The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 9 Part 27

Nat bowed his head, and had no reply for me.

I sighed. "Then it is not Arcadia you dream of, Nathaniel," I told him bluntly, as I heard a carriage approaching. "It is yourself. Arcadia is merely your reflection."

The Squire had come at last together with the doctor, coroner and parish constable, and I could do no more. I was sad indeed as Nathaniel was taken away, and I gave one last look at what had been one man's vision of Arcadia. The sheep had gone, the garden looked dreary. What had been delightful wildness now looked merely untidy and ordinary, and I longed for my home.

Jacob rode back to his vicarage at Tunbridge Wells, and I to Cuckoo Lees where my beloved parsonage and my loving housekeeper Dorcas awaited me.

She was standing at the door as I rode up. "Where have you been, Caleb?" she cried, tears of relief running down her face, as I had been expected much earlier.

"In one man's bubble of a dream," I told her sadly.

She looked at me in bewilderment, and then smiled. "I have a wheatear pie and fine tansy pudding for supper, Caleb."

I took her hand, and said I would stable my horse and be with her. My heart grew warm again, for I was about to enter my home. I too live in Arcadia.

THE LONG DROP.

Tony Black.

SOMETIMES IT WAS the thing to do.

There was no keeping the needle under seventy; eighty was a trial but the lights went out when the grille clipped the dumpster. These dark country roads called for careful driving; stick in the dirt from the slips and the wet and the fact that this was the night luck ran out on us we were always going to go to s.h.i.t.

The Toyota came to rest on its roof; Craven watched the wheels spinning and shook his head. He tried to crack his backbone into place. "The car's f.u.c.king finished. We're finished."

"Oh, y'think?" said Lois. She had a deep cut above her left eye; it looked like jello when she dabbed it with her shirtsleeve. As her flannel rode up I saw the SIG Sauer was still tucked in her waistband. That was something.

"You need to get rid of that," said Craven, "We're finished!"

She turned to me, gave a slight sigh, then looked back to her shirtsleeve. "Oh, I'm good for now."

Her tone was enough for Craven to fire up, "Someone's been killed. We're f.u.c.ked."

He strode forward and flagged his arms like he'd lost control again.

Lois didn't like that. The way her lip twitched, the way she narrowed her eyes ... I could almost smell her anger.

She removed the pistol.

I knew to look away.

For a second, the spinning wheels of the car were lit by the muzzle flash.

I'd met Craven at NA. It was three weeks after my split with Pam, two weeks before Lois crossed the dark divide into the long drop that was my life.

Craven was an old hand at kicking; he was wrapped far too tight for the real world and meth was his crutch. I liked to think I had the edge on him in that regard. When I used, it was because I was bored. Or working a job.

"So, how'd you end up here?" Craven collared me at the coffee counter. He twitched and oozed sweat from his heavy brows. His hairline was receding and some freckles on his crown looked like they were ready to slide down his face.

"Do I know you?"

He shot up his hands. "Whoa, easy, cowboy!"

"Don't call me that, please."

"You object to being called cowboy? Or you're just not real friendly?" The tone was queer, but I didn't have him down as a h.o.m.os.e.xual. Either way, it had taken less than two minutes for me to tire of him. "I don't like people messing with me."

"Well, f.u.c.k you!"

He made a dramatic flourish with his coffee cup and some grey liquid spilled on the floor. A few heads turned.

I moved off, found a vantage point by the doorway it seemed a good place to a.s.sess the crowd. I soon had them sussed. The room was full of trembling, bug-eyed losers. All except the one. I watched over the cold decaf as Craven made a bee-line for her.

I wished I had his courage Pam had taken that.

The lot held only two vehicles, three if you included the trail bike a group of kids were using to burn donuts on the asphalt. I watched them from below a to-let sign hung over the door of a long-vacated Ho-Joes. The neighbourhood had lost its sparkle. Brownstones were being boarded-up left and right; cops kept clear.

"This'll do," said Craven.

"You sure?" I said.

"Oh, yeah ... these Toyotas, can't kill 'em with an axe."

I took his word. Watched him approach with his steel rule out-stretched; it didn't take him long to make the ignition kick, then the engine purred to life.

I ran to the pa.s.senger's door. Craven gunned the gas.

As we drove he lit a Montecristo; said it was "his thing" on a job. I didn't question it I had met a lot of guys with strange rituals and superst.i.tions. This wasn't any take-down, though. We'd moved up a league. The thought made me edgy.

"Hey buddy boy ... you keeping it together there?" said Craven.

I turned to face him, "Me?"

"You think I'm talking to Mr Magic Tree? f.u.c.king-A I mean you."

"Don't worry about me."

His voice dropped, took on a mocking tone, "Oh, but I do, buddy boy ... I do."

"Cut the s.h.i.t, Craven ... just spit it out, where you going with this?"

He started to laugh. He laughed me up. "I ain't going anywhere ... and neither are you! Ain't that what your little woman used to say?"

I felt a rush of adrenalin enter my veins; I grabbed the SIG and pushed it in his throat. "Pull this f.u.c.king piece of s.h.i.t over now!"

His face changed colour, dropped several shades. His mouth turned down towards his chest. As he grabbed for breath his words came falteringly. "Jesus ... I'm, I'm ... only messing with you, man."

I moved the gun from his throat to the middle of his temple.

"How many times I got to tell you? I don't like people messing with me ... Pull the f.u.c.k over!"

The job was b.l.o.o.d.y, I never meant for it to be that way. I knew Lois wouldn't approve; she had insisted on one thing only no body bags. We'd cleared the city, made the highway in good time but Craven wasn't in any kind of condition. I took the wheel from him but I wasn't in much better shape. She was only a girl.

"Man, this is wrong, dead wrong," Craven whined.

"Shut the f.u.c.k up!"

"Why was she in the middle of the road?"

"I said, shut the f.u.c.king h.e.l.l up, Craven." He rocked to and fro in the pa.s.senger seat. Tears streamed down the sides of his face as he tugged at the few tight red curls that sat above his neck. I could see the streaks of blood where he'd cradled her head on the front of his jeans; it had already dried dark on the pale-blue denim.

"What was she, man ... six?"

I couldn't listen any more. It was his fault; he rolled out way too fast after we cut Pam loose. Craven had f.u.c.ked up twice now tested our luck and that was f.u.c.king fatal. If I had to produce the gun again I'd fire it in his face; make that two body bags.

"Craven, listen ... now listen. Are you listening?" I needed him to chill out; for all our sakes.

He sobbed louder, brought his knees up under his chin.

"We have to collect Lois from the drop ... if she has the money, we can still make this work. Do you hear me? We can still clear out ... go our ways like we planned. Only richer, a h.e.l.l of a lot richer."

Craven didn't answer. As the wind and rain picked up, and the sky darkened I started to think of Lois. It had all been her idea the kidnapping. I had never had a thought to it; not even when Pam had turned me out without a dime, not even then. There was something about that line of business that brought nothing but bad luck; that's what the old boys said. But Lois was certain we could pull it off ... "You don't need to be part of the gig ... just feed us what we need to know," she had said.

I never believed her. I knew better, but Pam had taken something from me and I wanted to take something from her. Christ Almighty, my mind was ablaze. I was full of thoughts of the past, the present meant nothing to me, and Lois had this way of making me believe anything was possible. Anything at all.

Craven pulled the Toyota into the side of the street. The SIG started to feel heavy in my hand; my palm was sweating. If he had made contact with the mark then we were finished before we'd even started. We were skating close to the edge on this job as it was; it would take one look from Pam, one hint that I was back in her ambit, and her father would have her back under security. Billionaires are funny that way about only daughters.

"What the f.u.c.k do you know about what Pam used to say to me?"

Craven knew he'd f.u.c.ked up. He had set about riling me, taking me for a ride ... but he hadn't thought it through properly. He didn't see where his joking would end.

"I ... I ... didn't do anything."

He looked pathetic, his eyes looping in wide circles, searching for some answer that was never going to come.

"I didn't do anything ... Is this f.u.c.king kindergarten? ... Am I playing with you, here?"

"No. No ... I ..."

I smacked him with the gun. His cheekbone opened up, a little blood spilled out. "Tell me now ... when did you speak to her about me?"

He lowered his eyes to his lap, looked at his palms. "In the diner."

I hit him again; the force of it sprained my wrist. "What did you say to her?"

"She didn't know me ... she didn't know who I was ... I just sat next to her at the counter and she asked me to pa.s.s the mayo ... we started talking and she said something about an ex she had. I just put two and two together ... that was it. I promise. She had no idea who I was ... she'd never know me again. I promise. I promise you ..."

I took the SIG in my other hand; I was ready to blow his f.u.c.king dumb head through the window.

"Craven, you stupid motherf.u.c.ker. You stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h ... you never heard of tempting fate."

If I had been anything like the man I once was I would have pulled the trigger myself, but he was gone. Pam had turned me around, made me believe I could change ... and I did. I had changed so much that I wasn't capable of living the life any more. I'd grown soft; that's what the meth was about. It was recreation to begin with, a break from carrying shopping bags in Beverly Hills, some kind of reminder of the old days, the old kicks. I knew I'd taken it too far. Pam knew that too ... or maybe she was right when she said I was never going anywhere.

"What the f.u.c.k happened?" Lois yelled. Her blonde hair was tied back tight from her face. It made her look harder than usual. Her features seemed severe as she squinted through the falling rain.

"Get in!" I shouted.

"What the f.u.c.k's going on?" She looked at the dent on the fender, where Craven had hit the girl ... throwing her little body in the air.

"What happened?"

I let her get inside the Toyota. She looked at Craven rocking to and fro and yelled at me again, "Tell me what the f.u.c.k is going on ..."

"Take this, keep it on him." She took the SIG Sauer from me.

"What is this?"

"Never mind ... Did you get the money?"

Lois wrestled the rucksack off her back, stayed calm. "Every dime ... let's hope we hold on to it."

I gripped the wheel tighter; I was already upping the revs as we sped into the rain.

Lois spoke, "What the f.u.c.k happened back there?"

Craven was stirring. "We're finished ... the girl. That poor f.u.c.king girl."

"What's he on about?"