Tom Graham - Life on Mars - A Fistful of Knuckles

Ray sniggered. Gene looked sceptical. Chris got defensive.

‘I’m not!’ he insisted. ‘If you’re thinking of them magazines, I told you, I was looking after them for a mate. You’re the one who keeps bringing that plastic thing in, Ray!’

‘Oh please, not the plastic thing,’ groaned Sam, handing pints across. ‘I don’t want to think about the plastic thing.’

‘No plastic things, no kinky wrinklies, not here, not tonight,’ ordained Gene, and they all lifted their pint glasses. ‘Leave the filth of the world on the doorstep, lads. Let’s keep the Railway Arms hallowed ground.’

‘Amen to dat!’ put in Nelson.

Enveloped in the thick, cancerous atmosphere of the pub, Sam, Gene, Chris and Ray raised their rich, golden pints and drew deeply on them.

As Sam wiped away his froth moustache, Nelson leant close to him, dropped his exaggerated accent, and said in a low voice: ‘Only four of you this evening, Sam?’

‘I’m meeting Annie later, somewhere else,’ Sam whispered back.

‘Nelson’s little establishment not good enough for the likes of you two, eh?’

‘We’re having dinner together.’

‘You can get dinner here,’ Nelson grinned. ‘Two bowls of Smash and a selection of fish fingers.’ And turning on his accent again he added; ‘Birdseye’s finest! On de house! Wit mah compliments!’

Sam laughed and toasted him with his pint glass.

‘So,’ declared Gene, indicating to Nelson to get another round on the go, ‘pie and chips with DI Jugs more appealing than drinks with the boys is it, Samuel?’

‘It’s not the pie and chips he’s looking forward to,’ said Ray, and Chris sniggered like a schoolboy.

‘Actually, we’re going Greek, so it’s more likely to be calamari and stuffed vine leaves,’ said Sam with dignity, ‘ if any of you lot know what they are.’

‘I know what stuffing vine leaves is all about,’ smirked Chris. ‘It was in them magazines I was looking after for me mate.’

‘Is that why the pages were stuck together?’ asked Ray.

‘I spilt me calamari,’ said Chris.

‘More than once,’ said Ray.

‘This is like having a drink with the fourth form,’ sighed Sam, and put down his pint glass. ‘I’d love to hang about and listen to this cracking banter all night, but the table’s booked and Annie will be waiting. So, gentlemen, if you will excuse me?’

Chris opened his mouth to say something daft, but Gene cut in gruffly: ‘No more hilarious gags from you, Christopher. I’m very fond of this shirt, I’d hate to ruin it by splitting my sides.’ And he glowered so menacingly that Chris hid behind his pint glass. Gene went on; ‘Before you leave us, Sam, I’ve got some shop talk for you – for all three of you. Whoever killed Denzil Obi is a dangerous man – an extremely dangerous man – and right now, while we’re stood here, he’s running around as loose as a whore’s drawers. It’s likely he’ll go after Spider whatever-his-name-is. It’s also likely Spider won’t want us around – he’ll be more interested in avenging his beloved blood brother. So – we’re going to keep an eye on Spider and see if the killer reveals himself by coming for him. But that doesn’t mean we can just sit about on our arses. I want to get to this murdering bastard before any more blood’s spilt on my manor, is that understood?’

Sam, Ray and Chris spoke as one: ‘Yes, Guv.’

‘The man we’re after is a boxer – a boxer with small hands,’ said Gene.

‘How small’s small, guv?’ asked Ray.

Gene grabbed Sam’s hand and forced his finger straight.

‘Our measuring stick,’ Gene said. ‘The width of the killer’s knuckles match the length of Sam Tyler’s pokey-finger.’

‘What bit of the boss can we use if we can’t get to his finger?’ asked Ray, grinning at Sam. ‘You see, my finger’s too big. Way too big.’

Chris tried his own finger against Sam’s and was delighted to find that they matched exactly – ‘Look at that! Peas in a pod!’ – but then Sam forced his hand free from Gene’s grasp.

‘This is my last word on the matter for tonight, gentlemen,’ said Gene. ‘Tomorrow, I want leads – I want information – I want the name of the killer and where we can find him and what he likes on his chips – everything. Understood?’

‘Yes, Guv.’

‘Very well. Sam, your dopey bit of crumpet’ll be gagging for her ouzo by now – bugger off and entertain her.’

‘Will do, Guv,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll see everyone first thing in the morning, then.’

And as he made for the door, he heard Gene drain his pint, slam his empty glass down, and say: ‘Right, let’s talk about birds and football and motors.’

Sam stepped out into the deep, dark Manchester night, pulling his jacket around him tighter to fend off the cold. Away in the distance, across a bleak expanse of open ground, he saw coloured lights whirling and flashing, heard a cacophony of screaming and amplified voices and raucous music. For a moment, he felt a sudden sting of fear, as if he had glimpsed the outskirts of Hell.

Don’t be such an idiot, Sam, he told himself at once. It’s just the fairground.

Tony Barnard’s Fair. He recalled standing high up on the rooftop of CID and seeing the planes trailing their banners across the sky. And then, in the next instant, he recalled her – the Test Card Girl – goading him, mocking him.

‘Don’t you want to know the truth, Sam? Don’t you want to know what I know … about Annie?’

Round and round she went, buzzing through the inside of his head like a trapped wasp, tormenting him with vague doubts and unnameable fears, poisoning his feelings for Annie.

Resolutely, he marched along the street, his back to the noise and colour of the fairground.

There is no dark secret about Annie. It’s all lies. It’s just some crap from deep in the subconscious rising to the surface. A waking nightmare. It’s nothing. It’s less than nothing.

Less than nothing . But could he be so sure? If the Test Card Girl was less than nothing, why did the mere sight of her freeze the blood in his veins? Why did he even now, just thinking of her, feel as if the shadow of death had fallen across him? Why, only moments before, had he glimpsed the far off lights of the fairground and thought – of all things – of hell?

He stopped. He listened. The city had fallen silent. Unnaturally silent. Nothing moved except for his heart, which he now found was pounding furiously.

And then, up ahead, he saw her – the Girl – bathed in the unearthly orange glow of a sodium streetlamp. She was standing motionless, watching him, dressed in her little black dress, her face pale, her eyes filled with the pretence of sadness. She hugged her bandaged doll, then, mockingly, slipped away into a dark alleyway.

Sam rushed after her, tore down the alley, and burst out into the street at the far end. The shops were shut up and dark. The street lights were all out. The whole street sat in an unnatural, smothering gloom.

And there, just visible as a pale shape in the darkness, was the Test Card Girl standing motionless, staring back at him.

‘Why are you doing this?!’ Sam bellowed at her. His muffled, echoless voice was swallowed by the filthy blackness. ‘What the hell are you trying to tell me?! Why don’t you just come straight out with it?! ’

He began striding towards the Girl, his shoulders back, his jaw firmly set. Just as the darkness smothered his voice, so it seemed to cling to his body and limbs like treacle, slowing him, dragging him back, entombing him. He forced his way forward.

‘I know this isn’t real!’