passable at the very least. The most excruciating experience is when you get somebody who plans their set to the furthest extent, rehearses it and performs to the best of their ability, only for it to be painfully bad. Comedy is difficult for the pros but impossible for the inexperienced. Everyone dies on stage at some point and most of the deaths seem to be situated at Plateau 64.
As a general rule, I tend to believe that people with a ‘funny’ name aren’t actually funny at all. I therefore didn’t hold high hopes for ‘Comedy Colin’ as he strutted onto the stage.
Colin was certainly confident. He took to the stage and began by saying, ‘thank you, thank you,’ ignorant to the silence and the fact that nobody was clapping him on. He got four or five steps onto the stage before attempting the ‘comedy trip’. To master a good ‘comedy trip’ it needs to come out of nowhere. The fall needs to be dramatic and energetic with the performer giving it a thousand percent. Colin however, stopped still, remembered what he was doing, pretended to catch his foot on something (despite the fact he is standing centre-stage, feet from any objects) and stumbled down on to one knee, before getting up slowly in stony silence. After what seemed like ages, he finally reached the mic and bellowed, ‘Hiya.’
One simple word and the whole audience had made their mind up about him. As he shouted ‘Hiya,’ the audience confirmed the views and thought in perfect unison, ‘Twat.’
Things didn’t get much better for ‘Comedy Colin’ after that. Colin’s thing was impressions. Sadly for him he seemed to be tone-deaf and clueless to the fact that to do different voices, you had to alter the pitch and tone of your voice, at least a little. To this day he is the only man I have ever met to have no clear distinction between his impressions of De Niro and Louis Spence.
We cringed our way through Colin’s five minutes in stunned silence and were finally relieved when he finished off with his ‘famous’ rendition of Wogan (or was it Michael Caine?)
The rest of the night ran in a similar vein, with the odd exception. There was an impressive five minutes from a young man called Marcus, but we did question afterwards whether he was indeed that good or whether we were just grateful to be rid of Colin. The comedians did get progressively better but a) that wasn’t hard considering where we started and b) we continued to drink into the night.
My memory of our time in the club is a little patchy now and the acts seem to blur into one. I do remember Jack having to work hard to stop Rachel from volunteering herself during a small lull. I didn’t feel that drunk at the time but as I went up to the bar I stumbled slightly and bumped into a large man. I would like to feel that he stumbled into me as much as I did to him but, whoever’s fault it was, the awkward situation developed where I was, momentarily entangled with a large, muscular man. Given the history of the club, I was worried about ‘leading him on’ and apologised before marching off quickly.
It was getting late when we decided to leave. Rachel clung on to Jack and we tiptoed out of the club and attempted to hail a taxi.
‘You got any change for the taxi?’ asked Jack, who was struggling to reach his wallet whilst supporting Rachel’s weight.
‘Probably,’ I yawned back and dug my hands into my pockets. I couldn’t feel any loose change, but felt my fingers press against a note. My mind hoped for a twenty but I knew realistically, after the way we had bought drinks that night, it would be optimistic to expect more than a fiver. I pulled it out. It wasn’t a fiver, or even money at all.
At first glance it looked insignificant. Perhaps a shopping note I had written week
s ago and left in my pocket. But it was a strange, yellow/gold colour and it was folded too crisply. This was a new piece of paper. I opened it carefully, forced my drunk eyes to read what was on it and immediately felt like I was going to be sick.
It read:
Getting the Police involved.
Bad move.
My blood ran colder than ice. I couldn’t speak. Any feelings of being drunk had disappeared instantly and I felt more awake than ever before. Emma was back instantly in my thoughts and my brain was firing out a thousand questions a second, like it had a few weeks ago. First question: who had put that note in my pocket? Second question: How could they possibly know Jack was a detective? But most importantly, question number three: What did this mean for me, Jack and Emma?
Jack turned to see why I was suddenly quiet and asked, ‘you alright mate?’
I forced myself to respond. I tried to speak but no words came out. Weakly I handed him the note, resisting blacking-out with all my strength.
He could tell instantly that something was wrong. He snatched the note off me and read it through twice, analysing rapidly. He snapped his head up and scanned the area, looking for danger.
‘We have to get you out of here,’ Jack ordered and doubled his efforts to hail a taxi.
‘What’s going on?’ Rachel was still incredibly drunk and had not been paying attention to either one of us.
‘Nothing Darling. Just time to get you to bed. Come on,’ Jack said in the calmest voice he could muster. He shot me a forceful glance and added a small shake of the head as if to say, ‘she doesn’t need to know about any of this.’
Rachel was too far gone to argue and slipped into the taxi that had pulled up alongside us. Jack pushed me in next to her, before looking around one last time and diving in to the seat opposite me. Instantly, the taxi pulled off.
‘Jack what is going on? What does it mean? How could they know you...?’
I didn’t know what to ask first and as a result, the questions tumbled out of my mouth with no recognised order. Jack checked Rachel, who was now sleeping soundly against the window, and shook his head.
‘First things first, we need to work out how this note got in your pocket,’ he said, a little calmer. Now we were away in the taxi his brain was back to being rational and he was thinking things through properly.
I forced my mind to concentrate and played back as much of the night as I could remember. Most of the night I hadn’t moved out of my seat. Nobody but Rachel and Jack were near me. I had visited the toilets twice, and both times maintained a safe ‘two urinal’ distance from any other man. The only other time I moved was to get drinks at the bar. Then it hit me. The large man. In my drunken state I had been so worried he might think I was coming on to him that I fled rapidly. What if it wasn’t an accident we had collided? What if he had set it up and slipped the note in my pocket.
I mimicked the motion of planting a note and put my hand back in my pocket.
‘I know it’s scary but we don’t know they are dangerous,’ Jack whispered, rationalising the pure, black and white facts.
‘Jack...’
‘I mean, we know they are intimidating and they are obviously observing us more than we thought but...
‘Jack...’
‘...but none of this means you are in any danger...
‘JACK,’ I shouted desperate to get his attention.
He looked up sharply. I had shocked him, which was what I intended to do.
‘What?’ he asked as he checked Rachel was still asleep.
I said nothing. I couldn’t say anything. I sat there, visibly shaking in my seat. As I had placed my hand in my pocket I had found something my fingers had missed on their first investigation. I somehow knew what it was, despite never holding one before.
Jack looked at me puzzled and I opened my hand slowly.
‘Shit,’ was all he could muster.
Resting in the palm of my shaking hand was a cold, metallic bullet.
‘This just got really serious Tom. I need you to hold it together, OK?’
I nodded and blinked up at him. I took several deep breaths, hoping I could stop myself being sick.
‘Jack, you said in your text you had something to tell me, about Emma. It must be big or you would have said it by now. What is it?’
Jack swore again. He took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye.
‘I do buddy, but it’s a lot. Truth be told, I had half decided not to tell you. Didn’t see how it could help but now...’
‘What did you find out?’
‘Not here.’
‘Yes here! Tell me now,’ I demanded.
‘NOT HERE,’ Jack bellowed back and pleaded with me with his eyes. ‘I promise I’ll tell you everything, when it’s...clear.’ He shot his eyes to the taxi driver and then to Rachel.
I wanted to argue but knew there was no point. We were less than two minutes away from my flat and I busied myself trying to find enough money to pay the taxi driver.
‘Shit, this must be big,’ I muttered quietly.
‘It is.’
Chapter Eight
‘We’re all safe...for now!’
Twenty minutes later I sat at my kitchen table, drinking coffee, but contemplating replacing it with the remaining tequila. The taxi had dropped us off and Jack had dealt with paying the taxi driver. It didn’t come to much but I saw Jack hand the driver a twenty pound note and wave away his attempts to find change. He was not in the mood to mess around.
The next step was a little harder. I opened the door whilst Jack carried Rach inside, the way a groom may carry his new bride through a doorway. I was a little worried whether Rachel was alright but Jack seemed relaxed enough and no one ever knew her better than him.
As soon as we were inside, I was desperate to know more but Jack shook his head at me before I had chance to speak.
‘I know it’s hard but I need you to be quiet, OK? Don’t say a single word until I am sure we are safe to talk. Nod if you understand.’
I nodded.
I didn’t see Jack for the next five minutes. He carried Rachel into our spare room and closed the door. I assumed he was getting her into bed and hopefully looking for anything that might be suspicious.
He reappeared and smiled weakly. I wasn’t sure exactly what that smile meant and gave him one of my best ‘what is going on here mate’ looks. He smiled again and scribbled ‘spare room is clean’ on the back of my unopened post. Then he carried on carefully checking every item possible for hidden bugs or listening devices. It probably took another quarter of an hour for him to check the whole flat (it’s not the biggest). I watched him work in quiet admiration.
It couldn’t be easy for him either. He was now involved in something he didn’t need to be and must surely be worrying about his own safety as well as Rachel’s. And trying to keep me alive too. But he was handling the situation with as much grace - and methodically reasoning - as I thought possible of anyone.
Jack had still been very new in the force when I moved to London and I rarely, if ever, got to see him at work. Now the training had kicked in and I could see why he had progressed up the ladder so quickly. He was excellent.
It is a strange feeling when you get to see someone you used to crawl about in sandpits with, working and shining as a full adult. You get a sudden wave of emotion. First, you get a nostalgic stabbing, as if your childhood really is over and you can never go back. Then you feel an immense sense of pride at what they have achieved and the person they are becoming. Well, I certainly felt all those emotions that night.
After what seemed like an eternity Jack spoke.
‘OK. We’re all safe...for now!’
I breathed a sigh of relief and slid a cup of coffee in Jack’s direction. He sat down opposite me at the table and smiled again. I felt protected and the more he smiled the more I felt it.
‘I’ve looked everywhere and I would bet my life that they have never been i
n this house. Nothing has been touched.’
‘Are you sure? I tidied up loads last night. Maybe I hid their tracks a bit or something?’
Jack nodded as if knowing I was going to say that.
‘I know you did, but there are certain things that don’t get tidied away. All the markings are consistent with your ‘cleaning’. Bugs have to be placed on certain items and within certain distances of each other to be effective. Trust me; we are safe here at the moment. I can’t guarantee the same for any of our phones though so be careful.’
‘OK Jack, thanks.’
‘It’s what I do.’ He took a sip of the coffee and immediately looked like he wanted to spit it out. He forced it down and got up to make himself a fresh one. ‘Gone cold,’ he explained.
I waited as patiently as I could, avoiding the temptation to drum my fingers on the table. I was really grateful for all his help but finally could wait no longer.
‘Jack, what do you know?’
He sipped his fresh coffee and held up a finger indicating he would be right back, before jogging into the spare room. He came out with his shoulder-bag and returned to his place at the table.
‘OK Tom, it’s a lot to take in. So I’m going to start at the beginning and tell you as much as I know. Then you are going to have to help fill in the gaps if you can. Let me talk first alright?’
I agreed, eager to finally know something. It felt like for the first time in weeks, I might be able to answer one or two of my thousands of questions.
‘So after I left you, I headed straight back to the station and ran her name through the system like you asked and nothing came up.’
‘So that’s good right?’
‘No it’s not. You see, most people have some history we can trace people with. I opened up the search as much as possible and nothing. Running your name through it there are a few sentences about late payments for parking tickets and whatever which is normal. But with her, I could find nothing,’ he stated matter-of-factly.
‘So I ran her parents names, Terry and Louise right? Tried every different spelling I could think of and still nothing. It is possible for one person to lead a perfectly clean life and never appear on our systems but three members from one family? Impossible.’