Outside The Court House

I had the afternoon off the other day and was waiting for someone. Being a little early, well 30 minutes early I found myself sitting on a bench opposite the local magistrate court. Although trying to initially read my book my eyes kept looking up at what was going on ahead of me outside the court. There wasn’t a fight or a cohort of armed police patrolling the vicinity. No, there were just a few people that looked like they were either waiting to be summoned or taking a fag break before having to go back in. On the left hand side standing at the bottom of the steps was the person who could only be summed up as the ‘hard nut’. Sporting a severely gelled wet French crop haircut which glistened against the sunlight he leaned back sucking up the last drags of his cigarette. It looked like he made half an effort to dress appropriately for court wearing black trousers and a baggy denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up exposing his array of tattoos. He was also wearing a pair of black trainers and a black tie unravelled around his neck as only the rebellious do. I imagined his crime was something to do with fighting. Perhaps someone pushed ahead of him in the queue at the kebab van one drunken Saturday night and took objection. He looked nonplussed about his current circumstance as if this was all procedural to him now. Unlike the young man on the right.

The person on the right looked visibly scared. Dressed in a salmon pink shirt tucked tightly inside his rather tight black trousers he kept rubbing his face in his hands. He looked around 19 – 20 years old. His eyes were not really focussing on anything around him but occasionally looked up when a car drove by. His family were there with him too all dressed smart and symbolising their support by surrounding him and occasionally laying hands of comfort on his shoulder. To me, it seemed he was an accomplice to something rather nasty. Maybe he helped someone to beat someone up or hid them from the police after it was done. It didn’t look like it was something he would do by his own accord and by the shaky look on his face he probably was cajoled into doing it by threats made on him.

At the top of the steps was another smoker, dressed in a dapper suit staring upwards as she puffs away on her cigarette. She looked like she was a lawyer/solicitor of some sort, I don’t know exactly why but her demeanour suggested that she knew the building and its surroundings. I think it was her confident stance at the top of the steps while the criminals stood below wallowing or waiting for their moment in court that convinced me she was a lady of power. She strides over to the rail and rubs it slowly, almost suggestively whilst nodding her head. It looked as if it was some sort of ‘geeing up’ ritual to motivate herself before she takes stage. A man in a suit approaches her and taps her on the shoulder from behind. She startles but before the second elapses she’s already straightened her back pushed back her shoulders and nods systematically to the man before following him inside the court.

It was at that point that my friend appeared and we headed towards a coffee house and my surveillance of the magistrate court ended.


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“That’s a good point Conrad but going into the wood could take ages. I think I’m going to speak to the police about this and get them to help.”

“Must you do that, we’ll have to move for sure.”

“I’m sorry guys but this person needs to be caught for society’s sake as much as mine. You’ve got nothing to fear as you’re all innocent but you’ll be classed as a suspect because it would seem to them that you need money.”

“Money is for fools.” Spits out Conrad.

“What’s that on the ground?” Peter interrupts.

“What? Where?” Yannish replies.

“There, that red thing.” Peter points over to the right and sure enough a small red object is impinged on a twig.

Noticing the foreign colour among the green and brown Yannish runs to it followed by Conrad and Peter no too far behind. He wrestles the small red cube from the twig and examines it.

“What is it?” Conrad asks.
“I don’t know it’s rubbery.” Replies Yannish.

“It’s from the sole of a shoe Yannish. Look on one side it’s got some texture, this came from a shoe probably from the thief. He must of got it caught on this twig as he ran away.” Peter says calmly.

“I, I think you’re right. It’s from those shoes that has a different colour part of the sole at the back by the heel.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“I don’t know Conrad. But I’m glad I found it. Look, I haven’t got time to go investigating further but I’m going to hold off calling the police for the time being as I want to investigate this place more. You guys can do what you wish but if you want to help me I’ll be in touch tomorrow. I’ll come by your den but right now I need to go and meet someone before I’m late.”

“Ok, we will be ready to help you but when you come please be sure to bring a few cans. It’s been two days since we’ve last had a proper drink.”

Yannish smiles at them both and nods in acknowledgment. He feels elated in finding the rubber sole but isn’t sure why. It doesn’t tell him who he is or where he lives, nothing like that. Yet he feels that by finding something of his is a sign that this person was sloppy, this person didn’t envisage Yannish chasing him through the bushes, field and into the wood. If he left this behind he might of left something else behind. He shoves the piece of sole into his jean pocket giving it one last tight squeeze before letting it go. Now he needs to go to the park and speak to Karen about what is going on in his head.

“Right, I’m going back, anyone care to join me?”

The three of them turn around and slowly amble back out of the woods.

Collecting information on Tammy was easy for Charles. She was a creature of habit. She would finish her night shift and get home to wake up her two young children for school relinquishing her teenage daughter of her baby sitting duties. She’d get them ready and then take them to school and upon returning to her house start to clean the kitchen. It was always the kitchen first, then the dining room followed by the sitting room. Then move upstairs tidying up the bedroom of her two youngest, then the bath room and finally her room. She always did it in that order and always left her eldest child’s room alone. Of course she would open the door and peer inside only to sigh and shake her head as she headed to her room for a nap. Tammy would slept for 4 hours each day then got up to go shopping. She visited the same supermarket every time and even took the same route around picking up the same products. Charles could even tell what make of bread she would buy and how long it roughly took her to get out of there. The only thing that would seriously unsettle her would be if something changed her daily regime like when her boy was too ill to go to school one day. She was so flustered flapping around not knowing what to do that she rang her friend for advice. Charles thought this interesting as equally funny. It was becoming tedious now though, she ran like clock work and he knew full well the best way to get to her would be through her children. He found out their names from stealing their rubbish bags, which Tammy would leave at 5:45pm on a Tuesday night just before she set out to work. All he’d have to do is mention their names to her and nothing more. Then she’d give him the stare. It was something he had got used to seeing when he mentioned something very personal and dear to his victim’s heart. Behind the stare would be a series of questions running through their mind, how do they know? What else do they know? How do they know the one thing most precious to my heart? No matter what their original considerations may be the answer will always end in complying. Tammy was going to be easy to gain co-operation from she hated change and if he offered her a clear solution to the problem, hell she probably would end up packing the money into bags for them all.

Yannish was much more interesting but a difficult person to research. He was unpredictable and didn’t always do what Charles thought. There was a backbone of routine, he would attend college but not always daily and not always for the whole duration of the day. He worked five nights out of the week in the garage which he never missed. Yet there were strange things about his life like the lack of presence of his parents. It seemed he worked the five days to pay for rent on a flat he shared with a pot smoking friend. He didn’t seem to have any family around him. It was impressive, he must have been nineteen at the most yet he would always seemed to be under control and no two days seemed to be the same with him. One day Yannish would leave the flat at around seven thirty and arrive at college at eight thirty. He wouldn’t appear until twelve where he would be walking with a friend called Keith where they would go to the local pub. They’d have a couple of pints there but Yannish always chopped and changed his choice of beverage, it could be cider, ale or lager. Keith would always talk in an animated fashion, gesticulating and throwing his body around as he spoke. Yannish would always be slouched on the chair listening to Keith in a nonchalant manner. It was only if Keith said something Yannish didn’t agree with that made him spring to life rivalling Keith’s body movements as he delivered his opinion. After a few drinks Yannish would leave and return to the flat. He’d stay there until around five and head off to work. That was the only thing Charles could be sure of, that no matter what he got up to in the day he’d always leave around five and start to walk to work. Yet any other day he could be in the library, or stay in his flat or visit other friends.

Charles sat in his car, the empty packaging of fast food contents lay on his belly. He was frustrated about his lack of knowledge on Yannish. His technique on finding a loved one and using it against them wouldn’t really work for Yannish as he didn’t know who they were. What he did know was that he was quite an intelligent, kind person but most of all he was enchanting. Charles wanted to know more about him, not only because so far he’d only been fed scraps of information from his daily routines or lack of them. Not just to find something precious to use against him but because he wanted to know what it was like to be him, find out what it was that inspired his thoughts and choices. Tomorrow he would meet up with the rest of the gang and discuss the information each had gathered to formulate a plan he knew he could probably use Karen against Yannish but he also knew Yannish would be unlikely to comply even if threatened.

A girl approaches the flat, someone Charles hasn’t seen before. She knocks and enters and after twenty minutes she leaves with Tommy. They walk down the street, his blonde dread locks bobbing up and down as slides his hand down the back of the attractive young lady before pinching her backside.

“The stoner’s on a date.” He whispers to himself in slight excitement.

Another half hour passes and the door slams again as Yannish leaves for work in his garage uniform. Charles watches him walk out of the distance and then looks at the flat. He doesn’t know when Tommy will return but he’s willing to take the risk. It would be unlikely someone who spends his waking hours in a comatose state would be able to put up much of a fight. He reaches to his glove box and pulls out a baseball cap and wrench. He slips the wrench down his trousers so that it’s caught on his belt and rests the baseball cap low on his head, tilting the peak further down so that a shadow casts over his face. He gets out of the car, there’s still day light but this is an opportunity he can’t pass up on, Tommy never leaves the house, everyone seemed to come to him. He walks to the door and reaches upwards grabbing hold of the two pieces of wood supporting the roof over the door. He runs his fingers along the support until he finds a divot. With his index finger he prods further until he feels the plastic.

“Jackpot.” He whispers excitedly to himself.

He hooks his finger under the plastic and begins to pull out the little bag. He uses his other hand to grab it from the divot. Taking the key from the bag he unlocks the door.

The flat is small. On the right is the lounge full of the pungent smell of old tobacco and marijuana. There’s a lot of sixties remnants here, Jimmi Hendrix posters, the brown and beige wall paper. Charles looks around but doesn’t see anything that looks like it could be Yannish’s so goes back to the hall way and sees two rooms further along. He approaches the one on the left and enters. The room is fairly neat, the bed has been made, a few dvd’s are scattered on the floor and by the bed is an ash tray with a packet of rolling tobacco next to it with some papers on the floor. He looks on the wall and sees Yannish look back at him in his photos. One of them is of him with his friends on the beach, there’s another of him on a roller coaster ride. And the third is one of Karen and him sitting on a roundabout. It was taken by one of them as it’s very close and you can see inside their open mouths and on the top right hand corner the tip of a finger covering the lens is slightly visible. Charles carefully pulls the photo from the wall bringing it closer to him for inspection.

Knowing this was definitely Yannish’s room he sticks the picture back on the wall and begins looking for something about him. He opens the drawers on the right and finds only clothes, all in order. His top draw are full of pairs of socks attached to one another by the elastic on the top. Underwear neatly spread out so that minimum effort is required to pick one out in the morning haze. In the right hand corner is a box of condoms with the top one peeping out through the lid so a quick swipe is all that is required to get it out. The rest of his draws contain nothing but clothes. Charles rummages through them hoping to find some hidden papers or at least a clue of who he is. Yet it’s only t-shirts that slip through his fingers as it proves fruitless. Next to check is under the bed where it’s murky and unclear what’s there. He kneels down and sticks his hand moving it from side to side almost like a fishing net flaying around hoping to catch anything in its path. Yet there’s nothing there apart from a few stray socks. With one last sweep he hits something, his finger scurries along it’s side to identify a box. With excitement he introduces his other hand pulls it out from the dark. He sits on the bed and eagerly opens the little wooden box only to find disappointment at the discovery of Yannish’s pot stash.

He drops the box and falls back on the bed. He can’t find anything about him. Anything he can use against him. Yet he knows that he already has his bargaining tool in Karen, he just needed an excuse to find out more about him. And all that he’s found out is that externally he may seem un-neat with bits of cigarette remnants all over the floor and the odd sock. Yet when he looked in his draws everything was ironed, everything was in order and separated. Even Marla wasn’t as tidy as this boy. This highly organised boy. He tilts his head forwards and notices the bookcase in front of him. He looks at the books, 1984, Generation X, Girlfriend in a Coma. He moves up to the next shelf, an autobiography of John Simpson the BBC correspondent, another from Greg Dyke. His eyes then move higher to see the small shoe box almost completely hidden by the trilby hat resting on top of it. Charles springs up and reaches for the shoebox knocking the hat off. He opens the box.

Inside are records of achievements, young entrepreneurial finalist, winner of the 6th government debate and 3rd in the cross country race, all in the past year. Charles can feel the jealousy burn inside him, this person was on the cusp of greatness, youth pushing him forward into a successful man. A beautiful girl was chasing him and himself living in a highly organised world. Why couldn’t his world be like this? Why can’t he achieve? Not the achievements of executing a crime but in contributing to something. Yannish was all geared to contribute successfully, maybe pivotally, to society. He only contributed to its downfall.

“I will.” He whispers to himself. Thinking that once this last job is over he will change his path in life. He will re-train, leave this life of crime. He just needs to get this job done.

He shuts the box lid down. He can’t find anything in his room. Anything he doesn’t want people to find is well hidden that only a complete ransack of the place would uncover. He couldn’t risk doing that, it would alert suspicion. He’d already gotten close by breaking in here. If only he could find a computer or a laptop it might not prove completely fruitless. He checks the room over to see nothing looks out of place. He goes back to the draws making sure the clothes are neatly folded in place and heads out of the room. He goes to the other door opposite and tries to open it unsuccessfully. This must be Tommy’s room but being the local cannabis dealer it would prove wise to secure his interests when not on premises.

Walking back into the lounge and searches round for a computer, laptop or even a cable to suggest there maybe one in the flat somewhere. Yet nothing can be found. Giving up he leans against the wall to rest a little and contemplate what he’s going to say in the meeting tonight. As it stands, the only thing he can really use against him is his ex-girlfriend.

The door bell sounds. Charles quickly ducks down and looks towards the window. All of them have the curtains drawn so he slowly gets back up as the doorbell rings again. He keeps still listening for any sound or movement. The person taps on the door with their hands and then after a few moments the letter box flap comes open and a small envelope floats gently to the ground. Charles waits for the sound of footsteps before making a move, finally assured that they have gone he goes to the letter. Lying back down he picks up the small envelope and turns it over to see the name “Yannish” written on it. Looking at it for a moment he considers what to do and flicks the letter against his knuckles while debating his next action. Then without a flinch he slides his finger in the gap and starts to tear the top off and finally takes out the letter.

Yannish,

I know you hate me but I know you’ve probably forgiven me being the person you are but I want to explain what happened and maybe put what went wrong between us.

My mum’s boyfriend stole a lot of money from us. I never trusted him but she was besotted with him not noticing that she was paying for his way in life. He’d moved in within two months of meeting her and not any rent. It was paid when he convinced her to convert her savings account into a joint savings account when he did his real damage. He wiped out her account in one go and vanished. Just like that, he was gone. He took all my mother’s £9000 savings leaving our only income based on my part time jobs. She was distraught that he left and didn’t understand that he stole from her. She’s gone into depression and has lost her job. I couldn’t go full time, I wouldn’t crush my own dreams because of my mum’s bad judgement and some pricks conniving. You know how much I want to be a journalist. I just couldn’t do it and that’s when I saw the collection jar at your flat. At first I thought it was Tommy’s drug money so I didn’t care so much of taking it. The rent needed to be paid and I was short, my mum, she refused to get out of bed. I just kept saying she was ill to you and leaving it as that. Taking that money made me feel bad but I needed to make sure my mum and I could live. When I found out that it wasn’t Tommy’s drug jar but both of yours rent money that I knew I was doing something wrong. You looked so confused when you told me, so unsure of yourself. I felt like crying but had to be strong. I should have told you then but I couldn’t I needed the money. And when you started to hide the money I would look for it. You never ever thought it was me but it was. It was me, but not the Karen you know, I’m having problems Yannish. I’m not the same person you knew but I need you, I need you to get me back to normal because I know when you look at me you see that same girl you enchanted eight months ago. At the moment I’ve had to take on an extra shift at work, I can’t go full time as you know because of college. But it’s hard and I need your help. I can’t ask you to feel differently but I hope this explanation lets you know what happened to me in order to do the thing I’ve done. I was selfish, fucking selfish. It still haunts me how scared you were when we lay in bed together and you tell me how worried you were about being evicted. How you was worried about what was going to happen in the future whether you’d have to go to the YMCA until you finished college. And I held you tightly but silently I wept by your side because the person you trusted most was the person who was betraying you.

I don’t want you to give up on me. I thought you would be hysterical when we met at the park. But of course, you don’t get angry like that but when I saw in your eyes the hurt I couldn’t help but cry. Something seemed different. I don’t want to lose you. Please remember the time in the field two weeks ago when we sat there talking, alone and content in each other’s company when you told me just how much you loved me. I remember it. Everything melted around me, the trees, the grass, everything apart from you. You looked directly into my eyes and told me those words again and you unlocked my feelings for you and told you I feel the same. Please don’t forget that moment.

You are the most precious thing ever to me. I won’t call or text you anymore but I will ask you to contact me after reading this letter if you still feel some of that love that rolled of your tongue two weeks ago. I’ll keep fighting for you but I’m fighting many battles on different fronts. I’m still trying to track down this fucker who my mum loves but he’s been in the Ukraine the last couple of months.

I love you,

Karen.


Charles screws up the letter and stuffs it in his pocket. He walks into the kitchen looks around for anything else of interest and then looks out of the window. He can’t see Karen or anyone else and is happy that it is safe to leave. Opening the door he gives one more look around to see he hasn’t left any marks. Happy that all is well he closes the door, places the key in the divot and starts to make his way back to his car, walking slowly at first then gradually speeding up until it looks like he’s skipping across the road.

“Pint of lager.” Says Charles to the barmaid. She pours it for him and the usual procedural exchange of money for alcohol completes. He sits down and thinks about the letter he read.

“Fuck.” He says. He just can’t believe that no matter what he gets involved in, even in his own personal world Gregor’s demonic presence has always some thing to do with it. His actions had implications for other generations to deal with, stealing from Karen’s mother had caused a lot of trouble. It wasn’t that Gregor even needed the money, he had more than Charles easily but he doesn’t like to spend it. He probably lusted after this woman at first but once he had his way with her probably looked for other opportunities to arise. And when it did he doesn’t screw about with emotions he just takes so that he can move on and feel better. Yet he can’t feel sorry for Karen or Yannish he still has his job to complete.

He takes a deep breath to regain focus on the situation. Pulling out a paper and pen from his pocket he begins to write out what he has found from his research. Tonight he is going to tell the others how he’ll accomplish his part of the raid and needs to write it all out to help him think better. There can be no mistakes as the risk is too much. Armed robbery carries a long sentence and the thought of being in prison makes him shiver. He shivers so much that the hand holding his pint glass wobbles and splashes of lager escape. Quickly noticing what had happened he wipes it with a beer mat on the table. No mistakes can be made.

“Right what’ve you got?” Asks Gregor looking at Charles directly in the eye. He’s aware that he had become a meticulous planner ever since the bank manager incident but either way he liked to scrutinise what he said, see if he could pick holes and maybe find something to tease and torment him with.

“The woman, who works the night shift, her name is Tammy. She lives in a two bedroom flat shared with her eldest daughter and two young children. She’s not interested in being a hero as she has to work hard making sure her family lives as working in the garage is their only income. She won’t be any trouble and just the mention of her children’s names should sober her up into doing what I say.” Charles explains. He waits for the barrage of questions from Gregor to come. He’s gotten used to it now, the constant unpicking of what he says when forming a plan.

Gregor breaks the stare between the two men and starts to wander around Davy.

“So what happens if she does want to be a hero? Davy told us there’s a silent alarm behind the till and that’s usually where her fat behind is parked. It doesn’t take much effort for her to be a hero, just a push of a button and then we’re fucked.”

“The way I see it in my head we shouldn’t go barging in throwing our guns around. We should walk in casually, maybe not even together then I’ll get her away from the till by asking her for some help and then I’ll knock her to the ground tell her not to fuck with us. She’ll listen once I pull out my pistol.”

“I’ll think of the plan Charlie you opportunist shit. I just want a simple answer to my question but you fail to do that and instead want to create a whole new plan disregarding the information that has been provided just so you can get the lady from the till easily.”

“I’m not…”

“Shut it. What about the boy? How do you plan to deal with him?”

Silence ensues around the converted garage.

“You haven’t bothered to do any background work on him have you? Too busy perving on the female to bother. Yet it is he who is likely to cause the most disruption being young and sprightly unaware of the risks he is willing to take…”

“…I did do my research. You’re right he will be the more difficult. Yannish is a workaholic enigma. He is at the garage doing the night shift every week day. I couldn’t find much on him with the time given and without jeopardising revealing myself to him. He doesn’t seem to have any family other than his friends. He has just split from his girlfriend but he still is very passionate about her, he loves her and that is what I’ll use against him. I believe he will put up a struggle, he seems a very moral person with a belief of right or wrong and coupled with what you said in his naivety of what peril his life is in, if an opportunity arises he will try and stop us, I believe. I think we need to stop him going to work on the night, take him down before he gets there.”

“You told me that telling him we’ll hurt his girlfriend will be enough to stop him.”

“It is, well it may. He’s not stupid and has shown a lot of integrity, once he realises what we are after he’s probably going to put up a fight.”

“You can’t handle him?”