The Game
by Kian Northcote
Michael sat poised on the edge of the chair, staring at the cordless
phone on the corner of the coffee table. These were the hardest moments.
Surrounded by strangers, whose faces had become increasingly familiar
with each passing day. They shared his house, filling it with hi tech
gadgets, until eventually Michael felt that he was the intruder.
And yet, despite their chilling professionalism and unwavering confidence,
they were equally impotent.
Like him, they had no control! All they could do was wait for the call.
What if the call never came?
No! He would not allow himself to contemplate it. He would phone at the
same time he always did. There was no reason for him not to.
Glancing across the living room, he stared at the small digital sports
clock that sat on top of his book cabinet, bookend to a few loose paperbacks.
He strained to read the time. 09:26 or 09:28. No matter. Any minute now.
Detective Anderson’s outline was reflected in the cabinet’s
glass doors. The old cop stood in the doorway, frozen. His body filled
the narrow archway. Michael couldn’t see the rest of the team, but
the occasional muffled cough from the kitchen revealed the presence of
forty a day man Maurice Seemer.
The phone’s piercing tone demanded a response. Headphones were
quickly adjusted, whilst Anderson-having taken a place between the chair
and the coffee table, barked his orders. He raised a finger to Michael.
‘Now,’ he whispered.
Michael leaned toward the phone, fighting to control the tremor that ran
through his hand. He picked up the handset and drew it towards him, hesitating
at the point of contact.
‘Still as shy as ever huh…my friend.’
Sergei’s broken English assumed its usual mocking tone.
‘What, you still don’t trust me huh. Heeeeeyyyyyyyyyy,’
he rasped.
‘Shit, I’m disappointed Mr Kenvis, what with all we’ve
been through as well. You and me. You’re like family man…You
have the money, yeah?’
‘Yes…how do you want me to do this?’ Michael fought
desperately to control his voice, just like Anderson had shown him.
‘Measured tones, keep it simple.’ The detective had made
it all sound so easy, but instead of growing in stature, Michael’s
resolve had weakened with each confrontation. He knew Sergei could sense
this.
‘You put the money, 2 mil UK, in two black refuge sacks.’
He was all business now. ‘Split it equally. You take your car…and
I mean…. your car Mr Kenvis. The Lotus. Head along Seaview street.
Down through Sands toward Booker.’
Michael remembered the road.
‘Your friends aren’t invited,’ Sergei sneered, ‘but
I’m pretty sure you’re not that dumb. Leave your phone at
home; I don’t want you to think too much. When you get there take
a left down by Cressex. Keep on past that shitty take out, that burger
joint where all those dirty little whores hang out. Sammy’s or whatever
it’s called. You know the one I mean?’… Don’t
you Mr Kenvis.’ Michael nodded.
‘Bout a quarter of a mile down the road there’s a little
park, real quiet place. Real cute to. Sure you and your daughter would
love it. Drive down through the
entrance; the wooden shack on the right hand side. Dump the bags behind
it. Go over to the kiddies play area. Your daughter will be there... Don’t
look back!’
‘How do I’...
‘You’ve got two hours Mr Kenvis’ snapped Sergei. ‘You’ve
haven’t got time for questions my friend. Be there at 11:30. You
love your little girl don’t you’?
‘Yeah yeah of course,’ cried Michael.
‘Then don’t fuck this up. You do and you don’t hear
from me again... Or Katie
The line went dead, the threat still ringing in Michael’s ears.
The sound of his daughter’s name taking him back to that moment
two weeks ago, when she’d been snatched from his grasp.
The Capri pulled out of a small dirt track about halfway down Kitchener
way. The narrow country lane that-during the school run-provided the only
viable alternative to the coronary inducing dual carriageway.
The car rolled to an ill judged standstill, sprawled across the street.
‘No no, this isn’t happening...Come on.’ Michael flicked
his cigarette out of the driver’s side window, before punching the
car horn. They’d been making good progress, and for pretty much
the first time ever, it looked as if Katie wouldn’t have to face
the embarrassment of walking in late for morning assembly.
‘Can’t you just go around him Daddy?’
‘How exactly’? He protested, taking his hands off the horn,
glaring at her through the rear view mirror. ‘I don’t have
anywhere to…gofurfffff…Blufffurthhhhh.’
Rough hands grabbed at his mouth and throat, yanking his head back against
the door. ‘Daddddyyyyyyyyy.’ Katie struggled with the seatbelt
before her window burst inwards, showering her face.
The shock stunned her. Michael tried to wrestle free, managing to twist
his head around to see robust arms reaching in through the shattered window.
Grasping his daughter’s hair, dragging her limp body back through
the narrow opening. Sharp fragments of glass tearing at her pale arms.
Katie’s body thumped down on the ground next to the car.
‘Hey, you still with us?’
Anderson’s voice pierced Michael’s memories.
The detective loomed over him. His team, racing around like a colony ants
stirred into action. ‘Try to stay focused, we’re almost through
this’.
A thin smile spread across his broad, lantern shaped face. Highlighting
the creases and pockmarks that proved more telling than any résumé.
The smile never reached his eyes though. Grey, indifferent, they remained
as unreadable as ever. He patted Michael roughly on the shoulder, before
turning back to the doorway.
‘Seemers,’ he bellowed. ‘Get in here now.’
Michael didn’t think this at all patronising. It was just that that
sort of thing didn’t come naturally to the man. Anderson didn’t
do sympathy. Simple as. It was not part of the job criteria, and seeing
as Anderson and the job were basically one and the same, it was not part
of his either. Michael preferred it this way. He didn’t need someone
who was part cop part shrink. He knew how he felt, and he didn’t
need someone to share it with. He wasn’t Dawn.
Dawn would have hated Anderson, regardless of the circumstances.
But Dawn had been weak. Weaker than Michael even. It had taken him a long
time to admit as much but it was the truth, pure and simple. What Michael
called
strength she would have called tactless and cold hearted.
She would have demanded Anderson’s dismissal of course. How could
she hope to successfully play the role of stricken mother with the old
cop sniffing around?
Looking to expose her for the fraud she was. Dawn would have needed one
of her confidants. Someone who could feed off her misery, become her audience,
pamper to her every whim until it became as much about her as her daughter.
It was the only way she could have coped, and Anderson would never have
stood for it.
Dawn was dead.
Had been for almost 10 years. For that much Michael was grateful. She
hadn’t influenced Katie’s development. She’d had no
say on how they should bring up their child.
He didn’t miss her.
Why would he?
Michael rose stiffly from the chair. He had been seated for a long time.
Through a crowd of bodies he could see that the detective was still busy
with Maurice Seemers. The latter clearly wasn’t happy. It didn’t
take a psychic to figure that out. As usual, Seemers was gesturing wildly,
arms flapping about all over the place as he stuttered and stammered-struggling
to voice his opinion. Anderson remained as impassive as ever. It wouldn’t
be long before the man simply ran out of gas.
Like himself, Seemers barely reached up to Anderson’s shoulders.
However, that was the only thing the two had in common. Seemers looked
more like an eccentric scientist than a cop. All thin wiry hair stretching
down over a scrawny neck, split ends clustered loosely about the collar
of a faded New York Knicks baseball jacket - fat lips poking through a
shapeless ginger beard. Michael always took pride in his appearance. Even
on days like this.
No! Especially on days like this.
Jacket, shirt, and trousers - the latter neatly pressed, with two distinct
creases running down the inside leg. Always clean shaven, dark hair swept
back away from his eyes. A little gel, not too much. Just enough to ensure
it stays in place.
He still dreamt of a perfect strand of hair falling away, tickling his
forehead on the way down. Only, it would get caught in his left eye. He
would sit bolt upright. Clammy sheets sticking to his skin as he clawed
at it his face, rubbing his eye ferociously. But the more he struggled
the further it would sink. Always sliding just beyond his reach.
The dream had bothered him since childhood. So much so that as a teenager
he had once shaved all of his hair off. How his friends had laughed.
Dawn had known about his dream. His cries would wake her.
That first night they had sat there for hours, bodies entwined beneath
the covers whilst she gently coaxed him in to giving up his secret. Like
his friends she had laughed to. But hers was a laugh full of warmth and
good humour.
In time it became something else.
Something cruel.
Michael dreaded both the dream and waking up. Every night. Lurching from
one nightmare to the next.
‘You fucking freak,’ she would hiss. Her lips pressed against
his cheek.
Taunting him, desperate for a reaction.
Had he?
He couldn’t remember now.
On the other side of the living room, Maurice Seemers had finally given
up. He stood there panting, resigned to defeat. Michael no longer cared
what the
problem might be. Anderson knew best. Besides, he needed some time alone.
Just a few minutes to clear his head. Before it all began.
Ambling over to the patio doors at the back of the room, Michael tugged
aside the curtain and gently slid open the door. Careful not to attract
too much attention, a quick backward glance told him no one was watching.
He stepped out on to a narrow pine balcony. The purity of its design,
spoiled in part by a mounting collection of speckled seagull droppings.
A cluster of mini explosions splattered all over the cold concrete floor
and the rusty handrail. Slowly drying in the mid morning sunshine.
He could see the guilty parties gliding high above, using the cool sea
breeze to conserve their energy. The bravest among them would sometimes
drop down to the communal swimming pool far below, scavenging for leftovers
left by the bathers.
Michael grasped the rail firmly in both hands, testing how secure it
was before leaning over to get a clear view of the pool .
At the height of summer people would gather there throughout the day.
Families, wallowing in the tepid, chlorine soaked waters.
Young mothers with their babes, splashing around in the shallow end whist
waiting for their husbands to return from work-surrounded by a ring of
retired folk all but strapped to their plastic sun beds.
It was his favourite viewpoint. From the balcony he could see the entire
complex. Both the swimming pool and the adjoining Sunrise Hills apartment
block-where
his sister Cathy had once tried to jump from the fourth floor after one
to many tabs.
He loved looking out and across at the different flats, spending time
on each level from the bottom up. The building reminded Michael of a piece
of honeycomb; all
separate chambers - row upon row of identical compartments. Characterless?
Yes. But in there way flawless to.
A pragmatist’s wet dream. its inhabitants living out their neat
little lives.
And all with there own private balconies.
Anderson stepped through the curtain.
‘Michael, I want to run through a couple of things with you once
more.’
‘I know the procedure detective. We’ve been through it enough
times.’
Michael respected his thoroughness. He didn’t want the man any other
way. But his obsession with every minute detail, regardless of how serious
or how trivial, was starting to bug him.
‘That may be the case,’ continued Anderson, leaning against
the rail. ‘But we’re not fucking around anymore, and this
is important.’
The expletive surprised Michael. He had never heard the man swear before.
‘Okay, okay, I’m all yours…after you,’ he gestured,
following Anderson back inside.
The cop led him back through the living room, dismissing an approaching
colleague with a firm shake of the head and a raised finger. ‘One
minute,’ Anderson mouthed silently to the man.
He ducked under the archway and into the hall. Michael followed swiftly,
like an anxious schoolboy trailing behind his teacher.
‘First, remember that as far as we’re concerned your safety
is our priority. If at any stage we decide to pull the plug, for whatever
reason, that’s our decision.’
Anderson stopped abruptly, right in front of the kitchen door. Michael
almost piled into the back of him, recoiling as the detective span around.
‘And…you…will…do…exactly...as…we...say,’
he said. Arms folded, emphasising each and every word. Ensuring that there
could be no misunderstanding.
Seemers sat casually on one of the kitchen work surfaces, legs dangling
over the side. A hand rolled cigarette poking out of the corner of his
mouth.
Wisps of smoke drifted up to a ceiling already afflicted with yellow tar
stains.
He jumped down as the door burst open.
Anderson strode in, Michael not far behind.
‘Did you get it?’ Asked the detective, expectant as ever.
‘Yeah, course I did,’ came Seemers muffled reply; cigarette
hanging precariously from his bottom lip. Reaching into the left hand
pocket of his sports jacket, the man retrieved a small circular disc.
Black in colour, there was nothing at all eye catching in its design.
Michael thought that it kind of resembled a hockey puck. He handed the
device over to Anderson. ‘It’s a tracking device,’ said
the detective, turning it over in the palm of his hands. ‘Simple,
but highly effective.’ He drew it up to eye level, studying it closely.
‘About the best you can get,’ the man whispered - as much
to himself as anyone else. He turned to Michael, still lingering by the
kitchen doorway.
‘I want you to keep this on you at all times. Understand?’
Michael nodded. ‘You don’t think he’ll suspect? He said
he’d kill her.’
‘Possibly,’ Anderson replied, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Maybe.’
He took a couple of steps toward the doorway.
‘He knows that we’re going to be there, or somewhere nearby.
He wouldn’t have been so care-free about giving up the location
otherwise. But all’….
‘Then why did he? Michael interrupted.
‘We don’t know yet,’ announced Seemers. Stubbing out
his cigarette on an old magazine. Anderson shot a mean glare at the man,
too quick for Michael to notice.
‘Look, all he cares about is getting the money and getting out of
there with as little fuss as possible,’ the detective explained.
‘If he can minimise the threat by scaring us a bit, then that’s
to his advantage…hurting your daughter isn’t.’
He handed Michael the tracking device.
‘When you get in the car, switch it on at the base. Put it back
in your coat pocket and forget that it’s there.’
‘And where will you be?
‘Within reach, ok?’
‘Within reach? What the fuck does that mean?’ Demanded Michael.
‘Could you be more vague?’
‘There’ll be three squad cars within two blocks of you at
all times,’ Anderson pointed out, Ignoring Michael.
‘We already have a team in place down at the park. You see,’
gesturing across at Maurice Seemers, ‘This is a pretty routine operation.’
Michael took a deep gulp of air, holding it for a second. Pushing back
the tension.
‘And the money’s in the trunk yeah?’ He asked, finally.
‘Just as Sergei wants,’ nodded Anderson.
‘Then I guess there’s nothing more to discuss.’
The walk down to the car park was more like a procession than anything
else. Michael felt like a prizefighter, surrounded by a posse of security
guards and hangers on, with Anderson as his coach. Protecting his man,
barking instructions at the rest of the crew. Passing on last minute tips
that Michael didn’t want to hear. There was nothing they could tell
him now that would make any real difference. They all looked so confident,
so self assured.
That would change.
Then he was in the car. The Lotus. Dawn’s Lotus. Why had he kept
it? Had Anderson suspected anything? No, of course not. But the man made
him nervous. He was unpredictable. Difficult to read.
Stop this.
Michael relaxed, the driver’s seat absorbing the shape of his body.
He eased the car out of neutral, shifting smoothly through the gears.
Anderson had been a minor inconvenience, nothing more. He just needed
to take his time. It wasn’t actually all that far to the park. Katie
wouldn’t be there of course. Not today. That wasn’t part of
the deal.
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