20
In a corner of a student bar, behind the Arts faculty office, Anthony watched as Tom walked towards him, carefully carrying three glasses of cola. He set them down, and sat opposite him.
“What a rip-off,” he said. “£1.20 each they were. No wonder students are poor all the time, having to pay prices like that”.
“Look,” said Anthony, gesturing to the rest of the sombre, quiet, dimly lit pub. “It’s empty, we’re the only ones in here”.
“That’s cos it’s half ten in the morning. Business is business. This place is always reluctant to close. It’s to lure in daft punters like me who’ll pay ridiculous prices that keeps them selling. I don’t know why I bother. Maybe it’s ‘cos I can afford it,” he said, smiling.
“But that only encourages them to keep their prices high. If people were willing to pay, say a tenner for one pint, you can bet they’ll charge that. In fact, they’ll probably charge about 11 or 12 quid, ‘cos if they’re willing to pay a tenner, then what’s an extra few quid? It’s all about this,” Anthony held up his hand and rubbed together the tips of his middle, index finger and thumb.
“Spondoolica. The dosh”. Tom nodded.
“Yep, legalised theft if you ask me”, he said, scowling in the direction of the bar. The entrance door opened and they looked around to see Malcolm walking across to them. He nodded an acknowledgement to them and pulled up a stool and sat down.
“You’ve met Anthony, haven’t you?” asked Tom.
“No, I’ve seen you around though,” Malcolm said to Anthony, proffering his hand.
Anthony shook it, then took a sip from his coke.
“I still can’t believe you actually broke in. I can’t believe you actually got away with it either,” said Malcolm. Tom held out his hand, palm downwards, and then over-exaggerated it trembling.
“Like that I was, when I was being chased by the guard, but it was worth it, at this moment, those greedy-assed bosses are probably staring at their monitors going: ‘What’s going on? We should have more than this’, when the money is right under their snouts.
I don’t know how long it’s going to take though, but I reckon that building will never open properly. That means no animals will ever be taken in there, used as objects to be abused and tortured. It’ll be closed soon”. Anthony took a deep breath through his nose, and slowly sipped his drink.
“So why didn’t you just set fire to the place while you were there?” Malcolm asked. “I thought of that,” Tom replied. “But see, what if I did do that, and a security guard gets caught up in it and dies? Or some late night worker. I can’t murder someone for doing something I disagree with. If I did that, I’d be the biggest serial killer on the planet. No, no matter how much I despise those scientists, and people who work there, I couldn’t let them burn. It’s not right.
If I could have been absolutely certain that no-one was in there, not even a mouse, then I would have had no hesitation. I’ll go there right now and torch the damned place if I was sure of that, but I can’t be, so I’ll take it down this way, by stealth I suppose”.
“A cyber-ninja,” said Malcolm, taking a sip.
“Yes, in a way. No-one gets hurt this way, well, not physically anyway, emotionally maybe. The ones that work there should be signing on pretty soon. What a culture-shock that’ll be.
Well all I say is you shouldn’t have been injecting animals with all sorts then should you?
You don’t even deserve a fucking giro you heartless twat”.
“Time will tell, I suppose,” said Malcolm. “If the place opens, you’ve screwed up, then what are you going to do?”.
“I don’t know. I’ll have to see at the time. Hopefully it’ll be closed soon”. There was a long pause while they all sipped their drinks.
Somebody else came in, crossed to the bar, muttered something to the barmaid, and then walked out again.
“What about you? How’s the detective work?” Tom asked.
“I’m pretty much at a dead end. I’ve started getting back into my studies. I don’t think I’ll ever find out why my Dad went mental”. Anthony frowned.
“I heard about that,” he said, “I’m sorry to hear about it”. Malcolm smiled a humourless smile. My first sympathiser, he thought.
“It’s OK, these things happen, so I’m told”.
“Your Mum was found by a psychic detective, wasn’t she?” Anthony asked. Malcolm nodded, sipping his drink.
“Well, it was his fourth success apparently at finding bodies that have gone missing. Which means there must be something in it. He must have some…er, gift. If he’s genuine, and can perform psychic…erm..” “Trickery,” said Tom, grinning.
“No, perform psychic skills, then maybe he could be able to get in contact with your Dad, or maybe your Mum, and tell you what happened. What have you got to lose?” Malcolm thought about it, sipping his drink.
“I’m not really a believer,” he said, “but I suppose that’s because I haven’t thought about it much. It could be a possibility, but how am I to know he isn’t just going to spin me all
sorts of things that I already know? ‘Your mother, she’s…hold on, she’s…a woman…Your father..a man.. right, that’ll be fifty quid”. Anthony sipped his drink. “No, what if he does know? What if it’s real, and he can contact them? Like I say, what have you got to lose?”. Malcolm was quiet for a moment, the only sound the sipping of drinks. He then nodded.
“Yes, I suppose you are right. I’ll have to somehow find him”.
“Don’t worry”, said Anthony, “I know some media students who are doing a group project for their multimedia course. They’ve decided to go ghost-hunting, and are going to film everything. I mentioned Curio’s name to them…”.
“Curio?” said Malcolm.
“Yes, that’s his name, Curio Enchantment”. Malcolm and Tom simply looked at each other.
“I told them about him” Anthony continued, “Well he’s local isn’t he? lives here in Widnes. I mentioned him to them and they thought he could help their project, having a genuine psychic there. So at some point they’ll be contacting him, and Curio will be here, or wherever the students will be, so you’ll be able to speak to him then. Give me your number. I’ll let you know when he’s coming. If he decides to come, that is”. Malcolm finished his drink, and all of them rummaged around in their pockets for a pen.
Tom had a bus ticket, and Malcolm borrowed a pencil from the bar-maid. After scribbling down the number, they all left, walking out into a sunny morning, the type of which held a chill in the air. The sun had decided to show itself, but not give out any heat.
Tom and Malcolm were heading for their class in quantum information and computation, Anthony to a lecture on internet and multimedia computing. He bid them both farewell and pocketed Malcolm’s number, disappearing around the bar corner.
“That’s it then,” said Malcolm, “That’s my only thread, my only hope of finding an answer. Waiting for a phone call from somebody who I don’t really know, to tell me that some students who I don’t know at all, are going to try and persuade someone to help them out in their project, someone who hears voices inside their head”.
“What else have you got?” said Tom. They both walked across campus, discussing Tom’s foray further into the world of cyber-crime and his increment within it.
They reached the few steps leading into the building and were about to enter when Tom stopped and looked across at a road separating the building from a small park where several students lounged around, relaxing. Standing on the kerb, but obviously not waiting to cross was Erica Riordan.
“Eh? Look, there’s that girl you fancy, on her own, waiting for Mr Perfect to come and sweep her off her feet and spend lots of cash on her…See you then,” said Tom, walking a few steps towards her. With a big grin on his face, he turned and joined Malcolm at his side. Erica was around forty metres away, and was not aware she was being watched. She had her arms folded, with a wedged-in folder, and kept looking in both directions.
“Well?” said Tom.
“Well what?” asked Malcolm, knowing exactly what he meant.
“Aren’t you going to talk to her?” He was silent for a few moments.
“I’m not Mr Perfect. She’s probably the type who wouldn’t consider going out without anyone who wasn’t their idea of Mr Perfect, Mr Right. If someone had all the signs she was after, but had one thing slightly wrong, she’d probably tell him to eff off, he’s not quite right”.
“Yep, and in the meantime, while she’s waiting, she’s getting older, and less and less attractive, and then one day if Mr Right finally crossed her path, her eyes will light up and she will reach out to embrace him, but because she’s become so unattractive, Mr Right doesn’t even notice her, or look twice. He’s probably searching for Mrs Right, and she ain’t it. She grows old a bitter and twisted woman, who hates everybody and everything, who is only remembered because she was such a misery”.
Malcolm nodded.
“If only such a girl would lower her standards”.
“Only one way to find out,” said Tom. Malcolm clenched his fists and his face tinged red slightly.
“I’m gonna do it,” he said. “I’m gonna do it”. He was about to take the first step when a silver Mitsubishi lancer evolution pulled up in front of her. The driver had the window down and Malcolm and Tom could see that he wasn’t happy, and neither, it seemed, was Erica.
They were too far away to catch what they were saying, but a few words were audible. Erica over exaggeratedly tapped her watch, and her folder dropped to the pavement, papers scattering about. “…ime d’you call this?”.
The man got out and slammed the door. He was tall, had very short hair all over, wore combat trousers and a white T-shirt. He looked like he spent considerable time in the gymnasium.
“...cks sake girl…ken busy”. He helped her grab the papers.
“…reful...wi em”. He opened the back door and threw them and the folder in, slamming it shut. He hooked a thumb to the car, his face set in a scowl.
“Gerrin the fuckin’ car…nt go time”. He got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.
Erica gestured wildly as she walked around to the passenger side.
“…kin problem?”. She got in, and before she had a chance to slam the door, the tyres screeched for a split second before the car sped away, leaving one lone sheet of A4 on the kerb.
“See that?” said Tom. “That’s her Mr Perfect. Good physique. Probably handsome, I couldn’t see properly. Nice car, probably rich. He has all the hallmarks of Mr Right”.
Malcolm shook his head.
“No, he might have all that, but he’s got one downfall. He’s a cunt. Rich and handsome, yes, but with the personality of a dead rat. You could just tell he was obviously some sort of gangster. A steroid pumped thug. It was obvious soon as I saw him”.
“Thing is though,” said Tom, “He’s rich, handsome, all that, and he’s got the girl. Your girl”. Malcolm shook his head.
“No way, you know, that tells me more about her than it does him. That fucker’s done me a favour”. They were both quiet for a few seconds, staring at where Erica had been standing. They then turned and entered the building.