Breakdown (15 page)

“Easy, Easy.”

“Fuck this shit,” I snarled. “I need work. I can’t do the talking bollocks, bastard knows that. Bastard’s always known that an—”

Craig took the phone off me and pressed it to his ear. After a moment, he put it back down. “Answering machine.”

“Well,” I snorted a laugh, “of course it would be. Bastard wasn’t there for Vince, stands to reason he wouldn’t be here for this fucking shit too. ”

“He’s MI5, Jack; he’s also Master’s Circle. You have to account for how he could be just working.”

“Bollocks.” I got to my feet. “That’s his personal number. He has that on him no matter where he goes. And he’s never denied me a call.”

“Jack, you went to put the phone down after only a few rings, you do know that, don’t you?”

I looked down at the phone, frowned. Craig was up by me, looking down at the phone too.

“I get the feeling that despite being a mechanic, you’ve never really been one for technology?”

The shiver that came wasn’t from any open window.

“Jack?”

“Hm?”

“You’re scratching at your hip. Would you prefer your photo?”

I glanced down.

“Come on,” Craig said quietly, “let’s go see if Janet’s fixed the fax. If she hasn’t, you’re doing your bit for society and sticking the wires back where they should be.” A tug shifted me towards the door, but halfway there I stopped, scratching at my head.

“What’s up?”

“There was no report of me going wandering today, was there? Maybe into Joe’s room?”

Craig seemed to search through some internal paperwork. “Not that I can remember. You’re down to category three, hourly obs. But I can double check.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

“Problems?”

I shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

“Jack, come in.” Halliday came out from his en suite, wiping his hands, then offering one over, just saying welcome. Maybe. It caught me off-guard a touch, or maybe I was still on edge with Joe’s babbling over him being forced to take my meds last week. I stopped, halfway in the door, halfway out, more than tempted to take a step back with Halliday holding his hand out to be shaken, only Craig was behind me.

I was staring, I knew that, and Halliday broke the trance by reaching behind the door and pulling out the antiseptic hand wash. This side had come a lot easier, just learning to feel comfortable with knowing I wanted to wash repeatedly. And a deep sigh always seemed to come with it. After a moment, I took it off him, at first washing my hands, then going in for a second time to wash the bottle itself. Halliday had touched it, so it needed cleaning, then rubbing dry as the smell calmed and soothed, all finished off with a final wash of hands. In the background, Craig was talking to Halliday, and the quiet voices were turned up a touch when I glanced over. No judgement in their eyes, no staring at what I was doing, just that waiting until I was finished.

“Take a seat when you’re ready, Jack,” said Halliday, now over by his settee and pulling out his black leather case.

We’d done this over three sessions, four times altogether to be precise, although it was worrying to note how long it had taken me to even attempt picking up the phone to talk to Jan and Gray. But with the sessions themselves, there was no rush of fear in seeing the DVD come out, not with being followed by the Land Rover switch. But then that was the whole point: desensitisation. At least it seemed to be working, for the most part. I still couldn’t look at the photo that was always pulled out too.

Then as Halliday moved over to the DVD player with the disc and photo in hand, I was glad I was close to the door.

“Go and sit down, Jack.” Halliday smiled. “Today we’re going to try something a little different. Something outside of the comfort zones we’ve been building.”

Saying nothing, I took a seat next to Craig. I hadn’t looked away from the TV monitor. The DVD was inserted into the flat screen and a tiny
ready
light kept flashing. As Halliday also took his seat, the hazard switch was there on his knee, the photo of Gray placed at his side, but the remote he held in his hand and the flash of the ready light on the DVD player had me—

“Jack, do you know you’re scratching at your side? Would you like to go casual with your photo?”

I glance at Craig, just briefly.
Don’t... straighten the photo, Jack.

“What do you think is on the DVD?” said Halliday. His calmness was a lot better than mine.

“Vince. The branding,” I said numbly, glancing at the door, then back at the TV. “Jan.” All calmness seemed to be fading, and I swore I heard noise from outside. Had Craig called in backup? “Jan was forced to watch, to pull out a penis plug Vince had inserted in me; he was forced to touch.”

The flick of the switch went, but it was almost lost to how Craig shifted slightly. Was he uncomfortable? Had he been shown this already? The flick of the switch went a second time and I calmed hearing it.

“You won’t be watching the branding, Jack. Not today,” said Halliday, and the calm touch on my knee off Craig seemed to try and ease as much as Halliday’s words had. Maybe it did. All tension seemed to physically drain out of my body, my shaking stopped and I nodded thanks. I wasn’t ready for that shit.

“I’d like to work towards it,” Halliday said quietly, “but not yet. I want to go back to that whispering you keep hearing.”

“What?”

“I think it’s important; you’ve mentioned the same rhyme for the past four sessions. I want to see if you can remember who told it to you. The first time, you mentioned that you were eighteen. So I’d like to focus on that point in your life.”

Halliday picked up the remote and that sinking feeling crept up, I knew exactly what was on the DVD. There were only a few DVDs that caught my teen years, and they hadn’t exactly caught my best side. The click of the hazard switch was given, just a gentle distraction.

“This DVD is one that was sent via post from Vince and your mother. They were originally filmed by Mark Shaw, the son of the policeman you hospitalised. Mark Shaw was one of Cutter’s men, but you forgot that, is that correct?”

I shrugged, just a little, not really taking my gaze off the TV.

“The policeman you hospitalised, he didn’t know his son was involved with Cutter?”

Now I shook my head. “Not until much later, I think. Fucking stupid of Cutter to take Mark into the group, him having an old man in the force.” Or so I’d thought it was stupid back then. In reality, he’d used Mark like he had Mase: as a source, someone to keep tabs on the police.

“Mark came back on the scene when you met Mr. Richards, is that correct?”

“Hm, Mark didn’t particularly like it that I’d sent Cutter down. He wanted Gray, though. Gray was the lead MI5 op back there who was investigating Cutter.”

“And Mark filmed these.” He pointed at the DVD player. “And sent them to your mother.”

“The rest being history,” I mumbled, and the flick of the hazard light went. Had my old lady flipped just as easily seeing them?

“Good, you recognise the overall events,” said Halliday, quietly. “This DVD here, it covers a time where you and Cutter were together. I’m going to press play now, but only for a few minutes, that’s all that will play. If at any point you need to stop, use your safe word. What’s your safe word, Jack?”

“Mer...” I stopped there, and I refused to look at Halliday.

“—tell me your safe word, Jack, and I’ll stop.” The heat of Vince’s branding iron pressed down.

“Mercedes. Mercedes.”

“What’s that?” said Vince, tilting his ear. “Can’t hear you, boy.”

“Mercedes, Mercedes fucking Benz, Merce—”

“Jack,” said Halliday, “do you know you’re scratching at your hip? Would you prefer—”

“Mercedes,” I said to him, “my safe word’s Mercedes.”

The stress in Halliday’s face eased a little. “Good. It’s not the words that control the scene, but the people who listen to them. I am not Vince. Your safe word will be respected at all times.”

A shuffle came from my side, Craig getting comfortable, or just a gentle reminder of what might happen if I couldn’t find my voice, or didn’t trust Halliday to stop and started smacking him one to make sure. After easing back into the settee, I pulled my legs up, then wrapped my arms around them, not shifting attention away from that screen.

Music came first, some rave crap that was the dance scene back then. Faces came next as chatter and laughter tried to outdo the heavy thump of the beat. The lounge was packed, bodies pushing and grinding against each other as bottles of alcohol rattled on a wallpaper paste table toward the back. If the camera panned to the left, there’d be a patch of mould just above the windows. Winter in that place had always been ass cold, but complaining would have only gotten you a beating, sometimes from Cutter, most times from—

“Jack. Smile for the camera.”

Away from all other assholes but one, the young man on screen was caught mid-swig of his beer. His smile was shy, but it came with one fucked-up warning that told the cameraman he’d get hit if he stayed close for too long. “Get the fuck out of my face.”

I closed my eyes, tilting my head to listen. It hadn’t been picked up on audio, but as the cameraman was pushed away, someone danced out of his path, saying “watch it, Mark.”

“Mark Shaw,” I mumbled.

“The cameraman?”

I nodded. A click of the hazard switch went and I flicked a look at Halliday before focusing back on the screen.

Mark had focused the camera again, now keeping a safe distance, but still focused on the young man onscreen. With jeans and black tank top outlining the slim waist and broad shoulders of youth, my black hair was shorter than I’d ever known it. Shaved at the sides with tram lines offering some side street barber’s attempt at a fashion look.

“How old are you there, Jack?”

“Just gone eighteen,” I mumbled. “Just a few weeks before I met Gray.”

“And the young man standing there next to you?”

Christ, he still looked younger than me, even though he was five years older. “Steve. My manager. He’s twenty-three here.”

He wore ripped jeans, much like mine, only he had on this damn shirt. He always had on this damn shirt. I think he even wore it to the garage on a Saturday when he’d helped my old man. But pale; he still had that pale look there. He’d lost it in later life, his smile a lot easier. If I’d known Cutter was cutting and fucking him too, I’d have walked away long before that.

I’d known Steve since he’d taken a swing at me in the school play yard. He’d gotten suspended, being in the upper school of primary, age twelve. I’d been seven. Seven but still a mouthy shit, one that had gotten him suspended.

Onscreen, Mark and his camera were back in my face and Steve’s grab to my arm had stopped me hitting the bastard.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” said Mark. “Cutter’s got a few friends out back, Jack.” A pause. “Wants you, baby.”

The click of the hazard switch came again, stealing my attention.

“Get the fuck out of my face, then.”

Christ, my own voice grated on my nerves. Mark was given the finger, then I’d gone and grabbed a fresh beer off a paste table covered with a cheap plastic table cloth.

“Fucking worlds apart,” I mumbled to myself and Halliday said something, but I wasn’t quite with him. “Cutter and Gray. Trash and class.” The empty beer went in a black bag underneath the table. Then that feeling crept in, even though I was decades away, but the look going in those light grey eyes in the video, it crawled and gnarled at my head with how going social, being amongst crowds, put me so on edge. I hadn’t understood it back then, or I’d hidden from it, one of the two. Distance. Distance had been so much better than company, and in the video, the young man needing distance there tried to snake quietly through the partygoers, the camera audio not catching the few “excuse me” pleases and mumbled “fucking nows” as he went.

“Are you okay to go on?” said Halliday, and I glanced over, giving a nod.

That dickhead Mase should have been around somewhere, this was taken just a few weeks after the bolognaise had ended up on the floor. We hadn’t done over the warehouse yet, it was coming, just a day away and the catalyst for sparking that first meeting with Gray and...