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Extended Work
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| The Key - 5 | |
| By Snodlander | ||||||||
| 09 February 2007 | ||||||||
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We stared at each other for a moment. If he was in my house, why was he so surprised to see me? We both reached for a jacket pocket. “I’m calling the police!” I said, pulling out my mobile phone. “I am the police, you stupid tosser!” he replied, flicking open the wallet he had taken from his jacket. I was stunned for a moment, then the ‘stupid tosser’ comment kicked in. “What the hell are you doing in my house? How did you get in?” He put his wallet away. “You left your door open” he said, then shook his head, tut-tutting sarcastically. “No, I didn’t” I retorted. I knew I had locked the door. I had double checked it. I always do. “Listen, sunshine!” He slowly walked across the living-room towards me. “You left your door open, and I was concerned for your safety. That’s what happened. That’s what will go into my arrest statement. Whether I describe how you fell down the stairs while trying to evade custody is entirely down to you.” “Arrest? What… You can’t do that!” I cried, in the face of all the evidence to the contrary. “I don’t give a shit about what you think I can or can’t do. I don’t give a shit about your civil rights. You gave those up the moment you decided to become a terrorist.” He stopped inches from me, eyes fixed on mine. His face was impassive, mean. I couldn’t guess what my face looked like. Terrorist? What the hell? “Now, you can tell me where the stuff is here, or I can take you down to the high security nick. We have special interrogation rooms there, with people that make me look like a saint. Where have you stashed it?” “What stuff? I don’t know what…” He punched me in the stomach, hard. I doubled over, winded, unable to breathe. My ribs were on fire. He grabbed me by the coat collar and threw me onto the sofa. “I’m not playing games! Where is the anthrax?” Anthrax? What was going on here? What made him think I knew anything about Anthrax? “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Seriously.” I gasped. He was a blur before me, my eyes watering. He seemed bigger, standing over me. OK, I admit it. I was scared. “Carpenter. The old man at the hospital. He gave you something, yes? Some small containers, like film roll containers.” “Jeez, no. Nothing like that. He just gave me a crossword book and… and then he collapsed and died. I don’t know anything about any containers, honest.” “Bullshit! The priest was here. He was after something. What did he want?” “I don’t know. As soon as he arrived I called the police, and he ran. I told the policeman all this. I don’t know what he was after. I don’t know anything about terrorists. I mean, he was a priest. He looked like a priest. The guy with him called him ‘Father’. What’s a priest going to be doing, involved in terrorism?” He snorted. “Most of the terrorists in the world are sent on their way by priests. Where were you when the IRA were blowing up London? Who do you think sends the Paki’s on their merry way? Now, why was he here, eh?” “He took the book, that’s all I know. I thought he was here to burgle me, or something.” “What book?” “The book I told the other policeman about. The crossword book.” “Well, now you can tell me, chummy.” So I told him. Sitting on my sofa, a prisoner in my own home, I told him everything I told the other policeman. But my one little victory, my one concession to my pride, I kept from him. I said nothing of the key. It seemed to me that a lot of nasty people were after it, which just increased my resolve to keep it from them. After my story he stood there a while, staring down at me, impassive. Finally he nodded. “OK. He obviously thought there was something else. I’m going to do you the favour of a lifetime, sonny. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, because I’m like that.” He took out a pen and a notepad. “I’m going to give you my mobile number. You see him or his sidekick, you give me a bell. Straight away, don’t mess around with the local plods.” He ripped out the page and held it out for me. When I took it he kept hold of it. “You mess me around, sunshine, and I shall be on you like a ton of bricks. I shit you not. You do not mess with me, you hear? Or your feet will not touch the ground.” And then he let go. He made his way to the stairs. “Oh, and get your locks changed. They’re piss-easy to open.” And he was gone
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