Phil Kurthausen - The Silent Pool

He didn't see the pipe go flying, but he heard Mohammed's yelp of pain.

Purple Ahmed, caught in two minds, moved his gun slightly to face the new, unknown threat. It was all the time Erasmus needed. He dropped his shoulder and swung his elbow fast and hard into Ahmed's throat. He made a deep gurgling noise, dropped the gun, and sank to his knees. Erasmus picked up the gun and pointed it at Ahmed.

Mohammed was rolling around on the floor, hands rubbing his eyes. Standing behind him holding a can of mace was the girl from the coffee shop with the notebook. She had one hand clamped to her mouth in shock.

Erasmus walked over swiftly and kicked Mohammed hard in the ribs. The girl raised the mace and pointed it at Erasmus. He snatched it off her.

‘Wait there,’ he said ‘And thank you.’

Erasmus turned back to Ahmed and helped him up.

‘What do you want?’ asked Ahmed.

‘You see, normal human discourse can be a wonderful thing. We could talk philosophy, economics, football – what do think of the Everton's chances this year? If we just take the guns and attack dogs out of the equation then maybe we could even be friends?’

‘Fuck you,’ said Mohammed, who had started to come round.

Erasmus kicked Mohammed hard between the legs. Mohammed gave a high-pitched yelp and started shaking again.

‘Do you have to do that?’

It was the girl.

‘What?’ said Erasmus.

‘If he doesn't answer do you have to use violence?’

Erasmus considered this for a second.

‘I suppose I could take him to a spa for a treatment, but as none are on the doorstep, violence works, yes.’

‘Your friend is more sensible than you, eh? Come. Let us put this misunderstanding behind us. Ask me your questions,’ said Ahmed.

Erasmus kept the gun pointed at Ahmed. He was breathing heavily and looked pale but his eyes sparked with anger.

‘Well, OK. Now, we are getting somewhere. Did Stephen Francis owe you money?’

‘Stephen. Yes, I remember him. He was a bad one that Stephen. I liked him but he was a chaser and he thought he could catch his losses. Alas, people very rarely do.’

‘How much was he into you for?’

‘This is purely a private matter, yes? If you are recording this conversation then I wish to make it clear that I have a gun pointed at me and I have no involvement with illegal moneylending in any capacity.’

‘I'm not with the police,’ said Erasmus.

‘I'm sure you're not, you have the smell of chaos about you.’

‘Spare me the philosophy. How much did he owe you?’

‘Stephen owed me £50,000.’

‘Are you a Muslim, Ahmed?’ asked Erasmus.

‘Of course,’ said Ahmed.

‘Forgive my ignorance but isn't usury frowned upon?’

‘You are right, Mr Jones, and I would never, in sha’ Allah , be involved in such disgusting practices. I abide by Sharia law even when dealing with the kafirs . I lent your friend Mr Francis £50,000 and charged him an administration charge of £15,000. All very correct, and Sharia compliant, you understand.’

‘Sophistry. Did you kill him because he couldn't pay up?’

Ahmed started laughing, a deep rolling laugh.

‘Did you only mean to warn him? Did Mohammed hit in him one too many times?’ continued Erasmus.

The laughing stopped.

‘I didn't kill him, Mr Jones. If people fail to honour their commitments things can occasionally happen, but Stephen, well he always honoured his debts. I know it was a great relief to him. If he is dead I can assure you it was not my doing’

‘He's gone missing. You say he paid his debt but Stephen works for the council. Where did he get £50,000?’

‘I assure you that I am not. As for the source of his funds, well, that's no secret. His friends were very generous.’

‘What friends?’

‘Two men. They didn't give me their names just cash.’

‘No names? They just paid you cash and you didn't ask any questions? What did they look like?’

Ahmed raised his hands.

‘Cash is my preferred payment method. I can tell you they both wore red T-shirts. Mohammed thought they must be Liverpool fans.’

Erasmus looked down at Mohammed who was still laying on the ground holding his nether regions. He was nodding.

‘If something has happened to Stephen I can assure you I had nothing to do with it,’ said Ahmed, holding out his hands palm upwards.

‘I don't believe you,’ said Erasmus.

‘I do,’ said the girl.

‘What?’

‘It's true. He had nothing to do with it.’

Erasmus grabbed the girl's elbow and began to frogmarch her away from Ahmed.

‘You're coming with me,’ said Erasmus.

‘Let go of my arm and I'll consider it.’

Erasmus started to drag her forward and then thought better of it. ‘Do you promise not to run off?’

The girl raised her right hand and crossed her index and middle fingers. ‘Guides’ honour,’ she said.

‘Come on then, let's get out of here before these two units come to their senses.’

‘You are not a religious man, are you, Mr Jones?’ shouted Ahmed from behind him,

Erasmus shook his head. ‘I've never quite seen the upside.’

‘Then I will pray that religion finds you before it is too late. And, Mr Jones, I look forward to our next meeting. Perhaps things will be a little different when I don't have a gun pointed at my head?’

Mohammed was now in the recovery position, his breathing more regular.

‘Don't count on it,’ said Erasmus.

He gave Mohammed a kick to his side for good measure, sending him back into a prone position. Then he threw the gun far and high into the scrap metal mountain and turned to leave. The girl shook her head.

Outside he pulled her away from the entrance. ‘OK, who are you and why are you following me?’

The girl smiled. ‘Aren't you going to thank me for saving your life?’ she asked.

Erasmus grinned at her. ‘Where are my manners? Thank you, thank you very much.’ The smile dropped like an anchor. ‘Now tell me, who the fuck are you?’

The girl reached into her handbag – Erasmus could see the notebook in there that she had at the café – and pulled out a card, which she handed to Erasmus. He read it: Rachel Harrop, journalist, Liverpool Echo .

‘Oh shit. Come on we need to talk,’ he said.

‘You can buy me a coffee. We both know you like coffee, Erasmus.’

‘How do you know my name?’ he asked but she was already walking away from him. Erasmus looked to the sky and then followed.

She led him to a low rent coffee bar off a side street of Smithdown Lane. The café was empty apart from an old woman playing the rather incongruous fruit machine in the corner. Rachel insisted on buying and fetched them two coffees.

As she approached the table Erasmus could see that the cockiness had gone. She looked pale and shaky and the coffee was slopping out of the cracked mugs she carried. Erasmus stood up and took the mugs from her, placing them on the table. He guided her into her chair.

‘Post combat stress. You need sugar and then rest. Hang on.’

Erasmus went to the counter and bought a chocolate bar from the bored looking woman behind the counter.

‘She had a skin full, has she?’ said the woman, laughing so hard that the fat under her arms flapped like an giant bird's wings.

Erasmus ignored her and returned to the table. He broke a chunk of the chocolate bar off and handed it to Rachel. ‘Eat it.’

She half smiled and then took the chocolate and popped it in her mouth. ‘I don't know what happened, I felt fine back there, elated even, and I hate violence.’

‘It's normal. You'll feel better in a minute. If you tell me why you're following me it may take your mind off things.’