Trestle

Chapter 11 - Lying Down the Law

Chapter 11
Thursday 8th August, 2024
Preston Road, Wembley, London

It was proving challenging to find someone who wanted to be publicly associated with Fish, unsurprisingly to Kit - once Angel had described what Fish was and why he was disposed of, he was glad there was one less man like him walking around to hurt innocent people. Angel was no hero, but it took the sting out of his bloodthirsty façade once Kit knew that he had cleared up one of the bad guys – like a ruthless natural selection.
Nevertheless, as per usual, Otis pulled through with his relentless investigations and discovered that Fish had a half-brother. 
According to the database, they shared a mother, now deceased, but absolutely nothing else – not academic abilities, taste in hobbies, past addresses, friendships, not even iris colour, which Angel is pleased about because it means he doesn't have to currently stare into the eyes of the man he finished off.

He stands at the opening door aside Kit and reaches into his suit pocket. It's a cool evening, wholly welcomed, but Kit still feels the palms of his hands and cheeks burning in anticipation. He holds his breath, wondering if he is about to witness his first point-blank execution up-close.
Instead, Angel pulls out Otis' police badge and flips the cover quickly. The photo is covered with his fingers, which is just as well, considering Angel's physical complexion is 50 shades of pale - unfortunately, Angel doesn't see the same number of holidays that Faye does, he just grafts to pay for them - there's no rest for the wicked, right?
He tells Jonathan that his name is Inspector Otis Ratt, with the Well Hill Police Department, and he and his colleague have a few more questions about his late brother.
Jonathan: Half-brother.
Jonathan is too busy severing family ties to worry about the legitimacy of a bobby's badge.
Angel: Ouch. It's tea-spilling time.
Though the badge isn't a Glock 17M, Kit thinks himself gullible to assume it isn't just as deadly in the hands of Angel. He allows for a small sigh of relief as he walks into a house and not a crime scene...yet.

They walk through an immaculately spotless hallway painted in light lavender. On the walls, a young boy's school photos are proudly presented like a hall-of-fame, and Kit feels the bittersweet pang of nostalgia as he walks past the toothless grin of a 6-year-old in his uniform, mid-way through chuckling 'silly sausages' back to the photographer's squeaky toy. He is briefly reminded of Greta but tells himself that currently, a different O'Hare remains his priority – even if that O'Hare is posing as a Ratt.
He sits beside Angel at a marble kitchen table, opposite Jonathan. A fair-haired woman reduces the heat on her 'aglio e olio' and joins them at the table, tugging nervously at her blouse sleeves. Kit sits straight and folds his suit jacket over his chest.
It must be at least two sizes too big, and the structured shoulders are irritating – the last time Kit wore a suit jacket was to his mother's funeral. It hasn't gotten any more comfortable nine years on, and aside from feeling uneasy, he is sure that he looks just as awkward - like he has raided his dad's wardrobe, or taken inspiration from Lady Gaga's Monster Ball Tour.
Angel's suit, however, looks annoyingly natural and about as well-fitting as a second skin.
Kit: Obviously.

Angel: Firstly, can we offer our sincerest of condolences to you and your wife for your loss.
Kit looks at Angel in astonishment over his new-found accent.
Kit: Who invited his royal highness to dinner?
Jonathan raises his hand in objection.
Jonathan: I wouldn't exactly call it a loss. More the closing of a god-awful chapter in our lives, wouldn't you say, Kate?
Kate nods.
Angel: I see – I take it you were not on great terms before his passing?
Again, Kit looks at Angel in bewilderment.
Kit: Such a gossip.
Jonathan: We hadn't seen him since June - not since Oliver's 7th Birthday party.
He cups his wife's hand as she shakes her head at the agonising memory. Angel purses his lips, athirst for the rest of the story.
Jonathan: James promised us he had been clean for three or four weeks, which was the longest we had seen him go without relapsing for years. So we let him call round with a present for Oliver. Well... wasn't that just about the biggest mistake of our lives?
He shakes his head in disgust.
Jonathan: It was my own fault really. I should've known better.
There is a long, suspenseful pause as he searches for the words, woefully reminiscing about the party.
Jonathan: Oliver and one of the neighbour's lads went rummaging for the present from James. They turned his coat inside out and then his backpack, and found...
Angel: Fucking. Spit. It. Out. Mate.
Jonathan: Well...they...they spent two weeks in intensive care, after swallowing these pills they found; they thought they were sweets because they were wrapped in shiny foil wrappers - like the one's in the purple tin that you buy at Christmas time.
Kate: Quality Street chocolates.
A single tear trickles down Kate's cheek and she emotionally excuses herself from the kitchen to cuddle her sleeping child, safely tucked up in his own bed.
Jonathan: Apologies Gents - she's still in therapy.
Angel nods sympathetically and hums his lips together in an understanding frown. Kit isn't sure where the real Angel has disappeared, but this imposter clearly took his drama lessons very seriously at school; Jonathan is lapping it up.
Angel: And how are both boys now? Doing well, I hope?
Kit: Oh, please.
Jonathan nods and smiles appreciatively.
Jonathan: Harrison is fine. Our Oliver still won't eat or drink anything that's pink in colour - he had a major meltdown during his grandmother's gammon dinner and we've since taken pomegranate seeds and cherryade off the shopping list. But we're praying that he will grow out of it. Hopefully he won't remember the event much when he's older.
Angel glances sideways at Kit.
Angel: You say Fi- sorry, James, promised he was clean – did he struggle terribly with addiction?
Angel knows the answer because his ice-cream man had been supplying him with prescription painkillers for two years.
Jonathan: Yes, for a long time. He said moving to Crockenhill would be better for him - to put distance between himself and old habits. But he always found his way back. I don't think moving countries would have kept him away from that lifestyle.
Jonathan is twisting his wedding ring, nervously, as though he is trying to justify why he had so little to do with his half-brother.
Jonathan: He was always in trouble. Always needed help, a favour, a handout, a ride somewhere. He'd promise to do better and then within a few days he'd be back in with the old crowd, up to their usual crap in their usual trap.
Angel: I see. I don't suppose he ever mentioned any names, did he?
Jonathan turns his nose up and shakes his head.
Angel: I'm sure we will find them if we pay this trap a visit - where did you say it is?
Jonathan grimaces, as if he is having to dig deep into the archives of a past life he would rather put to bed.
Jonathan: I never went too close, for obvious reasons. I always picked him up from a few streets away, but I think it's some park, around the back of Shoot-Up Hill.
He sneers.
Jonathan: Fitting, I know.

Angel and Kit exchange glances. Angel appears excited, jittery almost, like he's next in line for something tasty. Kit checks his watch and hopes that wherever this place is, it can wait until tomorrow to be explored. He promised he'd finish reading Greta her bedtime story and knows she will be upset with him if she goes to bed without finding out whether Laurie triumphs over Michael Myers.

Almost as if Jonathan can read Kit's mind, he gives them a word of advice.
Jonathan: I must warn you though fellas, if you're planning on checking it out at some point, I'd keep your wits about you. I wouldn't want to bump into any of those kinds of people on a dark night.
Angel: Don't tease me like that, you big flirt.

Angel shake's Jonathan's hand from across the table and thanks him graciously for his advice and time, wishing his family 'all the best'.
Kit nods and suppresses a snigger – if only Jonathan knew that one of the 'worst kinds of people' was already sitting at his kitchen fucking table.