Crime

Tianna occasionally glances back at him. She gets up once, to replenish her cola. The pulsing glow of the narrative – the circumstances that have delivered him to this room – are intermittent in his head, but in someone else’s voice-over. Continued sanity compels action, and Lennox inventories the kitchen. There is no food in the house.

Plenty fuckin beer: but nothing for the kid’s breakfast.

He sits back down and watches Tianna channel-hop. She’s growing restless, Lennox can tell. It isn’t just the chemicals from the cola.

Stretching and bending to test his racked muscles, he picks up Perfect Bride from the floor. Reads about wedding etiquette. Thinks about who his best man might be. His old pal, Les Brodie, how they’d made a pact as kids. Playing on the old Tarzan swing down Colinton Dell. Agreed that they’d be each other’s best man if they ever got married. But then came the incident at the tunnel and they’d stopped going down the Dell. And he hadn’t seen Les in years, not until a few weeks ago: at his father’s funeral. When he’d made such an exhibition of himself. But I was right to, because the bastards in this life: they fucking tore your heart out. They had to be told. But here he was. Marriage. The best man. Inevitable that he’d ask one of the boys from the force, if only because there was nobody else. No Les, no Stuart. It would be Ally Notman probably, on the grounds that he was the least likely to cause offence. That was if getting married remained on the agenda.

He is aware of the mass of Trudi’s notebook in his back pocket. Gripping his arse cheek like her hand used to. He pulls it out and examines it: all one- or two-word entries. Lists. Websites. Her handwriting: slender, curvy and expressive. The vivaciousness of it makes him pine. Then even more as he flips a page and sees Trudi Lennox written several times; the same ‘L’, ‘o’ and ‘e’ in her current surname. Perhaps it’s time to call, to try and explain.

Nothing happened.

But that isn’t true. Plenty has happened. Is still happening.

Tianna glances from the TV set to him, as if steadying herself to say something. Before she can, the splintering ring of the phone lying on the floor skewers them both. They regard each other urgently. Both want the other to pick it up. — It might be your mum, you’d better answer it, Lennox says, shocked at the fearful child in his own voice.

Tianna lifts the receiver. There is a gap in her front teeth; he hasn’t noticed it before. It makes her look like a proper kid.

Rather than a—

It makes her look like a proper American kid. The Waltons. A white picket fence. She is the sort of kid who if she had a different American – what? – ma, mum, mother, mom, she would have braces in her choppers. Suffering the pre- and early-teen years of Hannibal Lecter teasing in order to get that winning infomercial-presenter smile.

— Hi, honey… Tianna is relieved to hear her mother’s voice, but she knows that paltry tone, the one which will deliver a million apologies before she screws up again. And Momma’ll be in big trouble cause that table got broke good.

— Hi… Tianna says. From Lennox’s point of view she seems to visibly relax. Her shoulders, which were tensed forward, now slump back. The voice on the other end, though, is panicky and jittery. He can hear it from where he sits. Knows to whom it belongs. Then Tianna looks over at him, — That guy who talks funny, yeah. Yeah… and she holds out the receiver in one hand and phone in the other in appeal.

As he takes them, Tianna, in sudden, disturbing fleetness, bounds out the door. — Hello?

— Ray… is that you?

It’s Robyn. He hasn’t been mistaken.

— Yeah. Where are you? I should—

— Listen, is Tia okay?

— Aye, she’s been watching cartoons. What time will you be—

She cuts him off again. — Is she listening?

He checks. She’s gone. — Naw, I think she’s in her room—

When she talks over him for the third time he knows her assertiveness is fuelled by desperation rather than cocaine. — Ray, please listen to me, her voice, pleading and urgent, pushes down on him like a dark, ominous cloud, — I ain’t got long to talk. You gotta pen and paper to hand?

— Are you okay?

— No, I’m not okay, Ray, I am not okay. I cain’t come back to the apartment yet, but I need you to get Tia out of there right now! Right now, y’all hear me?

— What is it? Where are ye? Lennox snaps, angry at the further imposition, — If you’re in some kind of trouble we should phone the police. These guys last night—

— No! Promise, Ray, promise me that you won’t phone no po-leece. They’ll take her away from me, they’ll put her into care! Please, Ray, please, she begs in rasping, almost strangulated tones, — don’t you be phonin no po-leece. Just promise me!

— Okay.

— I need ya to do me a favour, please! Do you have a pen and paper?

— What? Lennox says, with a scribbling mime to Tianna, who is entering the front room, but the girl flinches and steps back behind the door. Of course – Trudi’s small notebook, with the pen clipped into the ringed spine. — I’ve got yin. What’s going on here?

— I need you to take Tia somewhere. Right away.

— I – you can’t leave your daughter with me, he protests. — You don’t know a thing about me!

— I trust you, Ray, Robyn whispers urgently, and coughs out the address.

He’s seen the kind of men she’s trusted – incarcerated many of them, those men who have somehow managed to win the confidence of a woman. Until you’ve seen the women in question, and then it all makes perfect sense. Lennox reluctantly scribbles it down. Prepares to read it back to her, when a guttural squawk flares down the line then fades into silence.

A shivery spasm seizes him, along with the notion to dial 999, before he remembers it’s 911 here. — Robyn? A failing gasp as his throat scorches.

From behind the door, Tianna squirms. She can see him through the crack, his face hard, his eyes dancing, as he holds the phone. Maybe he could tell em all, creepy Lance, that Johnnie pig and that mean Starry bitch to just go away and leave Momma and me alone. Tell em all!

Lennox is aware that she’s watching him, but then another voice is on the line. — Hello. Who’s there?

— Who’s this?

The caller coolly answers in kind, by announcing him. — Our Skarrish friend. Ray.

That guy Lance, Lennox recalls in icy tremor, Lance Dearing. They’d broken Robyn’s table. Her landlord’s table. — Aye. Where’s Robyn?

— We got ourselves a lil’ problem, Dearing says calmly. — She’s gone kinda crazy on that stuff. That ain’t right around a kid, you know that.

— Yeah, Lennox says, as his mind does cartwheels. He looks at Tianna, partially lurking behind the door. Half her face and one arm and leg visible to him. Her bottom lip quivering: the goose-bumped skin on her limbs.

— I dunno what you guys were up to in that toilet last night, Lance laughs, and Lennox feels bile rise in his gut, — but you sure as hell wouldn’t open up. Ol Robyn, she was losin the plot real bad. Got herself into a whole heap of trouble.

— It didn’t seem like it was Robyn that was losin it tae me.

— Well, I guess we all kinda lost it. That table sure got broke good, Lance Dearing says, forcing Lennox to regard the cold metal frame and legs. — No hard feelins though, huh, buddy?

Lennox lets the silence hang.

Dearing seems in no hurry to fill it and Lennox almost wonders if the line has gone dead before the American eventually speaks. — I’m gonna come on by real soon. Right now I’m gonna send Johnnie round to wait.

— Are you fuckin crazy? No. No way! Lennox barks. He looks at Tianna, who’s come back and sat down on