The Midnight Men and Other Stories (3 page)

Now, all we can do is wait.

Outside, night is falling.

When the young thief laid the dirty cloth pouch on the coffee table, Nathan observed it with feigned disinterest, before meeting the boy’s eyes through a curtain of cigar smoke.

“All right, Kane,” he said, after a stand-off silence. “What is it?”

Kane smiled thinly in response, a cruel flicker in his deep-set eyes. “What you asked for,” he said. “What you asked me to get.”

Clenching the Cuban cigar—the highly-expensive cigar which Nathan had just given him—between his already yellowing teeth, Kane leaned forward and began to unravel the cloth with delicate precision. Nathan watched the deft movements of the young man’s fingers with deep fascination. They were bony, slender fingers, ingrained with a dirt which might never wash off. The dirt of the streets. He wondered how many pockets those nimble fingers had emptied in the boy’s already lengthy career. When the cloth was fully unwrapped, the young man leaned back in his chair and let Nathan take in the contents.

Three chunks of bloody meat. Nathan’s first thought was pork, but something—the dark light glimmering in Kane’s eyes, perhaps—told him this was not animal meat. As he leaned closer to examine them, he was overwhelmed by the noisome stench emanating from the package.

“Dear God, Kane,” he said, recoiling. “That smells like . . .”

“What?”

“Where the hell did you get that?” asked Nathan, covering his nose and mouth.

“Tahiti,” Kane said, before letting out a short, sharp bark of laughter. “Well, it came from Tahiti,” he explained. “I picked it up from a guy in Brixton. Not quite so exotic, is it?”

“But why bring this to me?”

“Because last time we met, you asked me to bring you a special trinket. Remember?”

Nathan stared at him, running their previous conversation through his mind. “Yes,” he said eventually. “A voodoo trinket. But not . . .” His eyes fell upon the three pieces. “Not this.”

Kane’s smile vanished. He reached forward and began to fold up the cloth. “Very well, Mr Parker, if you’re not interested.”

Nathan’s hand shot out and fell over Kane’s wrist. “Wait, wait, wait, my dear boy. No need to be hasty.” He offered the young man a quivering smile. “At least tell me what it’s supposed to do first.”

The young man could not hide his triumph, and sat back with a sneer. “It’s juju,” he began. “Real black magic. The guy from Brixton told me this was the most potent charm ‘e ‘ad. Yes, you’re right in thinking they ain’t pieces of animal meat. They’re from a man. A living, breathing man. Apparently, the magic has more power when they’re alive.”

“Power? What kind of power?”

“The power to kill,” said Kane.

“Kill?” Nathan said. “How?”

Kane reached over and picked up one of the bloody chunks, the blood instantly turning his fingertips pink. “You put a piece in your mouth, you chew it, swallow it, then say the name of your intended victim, and . . . well, you can guess the rest.” He focused on the piece held between finger and thumb, and for one moment, Nathan thought he was going to put it in his mouth. But he sniggered, and placed it carefully back on the square of cloth.

“That’s absurd,” said Nathan.

“Absurd?” said Kane. “I’ve seen it being used, Mr Parker, and trust me, it works.”

Nathan stared at the three pieces, then at the young man who had brought this evil magic into his home. He stood up and began to stalk around the living room.

“What on earth would I want with such a thing?” he asked, the question directed not just at Kane but the world at large.

“Who wouldn’t want to have that power? The power to kill from a distance, from the safety of your own living room? Nothing to tie you to the crime. All you need do is provide a strong alibi, which you’d always be able to do, and you’re free to kill whoever you like. Three pieces,” said Kane. “Three lives. Three murders.”

Nathan studied the young man intently. “How much?”

Kane regarded the juju package, weighing up the true worth of such a gift. “I think ten thousand is a fair price.”

“How much for just one?”

Kane shook his head. “I’m afraid they come as a triple pack.”

Nathan nodded. He began to pace again. “Before I pay such a large fee, I want proof, Kane.”

“Proof of what?”

“Proof that this isn’t just three lumps of Danish I’m paying for. Proof that it works.”

“You want a test.” Kane hissed through his teeth. “Now, Mr Parker, the only way you can test this stuff is to actually use it. You know that.”

Nathan came over and sat down again. Excitement glowed bright in his gun-grey eyes. “All right,” he said. “What do you propose?”

“Well, pick somebody. Someone you’d like to see dead.”

“What? I can’t just . . .”

“There must be somebody you have in mind; otherwise you wouldn’t be considering this purchase.”

Nathan deliberated for a moment. “All right, there is someone,” he said, “but I want to make sure this definitely works before I try it on him. Can we not just try it on an animal first?”

Kane shook his head again. “It doesn’t work on animals, Mr P. The victim must have a name.”

In the ensuing silence, they were distracted by the sound of screeching tyres as a car came tearing down the street. After it screeched to a halt outside, they heard the dull throb of heavy metal music. Then the engine died along with the music. They heard the slam of a car door.

Nathan and Kane moved wordlessly over to the bay window which gave them a king’s view of the next door neighbours’ yard. They watched as the lone figure staggered from the car, through the garden gate, stumbling briefly, before heading for the front door in a zigzag line. A mighty, echoing belch filled the night.

“Terry Carson,” Nathan said, spitting the two names out like rotten teeth. “The neighbour from hell. Plays his music at full volume all hours of the day and night. Doesn’t talk to his wife, just screams at her. Probably knocks her around, too, knowing his type. And he’s always got some low-life characters hanging about the house, probably drug-dealers. Must be. I mean, how else does such a shit end up living in a nice neighbourhood like this?”

Kane observed the hulking figure of Terry Carson as he disappeared through the front door with a resounding bang. “Prime candidate, if you ask me.”

Nathan’s head swept round. “No, no, no. Wait a second.”

“What?” said Kane. “You just told me he’s making your life a misery, why not end it all tonight while you have . . .” He looked back at the pouch on the coffee table. “While you have the opportunity?”

Nathan studied the young man’s red-rimmed eyes for a moment, then looked back down at his neighbour’s house.

“Come on, Mr Parker,” Kane went on. “You wanted a low-key demonstration, and a perfect test-case has just stumbled home from the Dog and Duck.”

Without looking round, Nathan could hear the malicious smile in Kane’s voice.

“Let’s kill two birds with one stone.”

Nathan inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. Then, in a rush of adrenalin, he threw his head back and downed the rest of his brandy in one gulp.

“All right,” he said, the drink burning his throat. “Let’s see what happens.”

He marched back to the coffee table and sat down. Kane sauntered after him, hands in pockets.

Nathan felt a sudden, overwhelming hatred for the boy. What he hated most was the way this scenario gave Kane all the power. That was a first in their twisted relationship. They were worlds apart, the two of them: he, a corporate lawyer, Kane a street criminal with a speciality for finding exceedingly rare and desirable objects. One of Nathan’s colleagues, who also collected the occult, had put them together. Ever since then, Kane had found half a dozen things for him, objects of underworld art that he could never show his wife, but which gave him some pleasure to look at in the dark watches of the night. But Nathan had always been able to knock the boy’s asking price down because they weren’t ‘must-have’ items. But now, this juju, if it worked, well . . . this was something he could put to great use. And what a use he had in mind for it! Unfortunately, Kane could see how badly he wanted it.

The two men stared down at the three lumps of flesh for a protracted moment, then Kane picked up the cognac decanter and handed it to Nathan.

“You might need some more of this,” he said.

Nathan stared up at him distractedly.

“To wash it down with.”

With a trembling hand—adrenalin, he told himself, not fear—he took the decanter and poured out a double. Then, he added another measure.

Kane watched with feverish curiosity as Nathan picked up the first piece of pink meat. He stared at it for a long time. Kane did not try to hurry him. This would be a big purchase, and he was willing to take all the time that was necessary.

Nathan weighed the tiny piece of flesh once more, waves of nausea rising and falling within him. Then he closed his eyes and popped it into his mouth. He was swigging the cognac before the taste of the meat could settle on his tongue, chewing the evil talisman in quick successive bites and then, in a grimace of pain, he swallowed it, feeling it move down his oesophagus like a stone. The brandy may have removed the taste, but his gorge still rose momentarily at the thought of what he had just done.

Nathan opened his eyes to find them filled with moisture. He blinked several times, until he could just make out Kane’s scarecrow figure sitting opposite.

“Say the name!” Kane began shouting. “Say the name! Say it!”

Nathan tried to say it, but an alarm bell seemed to be going off inside his head.

If this works, and right now, it seems more than bloody likely that it does, you could kill a man—KILL A MAN—with two words!

“I can’t,” he said, clutching at his constricting throat.

He saw fear flash across Kane’s face for the first time. “You have to! You must say the name!”

“Why?”

“The pieces are poisoned!” Kane screamed. “If you don’t say the bloody name, it’ll be you who dies!”

Nathan’s eyes grew wide.

Poison?

A stab of terror slicing through his heart, Nathan uttered the words: “Terry . . . Carson . . .”

Then he doubled up in a series of heaving coughs. Watery liquid flew from his mouth onto the glass-top of the coffee table. And when the coughing stopped, he saw that his spittle was streaked pink. He wiped his mouth with a hanky and then stared at the young thief with an angry squint.

“You little bastard,” he hissed.

Kane was rubbing his bony hands together agitatedly. In a strange way, Nathan enjoyed seeing that again. It reminded him how things usually were.

“I’m sorry, Mr Parker,” Kane said in a quiet voice, the arrogance gone. “If I’d told you they was poisoned before, you never would’ve done it, would you?”

Nathan didn’t answer, but he had to admit the boy was right. Killing someone from a distance was fine and dandy, but risking your own life to do it? That was another game altogether.

They sat in silence for a while.

“How long does it take to work?” Nathan asked.

“Instantly, as far as I know.”

Just on cue, a distant cough of thunder filled the night.

After a few minutes had passed, Nathan got up and walked back to the bay windows. The Carson house looked quiet, apart from the muffled sound of a blaring television. The lights from the living room spilled onto their front lawn. Then the back door of the house opened with a shrill squeak. Mrs Carson stepped out calmly, a shawl wrapped round her shoulders. She lit a cigarette and began to blow silver ghosts into the night sky. There was no scream of horror from Mrs Carson. No overwhelming show of grief. Nothing.

He turned to the young thief. “It hasn’t worked, Kane,” he said in a petulant tone.

Kane was about to offer a defence when a new sound reached their ears. They both held their breath and listened intently. Yes, there it was, the distant whine of an ambulance siren. Getting closer all the time.

***

Over the course of the next half hour, Nathan watched the events unfolding below in numb silence. The ambulance had indeed stopped outside 136 Clarence Avenue, and the two paramedics had entered the house immediately afterwards, with Mrs Carson leading the way. There was no urgency in their movements, which confirmed in Nathan’s mind what he feared.

Terry Carson was dead.

And Nathan Parker had murdered him from his living room.

When they brought the body out on a stretcher, covered by a simple white sheet, Nathan expected to feel a swell of guilt; but instead, he felt a different emotion. Mrs Carson was standing on her garden path, staring after her husband’s body with a rigid, emotionless air. Looking down at that frail young woman, who had suffered mental—possibly physical—abuse at the hands of Terry Carson, he felt a curious sense of pride. He had used this evil magic to help another. All right, that had not been his intention when he uttered Carson’s name—in fact, if he was honest, he’d only called out the bastard’s name to save his own skin at the very last minute—but now that he had done the dirty deed he was actually beginning to feel good about himself.

Or was that the feeling of absolute power kicking in?

Nathan watched the ambulance disappear into the night. No sirens, no flashing lights. It was all too late for that.

In the silence which followed, he heard the sound of a leather jacket slipping over a cotton shirt and turned to see Kane preparing to leave.

“And where do you think you’re going, young man?” he said.

Kane shrugged. “What? I’ve proved to you that the merchandise works. What else do you need me for?” He clapped his hands together. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like my money and—”

“You’re not going anywhere just yet.” Nathan walked over to the coffee table and stared down at the two remaining pieces of shrivelled pink flesh.

Kane rolled his head on his neck in frustration. “Ah, Mr P, what you do with those other two is your business now. It’s nothing to do with me.”

Nathan shook his head. He felt the power in their relationship beginning to swing slowly back to him now. “You’re not getting a penny of my money until I’m satisfied, Kane. I’d let you go now if you hadn’t lied to me earlier about the meat being poisoned.”