Jim Cogan - The Dirty City

“I know he came here to lie low, you took him in? This isn’t a great place for anyone to be.”

“He showed up here in his fancy clothes, with money in his pocket. More than most of us sees in a year. He had no idea. We sometimes get kids like that turn up, they don’t last long. Some of the guys here would rob you blind for everything you have, leave you beaten and bloody – sometimes they get a bit too rough, when that happens it’s not unusual for the body to get dumped in the river.”

“You didn’t want that to happen to Anton, you stuck your neck out to help him. Why?”

“My son. He looked a bit like him. Like he used to look, anyhows. I was being stupid and sentimental. So I kept the guys away from him, helped him blend in a little better. He still looked like the richest bum you’re ever likely to see, but it was enough to not get him robbed or killed around here.”

“That was good of you, Hilda. What happened after that?”

“Then the stupid fool took up with that whore at the drugs den. My God, he fell for her something bad, cheap piece of trash that she was. If it weren’t for her he wouldn’t have got himself hooked.”

“Heroin?”

“Yep. I drink. Too much. Every day. It’s killing me, I can feel it, bit by bit. But it’s nothing compared to what that shit does to you. What money he had he threw away on it, and scoring for her too. Then he had to go stealing to get the money he needed. I’ve stolen stuff. Food and booze mostly. But Anton went out and stole anything he could, anything he could sell. Some of the shit he brought back here to try and sell, it was crazy. Then the last time I saw him, he robbed me, after all I’d done for him. He couldn’t help himself. I knew he wouldn’t dare show his face around here again, he’d be crazy to, no-one would help him now.”

“Hilda, Anton is in trouble, some people turned up at the drugs den that night and took him away. He knew something he wasn’t supposed to, had been talking about it. What did he know?”

“He didn’t know shit. About anything. But he got obsessed with all this business about the people going missing around here. It was nothing but crazy talk.”

It might have been nothing but crazy talk to Hilda, but it was pretty much the only clue I had. I took out fifty dollars worth of bills and handed them to her.

“Please, Hilda, don’t worry about how crazy it seems, tell me what he’d been saying.”

“Well, people go missing here all the time, it ain’t nothing new. Most of the time no-one is keeping count, but lately, I don’t know, lots of people I knew have gone. Don’t know where – don’t know of any of them having got into fights with other guys here, that happens sometimes. Sometimes people get hurt. Sometimes they also end up in the river. But we always know about it when that happens, we know what goes on down here amongst ourselves. But this, it’s weird.”

“Did Anton know something about the disappearances?”

“He’d been with us about a couple of weeks. One of our regulars, ole’ Charlie, must have been in his sixties, been here longer than anyone can remember, he vanished one night. Anton said he saw something take him.”

“Did he know who?”

“Not who, Mr Jerome, what.”

“What? Was it an animal of some sort?”

“Anton said he saw some kind of creature, human looking - but not quite, he said it seemed to almost appear right out of the mist, it grabbed Charlie and carried him away – lifted him up like he weighed nothing, made no sound and moved quicker than anything he’d ever seen. And then Charlie was gone.”

“Did you believe him?”

“Well, it sounded as crazy to me as it does to you right now. But people keep going missing. Each of us here is wondering who might be next. And sometimes, some nights, out of the corner of my eye, I see things.”

“What do you see, Hilda?”

“Shapes. Moving against the dark. Funny looking figures. Sometimes I know it’s the wind, or just shadows, but sometimes…Sometimes I just know it ain’t. D’you ever have that feeling you’re being watched, Mr Jerome?”

“Rarely, it’s usually me who is being paid to do the watching.”

“That’s real cute. Well now, I’ve been sensing it a lot lately. Never used to, before all this started happening. But now, every night. I feel it right now. Do you, Mr Jerome?”

I followed her vacant gaze – across the embankment, into the gloom. It was an eerie place, I imagined that if a person stared long enough they could see anything out there, especially if they’d been pickling their brains in copious amounts of alcohol.

Somewhat disappointed, I thanked Hilda, chucked her a few more bills then hastily made my way out of there. I kept my distance from any of the other people as I walked away, just in case any of them decided to jump me, and I made a point of not particularly concealing the shoulder holster containing my gun.

I turned back to glance at Hilda one last time, I can’t have been for than fifty yards from where we had spoken. Her fire was still burning dimly, but without me hearing a single sound, she had gone. For a split second I thought saw movement, a brief shimmering of a shadow in the gloom. I began to get the feeling that someone or something might well be watching me, so I left the scene hurriedly.

I hailed the first available cab that passed by when I got back to the main road, but even as we sped back into the city sprawl, I couldn’t shake that feeling. It stayed with me right to the moment closed and double locked my apartment door behind me.

I’d never been a big drinker, but that night I needed a couple of large ones to help bring my nerves under control. I was normally extremely composed – I didn’t spook easy, this was unusual territory for me.

All the crazy talk, mysterious figures in the night, the number of times people were mentioning these inexplicable things, my earlier considerations towards vampires, and now, the eerie feeling that I had felt near the Old Portland Bridge, it was giving me a nervous disposition.

At about midnight I decided to turn in, I was finally feeling a bit more like myself. I put it down to the weird hours I’d been doing lately – burning the candle at both ends can take its toll.

I pretty much dropped off right away, only to be awoken my the ring from my telephone. I recall glancing at the clock and seeing it was just after 2am. Funny time to be getting a call.

“Hello.”

“Johnny. It’s Marcio.”

“Marcio, d’you know what the time is? What do you want?”

“Johnny, you need to watch your back, Vitalli knows you’re still sniffing around the Jameson case, he knows you didn’t heed his warning. You gotta’ drop it, Johnny, lie low for a while.”

I knew Marcio real well, we’d had dealings for many years, but never in that time had I heard him sound like that. He sounded quite genuinely afraid.

“Marcio, what’s going on?”

You need to be careful, Johnny, you-.”

The line went dead.

I stayed up a little, just to see if he tried to call me back, but no call arrived.

Eventually I headed back to bed, but sleep was a lot harder to come by second time. The events of the day kept repeating over and over again in my mind. For the first time ever, and it was ironic because normally it’s the people I’m searching for who end in these positions, I began to get the uneasy feeling that perhaps I had gotten in way over my head.

There are few sounds more disorientating than that of police officers hammering at your front door at the crack of dawn. What a wake up call.

“Jerome! Get your lazy ass out of bed and open this God damn door!”