The Border Part Five (2 page)

“It’s a complicated situation,” Jack muttered, turning to his laptop and logging in to the paper’s CMS. “Anyway, enough talking for today, you need to get back to work on those other stories. And don’t forget I need you to go knock on the Maitlands’ door, see if they’ll say a few words about Hayley. We need to use her as the human face of this tragedy, she’s more appealing to the public than Mel.”

“More appealing?”

“More photogenic. Hayley was a local girl, Mel just moved here. Big difference. Just get over to their house and tell them they’ll feel better if they give you a few quotes.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit soon?”

“I do, which is why I’m sending you rather than going myself. Sorry, kid, them’s the breaks around here.” Spotting movement over by the door, he glanced over and saw Alex Gordon entering the office. “Hey Dan,” Jack continued, “why don’t you go to the store and see if we’re all sold out down there?”

“Can’t you just call them and -”

“Go take a look,” Jack continued, watching as Alex made his way over. “Take your time.”

Sensing that he was being shuffled out of the way, Daniel paused for a moment before sighing and heading to the door, leaving Alex to stop at the window for a moment, looking out at the town square. Finally, he turned and looked back toward the door, to make sure that Daniel was gone.

“So how did it go?” Jack asked.

Alex paused, before turning to him. “There’s no easy way to tell you this,” he said finally. “Jack, your brother Ben is definitely the killer.”

I
I

“Jesus Christ,” Beth muttered, staring at her phone and wincing as she saw an image of several decapitated heads, victims of some South American drug cartel with a name she couldn’t pronounce. She scrolled to the next picture and saw a close-up of one of the heads, and after a moment she realized the victim’s genitals had been cut off and shoved into his mouth.

She looked away from the screen, horrified, but after a moment she looked back.

“Disgusting,” she whispered, although she quickly swiped to the next image. Her eyes widened with shock as she saw a man whose tongue had been pulled out through a hole in his neck.

“Here’s your salad,” said the waitress suddenly, setting a plate of food in front of her. She glanced at the phone in Beth’s hands and frowned, before Beth quickly turned it away.

“Thanks.”

“Are you -”

“Thanks,” Beth said again, more firmly this time. “Thank you.”

“Okay,” the waitress replied, clearly shocked as she headed back to the counter.

Rolling her eyes, Beth took another look at her phone. She figured she’d seen enough images for the morning, and she was about to close the browser when she remembered the message boards in the online marketplace. Navigating to the page, she set her phone on the table and began to eat while scrolling down the boards, looking at all the hideous and bizarre services and products being offered. Guns, knives, drugs, poison, there was more than she’d ever imagined, and soon she wasn’t even paying attention to the salad she’d begun spooning into her mouth.

And then she saw it again.

That same advert, the one that – if she was honest with herself, which she wasn’t – she’d been daydreaming about ever since she’d first spotted it a few days earlier.

“Metal Pill Terminations,” she whispered, reading from the screen. “Want that problem person gone from your life? It’s easier than you think.” She paused, feeling a little breathless with nerves. “Metal pill. That must mean bullet.”

She scrolled down a little further.

“Struggling with life?” she continued to read. “Wondering how everyone else seems to get by just fine, while you’re always struggling? Maybe they know something you don’t. Maybe they only talk about having morals, while secretly doing whatever they need to do in order to make their lives run smoothly.”

She turned and looked out the window, watching as people made their way in and out of stores on the other side of the parking lot. Now that she actually thought about it, she
did
feel as if everyone else was in on some secret that had been denied to her, and as she looked back down at the phone, she was starting to think that maybe she was really onto something.

“You don’t have to suffer in silence,” she read. “At Metal Pill Terminations, we can help you to get rid of that troublesome person. Permanently.”

She looked across the cafe and spotted Mrs. Cook eating alone at a corner booth. It had been several years since Mrs. Cook’s husband Stan had passed away in his sleep, and she remembered how distraught the old woman had seemed at the funeral. Now, however, she was starting to wonder whether the whole thing had been an act. For the first time, she realized that perhaps Mrs. Cook had used a service like Metal Pill Terminations to have Stan bumped off, and the whole weeping widow thing had been a lie. Looking around the cafe at the rest of her fellow diners, she felt more and more certain that other people were using discreet services all the time.

At the bottom of the screen on her phone, she saw a link to send a secure, anonymous message to the person behind the Metal Pill Terminations advert. She hesitated for a moment, before clicking through and finding herself on a page that stated in big, bold letters that there was no way she could possibly be identified.

With a knot of fear in her belly, but also a hint of anticipation, she began to type.

***

“Man,” Tom Lanegan said as he and Bob headed along the corridor, “I can’t even describe them, they were that stunning. I’ve never seen titties so good in all my life. Dreamed about ‘em, thought about ‘em, seen ‘em online, but this time I was holding ‘em in my hands. It was just the most perfect moment.”

“Huh,” Bob replied, not really knowing what to say as his boss regaled him with stories about his previous night’s adventure. Sometimes, he felt that Tom was like some kind of mythical creature, a too-good-to-be-true relic of a world where men were free to enjoy the simpler pleasures in life, unencumbered by the crushing humorlessness of the modern world. Every day, Tom had some new tale about his latest conquest, and it seemed to Bob that his boss was on one big never-ending, life-long relay race from breast to breast and hot woman to hot woman.

“Mind you,” Tom continued, stopping at the door and looking through to the office, where Candy was typing at her computer, “I bet you’ve got access to some pretty sweet candy of your own, huh?” He nudged Bob’s arm. “Candy, huh? Get it?”

“I do?”

“I know about you and her,” Tom said, nudging him again. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone. I think it’s great, I mean, why shouldn’t you get some extra fun on the side? Things must have been hard at home since you and Beth became parents. I guess you’ve got a bad case of DBS.”

“DBS?”

“Dead Bedroom Syndrome.”

“Oh.”

“And CLD.”

“CLD?”

“Closed Legs Disorder. Hers, not yours.”

Bob frowned.

“ILA,” Tom added quickly.

“ILA?”

“I Love Acronyms.” He smiled. “Are you okay, Bob? You look a little dizzy.”

“I’m fine,” Bob replied, feeling distinctly uneasy, “I just, uh… So… How exactly did you know about… well, about me and Candy?” He scratched the back of his neck. “What gave it away?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

Tom nodded. “Everything.”

Bob paused, before looking down at his suit and tie. “What… part of everything in particular?”

“What’s up?” Tom laughed. “You didn’t actually think you were being discreet, did you?”

“Well… Yeah, kind of.”

“Really?”

Bob nodded.

“Huh.” Tom smiled. “That’s kinda funny. Self-deception’s a hell of a thing.”

“So is it that obvious?” Bob asked. “I mean, is it like I’ve got a big sign hanging round my neck?”

“It’s all in your body language,” Tom told him. “You know, when I was a teenager I tried learning Spanish as a way to pick up women. I think I read somewhere that chicks like bilingual guys, and I figured I could hook up with some of those hot Latino babes. And then one day it dawned on me that the best language to learn is…”

He waited for Bob to finish his sentence.

“What?” Bob asked. “What should I be learning?”

“Body language.”

“Oh.”

“It helps with other things too, even non-sexual matters.”

“It does?”

“It does.” Tom paused. “So if you want to know how I knew you and Candy were bumping uglies, the truth is, I could tell from your body language every time you were within ten feet of her. And her body language, too.” He patted Bob’s shoulder. “Also, I saw you in the car park one time with your hand up her shirt.”

Bob sighed.

“Of course your big mistake,” Tom continued, “is not having your body language under control. Because when you can read body language, you can also speak it with your own body. Personally, I don’t think anyone should even consider attempting adultery until they’ve got their body language in check.” He took a step back and held his hands out, as if he was waiting for an awkward hug, while slightly thrusting his pelvis forward. “What am I saying right now, Bob? What am I telling you with my body?”

“I have no idea.”

“Analyze me.”

Bob stared at him for a moment, but he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to be seeing. “You’re… pleased to see me?”

“I’m dominating you.”

“You are?”

“Don’t you feel it?”

“I…” Bob paused. “I guess maybe. A little.”

“That’s because most body language messages are subconscious,” Tom told him, “but I’m standing my ground here, I’ve got my legs slightly farther apart than would be considered normal in this situation and I’m inviting you to attack me.”

“You are?”

“Obviously you’re not going to do that, though.”

“Obviously.”

“And why not?”

“Because you’re my boss?”

“Because you know you’d lose.”

“I…” Bob paused. “I suppose I would.”

“See?” Tom clicked his fingers. “Dominated. That’s you, my friend.”

Bob nodded, but by this point in the conversation he was a broken, confused man who just wanted to get back to the comforting silence of his desk.

Tom paused for a moment, eying him with a hint of amusement, as if he was running through a few options. “Would you describe yourself as a reliable man, Bob?” he asked eventually.

“I like to think I’m pretty good, yeah.”

“I think so too,” Tom continued, before lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s just… What would you say if I told you that there’s a club, not far from here, where discreet people can have a good time? A club where men can be men, and where women, to their credit, can be women.”

“What kind of club?”

“One that’s very hard to get into. Like all the good clubs, you know? You really have to know someone who can get the door open, and even then, you might be rejected. But that’s okay, because rejection is the price of ambition.”

“It is?”

“It is.”

“So do you…” Bob paused. “Do you know someone who can get the door open for me?”

“You’re looking at him.”

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed. Impressed?”

“What kind of club?”

“Well, you won’t need Candy Carver anymore, that’s for sure. Not unless you’re actually emotionally attached to her, anyway.” He paused, before laughing.

Bob laughed too, but much more nervously.

“Look around the office,” Tom continued. “Look at your colleagues. Some of them might even be your friends, Bob. They live their lives according to rules they were taught from birth, they struggle with primordial desires that were child’s play to men twenty or thirty thousand years ago. Most of the people you see before you are desperately unhappy, possibly even suicidal. I’m often surprised on a Monday morning when everyone turns out to have survived their lonely weekend. Sad, huh? But haven’t you ever looked at me and wondered why I seem so confident? Why I seem to be a winner in a sea of losers?”

Turning to him, Bob frowned.

“It’s because I know secrets,” Tom added. “I know short-cuts, and I know the real rules of the world.”

“So what you’re saying is -”

“I can get you in,” Tom told him. “To the club, I mean, or at least to the panel who’ll decide whether to take your application further. After that, it’s up to you to show the other members that you belong there, but I can at least get you in for one night. Give you a helping hand, so to speak, and pay forward the favor that someone else paid to me once.”

“So it’s like a… nightclub?”

Tom shook his head.

“A comedy club?”

Tom shook his head again, slower this time.

“A… private gentleman’s club?”

“Think again, my friend.”

“A…” Bob paused. “A sex club?” he asked incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“You’ll see,” Tom replied, patting him on the shoulder. “Your eyes are going to be opened wider than they’ve ever been opened before, my friend. We’ll go tonight.”

“I don’t know if I can get away at such short notice,” Bob told him. “Where is this place, anyway? Is it far? Is it going to be an over-nighter?”

“It’s right here in Bowley.”

“No way.”

“Yes way,” Tom said, turning to head toward his office. “Meet me at the Monument at ten and I’ll take you right to the door. After that, the outcome rests entirely in your own hands. Are you the kind of man who can meet destiny with courage, or are you the kind of man who’ll whimper away and die in the corner of his own miserable life? You get to find out tonight, my friend.”

Left alone for a moment, Bob tried to understand what had just happened. He knew Tom was a great guy, the kind of guy who had life figured out, and he could barely believe that he’d been invited along on one of the infamous nights out, but at the same time he felt strangely nervous for some reason he couldn’t quite understand. And then, as he saw Candy heading to one of the filing cabinets, and as she cast a brief, meaningful glance in his direction, he realized the problem.

He felt guilty about cheating on his mistress.