Water's Edge

Chapter II

Zodiac

It was perhaps not in my best interest, but I needed a drink before I set off. My office overlooked the harbour of Askrinstough, a strange amalgam city – crossbred Grimsby, Immingham, Liverpool, all that kind of mouldering port town – on the coast of Lincolnshire, the scent in the air wet steel, cauterising acids, fish and salt. I had only moved here because it was cheap.

Locking up with a flash of pride, I took the tight three-tiered staircase to Elbemond Street. The concrete was old, for this was the part of the city that had survived the flooding; Askrinstough was a city of amalgams, pieces of old cities coming together to survive on the shores of a new England. When Immingham and Grimsby had been consumed by the waves, these lost souls built themselves a citadel: Askrinstough. Elbemond Street had collected a grime in its cobbles, a tartar from the seaspray of the port. And although the pub – The Fisherman's Arms – literally perched on the rear of my building, I drove my dark blue Ford Zodiac Mark IV around the tiny square block, knowing a car like this left alone for too long would become the playground of thieving youths. I could not blame them.

"Half of Stella." I found a stool, taking out the first of the twelve rollies, a prologue. Eddie poured the half pint before finding his own three-legged stool behind the bar, picking up Hello, and reading it like the morning herald, "It's gonna be a tough one." I remarked.

"Yeah?" He didn't look up from the magazine.

"Gonna be gone a while."

"OK then."

I admired Eddie Loam greatly. He ran a great Public House.

I finished the pint steadily, thinking about the city, the river, the pint, the streets—I smoked slowly and kept my head hunkered down. Some students, skiving off school, had found their way into the pub, laughing at something on their phone. Eddie Loam gave them a look, and although one tried to order a JD&Coke, they got just the cokes and seemed happy they were allowed in at all: Eddie let them smoke. Nostalgia is a strange curse.

I did not want to leave, but if the kids were leaving school then my car wasn't safe. Luckily when I approached my Zodiac – I had purchased it from one of many police auctions, spent all my wages too, worth it – it was intact. I had been told by Eddie that people respected me in these parts. I assumed "these parts" went no further than Kerry Street just four houses from here; people usually just wanted me to leave. But that may be the blue line I have to walk. The left hate me for working with the corrupt, the right hate me for not being corrupt enough. Can't win. Don't intend to.

I reached under the passenger seat as I clunked the door closed. Underneath, a large grey carry case that was my Grandfather's. He had collected hundreds of cassette tapes, and glued to the lid of the box a list of what he had amassed in alphabetical order. A very ordered man, my Grandad. My Dad picked up the same curse. I could never tell if I had.

I found Push The Sky Away by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds and slotted it neatly in the tape player (a newer model from a chic store; the original had been stolen yonks ago). Good album. Just what I needed. Could I smoke whilst driving? I sensed this case would be a 12+ cig case. Always was when Tories hired you.

The tree don't care what the little bird sings

First track. I set off. Couldn't think of anything else I needed apart from my wits, and when crossing county lines wits were all you had. I checked the glove box, and the Glock 17M stared back with its one wicked eye; police issue, from the days before I saw how dark the blue in the thin line was. Kept it clean. Like the car. Like my head. Apart from the Stella of course, but who can blame a man.

I felt sad to be leaving the office. I'd only just got it. But even the dead don't sleep, and Edith Wharton would be waiting for me.

And we know who you are

And we know where you live

And we know there's no need to forgive