Rupert Thomson - The Five Gates of Hell

Five minutes later the door jangled and the man in the helmet and the leathers walked in. He looked at the card on the counter. It said WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF 45 FLAVOURS.

‘Give me all 45,’ he said. ‘Large cone.’

Jed smiled. Mitch took off his helmet. There were streaks of vanilla in his hair.

‘You’re getting old, Mitch,’ Jed said.

‘Is that a nice way to greet someone who’s ridden three thousand miles to see you?’

‘You wouldn’t ride three thousand miles to see anyone,’ Jed said. ‘That’s what I always liked about you.’ He vaulted over the counter and wrapped his arms round Mitch. They didn’t reach. He smelled the dust and oil of three thousand miles on Mitch’s jacket. He spoke into the smell. ‘It’s good to see you.’

Mitch sat down on one of the fancy white chairs with the scrolls on the back and the dainty feet. ‘I was doing a trip, coast to coast. Thought I’d call in.’

After work Jed took Mitch to the hotel for a drink. He introduced Mitch to Wayne and Linda. ‘He’s an old friend of mine,’ Jed said. ‘Haven’t seen him for years.’

‘I heard you come in,’ Wayne said. ‘Sounded like a jet plane’d landed on the street.’

Mitch nodded. ‘It’s not built to go that slow. Place to hear it is on the highway. Sounds real sweet out there. Sounds like sugar being poured in a dish.’

The door slammed open and Celia walked in. She was wearing her short fluttery pink skirt with the flowers on and her denim jacket and a pair of pink hightops.

‘Hey, missie,’ Wayne said. ‘Why don’t you bust right through the wall next time.’ He looked at Mitch and Jed, and shrugged.

Celia walked right over. She gave Jed a slow wink and then leaned back against the bar, the points of her elbows resting on the old brass rail. ‘Who’s this, Jed?’

‘This is Mitch,’ he told her. ‘He’s an old friend.’ He turned to Mitch. ‘This here’s Celia.’

Mitch’s chin dipped an inch and then lifted again. ‘Pleased to meet you, Celia. How would you like to come for a ride?’

Celia just looked at him, running her tongue back and forward through that chip in her teeth, then she looked at Jed. ‘You say he’s a friend of yours?’

‘Yes, he is.’

Celia looked at Mitch again. ‘What kind of bike’ve you got?’

Mitch smiled. ‘Harley.’

‘What the hell.’ She pushed away from the bar and linked her arm through Mitch’s. ‘Let’s see what it does.’

Jed played pool in the back with one of the power-station boys. He was just losing for the third time when Celia walked back in, Mitch behind her. She looked as if the wind had blown everything except sheer joy clean out of her head.

‘Oh Jed.’ She was still breathless and there was air in her words. ‘We went right out to the Blue Lagoon. We did a century on the power-station road.’ She put an arm round him and kissed his neck. The buttons on her denim jacket were cold. She smelt of speed, cool dust, high blood. She broke away from him again. ‘Can I get you a drink, Mitch?’

Mitch smiled. ‘Beer.’

‘You, Jed?’

‘The same.’

Mitch sat down at the small round table in the corner. Jed leaned his cue against the wall and joined him.

‘You better get a bike, Jed.’

‘Looks that way.’

‘So how long you been here now? Five years?’

‘Close enough.’

‘How much’ve you told them?’

‘Nothing.’

‘They don’t know anything about you?’

‘All they know is stuff I made up.’

Celia was returning with the beer, three glasses in between her hands, her tongue wedged in that chip in her teeth.

Mitch watched her. ‘Not even her?’

Celia put two of the beers on the table, then she stood back, knuckles of her right hand on her hip, and said she had to go and talk to someone.

Jed waited until she’d left and then he said, ‘Not even her.’ He swallowed some beer. ‘You seen Sharon?’

‘I seen her.’

‘How is she?’

‘She’s fine. She married some guy.’

Jed nodded. ‘I sent two cards, one to you and one to her. That’s all the remembering I’ve done. And telling, even less than that.’

Mitch turned his beer can on the table, made a few new rings. Then he said, ‘I heard a story that might interest you.’

Jed lifted his head.

‘You remember Vasco?’

‘Of course,’ Jed said. Fear suddenly. It had come from nowhere, out of a long silence, like something fired from a gun.

‘I did a tattoo for him. One of those tombstones he always has, you know. Only this time it covered half his back.’

‘What was the name on it?’

‘Francis.’

Jed looked down into his drink. ‘Where is he now?’

‘Two days after I did the tattoo they found him on a street in Los Ilusiones. It was sometime after midnight. He was all curled up in the gutter, naked. No sign of his clothes. It was in the papers. They took him to that private clinic, the one in the hills. Far as I know, he’s still there.’

Jed sipped his beer. It tasted sharp and frothy. He could see Vasco on the street, fourteen years old, face like a guitar. It’s not my time.

‘Seems a parcel was delivered to his house on Christmas Eve. To be more specific, a box was delivered. Seems his brother’s head was inside it.’ Mitch glanced at Jed. ‘Kind of an interesting Christmas present.’

When Jed didn’t say anything, Mitch went on. ‘And here’s the really interesting part. Seems the box was delivered by none other than Mr Neville Creed. In person.’

Jed could see it. A ring on the doorbell and Maria’s tights hiss their way across the hall. A postman’s standing on the doorstep. ‘Special delivery, ma’am.’ Maria’s never seen this postman before, but it’s not so strange, they always take new people on at Christmas. She signs for the parcel. ‘Happy Christmas, ma’am,’ the postman says and, as he steps back into the darkness, she notices he’s wearing gloves. If anything’s strange, that is. Because it isn’t cold. Not cold at all.

Jed shivered. He was imagining what happened next. Christmas morning. The tree’s all lit up. It’s the moment everyone’s been waiting for. It’s time to open the presents –

A sudden explosion of glass made him jump. One of the power-station boys had knocked a table over on his way to the bathroom. Drinks everywhere.

‘Creed had Vasco’s brother killed,’ Mitch said, ‘and then he delivered the head himself. What do you think?’

Jed picked up his glass and swirled the last inch of beer around. ‘I wouldn’t say anything about it if I was you.’

‘I’m not saying anything about it. I’m just telling you.’

‘How did you hear?’

‘I’ve got a couple of friends from the old days, they’re vultures now. One night I was down in a bar on V Street and their tongues got loose.’ Mitch looked up at Jed. ‘Why? You think it’s just talk?’

‘No,’ Jed said, ‘I think it’s true.’

Mitch said nothing.

‘I worked for Creed,’ Jed went on. ‘I watched him. Driving someone, you get to do a lot of that. Stuff like what you’re talking about, it’s a game for him. It’s entertainment.’ He saw that face again, he heard the voice. ‘You know what he told me once? He told me there are no borders.’

‘If you knew all that,’ Mitch said, ‘how come you worked for him?’

Jed just stared at him across the top of his glass.

‘Yeah, I know,’ Mitch said. ‘Stupid question.’

Wayne came over. ‘You boys are getting mighty serious.’

Mitch laughed and drained his glass. ‘Give me another beer, Wayne. Then we’ll see who’s serious.’

Mitch left the next morning at dawn. They walked to the edge of town and shook hands. The sun lifted over the hills and threw their shadows across the road.