Death in Brunswick by Boyd Oxlade

Author:Boyd Oxlade [Oxlade, Boyd]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction classics
ISBN: 9781922148001
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2012-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

THREE

Dave put the phone down quietly and thought for a moment, rubbing his grey curls. Making up his mind, he tip-toed into the bedroom. He could see the red eye of the digital clock: two thirty-five.

‘Hey, Junie.’ His wife woke with a loud snort.

‘Dave! Jesus, look at the time! Come to bed!’

‘No, listen, honey, that was Carl on the phone. He’s in a bit of strife. I can’t make out…he seemed really freaked…I have to go out.’

‘What! Dave, you just dare.’

‘No, I have to go.’

‘All right, you go then, if you’re going out boozing with that little creep…well just…Jesus!’

‘Ah, come on, baby.’

‘No, go on, piss off, and you sleep in the boys’ room when you come back. I’ll speak to you tomorrow!’

She turned over, plunging angrily in the bedclothes. Dave hesitated and went out.

It was very dark outside; a light rain was falling. As he sat to put on his boots, his cat curled around his leg. He stroked it absently. Shrugging, he stood, limped to his car and drove off down into Brunswick.

Turning into Basilisk Street, he parked outside the club. The neon sign was off and the street was quiet and deserted. An occasional car swished past in Sydney Road. Rain drifted slowly in the headlights. Dave switched them off, got out and tried the big steel entrance. It was locked. What did he say? ‘Passage door.’ He walked back and found another smaller door; it swung open at his touch. The darkness inside was impenetrable. Dave marched heavily forward, his hands out, feeling his way.

‘Carl! Carl! Where are you?’ There was a gasp and he felt the draft of movement. A hand clutched his arm.

‘Ah, Dave! I knew you’d come.’

Dave felt Carl’s thin body against him. It was shaking.

‘Jesus, old mate, what have they been doing to you?’ He patted Carl awkwardly on the shoulder. ‘Look, let’s have some light.’

‘Wait,’ said Carl. ‘Come in.’ A door closed behind them and Dave heard Carl fumbling at the wall. The lights flicked on. Dave looked around.

‘What is going on?’

Carl’s face was yellow and streaked with tears, his hands twitching and fluttering.

‘Dave, Dave, look in the coolroom!’ Carl clumsily unlocked the heavy metal door. ‘Go on. Underneath the potatoes.’

Carl heard the potato bags being shifted. There was a short silence, then:

‘Shit! Who’s this?’ Dave came out. ‘Jesus Christ, Carl! This guy’s dead!’

‘I know! I know! It’s Mustafa,’ Carl cried. ‘I told you about him.’

‘Yeah, yeah, but who did it? He’s been stabbed!’

‘Dave, I did, I didn’t mean to, I swear to God. He had a go at me. He was going to…I don’t know…I pushed him away. I must have had my knife in my hand…he just fell over! What are we going to do!?’

‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Dave slowly. ‘I suppose we better tell the cops…I mean it was self-defence or an accident, wasn’t it? They won’t…you put him in there, did you?’

‘Yes, yes, I had to hide him so I could think. Dave, look, I can’t tell the cops.

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