It Wasn't The Bullet (10)
Chapter Six Charlie, you’re under arrest Samantha did exactly as she was told and picked him about ten minutes after he had left the Hammers. She seemed a little bit distracted and he left her alone in her self-imposed silence. They were nearly at the Crawley turn off when she spoke for the first time. “Charlie do you mind if we stop at a café or something?” It was not the question that Charlie was anticipating, “No darlin’, we can stop where you want, but I think we should swap the cars first. Will it wait until then or do you need a pee?” “I don’t want to use the bathroom, I want to talk to you.” Charlie considered the ramifications of this statement. He had a pretty good idea what the subject was and wasn’t sure if he could adequately explain himself. “Ok, Samantha. I think I understand, but please, let’s change cars.” She turned to him and gave him a wry smile, half adoration and half trepidation. It seemed she had made her mind up about what the future held for her, or indeed them. Later, after parking the mini in a side street near the top of Tunbridge Wells, they sat opposite each other in a quaint out of the way teashop. They had ordered mindlessly and the teacups stood untouched between them like pawns at the beginning of a chess match. Samantha had been gazing at him for quite some time, although it was probably only a matter of seconds, when she cleared her throat and, carefully keeping her voice down, she began, “You were having a nightmare. You kept on saying Terry and then it sounded like you were crying, I tried to wake you but you shook me off and then you were shouting ‘I’ll fucking kill you Justin. I’ll fucking kill you’ over and over again. You sacred me even though you were asleep.” She paused and lowered her eyes, “I‘ve been wondering if you could you kill someone in cold blood.” Her words were overtaken by a wave of emotion that crashed out of her and drowned the rest of her thoughts. Charlie reached over the table and grabbed at her hands, scooping them together between his own. ‘Oh fuck’ he said to himself, this is not a conversation I want with anyone. She misinterpreted the storm on his face for some kind of battle with salvation and a ray of hope flooded across her own. “Samantha, I can’t tell you what I can’t explain to myself. I have to deal with this situation and it must have an ending. I told you before you got involved in this. I’m not a nice person.” She stared at him, her breathing uneven and ragged, she pulled her hands away and smoothed down her skirt. “Charlie, is it your conscience that doesn’t let you sleep?” Charlie held her gaze and thought fleetingly it had been a very long time since he’d felt guilty about anything. Should he explain the whole story to her, and then in some bizarre way to himself as well? Had he ever really thought about all the twists and turns that led to the day he found Terry? “It’s hard for me to speak these things out loud. I never have, because most of my adult life has been a secret. A life within a life. I’ll try and tell you, but not here. We’ll go somewhere barren and wasted. I need to hear the sea, and to be surrounded by the grey rocks and cliffs. I hope that’s not too melodramatic for you?” Samantha tried not to laugh, and it came out as a sputter as she returned her hands to his grasp. They sipped their lukewarm tea and smoked a cigarette each; Charlie eventually broke the tense silence, “Come on, let’s go. I’ll cook you dinner,” At this she smiled and gave a disbelieving look, “Hey, I can cook! Come on, let’s suspend time for tonight and tomorrow morning we’ll drive down to the ocean and I will try and tell you everything.” He stood up and held out his hand, it felt like he was leading her to a place where he didn’t want to go and away from the fantasies of the two old men who sat alone together in the restaurant. The living room was bathed in moonlight, as they lay surrounded by a circle of discarded clothes, at peace in the eye of the storm. Charlie was cursing himself for giving in to his baser instincts again. The dinner had been started but not completed, and Charlie had been trying to collect his mind and make a concerted effort to put a pot of water on the stove to cook the pasta. So far he had managed to get to a sitting position. He was absent-mindedly stroking Samantha’s hair; her cheek was pressed into his thigh, he was unsure if she was awake because her breathing was so soft. The tranquil light of the stars and moon on this clear night had made all the harsh edges fuzzy and muted. He looked at a bright star that he could see through the window and wondered. He gently repositioned Samantha and went to the kitchen. The spaghetti was nearly ready when Samantha quietly entered the kitchen, she stretched and as her arms were high in the air, yawned. She placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Mmmmh, that smells delicious, what is it?” “Never you mind young lady, go and put some clothes on and prepare to eat like a queen.” She turned him around and pouted, “You don’t like to see my naked and voluptuous body?” she grasped Charlie’s right hand and placed it on one of her breasts, “to feel a firm and ample bosom.” “Samantha, put some clothes on please.” Charlie must have sounded a trifle exasperated because she drew away. “My master has spoken, I really must get properly attired for dinner.” She stepped gracefully to the doorway and curtsied, Charlie bowed. He heard her schoolgirl laughter chase her up the stairs. When she came back down she was wearing the blue t-shirt and they ate together in relative silence. The Bolognese was deemed a success and the tension and their love making had drained all of their energies, they fell asleep on the couch, the last thing Charlie saw before he feel asleep was the glow of the fire that Samantha had made. He kept on seeing faces of men long gone appear and disappear in the embers. The sun woke them the next morning and they stiffly untangled their limbs, Charlie made some tea to the sound of Samantha showering, and she, in turn, made breakfast for two while Charlie washed away the events of yesterday. He had woken up regretting his bold promise to tell Samantha his life story. As the water pounded his head he thought about whether to tell the truth. He dressed to the faint sound of Samantha singing in the kitchen still unsure of what to do. Over their meal Samantha suggested that they go to the coast that separates Brighton and Eastbourne, and perhaps walk along the top of Beachy Head. Charlie hadn’t seen the ocean for quite a while and missed the sounds and smell. He agreed and they finished in silence. He had decided to let the day unfold as it would and if he wanted to talk he would. While he waited for Samantha to finish whatever she had to do before they left, he opened the small rectangular door underneath the sink, moved some rags and a small plastic pail then looked at the gun he had hidden at the back of the cabinet. He put everything back in it’s place determining it would be a little easier bluff his way out of an unexpected traffic stop if he was not armed. Samantha drove them toward Brighton and just as they were on the outskirts and heading for the bypass Charlie made a fateful request, “Damn it Samantha. I’m out of cigarettes.” The both of them, caught up in their own world, didn’t think twice about pulling into Brighton and looking for a cigarette shop. The traffic was outrageous and before they could find a place to easily stop they were on the road that leads to Eastbourne via Brighton. It snaked them along the seashore and Charlie spied a shop with an open parking space in front of it. Samantha parked the car and they both went inside. Their purchases made, they left the shop and headed back for the car. Samantha then saw a cockle and whelks seller and pleaded with Charlie to buy her some shellfish. Charlie relented and they made their way across the busy road and stood waiting in line. Their turn came and Samantha poured vinegar and salt over her cockles and started to stab them with the small wooden spear provided. Charlie looked on in distaste, and wrinkled his nose at her when she offered him one of the tiny molluscs. They made their way back over the road and Charlie saw a seaside shop, one of those shops that sell Brighton rock, silly hats and bad taste beach wear. He had always liked a stick of rock, his mum and dad always bought some in secret and pretended that they had forgotten to buy it on the last day of their holidays. He pulled Samantha over to the shop and they went inside the holiday wonderland. They pointed and laughed at the hats, the rude postcards and even ruder t-shirts, the oversize umbrellas, the inevitable flip-flops, the huge array of confectionery and finally the sticks of Brighton rock. Samantha insisted on buying him the hugest one they had. Charlie was now the proud owner of a two foot length of boiled sugar, with the words Brighton gleaming from both ends. He kissed her childishly on the lips, and linked his arm through hers and they made their way outside. As they reached the tiny doorway Samantha pinched Charlie hard on the bum and he shot forward in surprise, Samantha started to laugh but Charlie inadvertently careened into a passer by, he caught the man by the arm and was starting to apologise when the two men faced each other. He was looking directly into the face of Detective Superintendent Norman Green. They were both completely startled for a brief second and then Green snapped, “Charlie, you’re under arrest,” just then Samantha came into the sunlight and Green turned to her, “You!” he spluttered in recognition. Charlie reacted first and punched the policeman in the face as hard as possibly could, Green tumbled backward blood spraying instantly from his nose. Samantha was hypnotised, and Charlie yelled at her, “Get the car! Drive, I’ll find you. Go on! Get going, don’t wait for me. GO!” He pushed at her, and she came round and started to sprint to where the car was parked. Green, by this time, had managed to get to his knees and was fumbling in his pocket. Charlie saw the aerial of a radio begin to appear and he viciously drop kicked Green under the chin. His head snapped back and the small walkie-talkie fell from his grip. Charlie turned to run, but somehow Green got hold of his leg and Charlie tripped and hit the pavement hard. He twisted on the ground and faced Green again, swinging his fist up and over onto the top of the detectives dazed head. The force of the blow drove Greens face into the concrete and Charlie heard something crunch at the point of impact. He got up and started to try and make his escape again He looked up to see a loose crowd beginning to gather. He returned their stares, as if to say what business is it of yours. The crowd just stared back gesticulating and talking. Green was crawling toward the radio, Charlie got there first and stamped down on the fragile plastic and then ran as fast as he could away from the bleeding man and the imminent arrival of the powers that be. He ran straight over the road ignoring the car horns and hastily applied brakes. His body was tensed for the impact of a car but none came. He was aiming for the rabbit warren of lanes that are home to the artisan community. They criss and cross and turn back on themselves. It was easy to get lost amongst the people and shops. Charlie could feel himself going into shock. He knew that he must have popped some stitches in his shoulder. It felt like fire ants had crawled into his t-shirt. He forced his body to slow down and walk at a pace similar to the other pedestrians. He stopped in front of a shop window and examined his reflection for signs of the struggle; he could see no rips or tears in his clothes and no visible splashes of blood on his person. He fumbled in the pockets of Ralph’s coat for a cigarette and shakily lit it. He turned from the makeshift mirror and walked, the pace he set bore no relation to the speed of his thoughts. They were jumbled and confusing, the coincidence of, literally, bumping into Green was monstrous, Samantha was now scared and running. He wished he could have told her what to do. He hoped that she would go back to the cottage and wait for him. For some stupid and unfathomable reason he started singing ‘ I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts’ under his breathe. He was walking mindlessly, turning left and right down the narrow streets at random. ‘Sitting there all in a row’, within the tangle of street sounds he could hear the distant and urgent wail of a police car, or was it an ambulance? He had to get out of Brighton, would they put up roadblocks, how long did it take to organise that? ‘Big ones, small ones’, He desperately and deliberately crushed his paranoia, he knew no one was looking at him, but all the same the tentacles of self doubt and guilty feelings were pulling at his conscious mind. ‘Some as big as your head ones’, he pulled at another cigarette forgetting the one still smouldering in his mouth. ‘Fuck, fuck, calm down Charlie, calm down. I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts.’ He thought he could detect more sirens now, coming from different directions, it was difficult to tell with any degree of accuracy because of the old buildings and the narrow paths distorted and redirected the sounds, echoing them from place to place. He turned again into a tapered alley, the sunlight turned away and he could feel the chill of the sea air. The path, he realised too late, had shrunk to just the width of a man, he carried on hoping for something good to happen. He couldn’t tell what was at the end of this passageway, he could make out a parked car but the shadows had closed on further detail. He reached the end and burst onto one of the main roads that quarter the lanes. He did not hesitate, he strode confidently on, or so he hoped. The other pedestrians surrounded him like a magical cloak. The office and shop workers were returning to their respective places of employment after lunch. The racket of a police car’s impending arrival shook his eardrums, people looked over their shoulders to see what was going on. It also sounded like it was turned up to extra loud. The white Ford Escort, blue lights blazing, the two occupants leaning forward in their seats, slowed to avoid a parked delivery lorry and with barely a glance sideways, the police sped off into the traffic. He lit another Marlboro, wincing as the smoke hit his dry throat. Hide or run. This was now his only concern. He knew no one in this part of the world well enough to say, ‘Hi, there are many policemen looking for me because I just beat the shit out of a detective superintendent and by the way there’s also a nationwide warrant for my arrest, could I pop over and hide at your house for couple of days?’ He did not think the response would be favourable, so he had to come up with a place to take cover or formulate a plan to escape. He reached a t-junction and instinctively turned to his left, he could see a pub sign hanging out over the pavement about two hundred yards away, he needed a place to stop and collect his ragged thoughts and organise him self. The Jolly Jack Tar public house was the name on the sign, and Charlie slowed down without being aware that he was walking at a more relaxed pace, not far now, as he began to pick out the closer details of the inn. He was just about to flick the butt of his dying cigarette into the gutter when he heard a squeal of tyres and the unmistakable screech of a fast moving vehicle coming to an abrupt halt. For a second he dare not turn round, he heard the car door open and then the urgent voice of Samantha shouting, “Charlie, get in!” He turned and saw the blue mini askew in the middle of the road and Samantha’s beautiful face screwed in a visage of panic. The other people on the street were all staring in their general direction, some at the car and some at him. He bolted for Samantha and thrust his shaking body into the front seat, as he shut the door the car was already picking up speed. “Samantha, slow down. Drive normally.” Charlie urged. She took her foot off the accelerator and the tiny engine quietened down to its regular sewing machine pitch. Charlie was overjoyed, angry, and somehow elated all at the same time. He was struggling to control his breathing and he was afraid to speak in case his words came out in a mangled mess. He settled for holding Samantha’s hand, it was apparent that she was also very freaked out. Her eyes were wide and her whole body seemed to be trembling. The car seemed to drive itself aimlessly for a number of minutes until Charlie regained command of himself and he forced his mind to concentrate on the immediate situation. He let go of her hand and lit two cigarettes, after placing one in Samantha’s mouth; he greedily sucked down a lungful of smoke for himself, and began to talk, “Ok, we’re both fucked. That’s for certain. I’m sure that Green made you, which makes you an accessory, and now we both have to get out to somewhere else. Unfortunately you have to make a decision right now.” He looked at her, saw her lips were compressed into a line of concentration, her eyes full of adrenalin and she was still silently shaking. He calmed himself and continued, “Pull over anywhere. Look there’s a parking space. Come on, just stop the car.” For the first time since he got into the vehicle he felt that she had acknowledged what had happened. Her adrenalin had propelled her this far and it was now dissipating. Samantha backed the car into the space and turned to face him, her eyes started to fill with tears and he reached over and held her close. She started to tremble again, this time from fear. Then she pushed him away. They stayed staring at each other for what appeared to be an age until her body relaxed and she slumped into the drivers seat. She gazed into his eyes and peered deep inside, for the first time she spoke, “Charlie, I know that I’m in a great deal of trouble now, I don’t care. Take me with you.” She paused and cupped his face with her hands. “Please. Please take me with you.” “I can’t.” Charlie an ancient surge of emotion. So foreign to him, at first it was almost dismissed as a feral thought that did not belong amongst the jaded and cynical emotions that had rested there for so long. He felt violently protective.
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