Ben Cheetham - The Society of Dirty Hearts

“Protection. I told you junkies use this place.”

A thought occurred to Julian. “What if this Ginger is the woman I saw, what then?”

“We get her to tell us where she went with Mia.”

“And what if she won’t?”

Jake pushed the blade deeper into the wood. “She will, I’ll make fuckin’ sure of that.”

Not liking the sound of that, Julian frowned. “Don’t you think it’d be a better idea to call the police, let them deal with her?”

Jake looked at Julian, that animal light in his eyes again. “Thought you said you cared about Mia.”

“I do, that’s why-”

“No fuckin’ coppers,” cut in Jake. “We do this ourselves, right?”

Julian returned his stare a moment, then blinked and said, “Okay.” In his mind, he saw Jake holding the knife to the woman’s throat. It gave him a queer sliding feeling in his stomach, a feeling of fear mixed with excitement. He took a deep breath, like someone about to dive into deep water.

The day wore on into the afternoon and beyond. They smoked the last of the cigarettes. They didn’t talk much. They had little or nothing in common except Mia, and they’d said all they needed to say about her for the moment. The squalor of the room made Julian feel oppressed, claustrophobic. He could feel the stink in his nostrils, on his skin. A sense of panic, a need to get out of there grew in him as darkness closed on the street. He stood suddenly, heaving a breath. “How much longer are we going to have to wait in his shit-hole?”

“I was here four days before that bitch showed up,” said Jake.

“Fuck, how did you stand it?”

Jake shrugged. “It’s just a place. Places can’t hurt you, if there’s no the people in them.”

Feeling somewhat spineless, and a little ashamed, Julian squatted down again. Heavy rock music was thumping out of The H-Bomb now. Groups of bikers were gathered in front it, smoking and drinking. “Those are some serious looking dudes,” said Julian.

Jake gave a contemptuous grunt. Julian started to say something else, but Jake shushed him and pointed. “There she is.”

A woman in biker’s leathers stepped out the door framed by the light within. Julian craned his neck, squinting. The woman in the car had worn her hair up, but Ginger’s hair was down and spread over her shoulders, so that it was difficult to make out her face. “Is it her?” Jake asked.

“I-” Julian broke off with an intake of breath as Ginger moved forward into the glow of a street-light. “Yes, it’s her.” His tone was one of slight disbelief. Somehow he’d never expected it to really be her. But it was, and now the sliding feeling was back, stronger than before.

Jake sprang up. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Where do you think? We’re gonna follow the bitch.”

Julian stumbled after Jake through the reeking darkness to the car. Relieved to find it still there and in one piece, he started the engine and pulled around to the street in time to see Ginger climb onto the back of a motorbike. The guy in front of her had the bloated body of a weightlifter gone to seed. He looked, to Julian, like he could’ve effortlessly picked up him and Jake, one in each of his hands, and cracked their heads together. They followed the motorbike to a street in which hardly any of the houses had all their doors and windows intact. Ginger and the man went into one of the houses. A light came on in the downstairs window.

“What now?” asked Julian.

“We wait,” said Jake, rocking in his seat, too ramped up to stay still, his eyes wide and glinting.

Ten minutes passed, twenty. The biker reappeared, mounted up and roared away. Jake got out of the car. Somewhat reluctantly, Julian followed. With each step, he had the sense that he was drawing closer to some invisible edge. You should stop this now, he thought. But he didn’t stop it. As they neared the front door, Jake pointed around the side of the house, whispering, “Stay out of sight while I talk to her.”

Jake knocked at the door. Peeping around the corner, Julian could see his hand fidgeting at something — no doubt, the knife — inside his jacket. He passed his tongue over his suddenly dry lips. “Who is it?” a female voice asked through the door — this wasn’t the kind of neighbourhood where you opened your door after dark without knowing who was knocking.

“Jake Bradshaw.”

“What do you want?”

“It’s about my sister?”

There was a pause, then the click of a lock and the squeak of a door opening. “What about her?”

“I just wondered if you’d seen her in the past few weeks.”

“No I haven’t.” The reply was spoken without hesitation, as if Ginger had been ready with it before the question was even asked.

“You sure you haven’t seen her?”

“I just said so, didn’t I? Is that all?”

“Yeah, unless you wanna suck my cock.”

“What? Is that some kind of joke?”

“Nah, seriously, I’ve got twenty quid here. That’s the going rate, isn’t it?”

“Piss off, you filthy little shit,” retorted Ginger, starting to close the door.

Jake shoved his foot between the door and the frame. He grinned as Ginger tried unsuccessfully to kick it out of the way. “That’s it, baby, I like it when you get rough.”

“I’m fuckin’ warning you,” yelled Ginger.

In response, Jake drew his hand out of his jacket. He wasn’t holding the knife, as Julian had feared. Instead, he gripped a crowbar. “Don’t, Jake,” cried Julian, springing forward. But he was too late. Jake brought the crowbar down with bone-breaking force on Ginger’s hand that held the door. She reeled backward onto the floorboards, crying out.

Jake loomed over her, brandishing the crowbar. “Where’s my fuckin’ sister?”

“Jesus, Jake, there was no need for that,” said Julian, his heart pounding in his voice.

“This bitch lied to me. Now she’s gonna open up and tell the truth, or I’m gonna open her fuckin’ head.”

Ginger’s eyes flicked between Jake and Julian, wide with pain and anger. “You’re crazy,” she groaned. “When Bull finds out about this, he’ll kill you.”

Jake’s lips curled into a sneer. “Ooh, I’m shaking.”

“You will be when he gets hold of you.”

Jake snorted. “That fat fuck couldn’t shift his arse fast enough to catch a snail, never mind me.”

“Maybe, but you won’t be able to outrun all The Outlaws.”

“Fuck The Outlaws. Bunch of bearded old cunts tossing each other off in their clubhouse.” Jake jabbed at Ginger with the crowbar. “Besides, if you don’t tell me what you were doin’ in a car with Mia and some guy the night she went missing, you won’t be in no state to tell nobody nothin’, you get me?”

Ginger blinked at the mention of the car, the anger in her face shading to a kind of hesitating fear. She looked at Julian. “You’d better tell your friend to back off, before he goes too far.”

Julian spread his hands helplessly, as if to say, sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. He returned Ginger’s gaze in a mute appeal for her to tell Jake what he wanted to know. “Right, you’ve got five seconds,” said Jake. “Then I start breaking bones. One…two-”

“Don’t make me laugh. Run away, little boy, while you still can,” said Ginger, grinning up at him. But it was bravado, and they all knew it.

“Three…four-”

Ginger raised her uninjured hand. “Okay, okay.” She heaved a quivering breath. “Yeah, I was with Mia that night. But how could you know that unless you’ve spoken to her since then?”

“That don’t matter. You just tell me why.”

“We were on the job.”