The Sudden Dark

Two

He told me his full name—Wayne Markwell—and he also told me why he didn't want to call the police or hire a private investigator for his problem—'It's not that I don't trust them, it's just...This is a sensitive thing. I don't want to make the wrong choice, get anyone in trouble. I just want someone who can do a favour for me.'

I sighed. 'You'd better tell me, already, Wayne. And I might give it some thought. But right now, I don't know.'

'Right—shit—'

He'd closed the pub for the night, brushed out the remains of the night drinkers, dimmed the lights around the bar to deter anyone shambling inside from the dead streets. I was working off the effects of my beers as he re-joined my booth.

'I mean, I can pay you, of course,' he said.

'You can pay professionals,' I countered. 'There are plenty in the pages.'

'Like I said—'

'You don't trust them. But you do trust a suspended police detective getting shitfaced in your pub in the middle of the night?'

Wayne's cheeks coloured. He took a long breath. 'I just want someone I can trust,' he said earnestly. 'I'm at the end of my rope, alright? You're in here, you've got a badge, you're willing to put your beer down and listen to me—let me put my last bloody traces of faith in you.'

I sighed a groan. 'You'd better just cut to the chase, Wayne. Tell me already. And I'll tell you how much faith you should have.'

'Alright. But you can't tell anyone. And you can't do anything about it unless you tell me you'll take it on, okay?'

I didn't agree. Didn't move.

Wayne took a breath and went on. 'It's about my younger brother. His name is Kit.'

'And he needs to be found?'

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. 'He was in jail for a while, went away just after he turned eighteen—he's twenty now, just got out a couple of months ago.'

'What was he in for?'

'Marijuana dealing—he got hold of a few buds and sold them to a couple of school mates. School didn't have to call the cops, but they did. Cops didn't have to send him away, but they did. Inside he got violent a couple times, started fights he shouldn't have and got his sentence extended. He didn't used to be like that, honest. Something changed when he was inside; made him something bad. A worse person than he never used to be. He used to be just a...sweet kid.

'He got out in March and I put him up in my place—it's just the two of us, no mum and dad, always has been. But he was weird, angry. I got worried he'd do something stupid, be put away again and become something even worse next time he got out like everyone else trapped in that cycle.'

Wayne's face slowly grew skeletal.

'I guess he did something worse,' I said.

His head hung. With silent subjection, he continued: 'Last week. I open the pub and look in the till. Nothing. I go to the back room and look at the safe. Broken into. I look for Kit back home. Nowhere.'

'So he robbed the place and split.'

Wayne took a breath and squared an expression that said he didn't want to agree or disagree. 'This is why I don't wanna call the cops,' he said. 'Or risk a private eye leaking anything or reporting him. All I want is Kit found. I don't even care about the money. I want to be pissed off at him myself—but I don't want him back in jail. He doesn't deserve that, the bloody idiot.'

I sat back against the plush wall of the booth. The beer was doing its rounds up the stem of my brain and through the circuits of my body, but I held my composure. I'd never known a single thing about the bartender who'd served me so long, and here he was; his history laid bare in front of me. Every bit of him, every shuddered fear, every salvaged scrap of strength sitting across my table, and in front of my empty glass.

'How much was it he stole?' I asked.

'Round nine thousand I had that night,' Wayne said without looking at me. 'I keep all my earnings here, in the back room.'

'And he could've gotten into your safe easy enough?'

'If he stole my code, which he did. I kept it on paper at home with us.' He shook his head. 'Trusted the bugger too much.'

'You must have a lot of trust,' I said, almost with a burp.

Wayne shot a poisoned look at me. 'I'm talking to you, aren't I?' he snapped, in a quick and desperate voice. 'I haven't learned my lesson, have I? I'll keep blabbering my stupid mouth until Kit goes back to prison and becomes just another fucking zombie in the system.'

I sat quiet. There was a stillness caught between us that was as heavy as the airless dawnlight heat. I was sweating a little. We both were. I was already uncomfortable enough—and tipsy enough—to have said something stupid.

So I decided to keep on and agree to something stupid as well.

I said, 'If I said I'd take a look for your brother, what kind of idea would you have about where he might've gone?'

'I have no idea, man,' Wayne said. 'He was shut off from me completely; didn't let me know anything on in his life. Except about Maddie.'

I nodded him on.

He took another breath. 'She was his girlfriend. I think they met just a little after he got out. They were good together. They liked each other. She was a little older than him, but not much. She was around the place a lot—they'd watch a lot of old movies on TV together in the den, just like they were two kids on a date.'

His expression relaxed, and the ghost of a distant smile blooded into him.

'What do you know about her?' I asked.

'Not much. Kit never really liked to talk about her.'

'Have you checked her out?'

'I looked up her number and tried to call her after Kit disappeared. She didn't answer. I haven't gone round her house, though. Figured I'd leave that to whoever I'd find to help me.'

He looked slowly at me, and I remembered what I was doing to myself. Getting into something I shouldn't. Helping out someone who I didn't know, for reasons I didn't really care about.

But then I realised that I wasn't drunk. I wasn't out of control. I wasn't in a rage.

There was a clarity that I could see. I'd been drinking all night, and hadn't lost control of myself, because I'd been listening deeply to the problems of someone who decided to confide in me; to ask me for help.

I'd said I'd help Wayne Markwell, and after I did, I left the pub and went to wander back home. I went to my room, and I fell sprawled on my bed at the break of morning.