Sayak Mohanta, Their Home Turned to Rubble, black pigment on cloth.
AT THE BAR
A VOICE through the hubbub:
“Jake…”
Unexpected eye contact. He was blocking the way.
“Ronnie…” Jake responded, carefully. Small nod.
“How’s it going, J-Dog?” Clap on the shoulder, a little too hard. “How’s the Good Lady Anna, eh…?” Pause. He leaned ever so slightly in. A querying look. “How’s my stuff lookin’?”
“It ain’t yours yet, Ronald…” Jake smiled, broadly. He made a quick glance away, radiating unconcern. It never worked to be too polite. “Nine-tenths and all that…” He took a slow sip, refixed Ronnie’s gaze and added: “Give it time though. You’ll have it, all of it… I’m a careful guy…”
“Careful…?”
“You know that…”
Short silence. Ronnie then held up his right hand between him and Jake. He waggled his fingers, smiling, faintly. “Careful…” he almost whispered.
“No worries, Ronnie…” Jake smiled again “I’ll give you a bell, yeah?” and slid on by to the booth he had been aiming for. “I got one more thing to sort and… don’t go too far, yeah?”
IN THE BOOTH
SOLOMON LOOKED up:
“You OK…?”
This story originally appeared in Locust Review 13 (Winter 2025/2026)
Jake settled into the booth seat opposite Solomon. No answer.
“You said you needed help…”
Instead he slung his band jacket across his chair.
“It’s been a minute as well…”
Jake looked back across the bar, quickly but not too quickly, but said nothing, until:
“Thanks for… listen, right… I’m glad it’s still… still open… I’ve got…” Pause. Solomon picked up one the various threads left open:
“What did Old Ronaldo want…?”
“Nothing…” Jake said, fixing his friend’s gaze. He sighed again, looked down at his pint.
“He never wants nothing, Jake.”
“Well, nah, not nothing but…” Another furtive look back across the bar. Another false start.
Sol took his tweed cap off, laid it on the table as a silent challenge. Time for real talk.
“We’ve just got a bit of business, me and him.” Jake tried to make the line stick, but:
“We’ve got a business, bruv…” Sol raised his voice a little before checking himself. He quieted down, leant in across the table. “What you got goin’ on with that…” checked again, “noble and upstanding gentleman?” He said, slowly. Pause. Sol then added. “It’s not to do with…?”
“He’s helping me move something…” Jake said, looking up and summoning his widest possible grin. “It’s something you couldn’t possibly sell.”
“Me…?” Solomon sat back in his booth, smirking. He took up his half of stout. Semi-posing he said:
“Fuck off.” A grin back. He was choosing to find it amusing. “Come on…?”
“Come on what…?” Jake said, playing along.
“I ain’t seen you for days and now…” pause… serious face again, “you’re dealing with Him…?” Sol nodded in the general direction. Long pause. Jake looked across the bar once more, and back:
“Something…” He fetched up something from his coat pocket. He held it, concealed, for a second. “Something came up…” Jake opened his palm and held out for his friend, what looked like a harsh, black chubby key. Solomon leaned in, whistled and shook his head:
“For real…?”
“For real…” said Jake Though it didn’t look like that when I… when I found it…”
“When you found it…?” Sol’s smile returned, faintly. He sat back in his booth. “That’s a Laverna.”
FRIDAY NIGHT
“LOOK…” IT was late. Jake stopped. “Look at that…” a soft, feminine voice reached him above the night-hum, traffic, chatter and footfall.
“Who are… Do I know you…?” Jake was puzzled. The voice came from a woman, tall, olive skin with dark, greying curly hair. She was standing just inside the street light, on the corner of the alleyway, leading from the High Street to Dyvenor Road. After a moment of figuring this out Jake realised she was holding him, gently but firmly by the shoulder. “What do you want…?”
“You see that, don’t you…?” said the Woman. She pointed down the alleyway. Jake, unresisting, followed her finger to… a pair of legs, blue jeans and cuban heels it looked like, thrust into the gloom.
“Who’s that…?” Jake asked, up at the Woman. She was tall, the same height as Jake, in a floor-length, cream-white stola and maybe heels? She didn’t seem to be cold. Jake, who had put his jacket on to head into the night, could feel it though. She seemed familiar to him, somehow. “Some drunk…?” he wondered, “from The Rochester?”
“Yes… probably…” The Woman smiled, letting go of Jake. He shook his head:
“Call… call 999, or like… I’m not a medic or nothing. I can’t…” She put her hand back on Jake’s shoulder, renewing the glamour. Jake was quiet.
“You are Jake McGrath…? The Woman asked. Jake nodded. “You are currently involved in an incorporated trading partnership with Solomon Kosminsky?” Her voice was still soft but authoritative now as well, distinctly well-spoken. Everything seemed to quiet down for her. There didn’t even seem to be anyone walking past now, either. Jake managed to say:
“We buy and sell what we can…” He chose his words carefully.
“Buy and sell…” the Woman smiled, half-chuckling. Jake realised, in that moment, he couldn’t place her accent. “Of course you do. Come with me…” she stepped away, beckoning. He followed her down the alleyway. “This man has something,” said the Woman, “something he doesn’t need anymore.” It was a short walk. They stood over the slumped man. He had changed, somehow, and was wearing an odd combination of overalls, top and bottom different colours in the sodium light, splattered and splashed with what had to be paint. His face was… obscured, dark .
“It’s something you might find useful. Have a l
BACK THE BOOTH
“SO…” SOLOMON hesitated, “you robbed a corpse…?”
“What…?” Jake was back to stumbling over his words. “It wasn’t a…” he quieted himself. “It weren’t a corpse…” he mock-whispered. Pause. “I mean… it wasn’t… it didn’t… I couldn’t tell… you weren’t there, mate…” Both men sat back, thinking/stunned. “It was strange…” Jake said.
“You’re fuckin’ telling me…”
“She was strange…” Jake added.
Sol sighed. He took another drink and offered:
“I’ve heard about this…”
“About…?”
“About this…” Sol repeated, nodding to the key, now on the table between them. “The Laverna.” He picked the key up, looked it over slowly, fascinated by it. Solomon then noticed his friend’s distressed expression. “Have it back” he said, and handed it to Jake. “Keep it under wraps, yeah?”
“Sure…” Jake nodded nervously. He took his first drink since sitting down.
“This must be why I had the Feds come round…”
“What…?”
“They’re looking for it, Jake. It and… they’re looking for her. Who is she…?”
IN THE WAREHOUSE
IT WAS a quiet, Saturday afternoon. Solomon was at a computer desk, a dusty, old PC, catching up with some paperwork. A buzzer went. Sol winced and mopped his brow. The buzzer went again. Sol called out:
“Hang on, hang on…” he stood up, staggered across the office, weaving through boxes and shelves, to the intercom. Inside the grainy image, there was a man waiting. He was husky, black-and-grey bearded, wearing a ballooning, dark suit. Sol pressed the button.
“‘Ello Officer…”
“Detective…” said the Husky Man, his voice soft and lugubrious, completing the same joke they made every time they met. “And next time, I will arrest you for that…” Solomon weighed up whether to sass back. Instead he asked:
“To what do we owe the pleasure, Ivan…?”
The Husky Man glowered directly into the camera and said:
“You,” he pointed, “are going to help me with some inquiries.”
“Always a pleasure, never a chore…” Solomon said in his sunniest voice and released the lock on the front door.
THROUGH THE DOOR
“SOLOMON KOSMINSKY…” the Husky Man said from the threshold.
“Detective Johannes…” Solomon said, still with his Best Smile on.
“Finally” the Detective smirked back and then swaggered in, past Solomon. He took a long, appraising look around the shop then turned to face Sol. “Where’s your Brother these days…?”
“Brother…?”
“What’s his name, uh… Jake… am I right…?”
Solomon frowned at this:
“He ain’t my Brother.”
“Though he’s pretty heavy,” Detective Johannes sighed, flushed and a little out of breath. He rolled his eyes. “If you know what…”
“I don’t get ya…”
Johannes glanced away, “I’ve been listening to Radio 2…” casting around the shop, “it’s on all the time at the, uh…” distracted, somehow, “at the station… Look…” back to Solomon… “It doesn’t matter,” Johannes said. HIs voice sharpened. He closed the gap between him and Solomon. “I know you and him’s trading in knock-off DVDs. I look past it because, well, they’re glorified drinks coasters these days. Who am I to question the free market…?” Even closer. Sol could see little beads of sweat on the Detective’s nose. “I know you don’t, but hey…”
Awkward pause. Long stare before Sol could manage:
“You’ve got some enquiries…?”
“I do indeed…” Johannes smiled as if suddenly getting lighter. He took a step back, plucked a camera phone out of his pocket. There was a picture ready. “Do you recognise this woman…?” Sol peered at the image. Pixelated but clear enough to make out a woman, indeterminate age, tanned with dark, curly hair. He shook his head. “Jacob Wotsit’s not mentioned anything?”
Sol was still at a loss. “It’s been a while…”
“She’s been going round the area” said Johannes. “This specific area, trying to set herself up as some kind of fence, giving it all that…” he made a chatting gesture with his free hand before wiping his brow. “From what I’ve been hearing… Anyway… she’s been saying, and I quote, she’s got the ‘Ultimate Merchandise’ to offload.” Both Solomon and the Detective managed skeptical expressions at this.
“Saying to who…?”
“However…” Johannes ignored the question, fiddling with his phone again, summoning a new picture. “We’ve also heard chat going round about…” He held it out again. “This…” Sol peered, then his eyes widened. “If you come across this little thing, perhaps while Jake is out ‘buying’ tat for you to sell…” Pause. “Let me know, yeah…?” Another pause. “You will let me know.”
FRIDAY NIGHT AGAIN, A LITTLE LATER
“USE IT…” the Woman enjoined Jake. They were standing under lamplight by the staff entrance of a frozen food shop on the High Street. ‘It’ was a grey, blank, credit card-like chit. It looked like nothing but felt like everything. “It’s universal…” the Woman added.
Jake, holding the plastic chit, pressed it against the magnetic reader. The staff door clicked. It was open. Jake touched the door, for a moment, then had visible second thoughts. “But…”
“But nothing,” the Woman said. “It’s universal… There will be three security cameras, covering each angle but…” Pause. “You can deal with it when you get inside… It’s universal.”
SUNDAY, ALMOST DAWN, BACK HOME
THROUGH THE door of the flat, Jake called out:
“Alright Darling…?”
Cheery but more in hope than expectation. There was no response, just a murmur and softly glowing light from the living room. It was warm in the flat, almost stifling. Jake shrugged, then propped the front door open. He slowly brought his haul inside.
Minutes later, groggy, Jake’s partner, Anna stole softly from the front room in slippers and nightie. She yawned, wiped her eyes then, moments later clocked the scene:
“What…?” There was box after box stacked in the hallway, nappies (mostly) but also baby food, a few toys, some clothes. Confusion:
“What’s going on…?” There was hardly room to move. Jake stood there, grinning silently, as if proud. “What’s all this…?” Another moment, then realisation:
“No…”
“Anna…”
“No, no, no, no, no…” She shook her head, aghast. Anna made for their bedroom door as quickly as she could. “I’m not having this…”
“Anna, please, it’s…”
“Again…!” She slammed the door. ‘I’ve had enough!” she yelled from behind cover. There was a baby’s cry. Jake sighed, mopping his brow. “You deal with him!” Anna called out. “You seem to have everything you fuckin’ need right there!”
BACK IN THE LOUNGE
‘SO, THIS woman, yeah,” Jake began, as if launching into something, finally coherent. “I saw her again, the next day, down on Ridley Road. She’s been going round… Hackney, mostly, making a name for herself, it seems. She said she was trying to set people up with the ‘Ultimate Merchandise…’” He emphasised the last point, looking insistently at his friend, who took the opportunity to get his phone out under the table. “She’s kind of, like, the…”
“Patron Saint of Theives…?” Solomon asked.
“The Goddess of Profit and Gain, protectress of the lower classes, refugees and get-right-quick schemes…” Jake rattled off, matter-of-factly, face down.
SolK
Found yr Ultimate MerchandiSE…
Detective Johannes
Sol smiled/laughed. Jake, however, ploughed on:
“She said I summoned her…” he fiddled with his glass, “propitiated…” he grinned, looked up, “right here, in the Rochester, by spilling a glass.” Solomon smiled again:
Detective Johannes
Laverna…?
Jake, encouraged by this, kept going:
“She’s very…” he thought about it for a second, “persuasive…”
SolK
Found it. In Roch. Give time. Jake is explaining.
Detective Johannes
“You know what I mean…?” Jake wondered. Solomon wasn’t concentrating though:
“Sorry, Bub. Just…” he thought about lying, then ostentatiously put his phone back in his trouser pocket. “Someone’s messaging me…”
“Who…?”
“Mutual friend,” Solomon said, hastily. “Just a contact….” buzz, “a contact who…” the phone vibrated in his pocket, again, “can shut the fuck up for a second.” He grinned, uncomfortably. “Go on…”
Short pause, then Jake:
“Saturday market, she sees me. Obviously I’ve got time on my hands and, well…” Jake shrugged. “I need the money. I always need the money and she said she had some jobs I could do…” Blank expression from Sol. “With…” Jake held up the key again, “this little thing.”
“Laverna…”
“Laverna…” Jake looked puzzled for a second, “though she never called it that…”
“What did she call it…?”
Long pause, then Jake realised:
“I can’t remember…” he shook his head. “Anyway, we had to go to this lock up, a really smart looking garage under the Hilton, on the Isle of Dogs… Tell our moot that as well, yeah?” A sly grin, shared.
A quick voice note and then…
Jake
Something’s come up, Love… I’m down Ridley Road and… I know it’s been difficult, you and me… us… everything and, well… I’ve got a new lead. Something that could really set the business up… Set us up, you know… Look, I know it’s rich, coming from me, I suppose but… trust me. I wanna make things right and this… this could sort us out. Problems over. Home free.
Seen by Anna
Jake
I’ll let you know how it goes, yeah?
PHASE ONE
ON A warm, summer afternoon, the sun was just about to take its bows. Jake and the Woman walked down a ramp, toward a barrier, leading to an underground carpark, Jake a few steps behind. He wore a cheap, grey uniform now, white shirt, black shoes, dark blue cap and tie. They approached. Next to the barrier was an alcove, a man in a (similar) uniform sat inside, slumped in a chair, behind plexiglass, watching a screen. Jake played with the laverna, running it through his fingers. It now looked like a magnetic, remote car key, small, ovoid, it was black, the buttons, black-on-black. He shook his head:
“I don’t see…”
“I’ve already shown you” said the Woman, who was striding ahead imperiously. Her heels clacked, wood-on-tarmac, ringing out. She was taller now, somehow, clearly taller than Jake. “This is just phase one…” she said.
“Phase one…” Jake repeated, almost like a question.
The Woman sighed, impatient sounding, then said:
“I suppose I shall have to show you all over again, won’t I?” She stood by the alcove and rapped on the glass. The Man in the Chair looked up from his screen with a start. He took a second to process before breaking into a happy smile. He turned fully, whipped the grey-green cap he was wearing off his head, did his best to bow, and said:
“Your Ladyship…”
The Woman looked at him, then Jake and smirk-nodded, as if to say ‘see…’ She then greeted the Man fully:
“Ignacio Desvalido…”
“What brings you to my place of work…?”
“There is a gentleman…” the Woman said, “who keeps a car here. I would call it ‘his’ but he does not use it.” She closed the gap between her and the Man in the Chair. “A car typically spends 96% of its useful existence motionless.” Her voice had darkened, somehow. “This car has been unused for longer, much longer.” The Woman was a silhouette against the clean light of the underground car park. The Man in the Chair said:
“Usufruct rights are forfeit in these cases…” rattling it off, matter-of-factly.
“Then we have an understanding…” the Woman said, nodding. The Man turned and pressed a button somewhere beneath his desk:
“The cameras are off. You have twenty minutes.”
Text
Jake
In West London. It’s really interesting. Will let you know when it’s done. Don’t WORRY.
BACK IN THE LOUNGE
“SO, THIS time, you just drove off with a car…?”
Jake winced at this new question/statement. Silent, for a moment, deep breath then he resumed:
“It stood out. I don’t know how… All the cars parked were under the same light but this one… this Chinese… electric four-door. You know how, sometimes, things stand out by… not standing out…?”
Sol silently shrugged, as if to agree.
“The lighting underground was movement-sensitive, it seemed to lead the way up to this… footsteps in lonely echo…” Jake was full-on remembering now. “It was a white car… really white, like…” he reached for the ideal words, “depthlessly white, know what I mean? And…” He noticed Sol’s confusion and reigned it in. “It was just there. It looked so… inviting. I don’t know why. You know me, I don’t do this sort of thing. It was…”
Sol, still silent, was askance.
“OK, so, maybe… anyway…” Jake struggled to resume. “I pressed the button on…” he realised he was holding the key in his hands again, rolling it up and down. “It was a car key at the time. I… selected the car, like… pressed the button and… it opened… click.” Pause. “So we took it. I took it…”
“Like it was yours…”
“It was mine,” Jake said, emphasised. “Mine…” he was suddenly adamant, “by rights. Usufruct…”
“What the fuck’s that?” Solomon frowned.
“The right of one individual to use and enjoy the property vested in another provided the property is neither impaired or altered.”
Solomon sighed at this.
“I mean it…”
“OK” said Solomon, “you mean it…”
“We drove away,” said Jake. “The road just opened up… all the way to phase two.”
PHASE TWO
“PHASE TWO…?”
“That’s what she said…”
Both Jake and Solomon chuckled at the accidental aphorism, Jake more ruefully.
NO, REALLY, PHASE TWO
“PULL UP…” the Woman said, pointing. “Just here…”
Jake was watching the road but it was obvious what she meant, a parking spot near the corner of Sydney Street and the King’s Road that was, against all likelihood, waiting for them. Jake turned the engine off, pulled up the handbrake. It also seemed obvious why they were there:
“The bank’s closed, innit…” he said.
“It is that…” the Woman said. “Although…” smirking faintly, she picked up the car keys, which had become a debit card, “the cash machine should still be working…” She gave it to Jake. Holding, he looked it up and down. It was the same size, same shape, same weight, a regular debit card, even down to the small chip, albeit pure, depthless white. No markings at all. “Come on. Let’s try it out…”
AT THE CASHPOINT
JAKE SEEMED hesitant.
“What are you waiting for…?” asked the Woman.
“I don’t know,” said Jake, shaking his head.
“I told you, it’s universal,” said the Woman. “You’ll see when you…”
Jake put the card into the machine:
“But if…?”
His question was already answered by the display on the machine. ‘Good evening, Mr McGrath. Would you like to check your credit: Yes/No?’ Jake looked flabberghasted.
“Credit is issued by banks” the Woman said, sounding suddenly eager, as if she had a point to prove. “They don’t look in their vault to see how much money they’ve got lying around. They look at the data they have on you and say how much credit you should be given.” She took Jake firmly by the shoulder, looking at him, hard. “If they’re going to create money like that, let’s just change what information they have.” Pause. Jake still seemed in shock. The Woman got fed up waiting for an answer, tutted, then pressed ‘yes…’
“See…?” she said.
Jake saw the total and was even more amazed.
THE LOUNGE AGAIN
“HOW MUCH was it?” Sol asked.
“You don’t want to know,” Jake said.
“Yeah, I fuckin’ do,” said Sol, surreptitiously checking his phone under the table again.
Detective Johannes
Where are you…?
It had been several minutes. Jake was about to respond when the Detective added…
Detective Johannes
Fuck thAt. I knwo exactly where ur. STAY.
“That’s why I asked…” Solomon chimed in, just in time.
“Friend again…?”
“Yeah, it’ll um…” Sol winced, dispelling the thought. “How much was it?”
Jake gave it some thought
“Let’s just say…”
“Have you still got it…?” Solomon blurted out.
“Got what…?”
“The…” Sol changed his mind. ‘You know what…?” He openly texted now.
SolK
Red LIon actually. Gotta go soon. For real.
“That should hold him…” Solomon nodded. “Now…” he sat forward. “What happened after that…? There is an ‘after that,’ yeah?”
PHASE THREE
“THIS IS…” Jake stood in the lobby, watching the action (servants serving, coming and going) listening to the chatter and hum (old men, mostly, exuding, radiating wealth), amazed, almost dumbstruck. He searched for an adjective and hit on: “strange.” The Woman frowned, curious and asked:
“How so?”
“I’ve been to auctions” Jake said, recovering somewhat. “My business, innit? Incorporated…”
“With Solomon Kosminsky” the Woman added, seeming somehow fascinated by what Jake was saying, thinking.
“I’m a trader” Jake said, taking a glass of champagne as it was offered by a passing servant. “Thank you” he said and drank quickly, smiled nervously. The Woman took one as well but held it without drinking.
“Indeed you are” the Woman said, with a hint of condescencion, “and now you’re moving up in the world.” This made Jake seem even more apprehensive though.
“Who has auctions at night though?” he asked.
“The is a unique clearing house” the Woman said, gesturing broadly to the scene around them, then particularly to the banner hanging over the nearby double doors. “Marshall, Carter and Dark. The finest, greatest players in the game.”
“The game…?”
“The Game…” the Woman audiocapitalised, “and purveyors of the ultimate merchandise.”
“Which is…?”
“Lot 23” said the Woman. “That’s what we’ve come all this way for. One thing at a time though…” she nodded to Jake, “that’s Abdulaziz…” pointing out a man in his early thirties, doughy and round with a cropped beard and a too-short cotton shirt, bright white, depthless. “He’s a renegade Saudi aristocrat. We want him to want Lot 9. Run him up, make him think he can use it to get back home, if you know what I mean…?”
“I think I…”
“Over there” she shifted her gaze. “No, don’t stare.” Pause. “That young lady” who seemed to be wearing golf clothes, “she works for the American embassy…”
“Oh…”
“And the Chinese MSS. She’s trying to blend in by standing out.” She was laughing demonstratively at someone’s joke. “She might want Lot 11, which is OK but don’t let her notice you…” Jake pointedly looked away again. “Now or during the auction. Over there…” she pointed across the room overtly. “You might recognise him…” ‘He’ was a very old man with furtive, baggy eyes wearing an oxygen mask, sitting in a motorised chair. “No…? Well, he’s a media magnate trying to hold off his visit to Tartarus. He will want to get Lot 21 but will gladly fuck over anyone else if the whim takes him. Also, there’s…” The door to the room opened. A small, happy ripple went over the assembly. “Never mind that now,” the Woman said. “If in doubt, follow my lead. You have it…?”
Jake realised ‘it’ was the laverna, which he was holding and had now become a white hand-paddle.
BACK IN THE LOUNGE
“THIS IS going somewhere, yeah?”
“Well” said Jake, “it’s going to end here… with me talking to you…” he took another sip, looked around the lounge. He noticed Ronnie a short distance away, talking to a friend. Not watching them but not letting them out of his sight. “There’s going to be a postscript as well.”
“But first, an auction…?”
‘That’s right,” Jake confirmed.
“Your specialty” said Sol with a friendly enough smile. Pause. “Well, you’d think, anyway…”
“What do you mean…?”
“You obviously didn’t come back with nothing…”
“Didn’t I…?” Jake let that pause hang for longer than usual. Sol did not pick up the new thread. Jake resumed:
“We went inside. Lady, uh…” he searched for a name, before concluding, “it doesn’t matter.”
“Not anymore…”
Jake ignored that. “We went into this theatre-room but… no chairs, which was odd. It was like a locker sale, we were just expected to crowd around this stage. She kept pointing people out, guys mostly, and old… mostly. I don’t know if they were supposed to enjoy standing around. They were all, like, these Important People. We were fuckin’ breaking in, you know? Then this guy came out, took the stage. Big guy, husky, in a grey-green suit. Way too big. He was wearing one of these headsets…” Jake demonstrated what he meant. “It was loud. Too bright. The sound modulated… a lot… The lights were very bright too, flat and…”
“Depthless…?”
“Yeah,” Jake nodded. “Did I already say that?” Solomon just shrugged
“It suddenly seemed really just… shabby. That’s probably why it had to be so bright, you know? The auctioneer went on and on and on. He was difficult to follow. I thought so. His voice, his accent was unplaceable, like the Woman in a lot of ways. But… it got going, eventually, there were lots brought out. There was a perpetual motion water sculpture, there was an algorithm that could predict the outcomes and motions in a casino three minutes before they happened.” Jake emphasised the next point, leaning forward. “There were the title deeds to the lunar city of Tycho.” He sat back.
‘There were people too. A woman who could photosynthesise through her skin. There was a soldier who had a biological implant that could keep him in combat for 48 hours straight. He… he was a big guy as well. He stared at us like he was about to clock on. There was a woman, an architect who could build in five dimensions. Every lot went for silly, silly money. Millions was being laid down, every time.”
Pause.
“So, what did you do?”
“I got up.”
“You got up?”
“And left.”
“You left…?” Sol was incredulous. “You left the Roman goddess of profit and gain just… high and dry…? You would… huh?” Just at that moment phone buzzed violently in his
“What was I supposed to do?” Jake sounded almost upset at this. “I had a car I couldn’t drive. Sooner or later I would be pulled over, right…? I had a bank account I couldn’t access, you know… someone was going to ask where all this money was coming from. As for the ultimate merchandise…?” Jake shrugged and drained his remaining drink in one go. Sol took the chance to whip his phone out and read.
Detective Johannes
ON my way. Be there in5.
Elsewhere
Anna
Mum. Call me. Please. I need your help.
LATER, JUST OUTSIDE THE WAREHOUSE
A PAIR of lights appeared at the end of the road. “There he is…” Jake said. A car approached them slowly, bobbing through the warm air. “Is Ivan on his way as well… when’s he getting here?”
“I’m not sure,” said Sol. “The plan’s changed, like…”
“It has, for sure, but…”
The car pulled up next to them.
“Hello Boys…” was Ronnie’s greeting as he wound the window down, face squinting/snarling under lamplight. Lights off. Two figures got out of the car. “You’ve met my associate, Oleg, I take it?” He asked both/neither. Oleg was a big man, an inverted triangle in a leather jacket. Jake caught a small glint coming from his hands. “Ukranian lad. Wasted on the front lines if you ask me. He’s been very useful to me recently” Ronnie said. “I’ve had a lot of people slow-roll, short-change and generally mess me around recently and…”
“Why’d you think that is…?” Jake asked. Ronnie snorted uproariously:
“Ha…!” Shook his head. “This is your lucky day, fella. I’m in a good mood. Besides…” he trailed off, looking at the stack of boxes.
“It’s all there,” said Sol. “Bosnian Breakfast, Bosnian Breakfast 2, Island of Love, Revengement…”
“Some Segalls as well” Jake added, using the accepted code.
Pause.
“Come on Oleg…” Ronnie summoned his hustle with a palpable sneer. “Oleg’s also good at carrying stuff,” he added. Oleg began loading the boot of the car.
“Also…” Jake added, approaching Ronnie. “I wanted to give you this…”
“What…?” Confused as Jake gave him a small, black key.
“There’s more to it than that…” Clap on the shoulder, a little too hard. Pause. He leaned ever so slightly in. “You know, Ivan, yeah? Detective Johannes…?” Silence, but Ronnie seemed to know. His face had fallen. “He’s a friend of ours, on the inside. Take this to him at his copshop. Tell him it leads to the Ultimate Merchandise…” Pause. “Or don’t…” Jake shrugged. “Your choice but this… This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, trust me…”
‘Trust you…?” Ronnie murmured.
“Have I ever let you down, eh?” Jake smiled, broadly, radiating unconcern. “I’m a careful guy.” Ronnie nodded at this. “Gimme a bell if you need anything else, OK?”
ALMOST MORNING, BACK HOME
THROUGH THE door, something was immediately wrong. Their flat was the wrong kind of quiet, and cold. It wasn’t a good idea but Jake called out:
“Hello…”
No answer. He had been away for a long time, longer than he expected… nonetheless. The front room was empty. The TV, the games console, the highchair, a lot of things were missing. Through the streetlight gloom, filtering in, Jake could see something stuck to the mirror. A note, it said:
‘Goodbye Jake. I said I wasn’t going to take it. I don’t feel safe. I feel neglected. We’re being neglected. I hope it was worth it, whatever you were looking for. A…’
Jake felt a presence behind him, then heard a voice:
“I said it was universal…”
Adam Marks is a writer and socialist living in the United Kingdom.