Page 1 of A Dark Fall
I want to fucking kill him.
It’s moments like this where I drift off and wonder what the fuck I did in a past life to deserve this shit. Where I drift off and wonder if, really, I’m supposed to be living some respectable life somewhere miles away from lying cunts like Eddie fucking Cartwright.
It may not be a respectable life, but I do maintain a certain level of respect. People respect me because the consequences of not respecting me are painful, loud, and very fucking bloody. So being respected is a consolation I’ll live with for now. Until my real life comes walking through the door wondering where the fuck I’ve been for the past thirty years.
“I told you, Jay, I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him for weeks,” Eddie says, not meeting my eye.
I take another deep breath. He’s pale and sweating, which is down to the coke partly, but also down to the fact he’s lying through his teeth.
“Yeah, yeah, I heard that, Ed, but it smells like bullshit to be honest.” I glance over at Kev. He has a smirk on his face that would make your blood run cold. Not mine—I’ve seen it too many times for it to have any effect—but Eddie looks as if he’s about to piss himself.
Kev has that effect on people. Built like a tank with hands that could bash in your skull without breaking a sweat. His typical expression is the kind that tells you everything you’re afraid might happen is, in fact, about to happen. He’s a violent fucking psychopath to be honest. But he’s my best mate.
“Two weeks ago, he sent a text, said he was going to Spain. That’s the last I heard from him.”
I close my eyes on a sigh. I’m fucking tired. I hear Kev’s knuckles crack, and I look back at Eddie who pales a bit more. Spain. Spain sounds perfect. I really need a vacation. And a new life. Yeah, a new life would be better.
Get on with it then. Why the fuck are you still taking Freddie’s trash out for him?
“So, you do know where he is then. He’s in Spain.” I rub at my forehead, feeling totally knackered all of a sudden.
Eddie’s shoulders drop, and he looks at the floor.
“Tell me something, Ed. Why would Tony go to Spain when he knows I’m looking for him? That Freddie’s looking for him? When he owes Freddie fifty large? Why would he do that?”
I know why he’d do that. Eddie knows too. We’re playing a game here. A game Eddie’s shit at. I squeeze the bridge of my nose as the headache starts to creep in.
“Why don’t you ask him that?” Eddie’s voice is louder, braver. He thinks he’s more in control of this situation than he actually is. Freddie wanted a bullet in him. Kev offered to do it. I talked them both down. Mainly because I don’t find that kind of solution benefits anybody. It’s a mess that needs cleaning up, and no one is any better off financially.
Kev moves forward to speak, his huge, muscular shoulders pulled back in a fighting stance. “And how do you suppose we ask him, Ed? You got a number for him over there? An address?” Kev barks, crossing the room to where Eddie’s sitting on the dining chair. I can tell Kev wants to throttle him, and to be honest, I don’t think I have the energy to stop him.
I pull a chair over and sit down facing Eddie, leaning forward on my knees. I rub my hands over my face a few times. I feel like slapping it a few times too, but it wouldn’t look right in front of other people.
“Ed. Is Tony in Spain or not? It’s getting late, and I got places I need to be, so let’s stop fucking about, yeah? Try telling us the truth now, would you? Because if I have to come back here after I find out you’ve been bullshitting me, you won’t like how we sort that,” I say, trying for my reasonable voice. It takes less effort than the other one.
“I’d never bullshit you, Jay. Fred neither. I swear. All I know is, he told me he was heading out to a mate’s place near Malaga. Never told me where, exactly.” Eddie looks from me to Kev who’s now standing behind him.
I look around the tired kitchen as I think. I hate this fucking house. It reminds me of terrible parties that went on until the next afternoon and desperate girls I’d fuck over the sink upstairs. Countless, nameless faces that all blur into one.
Kevin cracks his knuckles again. Not because he needs the release, but because he knows it makes people nervous. Eddie looks nervous.
“Okay, okay. A place near Malaga. The Costa del Sol. Nice. We’re getting closer. Good. I’ll tell you what, assuming you’re telling me the truth—which, to be honest, I doubt, because when have you ever told the truth about anything, Eddie?—I’m gonna give you forty-eight hours to get your cousin’s share of what he owes. If you don’t, then you and I are going to have a problem.” I bite the longer nail of my index finger. Technically, Eddie will have the problem; I’ll have to help clean up the fucking mess. Which is going to piss me off because I have a lot on this week.
Fuck, I need to stop biting my nails if I ever want to learn that fucking guitar.
I drop my hand from my mouth and fix Eddie with a hard stare. “Am I lying, Ed?” I ask.
Eddie says nothing, just looks around for a means of escape. He looks behind me, out the back door, through the hole in the laminate floor.
“Am I fucking lying, Ed?” I repeat.
Finally, Eddie shakes his head. Not good enough.
“Gonna need you to say it, mate.”
“No, Jay. You ain’t lying.”
As I stare at him, I wonder why the hell I bothered my arse talking Freddie and Kevin out of getting rid of him. I hate this pasty-faced fuck. He’s a snake. A coke-headed waster with a violent streak—mainly against women—and he contributes nothing to society as far as I can see.