Crime

I’ve hated these places since Croke got killed. Stupid. Got caught red-handed and tried to make a run for it in the Station. Cameras and avatars everywhere. He never stood a chance. Now I’m doing the same thing.

The curtains part in the info desk and the avatar looks up. Supposed to make it more human. Like Good Old-Fashioned People who answer questions. And sell you a ticket, if you’re a tourist. They are, without doubt, the creepiest thing ever.

“Good morning, sir,” it says. It waits for me to say what I want. Customers don’t like questions.

“I need to get out of here and I don’t have a ticket.” I need to get away from Rail Security. Actual people. I miss them talking to this piece of rubber. “I’ve dropped my ticket,” I say.

“I can’t let you out without a ticket.”

“I came from Centre. There was a commotion on the train.” Caused by me, I don’t add. “I don’t know where I lost it.”

“I can check the cameras for you.”

“Well, I’ve got this parcel, you see. It’s rather heavy.” It is. I have the jewels well wrapped up inside. “Do I really have to go all the way back?”

“I can’t let you out without a ticket,” it says, and we’re back to square one. Robo—effing—Jobsworth.

I give it an obscene smile. “I’m a foreign tourist,” I say. “This won’t look good when I go to the embassy.” Tourists are an endangered species.

I could swear the avatar leers. “A foreign tourist is someone who arrives from abroad for business and/or recreation, Mr Field.”

Christ. I look around. Talking to me?

“Mr who? My name is Gustav Flederson. Here.” I dig in my pocket. Let my face fall. “I… I’ve lost my passport.”

“I can check the cameras for you, Mr Field.”

“Mr Flederson.”

“Mr Field. Is your parcel heavy? You can leave it with me.” A hatch opens in the kiosk that the avatar occupies.

“I want to speak to your supervisor,” I say.

The avatar’s eyes dim. It spins on its chair, and I face the back of its head. Which looks the same as the front, but softened to make it look female. She has a yellow chip on her uniform to show she’s the boss.

“How can I help you, Mr Fie—”

“Mr Flederson. The other fellow was most rude, and he tried to take my parcel. Is this the way you treat tourists?”

“Mr Fiel—”

“Mr Flederson. I won’t say it again.”

“Let me apologise if you are unhappy with the service provided by English Rail, Mr Field. However, you need a ticket to leave the station as my colleague informed you.”

I say nothing. I am Mr Flederson and I will not say it again.

“Mr Field. If there is nothing else perhaps you can either show me your ticket, or else make room for other passengers.”

There are no other passengers.

She tries again. I stay quiet.

After 30 minutes, the curtains close and they are gone. Automatic timeout. I stroll through the gates, where the mechanism has been paused. The avatars have registered an anomaly in the system.

The City and Security people looking for me. They won’t catch me here. They have it all on camera and will try to work it out and close that loophole. But it’s not really a loophole, it’s the truth.

I live in the country, that’s where I got the name Mr Field from. I really am Mr Flederson.

Here on business and business is good.

There aren’t many places you can go when you’re famous. Dalton booked this cabin. He says it’s perfect.
The landscape is naturally beautiful. Mountains in the distance, a lake out front. He says I can relax and do whatever I want. But I don’t want to be here. This is not my idea of a good time. The cabin is cosy, has all the modern conveniences. Almost as good as Hollywood. But there are no photographers. No fans. Nothing to do.
Tony got custody of our friends after the breakup. I got custody of the blame.
He knew what I was like when he married me. He told me it was what he loved. Someone to have fun with, who wasn’t just out for their career.
At some point he did want a career, and I was out of favour. Out of favour with him: my career took off. He couldn’t keep up. Dalton says I should clear my head. He has a few roles for me when I fly back.
I don’t know if I’ll survive a few weeks here.
I have two bodyguards and the driver who goes shopping. Dalton has made sure they’re all homosexual, so I hope they’re having fun in the guardhouse. I sit on the deck in the evenings and drink wine—nothing stronger—and wait for the sun to set.
It never does. We’re somewhere Scandinavian and the staring white ball never leaves the sky. Perhaps I could have done a better job juggling my career and private life. But this feels too much like prison. A panopticon.
I arrange with the driver that we’ll go to a restaurant at the weekend. He says there’s a nice place in town, which is just what I need. He sounds like Dalton. He looks quite a lot like Dalton too.
On Saturday, I get dressed. We drive off and I nod to the bodyguards. There’s another guy, too, that I “don’t know about.” He’s more Dalton’s spy than my bodyguard. The restaurant is fine. It’s nice to get out. I eat slowly. I have two desserts. I drink. More than I should, but not enough to get me in trouble with Dalton’s spy. Yet when we leave, the sun is still there. The driver takes me back to the cabin. I sit on the deck.
I met Dalton when I started in Hollywood. He said he would take a chance on me and he did. He still does. But now he owns me. Or treats me like he does.
I miss Tony. As he got older his adenoids became worse. The sound of his breathing when we sat together was infuriating.
I have a glass of wine.
The sun is still there.
It occurs to me that I should be glad I’m not here when it would be the night sky always. Stars sparkling. Northern winds. That might suit my mood.
I read scripts for want of something better to do. Dalton has his own plans for my career, and it doesn’t really matter which roles I would like. I’m a star, he says. But I’m not yet eternal.
I don’t think I want to be.
The sun out here is eternal.
It’s awful.

I head out to the guardhouse, look in the windows to watch the three men who look like Dalton. It’s not the scene of drunken orgies, which I had sometimes imagined. One Dalton likes to read a book. There’s either a film on the television, or sports. The other two watch it.
They nearly caught me last night. Branches lay on the ground. I crackled a couple as I moved from one window to the next. My plan is to sneak in when they’re in bed.
They have guns, which I don’t think is legal.
It’s exciting, though.
The driver said the seasons change soon, which means the sun will disappear.
That’s what I’m waiting for.
I’ve been to visit them a few times. They were surprised. I know the guardhouse inside out, I’ve picked my favourite Dalton. As soon as the sun is gone, I’m going to pay him a visit. I’ve unlatched his window from the inside.
I’m going to creep in and give him a surprise.
Liven things up around here.
As soon as the sun has gone.

Hi all! Last week we went to the zoo, this week we’re off to the museum for our flash fiction journey. Enjoy!

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“Late sixteenth century. Maybe early seventeenth.”
I kept my head down and continued brushing. It was weird. The plaster was old, but the mould was new. I’d seen it before: an old treasure stored in poor conditions. Stolen. The saint, his finger on the open Bible, his gaze towards the heavens, life-size, gave me the creeps. Almost as much as Steve.

I knew him from College. He’d done well, financially. He never had many friends, which is probably why he contacted me for this restoration job. Working his way through his contacts. I’d change my number as soon as I’d finished. Steve was just off. It didn’t surprise me at all that he’d “found” this statue. I was doing internet research in the evenings. If I could find out where it was stolen from I was going to call the police. It didn’t make sense to pretend I didn’t know what was going on. Once it came out it would make me look as corrupt or as clueless as Steve.

I felt his eyes on me. “How are you coming along, Penny?” He always stood too close. “What do you think? Isn’t she a beauty?”
“Surprisingly complete,” I said.
“Right.” He walked around the statue. “I nearly got Richard for this job, you know? Good man.”
“How is he?”
“Oh, he’s good, I suppose. He couldn’t make it, said to give you a call. But what I’m saying is: it’s easy enough to restore these old things. Finding them is the tricky part.”
“Where did you…?”
“That’d be telling! I told Richard….” He leaned in, his breath oniony. “So I had to kill him!” He laughed.

I couldn’t find anything about the statue. So that left one option. Steve had knocked out a forgery, aged it, then stuck it in damp storage to make it hard to tell “real” mould from fake mould. I came in early next morning to take photos and a scrape from the pedestal.
“You’re keen.” Steve was behind me.
“Steve! Hey…I’m just documenting the progress. Thought I might put it on my blog. You know: drum up trade.”
“You don’t have a blog.”
“I wanted to start one, this is just what I…”
“Don’t think so,” said Steve. He came closer. Onion breath. I backed away, bumped into the statue. It rocked, which meant it was definitely fake. An original life-size would be too heavy. Sketchy Steve had skimped on the filling, too.
“Wait, Steve!” He was big. And between me and the door. He lunged. I pushed the statue. I just wanted to put him off, make him dive at the statue instead of me. It toppled over and crashed. We both stared at the mess. Plaster had shattered across the museum’s floor.
And still half encased in it: Richard.
“Oh dear,” said Steve. “Looks like you’re going to have to fill in for Richard again!”

“Yeah,” said Steve. “I had to let her go. Caught her trying to move the statue. Cracked it and all. I had to take it away. Give it a full integrity test. You never know, these old statues can fall right apart.” He was interviewing restorers. “Yeah, it’s pretty old. Late sixteenth, early seventeenth century. I’ll be bringing it back next week.”
The other voice asked a question.
“Ha! That’d be telling. I told the last lady. Then I had to kill her!”

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Have YOU ever been sealed in concrete? Or are YOU a restorer? Is YOUR name Steve?

Then get in touch, I just found something. Needs a bit of work but I’m sure it must be valuable…

Hi all, we’re off to the zoo today, lockdown be damned! Enjoy!

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He hitched his belt up as far as it would go. Not much, as his belly pushed it down. Big Teddy Malone, 32 years in office and never had he had to come to a zoo before. It was going to be a tight race.

He hacked at the ribbon opening the snake enclosure. The smile on his face was painful as the cameras snapped photos. The thin glass didn’t feel like much protection.
He’d been voted in on a wave of anti-corruption sentiment. Said the right things. Hell, he’d even sent someone to jail! And he spoke like regular folks, so no one noticed he wasn’t as tough on crime as they’d been expecting. But he was Godfather to dozens of children around the parish and could have gone on for years. If that uptight lawyer hadn’t decided he could do better. There was a fine line between corruption and greasing business so it rolled better. Young people didn’t get it. Thought everything was black and white.

The knife was goddamn blunt, was what it was. He was still hacking at the stupid ribbon and the snakes had come over to see what was taking so long. They hissed not half a meter from his feet.

There was nothing mysterious about money disappearing. It was like the fees a bank charged. Everybody got a little bit, and they were all richer. And the town had a zoo with a new snake enclosure. Only one in this or any neighboring state. Good for the economy.
Goddamn it! He bent and bit the tape with his teeth, grinned at the cameras which had started snapping again: Big Ted in action! That’d be worth a few votes in September.
The brass band started playing, and he moved away from the enclosure, right into… Goddammit!
“Mr Malone, how are you doing?” Updike, the tight-ass, trying to muscle in on Malone’s photo session. Had his whole team with him. Someone from the sheriff’s office, too.
“Good, Bill. Glad to see you here for my opening. This is gonna mean a lot of tourist dollars for our community. Only enclosure in the nearest dozen states. That’s good business.”
“It’s a good idea, Ted, but we have to delay the opening. I’ve been looking—”
“Are you crazy? The folks around here need this. The economy’s been busted one with the recent crisis. Lot of people are out of work.” The crowd shouted agreement. Big Ted’s people. They’d come out to see him, they wouldn’t take this from the college guy.
“I agree, but money’s gone missing and—”
“Money’s gone missing! Well, isn’t that just your catchphrase? Seems like every time you turn up money’s gone missing, maybe you should stay home!”
That got a laugh from his followers. The sheriff wasn’t laughing, though.
“—safety features,” the pipsqueak continued.
“What’s that?” Big Ted put a hand around his ear as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re worried about safety features? You’re not scared of a few little snakes, are you?” Guffaws and catcalls. Someone shouted, “Snowflake!” Big Ted gritted his teeth and moved to the snake enclosure, tapping on the glass. “You guys okay in there? My friend is worried you aren’t safe.” His fans were whooping. One man had to wipe tears out of his eyes. The laughter was almost loud enough to drown out the brass band. No one could hear the snakes. Big Ted continued to playact in front of the glass. His skin crawled, but he knew they’d skimped on the air conditioning. And the cage. It was smaller than regulations, too, but the snakes weren’t complaining, were they? It was just the noise and the people that were agitating the snakes now.
“No way in hell can we open this to the public.”
“Too late, Billy. I already opened it. Ripped it open with my teeth!” That got a round of cheers.
“Come outside and let’s talk, Ted.” Bill was shouting now. He looked worried. Yeah, worried he was gonna get lynched. Ted smelled blood. Nothing easier than kicking a man when he was down. Eager to press home his advantage, he did something he wouldn’t have dared otherwise.
“I’d rather stay here with—”. He looked at his fans, a Big Ted zinger was coming, “These snakes.” He hit the glass. It shattered. Snakes spilled over him, biting and slithering. Riled from the noise and the heat and the crowds. There was panic as people tried to escape.

Bill was voted in in a landslide. If they hadn’t skimped on that snake enclosure. On the climate control. On the holding areas. On the size, none of this would have happened. If they’d at least put in real shatterproof safety glass instead of normal window glass….