Carnival

It was like carnival but it wasn’t, more like a dream of a night time you couldn’t get out of. It was a night filled with the sounds of cars, the street engine music playing to the brightness of yellow headlights streaking out across the river to god knows where. And right there in the middle of it all, in between the side alley bars and the wandering all night people, out there amidst the raving mass of the city was Katrina.

ONE

“Don’t touch her. Okay?” Patrick spoke with calm authority as he glared

across the counter at the late night owner of a late night store, somewhere down the wrong end of a forgotten London high street. The girl, Katrina, had just lent over, separating herself from her father’s hand to test the softness of the shop owner’s skin. Katrina always thought you could tell a lot about someone by how well they kept their skin, particularly if they were black, it wasn’t really the same with white people, most of them didn’t have a clue. But here, right now, the owner had made the unfortunate mistake of lifting his hand up to hold Katrina’s enquiring fingers to the side of his face. The owner looked Patrick directly in the eye for only a moment and then quickly dropped his hand back down by his side. Patrick nodded his approval as Katrina retreated.

Somewhere out of sight Daniel held his breath and crouched a little lower. He was in the aisle at the back of the shop, up close to the out of date cornflakes. He didn’t have to look, he knew they were out of date, they always were. They were always cheap, but soft and not crunchy and so if you bought them you had to be desperate or have no teeth. Daniel tried hard not to move, to hardly even breathe and all the time he could feel the cornflakes laughing at him. Yeah so they were soft and out of date and not good enough for him, but what was he going to do about that now?

Daniel looked cautiously round the corner, up towards the till, with the door now shut and the sign changed to say closed for anyone who might be stupid enough to want to walk in. He looked up and along from the cigarette shelves and suddenly there he was, down on his knees in the top right hand quarter of the security monitor.

“Shit.” Daniel spoke in a half breath as he quickly pulled himself back beneath the shelter of the cereal packets.

The owner had stood up and was now handing Patrick all the slim cigars he could find. Patrick smiled at Katrina as the owner put the thin tins and the slimline packets into as many of Patrick’s pockets that he could find to accommodate them. And there were quite a few with plenty of space for cigars as Patrick wore his long black leather coat with its deep pockets and sleek look that made his six foot slender frame seem several inches taller. Katrina looked serenely on. By the age of ten she had learnt very well how to deal with her father’s mood swings; just sit there, shut up and don’t make any stupid baby faces. Instead she would just look back at him with her big brown empty eyes that would never ask any questions but maybe sometimes just vaguely wonder why. Patrick liked to think that Katrina was impressed, that she was at one with him and that she understood in a way her mother never had, that sometimes life takes you places you don’t want to be, you just have to get on with it. And Patrick was very good at that.

“Are those Cuban?” He pointed with his pistol to a big glass jar on a ledge near the window.

“Havana.” The owner spoke like he didn’t want to.

“I’ll have them.”

The owner reluctantly shuffled to his right and went to reach for the jar. Patrick looked at the window. It was covered in a mess of posters for cheap international calls. Each time the rate went up the owner must have just slapped another poster on top. It made Patrick think of the stained glass mosaic of a church window, all colours and fractured light, the empty beauty reaching out for the lost souls. He laughed, sometimes his thoughts took him by surprise. The owner looked worried as he placed the jar down on the counter. Katrina let go of her father’s hand and reached out for one of the cigars, Patrick instinctively guided her outstretched hand carefully away.

“I’ll just have two,” Patrick said modestly and opened his coat just wide enough for the owner to realise that he should put the cigars in the inside pocket alongside the mobile phone that was clipped to the edge. The owner put the cigars in carefully, one either side of the phone, and Patrick looked very pleased with himself as he let the long length of his coat flap back down again.

“If there’s anything else you want please take it and go.” The owner was quite insistent and Patrick quite liked that, the old man had nerve.

“Okay then.” Patrick paused to collect his thoughts and Katrina waited, patiently. “What would you say to me, if I were to ask you for all of the money?”

“I gave you the money.”

Patrick smiled again, he was enjoying the moment.

“No, I said all of the money.”

“The… the till is empty.”

The owner, Patrick noticed with a tinge of disappointment, had started to shake, this would be no contest after all. Patrick sighed.

“I think we both know that most of the big notes are in the bag in the drawer, just under the counter. Don’t we?”

The owner looked like he was staring death in the face, knowing a simple answer would save him, but still not knowing where to start. Patrick made it easy for him.

“However, I’ve just run out of pockets.” He shrugged and for the first time Katrina giggled, briefly. The owner relaxed, a little.

Patrick was relaxed, he felt good about himself, he was doing the right thing, he was letting the man off the hook. He didn’t have to but, and he had to admit it, sometimes it was just in his nature to be good to people.

“Yeah,” said Patrick with a smile. “I think that’s enough for now.” He looked at Katrina. “Are you ready then?”

Katrina nodded and took hold of her father’s hand again. Daniel shifted uneasily in his aisle at the back of the shop, he could sense the onset of cramp in his right leg. He’d always suffered from it, ever since he was forced to sit cross legged for what seemed like hours in infant school assemblies, the ones where the priest was up there making out he knew all about god and how he was all around us, which all the kids knew was rubbish because how come no one had ever met him or even seen him in the distance.

Patrick quickly opened up his coat and put the pistol back into its holster that hung high, FBI style in a holster beneath his left arm. Katrina remembered him winning it at the funfair in Richmond, she tried not to laugh. Patrick nodded once to the owner and headed for the door. At precisely that moment the cramp in Daniel’s leg exploded and he flung his foot out, knocking over several cereal packets in the process. Patrick didn’t move, instead he flashed a glance at the surveillance screen just in time to catch sight of Daniel scurrying to regain his cover. Patrick smiled to himself, changed the sign on the door to open and strode out into the night with Katrina by his side.

As soon as the door clanged shut the owner grabbed a baseball bat from under the counter and called out to the back of his shop.

“Who’s there? Come out now!”

Daniel really wasn’t in the mood for all of this, especially now his leg hurt like shit. The owner shouted out again, he was determined to take something out on someone.

“I know you’re out there. If I have to come and get you, you’ll regret it very much.”

Daniel considered his options, he didn’t have any, and so he painfully pulled himself to his feet and appeared from the end of the aisle. Standing there by the scattered cornflake packets, he looked back at the agitated owner.

“What are you doing in my shop?”

“I was shopping.”

“Are you another goddam thief? Because if you are….” He nervously brandished his baseball bat.

“I was looking for lentils.”

“What for?”

Daniel could tell this wasn’t going to be easy.

“To cook.” And then he added, “I’m a vegetarian,” like it might help pacify the man.

The owner stared at Daniel for a while, thinking maybe he would hit him anyway, just in case. Daniel thought about making a run for the door but the twinge of pain creeping up the back of his right leg told him he’d never make it. Then the owner spoke.

“You are a witness.”

“A what?” Daniel was worried.

“You are a witness or you are a crook.”

Daniel shook his leg to try and make the pain go away, but it wasn’t going anywhere.

“You saw what happened.” The owner paused, reflecting on the wisdom of his words and then continued. “I’m calling the police, and you’re staying here until they come. And then you will tell them everything.”

Daniel had really had enough of this.

“I didn’t see anything, I was hiding.”

“You heard it, you saw it, what do I care? You are my witness.”

“What about the CCTV?”

”No tape.”

Daniel couldn’t believe his luck, he struggled on.

“But you saw him far more clearly than me, you just need to describe him to the police.”

“They are not interested in what I say, they say it’s only small change and cigars. I say what about the gun? They say what gun? They say I have to get a witness or fix the CCTV. I cannot afford to do that. But now, now I have you.”

The owner enthusiastically dialled the number, still staring at Daniel, mobile in one hand, baseball bat in the other, daring him to move. It was a bad couple of minutes that Daniel endured as some police call centre or whatever it was at first just kept the owner waiting and then suddenly started firing questions at him, making him more and more agitated until finally he told them it was a god fucking damned armed robbery in progress and they better send someone quickly before anyone gets hurt. He then gave his address and his number and finished the call. He took a deep breath, let it slowly out again and then smiled over at Daniel, brandishing his baseball bat triumphantly.

“This time, they will come.” And for the first time that evening the owner looked quite pleased with how things were starting to work out.

And then Angie walked in.

Without any kind of warning the door was suddenly flung open and a clearly impatient but striking looking young woman strode in with a heavy bag, demanding to know why Yougesh shut his shop whenever he felt like it and what was the point of an all night store that wasn’t open all night. Daniel seized the moment and dragging his dodgy leg with him, headed for freedom. Yougesh, incensed, tried to scramble over the counter to get to him.

“Angie, get out of my damn way!”

Angie simply stood there, unimpressed.

“Move!” Yougesh yelled again, but as he tried to bundle past her his foot hit the hardness of the bag that lay at her feet and he fell heavily to the ground. Dazed, Yougesh lay there on the floor, his baseball bat by his side, his phone skidded far off down one of the aisles. He looked up at Angie, he spoke slowly.

“What the hell is in that bag?”

“My washing.”

“It cannot be.”

"It’s wet, I need change for the dryer.”

“At this time of night?”

“It’s quieter.” Angie answered like it was obvious and really none of his business anyway.

The owner pulled himself up, Angie didn’t offer to help him. He stood but still found himself looking up at her, she was obviously taller than him and significantly slimmer.

“Your friend has again robbed my shop.”

“My friends don’t rob shops, they’ve got better things to do.”

“I’ve seen you talking to him.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about.” Angie was getting irritated. “Now are you going to give me some change? He can’t have taken it all.”

“The one with the little girl.”

“What?

“The black one.”

“Oh, like now I know who you’re talking about.”

“So you know who I mean then?”

The owner really thought he was getting somewhere.

“No. I don’t.”

He was devastated.

Angie put a few coins down on the counter.

“Could you change that for fifties? That’s all the machine takes now.”

“Don’t you care? I’m in the middle of an emergency.”

“I still need to get my washing done.”

Yougesh sighed like the world was a waste of time, with so many stupid unhelpful people only ever thinking of themselves. Then slowly, dragging the full weight of a heavy heart, he went round to the other side of the counter to open the till to see what change he might have left. As he did, Daniel limped off down a poorly lit side street, thinking only of Patrick and what there would be to come.