19
We headed east, past the shells of old stadiums and storage yards. Everything was dark, almost decaying, as if the city were slowly dying. Tightly packed housing estates emerged from the night, lonely and deserted, windows dark, street lamps flickering on and off.
‘Where are we going?’
‘It’s near,’ she said, staring out of the window.
I looked at the clock. 8.34.
‘Will they still be serving?’
She didn’t say anything.
‘Jade?’
She glanced at me, then shifted in her seat. ‘You lost someone, Magnum?’
‘Huh?’
‘You lost someone?’
‘What do you mean?’
Her eyes caught the light again, her expression perfectly still. ‘You’re sad.’
I didn’t reply. Didn’t want to. But I needed her — more than she needed me. She had turned away from me now, her face reflected in the glass.
‘I lost my wife.’
‘How?’
‘She got cancer.’
She nodded. ‘What was her name?’
‘Derryn.’
She nodded again, looking out of the window. ‘What was she like?’
‘She was my wife,’ I said. ‘I thought she was amazing.’
We drove for about half a mile more, then she told me to take a left. Out of the dark came huge blocks of flats, wrapped in the night.
‘What do you miss most?’
‘About Derryn?’
She nodded.
I thought about it. ‘I miss talking to her.’
The restaurant, Strawberry’s, was an old carriage set inside a series of railway arches. A blue neon sign that said HOT FOOD buzzed above a serving hatch. We got out of the car and Jade led me to one of the tables out front. There were seven of them. Each one had a heater attached, their orange glow lighting the yard in front of the carriage. There was a couple on the table furthest away from us. Apart from that it was empty.
‘Didn’t realize we were going à la carte,’ I said.
Jade ignored me and sat down. She reached into the pockets of her coat, trying to find her cigarettes, and laid the contents out on the table: keys, a wallet, an ATM statement, some cash, a photo which she placed face down. It had writing on the back: this is the reason we do it. She found her cigarettes, removed one and popped it between her lips.
‘Get the burger with everythin’ on,’ she said.
I nodded. ‘This a favourite haunt of yours?’
‘In a previous life,’ she said. ‘I used to come with my mum and dad. They loved places like this. Places with personality.’ She turned and pointed at the carriage. ‘They used to have a guy called Stevie runnin’ it back when it was called Rafferty’s. He liked my mum and dad. Always cooked somethin’ special for them.’
‘Your parents still around?’
A pause. Then she shook her head.
The heater was pumping out plenty of warmth. Jade removed her coat, lit her cigarette and looked at me. ‘So, what’s your story, Magnum?’
‘I’m not a PI, Jade.’
She smirked. ‘But you want to be one.’
‘Do I?’
‘You’re actin’ like one.’
A woman emerged from the carriage wearing a retro waitress’s uniform, a name badge that said Strawberry’s and a face that could turn a man to stone.
‘What can I get you?’ she barked.
‘Two burgers with everythin’ on,’ Jade replied. ‘I’ll have a beer. Magnum?’
I looked at the waitress. ‘A big coffee. Black.’
The waitress disappeared again. Jade and I stared at each other. Light from the heater glinted in her eyes, making her seem mischievous. Then she started to put the things she’d laid out on the table back into her pockets.
‘That your mum and dad?’ I asked her.
She followed my finger. I was pointing at the photo. She picked it up and turned it over. It was a picture of a young kid, perhaps five or six. The photograph was old, discoloured. The boy was running across a patch of grass, kicking a football about. To the left of him was a wire fence. To the right, almost out of picture, a block of flats and a sign.
Eagle Heights.
‘I know that place,’ I said.
She didn’t say anything, hardly even moved.
‘Who’s the boy?’
She glanced at the picture. ‘“This is the reason we do it”,’ she said.
‘What does that mean?’
She smiled. ‘I’d tell you if I knew. But I don’t. I don’t know what that means. But I know what the boy represents.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Making a difference.’
‘Making a difference?’
‘What’s that sayin’? Uh…’ She took a drag on her cigarette and stared off into the night, blowing a flute of smoke out into the chill of the evening. ‘The end justifies the means.’
‘Okay.’
‘That’s what this is.’
‘You’ve lost me, Jade.’
She nodded, as if she hadn’t expected me to keep up, then pulled the photo back across the table towards her. ‘You ever had to keep somethin’ secret?’
‘Sure.’
‘I don’t mean no birthday present.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘So, what secret have you had to keep?’
‘I worked in Israel, in South Africa, in Iraq.’
‘So?’
‘I saw things in those places I’ll never forget.’
‘What sorta things?’
I thought of Derryn, of keeping my work away from her. The things I saw. The bodies I stepped over.
‘What sorta things?’ she repeated.
‘Things I could never bring home to my wife.’
The waitress returned with our drinks.
‘Come on, Magnum. You’re gonna have to try harder than that.’
‘I’m not playing this game with you.’
‘It’s not a game, it’s a trade.’
‘I’m not trading with you.’
‘Why not?’
‘We didn’t come here to trade. That wasn’t the agreement.’
‘I don’t remember makin’ no agreement.’
She put the cigarette between her lips and took a drag.
‘I shouldn’t really be smokin’ these,’ she said. ‘But I guess we all have our demons.’ She pressed a thumb against her lips, knowing and playful, and then a small smile escaped. ‘You follow this little project of yours any further, you’re gonna have to face down a few demons of your own.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talkin’ about what you’re gonna find if you get to the end…’ She turned her beer bottle around. ‘I guess mostly I’m talkin’ about the fact that, if you’re not strong in this life, you fail. And I’m about to fail, Magnum — ’cause I’m tired.’
‘Of what?’
‘Runnin’. Lyin’. Startin’ again.’
‘What do you mean, starting again?’
‘I mean, you won’t find anythin’ at Angel’s now. Everyone associated with it as of now will be gone. You askin’ questions, that just makes it harder for you. You go back, it’ll be new people. It’ll have all changed.’
‘Why?’
‘Why d’you think?’
I paused. ‘The bar’s a front.’
She clicked her fingers and smiled.
‘For what?’
‘It helps us do what we really want to do. It makes money for us. It pays our way.’
‘You own it?’
‘Not me.’
‘Who?’
She picked up the statement from the table and opened it, placing it down in front of me. The bank account belonged to Angel’s. There were two pages of listings, but about halfway down was a direct debit payment: CALVARY PRO. 5000.00.