Monday 11 April 2016

The List

This is part 3 of the Postman for part 1 click here, part 2 click here and for part 4 here
I think it works as a stand alone too. 


Karel's head felt like he had a thousand hangovers crammed in there at once. His mouth was dry and his tongue tasted of sick. His teeth felt like he'd cleaned them in sewage. He lay with his eyes closed hoping that when he opened them he'd be in his hotel room, safe and well with the package Fritz had meant to pick up intact beside him. But he knew damn well he wasn't.
He stretched out on the bed and tried to clear his mind. He tried to think what he knew.
Someone had betrayed them, someone had got to the Postman, or maybe the Postman had always been foe, maybe this was a honey trap. Like a drug dealer willing to give away some good shit in the knowledge the user would get greedy, take risks, come back for more. Is that what Fritz and he had become, information junkies, desperate for the next big scoop.
His head ached but he was alive, that was the one thing going in his favour.
“On your feet,” Karel opened his eyes to see the woman standing in front of him. Her face stern yet amused. Two guards came in and grabbed his arms to make sure he obeyed her. “I’ve got some stuff to show you,” she said with a smile and turned her back and left the cell. Karel was man-handled along to the interview room.
One good thing had come from his vomiting. The stale smell had been replaced by bleach, not much better, but better. There was a glass of water on the table and Karel instinctively reached for it and took a sip. Swilling his mouth and swallowing. 
She stood there watching him. That smile sat on her lips. Was it even a smile or just a sinister grimace? She stepped forward.
“Look,” she said, and started dealing the documents she had in her hand like playing cards.
“Forensic evidence that shows gun shot residue on your hands.”
Karel shrugged.
“Forensic evidence that shows your fingerprints on the murder weapon.”
She was enjoying this.
“Telephone records that show you in contact with the Iranian foreign ministry.”
Karel had to admit they were high quality forgeries.
“And listen,” She leant over and pressed play on a recording machine.
“Yes I killed him, he was going to betray me. He had to die.”
Karel thumped the table. It was his voice, but he’d never said those words. He hadn’t said anything.
“Good isn’t it?” She looked pleased with her work. We’re the best in the world at this kind of stuff. She left him to stew for a moment.
“Shall I use a technical term,” she said. Karel ignored her. “You’re fucked. Completely fucked. We’ve got the evidence to lock you up for ever. And we might even go for the death penalty.” She let the words hang in the air.  “Or of course…” she continued.
Karel didn’t look at her. He hid eyes with his hands. She was right, things were not looking good for him here, but this was all lies and where there were lies there was hope.
“Of course,” she said collecting up the papers she’d laid out on the table. “There is another way.”
Now Karel looked at her. He hated that beautiful face. Would happily smash it into a thousand pieces.
She got out another piece of paper and moved it into the middle of the table. It was a list of names. Karel looked at the ceiling and wondered if the brown circles had got bigger since he was last here.
“Who do you work with?” she said, moving the list closer. “Who are your sources?”
Karel kept staring at the water marks, ignoring the list, ignoring the request.
“Help me and I can help you get out of here.”
“Why the fuck should I help you?” They were the first words Karel had spoken in this room. “You killed my friend and then framed me for it. If I give you names, you won’t let me go. You’ll just have me and the names. You can fuck off lady.”

“You stubborn little prick. What do you think? That your liberal, leftist, idealistic principles are going to get you out of this mess? You think a jury of your peers will see you right? Jesus by the time we finish with you even Amnesty International will be calling for you to hang.” She pulled an imaginary noose around her own neck.” “Selling secrets to the Iranians, to ISIS, to the Taliban, you’re going to hell in a hand cart.” She stood up and circled him before unleashing a blow of such force that Karel slumped forward and smacked his head on the table. Those birds above his head sang, and Karel passed out.

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