The Ditches

Chapter Sixteen

I right one of the upturned chairs and sit heavily. The target's breath whistles through his nose. He still sleeps, cheek pressed against his desk. Sharp spires of pain slice through my shoulder every time I move, so, I sit and concentrate on my breathing. Sirin and Dareal are dead. Garge is on his way back to Whyan with the contents of the safe. And Hara, I don't what the fuck has happened to her.

I look again at the note she wrote. What would you say, if I told you I could sing? It means something. It's a clue. But I'm fucked if I can decode it. Trust Harrin, who the hell is Harrin? Is this guy Harrin? Must be.

Harrin's fingers twitch and flicker. I retrieve the gun from my pocket. He doesn't look like the sort of man I need to worry about. Nor did Whyan when he came to see me after a fight, and I told him to go fuck himself. His body jerks and he sits bolt upright.

"Ohhh," Harrin groans and his hands rub at his eyes. He leans back in his chair. "Oh God."

"I know exactly how you feel," I say, and his eyes widen as he turns to me. "So, did you fuck Hara, or did she drug before you got to that?" Not the most important question I have to ask but one I'm dying to know the answer to.

"Who are you?" Harrin pushes a fringe of mousy brown hair from his pallid skin. "What happened here?" His rounded features sharpen a moment as his eyes dart around the room.

"I'm the entra with the gun." I lean forward and wince, ouch. "Answer my question."

"I didn't fuck her as you so crudely put it and nor was that ever my intention." He frowns and rubs his forehead.

"You're Harrin, right?" I say and he confirms with a nod. "So, you didn't want to fuck Hara, why did you bring her here?"

"I'm a lawyer, Ramet." Harrin stands with a wobble, and I raise my gun. "If it's okay with you I would like a drink, my mouth is ever so dry."

"Fine." I frown. He knows my name.

Set in a wall of books is a shelf of decanters filled with brown liquid. Harrin walks, leaning upon his desk for support. Broken glass scrapes against the wooden floor as he shuffles past. He pours his drink with a shaky hand and a pool of brown liquid dribbles from the shelf, down the bookcase and onto the floor.

Harrin clutches his drink and takes a gentle sip. "I'm working on a case. I first met Hara a few months ago, but she declined to aid me. When I met Hara at the hotel last night, she agreed to testify against her father."

"You want to arrest Whyan?" I stare at Harrin's drink. I watch as the glass meets his mouth, and he takes another sip. There's a drop on his flesh-coloured lips, I don't think a man's lips have ever looked so enticing.

"Yes. And keep him in prison for life."

"Did Hara tell you about the planned break in?"

"Yes." Harrin nods and he tops up his drink. "I'm sorry, would you like a drink?"

"No ..." I say, but ... hear me out, isn't it more dangerous to stop using a crutch before you're better or have something more suitable to replace it with? I ponder that for exactly one moment. "Actually, I will have a drink. Make it a large one, I have been shot."

"My word!" Harrin exclaims. "We should get you to a hospital—"

"Just the drink is fine. I'm entra, I can deal with it," I say, sharply and Harrin hands me my drink. "What happened when you returned here? Where's Hara?"

That's the question that's danced on my lips since entering this room and it took some serious courage to expel it into the world. The drink helps, but it doesn't silence my fears. I grip the glass tighter and inhale its sweet scent. It smells almost as good as Hara. Almost. I take a sip, oh God, this is good. It slides down my throat like liquid gold and for a moment everything feels just a little bit more bearable. Oh shit, I'm dependant. When did that start?

"Hara had conditions upon her agreement to testify. She said we must return here and allow the robbery to take place." Harrin sighs. "I, rather hastily, agreed. Her testimony would have Whyan locked up for life."

"So, you returned here. You open the door, the robbery takes place ... you're drugged, and Hara disappears?"

Harrin's eyes widen. "The black box!" He lurches to the desk, and papers scatter as he frantically searches. "I retrieved Whyan's box from the safe before you came. It was on my desk—"

"Hara took it ..." I whisper and down the remainder of my drink. "She played us both!"

Harrin sits heavily. He shakes his head. "No. I don't think she did play us." His hand massages his temple, frowning. "She received a phone call, after that she was agitated. I, err, I offered her a drink. She looked at my books, 'What's your favourite?' She asked." He shakes his head again. "That's all I remember."

She received a phone call. I'm guessing it was Whyan. He sent someone to get her, hence the struggle in this room ... did he know we planned to cross him? Of course he knew. Wait, if Hara received a call does that mean Whyan told her someone was coming to retrieve her? And if she knew, why didn't she tell Harrin and have the house locked up?

"What's so important about those black boxes?" I ask.

"They contain information about all the cases I'm working on ... witness, leads, dates and times. With that information Whyan will be able to uproot the entire case."

I stare at the note on my lap. "If I told you I could sing, what would you say?" I say, and Harrin frowns. "What does that mean?"

Harrin closes his eyes, "I ... just give me a moment," his eyes open wide and his hand slams on the desk. "What's your favourite book?' 'The Preachless,' I answer. She pulled it from the shelf and read out the first line ... If I told you I could sing, what would you say?"

"Where is it?" I jump to my feet with too much enthusiasm for someone shot in the shoulder.

Harrin points to the wall of books. "It's fifth shelf up, in the middle."

I grab the book and flick through. Touching the same pages Hara touched only hours before. I pause, scrawled neatly in ink is the word: Drawer.

I place the book on Harrin's desk and stride towards a long chest of drawers. The only drawers in this room. Harrin joins me, he takes the other end. I rifle through deep stacks of historic paperwork, decades old and the musty scent of paper wafts to my nose.

And then I find it, a small black box. I hand the box to Harrin, and he clutches it to his chest like a beloved treasure. From the window the sky begins to lighten. Pink proceeds the sun on the edge of the horizon, and it reflects across the ocean. Where is Hara now? Is she sat before Whyan by the pool, trying to explain what the fuck went wrong? Has he realised he doesn't have his box yet?

"You want to imprison Whyan," I say as I stare at the black box in Harrin's hands. "We both need Hara back."

"I have been gathering information on Whyan for years. The politician I'm working for wants him arrested, legally trialled. She wants to send a message to the arrah on this planet, that no one is above the law. Over the years many of the people who agreed to testify have disappeared or died. Our case is falling apart. Hara is our last hope." Harrin taps the box, now on the desk. "That contains information from my last remaining witnesses, it would be enough to arrest Whyan, but he would most certainly not get life, just a couple of years."

I wipe my hands over my face. "I'm impulsive, rash and fucking amazing at making bad decisions. I can't fuck this up, how do we get Hara back alive?"

"We call Marela Honer. She is, after all, who I work for."