‘Bradley, you must not worry,’ he says, placing his hands on my shoulders. His use of my pseudonym has the intended effect: it shows me that he’s on my side, willing to play the game. ‘The people you will see, our customers, they will not be trouble. My brother, Andrej, he is very well known here in Bratislava. Nobody will fuck with you.’ Marek’s usage of English swear words, oddly, makes me feel far more relaxed.
‘I know. I trust you, Marek. I trust you both. But at the same time, whoever’s trying to ruin my life has already killed my wife and chased me halfway across Europe to try to get to me. Saying “Don’t worry” doesn’t quite cut it.’ I still haven’t told him about what happened to Jess at the campsite. It doesn’t seem important, somehow. She’s dead, caught up in the crossfire. Part of me doesn’t want Marek and Andrej to think that they’re going to be next – that I’m some sort of jinx or liability.
At this stage, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know how long I’m going to be here, what Marek and Andrej are doing or whether it’ll work. Besides which, everyone who I thought would be able to help me is either dead or after me.
The worst thing is not knowing who’s responsible. Knowing that the person could be around the next corner, or hiding in plain sight. I’ve got to admit, a part of me is even starting to doubt myself. Last night’s dream seems to have blurred the lines between imagination and reality. Deep down, I know it’s just my brain playing tricks on me, the paranoia seeping through. But that still doesn’t change the fact that I saw it in my own mind’s eye. I saw me killing Lisa. I know it can’t be true, but I can’t shake the horrible realisation that I don’t actually remember going down to the restaurant that afternoon. I remember being in my room, and I remember being in the restaurant. Everything that happened afterwards is incredibly vivid, but before that it’s all a bit of a blur. It doesn’t explain how the hell Lisa would’ve got to the hotel – or how I knew she was coming – but it’s still enough to give me cause for concern.
And then there’s Jess. I remember being in the caravan with her, and I remember walking into town. The bit in the middle, though, is hazy. I don’t remember anything between deciding to go into town, and actually going into town. I’ve got a lot of blank spots, but that’s easily explained by tiredness and stress, I tell myself. I mean, seriously, look at what I’ve been through over the past few days. It’s enough to give anyone some memory blanks. I’m amazed I’m still standing. I tell myself that I can’t let my brain do this; I can’t convince myself that I’m responsible for what’s happened. If I do that, there’s no going back. I need to stand tall and face the situation. Only then will I discover the truth.
Marek calls my name again. ‘Bradley?’ I realise I must have spaced out for a bit.
‘Yeah, sorry, Marek. Miles away. So. Tell me about this job.’
53
My head still feels fuzzy as I start up the moped, the vibrations from the engine seeming to rattle my skull as I pull away from the back door of the bar. I’ve got a drop-off and a collection this time. I have one parcel to collect from a house on the outskirts of the city, which needs taking to a corner shop. From there, I have to collect another parcel and take it back to the house. There’s a big pay packet for this one. I don’t know how much, but I get the feeling that Marek and Andrej will see me good.
The journey to the house takes me alongside the Danube, and then up a steep hill which brings the speed of the moped down to a shade over 10mph at full throttle. I’ve half a feeling it’d be quicker to get off and push. When I finally get to the house, the first thing that strikes me is how peaceful it is. It’s barely five minutes from the city centre, yet it seems much further. None of the noise of the city seems to travel up the hill.
The house is set back slightly from the road, raised a little, behind a large iron gate. I get off the moped and take off my helmet. There’s an intercom system next to the gate, which I presume I’m going to have to use. I hope whoever’s at the other end is expecting me and speaks English.
As I walk over and raise my arm to press the button, I hear a clunk and a click, and the gate whirrs as it begins to slide across, opening just enough to let me slip through before it closes behind me. I amble slowly up to the front door, the tall house looming over me.
When I get to the door, I look around for a doorbell, buzzer or knocker, but there’s nothing. Just as I’m about to knock on the door with my fist, I notice a small brown parcel tucked behind a statue of an angel or cherub of some sort. It reminds me of the statue in the middle of Piccadilly Circus.
I bend down and pick up the package. It’s been wrapped neatly in parcel paper and tied with string, yet it has no address or details on it. In the absence of any other information, and judging by the secretive nature of Marek and Andrej’s deals so far, I can only assume this is what I’m meant to be collecting. I step back from the front door and make sure I’m in view of the house, so they can see it’s this parcel I’m taking. That way, they’ll be able to stop me if I’ve got the wrong one.
A few steps before I get back to the gate, it slides open – again, just enough to let me through – before closing behind me. I raise a hand in thanks to whoever’s watching and operating the gate, before putting the parcel into the compartment under my seat and firing up the moped once again.
I take a quick look at the map that’s been folded up in my pocket, double-checking to make sure I know where I’m going. Like most routes around this city, it seems easy enough. As with most cities, Bratislava is built around a few main streets, with small side roads linking them. As long as you know the general direction you’re going in, you’re pretty well covered.
From here, I’m heading north-east. The roads around this area seem to be a bit windy, but I don’t envisage that’ll be a problem. I came in from the south, by the river, which was more straightforward, so this is going to take a little more concentration. I pull away from the house, stuttering uphill at a ridiculously slow pace, before I reach the crest and start to accelerate downhill and around the bend, following the meandering road before I turn off in the direction I need to go in.