The Lover's Children

Chapter 116 – Autumn’s Fury – Part 8

HARKNESS

I wait.

Asleep?

Perhaps.

The rest of the kindred slump and stoop. A breeze ruffles water flowing smoothly under the bridge. A

steady drip-drip from the arched brickwork above makes faint echoes as it drops, then ripples, into the

river, overlain by the distant rumble of traffic over the new bridge where car lights and street-lamps

dazzle against the darkness here.

Silently, I stand, leaning over my meths-drinking friend. His breathing is steady and even.

A brief foray into a nearby rubble heap produces half a brick.

He lies, mouth gaping open, face slack, clutching his bottled treasure.

Only a matter of time anyway…

I stoop and his eyes flick open. “Whatsh?”

“Your bottle. You didn't put the top on. You were going to lose it.”

“Oh. Rightshhh.” He struggles up toward a sitting position and as his gaze turns down to the bottle, I

swing. At the last moment, he looks up, yellow glints of eyes suddenly wide. “No!” The brick smashes

into his temple and he goes down without even a whimper.

Shame really… I'd have liked a bit of a scream. On the other hand, the kindred haven't moved.

For good measure, I hit him again, mushing up his face a bit to be sure he's not just unconscious.

Humming, taking the time to be careful, I strip the coat off him. Don't want his blood spoiling it. It's a

good fit. I shrug it around, rolling my shoulders a bit. Not perfect. But pretty good.

Wasted on him...

Pity it's picked up some of his body odour.

Have to wash it somewhere…

Hang it in the rain somewhere… let it air wash…

Pockets?

Hmmm…

Surprise, surprise. A few coins.

For good measure, I check his shoes, but they're not as good as what I'm already wearing.

The kindred haven't stirred, so I stroll past, tossing the brick into the river.

Much warmer, I stroll off to find another place to sleep. And shoes.

*****

In the park, I retreat into some shrubs, tugging the coat around myself, setting up to watch and wait.

A figure strolls through the gates, takes a bench, his back to me, stuffing something into his mouth.

What's he eating?

Hamburger?

Something savoury carries on the breeze. He folds up a slice, stuffing it into his mouth. As he takes a

bite, strings of cheese stretch, escaping the base. Winding them around a finger, he sucks it clean.

Pizza.

Anchovies...

Olives…

Garlic…

And he's only had one slice from the box.

But we're right on the path here. And he's under a street lamp.

Pretty big too…

Looks young and fit…

My mouth runs and my stomach grumbles.

The breeze whirls, changing direction. He pauses, pizza held midway to his mouth, nose raised to the

air. After a moment he stoops, lifting first one foot, then the other, inspecting the soles of his shoes.

He looks right and left, then Hmmphs. Putting the slice back in the box, he closes it up, dumps the lot in

a trashcan, strides back to the gate and out.

As he disappears from view, I dart forward out of hiding, hooking the box out of the trash. As I lift the

lid, fragrant steam washes up, carrying the scent of oregano and onions.

The anchovies are piquant and succulent. And there's plenty of them.

*****

KLEMPNER

The nurse checks some reading or other on the monitor, clucks, apparently satisfied, and adds a note

to the clipboard at the bottom of my bed. “How are you feeling now, Mr Waterman?”

“Bored. How long befo…”

She Tuts, cutting me short. “That wasn’t quite what I meant. However, if you’re feeling enough like

yourself to be bored, would you like some visitors? We’ve been stopping anyone but your immediate

family coming in so far.”

“Visitors? Who else would want to visit me?”

She raises her brows, “In fact, there’s quite a queue that would like to see you. We’ve been keeping

them away so far.”

“We’re not talking about the press, are we? I don’t want…”

“No.” She fires the word like a bullet. “They have been sent on their way, although you might find them

at the exit when you leave. I’m afraid we can’t do anything about them once they’re off hospital

property. However, a good number of your friends have called by, asking after you and when they can

visit.”

“But I don’t have any frie…”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Mr Waterman. After what you did out there, half the City wants to shake your

hand.”

Well, ain’t that just peachy…

*****

Stanton calls by again, with another thick wallet of documents. “How are you doing, Larry? Feeling any

better?”

“Well enough to be bored. Not well enough to do anything useful for more than half an hour.” I wave

vaguely at the boxes of files already stacked by the bed. “I keep trying to work through them, but my

concentration’s blown.”

“It’s to be expected, especially with a head injury. The doctors assure me you’re on the mend.” He sets

the wallet on top of the stack. “For when you’re ready. If I were you, I’d enjoy the rest while you can.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” I lie still, exhausted simply by the short conversation. “From the shattering

silence on the subject, I assume you’ve not found Harkness?”

“No, we have nothing solid at all. We do have a spate of suspicious attacks. Including a murder. We’re

following up on those.”

“What? More hookers?” My fatigue evaporates and I struggle into a sitting position. “You didn't say…”

“No, not hookers.” Stanton paces, brow furrowed. “These attacks don't follow Harkness' pattern as

such. These are assaults on down-and-outs. Hobos and the homeless.”

“So…” My mind spins… “Why would you connect them to Harkness?”

“It started within a few days of him going missing. The victims are being attacked for minor items,

shoes, a coat, other minor paraphernalia. But it's the kind of thing a man in hiding might need. And

while it's not the same pattern as the women, in the sense of the victims involved, there's a vicious

edge to the assaults. The violence inflicted goes way beyond what’s needed for a simple mugging. The

targets are beaten around the face and head, typically with some blunt object. The assault continues

into unconsciousness and, in one case, death.”

“So, you believe Harkness is still in the City but hiding out with the dregs?”

He rubs at the back of his head. “It's possible, but if it's the case, the net's closing. We have extra

patrols out. Watching. Searching. Asking around about any new faces that crop up.”

“Will these people talk to the police?”

Stanton winces, rocking onto the balls of his feet and back again. “If they've seen one of their number

murdered, we can hope someone will. And there's only so many places to go out of sight of the

cameras and the public…”

“But if Harkness…”

A brief tap on the door, but before I can reply, the door bursts open and a small figure charges in,

clutching a paper bag. “Yay! I’ve found him.” Then, reversing, he bawls back out to the corridor. “Mom!

He’s here!”

A woman wearing a harried expression follows him back in. “I’m so sorry, Mr Waterman, but when we

heard the news about you being hurt, he just insisted…”

“Hey! Grandad K!” For such a small body, the yell is piercing.

“Behave yourself and be quiet!” she snaps. “I told you, Mr Waterman needs his rest. If you don’t calm

down, we’re leaving right now.”

The small boy droops, scuffing at the carpet. “Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Grandad K.”

Stanton watches the performance with his mouth open. “Grandad K?”

Oh, God…

“That’s what Cara calls me,” I explain. “I met…”

?

Paul?

Yes, Paul…

“… Paul here last Christmas…”

“Yeah…” He beams… “Mom sez I can’t stop long. But, anyways… They told me you wuz chasing a

bad guy… I’ve read about that kind of thing. Batman does it too. Goes chasing the bad guys. So,

anyways, I thought you might like to read it too.”

He shoves the paper bag at me, cracking a grin the Joker would envy. The bag rips, falls apart, and

avalanches a stack of comics over the bed, the bat-be-cloaked superhero scowling out from the covers.

Stanton looks away, then down, seeming to find something absorbing about his shoes.

“Um…”

The boy’s face falls. “Don’t you like them?”

“They’re… very nice. Thank you, Paul. I’ll enjoy reading them. It will pass the time.”

*****

James pulls up a seat, mouth twitching at the stack of comics. “Enjoying those?”

My face burns. “Uh…”

The smile broadens. “I wouldn’t be embarrassed about it. Sometimes, outright fantasy is what you need

to take you out of yourself. When I finished my finals, I spent a week winding down, reading nothing but

superhero comics.”

“You’re right. I find them oddly restful.” I riffle through pages in unsubtle shades of blue and black and

red, running heavily to cloaks, over-imagined musculature and POW! bubbles. “I never read one

before. Right now, they’re as much as I can cope with.”

“You never read a comic as a boy?” Then he holds up a palm. “Sorry, forget I asked that. Anything else

I can fetch you?”

“I’m perfectly happy sleeping half the day, right now.”

A nurse bustles up, straightening blankets and plumping up my pillows. “That’s right, Mr Waterman.

You sleep as long as you need. You’ll heal better and faster that way and it saves on us having to

sedate you.”

“I’ve had enough sedation thank you.”

*****

The nurse ticks something off on my chart then fusses around the bed, straightening blankets and

plumping pillows. "Anything I can get you, Mr Waterman?" Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

"Thank you, no."

"I'll leave you with it then. If you do want anything, just ring the bell. I'm only at the end of the corrid…"

Her words trail off at a knock at the door…

Now, who is it?

“It’s open.”

A pair of women enter, jeans and plain white tee-shirts, sneakers. No make-up. Both smile broadly. My

brain tells me I ought to know who they are, but won’t make the connection… Then

"Yay! Larry, they finally let us in."

“Hi, Larry. How ya’ doin’?”

And my brain connects the dots. “It’s Lorelei, isn’t it. And Donna.”

“Thought we’d drop in on the hero of the hour…”

Donna perches on the end of the bed, waggles her eyebrows. “Didn’t seem a good idea turn up in our

work clothes though.”

The nurse's lips press white. "I don't think…"

"It's fine, Nurse. I know them. I'm hoping they might have some news for me."

"That's right. We're friends of Larry's here. He done good for us."

The nurse exits wearing a mouth pursed like a cat’s ass. Lorelei jerks a thumb after her. "Who's the

starched hat?"

"Just someone doing her job. Don't go upsetting her unnecessarily. She's in control of my access to the

bedpan."

"Hey, you need help with that?” She plonks down onto the bed, resting her hand on my chest. “Don't be

shy. I've seen it all before."

God, no…

"Thank you. That won't be necessary. My wife will be along soon."