Killing Freedom Page 2

  Raymond snorted loudly and patted the cab driver on his shoulder. ‘Here, please.’

  As the cab pulled up, the driver shoved his hand towards the back of the car. Raymond slipped a card into it. The driver glanced at the card before unlocking the door in a hurry, his eyes terrified and his hand shaking. As soon as Jared and Raymond left the car, the driver accelerated to escape the car-park, leaving behind a cloud of smoke.

  Raymond chuckled. ‘Scaring these foreign fucks will never get old. Come on kid, let’s get you inside. None of that spicy Asian shit here. Except for the women, if you want a bit of that, eh?’ He winked and tapped the side of his old, blistered nose before heading into the expanse of the tower.

  Raymond’s office was on the top floor. He poured a glass of red wine and undid the top two buttons of his white shirt, throwing his striped tie into the lounge area. He looked down at the city scene below. The view of the city from the kitchen was spectacular, especially at night. From here he could see everything: the docks in the distance, the nearby throbbing of neon nightclub lights, the solitude of the hills of the suburbs as they cast a mature eye over the chaos below, and the glistening of police lights that peppered the streets.

  Raymond observed the scene, casting his eyes over every little spot. ‘This view never gets old,’ he said, before sipping on his wine. His top lip was stained with a blackcurrant glint. Cheap wine, not like Egypt. Raymond might have had cash, but he was cheap. Not that it mattered to Jared anyway.

  Jared looked on at the city scene below. He saw grey high-rise flats, houses. The suburbs were just about visible, dim little lights scattered across the hills. Family lights. Night lights. He’d done a few jobs in the suburbs before, and it was never easy, but it had to be done. That was just life, part of his work.

  ‘Anyway, what have you brought back for me? Care to share?’ Raymond asked, finally turning from the window to face Jared.

  Jared nodded. ‘Sure.’ He walked robotically towards the lounge and reached for his suitcase. He unzipped the front of the case and pulled out an SD card with ‘Holiday Photos’ scribed on the label. He walked over to Raymond and placed it in his hands.

  Raymond rolled his eyes. ‘Always such a secretive little fucker with your technology, aren’t you?’ he said, before handing Jared his wine. ‘Don’t just stand there, kid. Have a sip.’

  ‘I don’t drink.’

  Raymond grinned at Jared as he inserted the SD card into the side of his laptop. ‘Right, and I’ll see to that one day, I promise.’ The photos flicked up on the screen.

  His eyes widened as he clicked through them, getting a brief glance at each one. ‘You’re becoming a decent photographer,’ he said, as he zoomed in on the image of the fireplace.

  Jared’s cheeks began to warm. He fidgeted, uncertain.

  ‘Oh, and this, my friend, is a beauty,’ Raymond said.

  Jared’s eyelids flickered as he looked back at a close up of Federico’s bulging eyes seeping tears and puss onto the floor.

  Raymond pulled the SD card out of the computer and slipped it into his back pocket. ‘You’re one sick fucker. I dunno how you do it. You’re an absolute professional.’ He had a little grin on his face as he pottered around the room towards the half-empty wine bottle, ready to pour some more.

  Jared attempted a smile and stared on. He wasn’t so sure how he did it either. He just kind of learned to switch off. When he saw the images, he didn’t see them as people he’d murdered. They were just that: images. It got easier over time. Sometimes it was trickier than others. Job seven was trickier than four. But he got used to things. It’s a trait he needed to succeed in this business, Raymond had once said. The ability to detach.

  ‘You’re a long way from the kid who fucked up in Burma,’ Raymond said.

  Jared flinched and looked at the ground. His throat began to swell up, the heat of the room engulfing him. Don’t let the images in. Don’t let the—

  ‘It’s okay, kid. You aren’t there any more, right?’

  Jared exhaled a long breath through his mouth and nodded. It was okay. He was okay now. Stay focused. Stay detached.

  Raymond reached for the day’s newspaper as Jared stood by the window. He watched Raymond put his feet up and sip on his fresh glass of wine.

  ‘Come on, sit down, son,’ he said.

  Jared edged onto the chair opposite Raymond.

  ‘You seen the news?’

  Jared shook his head. He didn’t have a place in his life for news. He didn’t need to know about the actions of normal people. He had no time to concern himself with the real world.

  Raymond tapped at the headline and placed the paper on the coffee table between them. It was a picture of a dark-skinned man with short hair dressed in a black suit and red tie. His smile shone through the pages even though it was on dull, washed-out newspaper. The headline: ‘MAJOR POLL VICTORY SIGNALS CRAVING FOR CHANGE’

  Raymond’s eyes twitched between Jared and the headline. Jared nodded and looked up at Raymond. ‘New guy?’

  Raymond nodded and squeezed the bottom of his wine glass. ‘He is indeed. Callum Thomson. We’ve got a run for our money this year, kid. The people are starting to demand change. Fucking idiots. If they wanted change, they’d leave. I mean, Iain provides them with what they want. He keeps them safe, keeps them… keeps them looked after, you know? It’s just they latch on to some rumours about corruption and all of a sudden he’s the only fucking immoral politician in town.’

  ‘But he is in your pocket,’ Jared said.

  ‘I know, but that’s not the point. The only point is that this fucker Callum’s in the pocket of Dwight, and Iain’s my guy. It just so happens that Iain’s the mayor. So to me, that’s what matters. Nothing else. He’s our key to the city. Ah, I’m getting too old to be looking after myself.’

  Jared shuffled. ‘Maybe it’s time to think abou—’

  ‘No,’ Raymond said. ‘No bodyguards. I know that’s what you were going to say and you know where I stand on that. I don’t want to be a prisoner in my own fucking suite. Anyway, you can’t trust bodyguards. How d’you know who they are, y’know?’ He leaned in towards Jared. ‘One day, you’ll rule this place, kid. One day, I’ll be far too old for this shit, and it’ll be you sitting here lecturing somebody about rights and wrongs and morals and all that.’ He hopped up from his chair as he necked the final drip of wine from his glass. ‘You’ll do a better job than me, son.’

  Jared rubbed his hands against his knees as Raymond continued to stare at him.

  ‘Look, kid, one day, you’ll get to a stage where you don’t even need to do these jobs anymore.’ He sat back down and leaned in towards Jared. ‘But I just want you to know how great you’ve been. You’ve helped me through some real tough shit. I thought when Sandra died, that was it. She was my fucking rock, you know?’

  Jared nodded his head. ‘Yeah, I—I know.’

  ‘You came along when I was in the real shit. You picked me up. And I like to think I picked you up too.’

  Jared didn’t think much about the days before Raymond employed him to kill, not anymore. It wasn’t worth it. None of that mattered anymore. His family? They were long gone. At least he still had his sister. Some attachment to the past. The only good thing.

  ‘Thanks,’ Jared said. He couldn’t bring himself to look Raymond in the eye.

  Raymond placed the wine glass onto the table and smacked Jared round his head. ‘Now, don’t you be going fucking soft on me. Thank you, you fucking angel. You’re the lifesaver. I know there’s the other goons, but they’ll turn round and decide they want something else someday soon. They’ll grow too big for their boots and start dreaming of all this nine to five nuclear family bullshit, and more fool them. But you aren’t like them. You’re different, J. You’re special. Huh?’

  Jared paused. He thought of the time with his sister on the promenade. That was a nice day. He pulled himself up from his chair and walked towards the window, glancing down on the city
. The moon shone through the blinds now, the docklands somewhere in the distance. The scattered specks of light in the suburbs grew fewer and fewer in number as the minutes went on.

  ‘I’ve gotta go,’ Jared said.

  Raymond wiped the sides of his mouth with his handkerchief and nodded. ‘You’re a good man, Jared. You know where your loyalties lie, and I like that. Don’t you ever go getting yourself mixed up. We’re at war, kid. Dwight’s getting stronger.’

  Raymond stood up and paced towards Jared, standing in his face. Jared could still smell the sweet wine on his sour breath as Raymond reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I’ve always got your back, right kid?’ he said.

  Jared nodded and turned towards the door.

  Raymond clapped his hands together. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good. That’s real good.’ He pottered over to his sofa and threw himself onto it, grabbing the remote and flicking the television on. The sound of women echoed through the air as Raymond’s eyes fixed themselves on the set.

  ‘I’ll have a new job for you soon,’ he called. ‘This one’s gonna be a biggie. Right up your street.’

  Jared nodded again before making his way out of Raymond’s flat.

  There was always another job ‘right up his street.’

  Chapter Three

  The city lights beamed down on Jared as he walked through the main streets. Shop after shop and neon sign after neon sign.

  Pink.

  Blue.

  Green.

  People said the city was a cultural hotspot—a landmark of technical innovation and architectural prestige (quote, Lonely Planet Guide to the City, 2010). But that stuff was written by people who didn’t live here. People who went to the sun-soaked parks in the day or the serene suburbs, and who didn’t see the old men and what they did to people. They didn’t see the nighttime, when the dogs came out and the whores went to work. They didn’t see the gangs.

  They didn’t see Jared.

  Maybe once upon a time, the city was a ‘cultural hotspot,’ but for as long as Jared had been alive the city had been sick. Choking away on industrial fumes and sins whilst hooked up to a life-support machine feeding heroin and brickdust to its residents. It would probably never clean itself up, not anymore. People were born in the suburbs and they moved to the city, where they lost all their morals. Prospective bankers became pimps; women became strippers or whores or journalists.

  Jared slipped his hands into his pockets and kept his head down. His breath frosted in front of him as he walked down Tarbot Way, the chatter and laughter of men in dingy second hand shops cackling through the streets. Polyphonic tones rattled in Jared’s ears as women walked around in nothing but pants and bras, their fake smiles chattering as their goose-pimpled skin begged to be taken home. One of them with short, dark hair and yellowing teeth reached out to grab Jared’s arm.

  ‘Take me home, take me home, please.’

  Jared pushed her away but smiled pitifully. ‘Please.’ How desperate did you have to be to be begging to be taken home? There was nothing seductive about it. Nothing sexy. Just pure, unsubtle desperation.

  Raymond used to have a few women of his own—maybe he still did—but he treated them well. Let them eat with him, maybe even stay the night if it was too cold. At least Raymond understood their needs. A lot of these girls, they just needed someone to care for and look after them.

  Jared walked past the strip of grubby white-bricked takeaway stores, Chinese men screaming at members of staff, members of staff spitting in bowls. Jared knew staff spat in bowls because he’d worked in a takeaway once. One time, this posh suit type got really smarmy about things at this guy named Mike, who had just been diagnosed HIV positive. This business-type with his fat belly and thick-rimmed glasses was turning his nose up, so Mike went into the back and slit his forearm with a razor and let some blood trickle into the old wanker’s hot chili sauce.

  Jared never saw the guy again.

  Jared turned the corner and eyed up the narrow alleyway where his sister’s apartment block backed on to. Karmon Way. All sorts of shit went on down here. The police did raids every now and then just to prove to the public that they were ‘waging war’ on crime, but they didn’t really care. All they cared about was whether they were being funded by the mayor, Iain, who was funded by Raymond. Or maybe Dwight’s man, Callum, would be mayor soon, in which case they’d be funded by him. It didn’t matter to them. Nobody cared about society’s worse-off anyway, not in practice. ‘Happiness in slavery,’ or ‘Ignorance is bliss’. Book of Sayings, Chapters Four and Seven.

  Jared crept down Karmon Way and kept his eyes focused on his feet as they moved along the ground.

  ‘You want some company tonight, my friend?’ a tattooed man asked, spluttering on a cloud of cigarette smoke. He was missing a few teeth.

  ‘I’m okay,’ Jared said, before continuing to walk towards the rusty flight of stairs.

  The man scoffed. ‘Suit yourself then, fucking prick.’ He stubbed his cigarette on his chest and threw it to the ground, spitting a blob of saliva next to it.

  Jared’s hands clenched together. Skin itching. No—deep, controlled breaths. He’s not worth it. Just keep walking on. Words are just words.

  He pushed past a pair of snogging hookers on the steps, who rubbed at Jared’s suit as he passed.

  ‘You not like what you see?’ one of them asked, dressed in a tight yellow outfit to match her over-bleached hair. She didn’t look old enough to be out here. Jared kept his head down and walked through the heavy old door at the back of the block of flats.

  The lighting was dull inside, the weathered walls shrouded in old wallpaper peppered with specks of mould. Flies buzzed around the low hanging lamps.

  ‘Faith,’ Jared called, as he walked down past the pile of brown wooden doors and towards Faith’s room at the end. He liked to let her know he was on his way. He didn’t like to walk in on things. ‘Faith, I’m coming.’

  ‘Too fucking right you are,’ an old man muttered from an open flat door. His beard was greying as he stuffed his obese stomach into his trousers and buckled up his eroding belt.

  Jared swung back round to face the old man and pinned him up against the wall. ‘You fucking joke about her, you fucking say one thing about her, and I’ll rip you to pieces, okay?’

  The old man’s eyes widened. People emerged from the flats. A bulky bald man leaned against the wall frowning.

  ‘I—I was only—only joking, brother,’ the old man begged, his jaw shaking as he held his dirty hands up in protest. ‘Please, have pity, my friend. Only—only joking.’

  Jared clutched at the man’s neck. The vein on the man’s forehead started to bulge and throb. His skin grew purple. People shouted and called out in the background but the words were muffled. It reminded him of the things he’d done. The people he’d killed.

  Burma.

  ‘Jared.’

  His muscles relaxed and he dropped the man to his knees as soon as he heard her voice. She was cowering behind her door, hiding half of her face. The old man exhaled and spluttered on the floor as a couple of neighbours gathered round him.

  ‘Faith,’ Jared said. His hands buzzed as he tried to regain focus, the blood in his head thumping against the walls of his skull.

  ‘Come on,’ Faith said, tossing a half-smile in his direction. ‘Let’s get you inside and let you cool off, eh?’

  Faith shot into her room as soon as Jared clicked the door shut. It was gloomy and muggy in her flat, and old cans of booze covered the floor. The scuffed cream curtains above her cluttered kitchen area were drawn, and the room was illuminated with a green neon tinge from the lights on the streets below, the pipping of car horns working their way through the window. In the middle of the room, a bed.

  Faith scooped up some underwear from the foot of the bed and tiptoed her way over an empty bottle of Jack Daniels. She leaned towards the mini-washing machine and threw them in there, still unfocused and distant as J
ared crept further into the room. Her hair looked greasier than normal. She was only wearing a blue shirt to cover herself up, a few sizes too large. Probably a man’s.

  ‘Someone been round here?’ Jared asked. The neon glow from outside glimmered against the haze of cigarette smoke.

  Faith coughed and pottered around the room. Somewhere in the distance, the drone of a nightclub in full swing thumped through the walls.

  ‘Yeah—no, I—not for a while. Come through and, um, have a drink. Excuse the mess. Been a busy few days.’

  Jared stepped further into the room. The sticky floor popped like bubblegum under his feet. Magazines filled with women in varying degrees of clothing were scattered around the place like a life-sized pornographic collage.

  ‘Can we have a light in here?’ Jared asked. Faith continued to potter around the room, grabbing papers and envelopes and rushing them into the drawers. She tried to avoid looking directly at Jared, her hair drooping in front of her eyes. Jared reached up to touch the lightbulb and yanked his arm back as the residual heat burned through the tips of his fingers.

  ‘No—erm—the light’s broken,’ Faith said, staring towards the floor.

  Jared backed towards the corridor. ‘Oh yeah? Just come over here a second, I might be able to fix it.’

  Faith grumbled before wandering over towards Jared. As she got close, he lunged for the switch and flicked it on, its bright glow cutting through the room. Faith stopped in her tracks and threw her hands across the right side of her face.

  Jared smiled. ‘Seems to be working now.’

  Faith rubbed her hands against her arms and turned her back to Jared. ‘Oh, um, thanks.’

  Jared continued to smile as she headed into the kitchen. ‘Funny thing is, I just scorched my finger on the bulb, which means it must have been on before I got here. Show me your face, sis.’

  Faith stopped in her tracks and sighed. She turned round slowly as Jared walked towards her. A purple bruise grew across the right side of her face, underneath the greasy wisps of her fringe. She rolled her eyes as Jared’s mouth widened in shock. Jared charged towards the sink and turned the cold tap on full blast, showering himself in a wave of water.