A Killer Night

My nap seemed to go on for a lifetime. I could only muster up a sigh when I saw the date on the newspaper laying across my chest. Tuesday 15 May 1945. I don't know why I sighed, it wasn't as if I was about to go 'all the way' with some goddess in my dream. I guess the idea of normality sucked a lot of energy out of me. Brighton had been in party season since V-day and the whole of the country was too. I heard enough drunk people pass my flat that I started to think that drinking was a full-time occupation. I guess they deserved their fun, but then again so do I. My idea of fun is a bottle of whiskey, with little to no conversation and maybe some music for the atmosphere. That's if I'm being picky.

The night was just settling in. I had wasted the day and I wasn't about to waste the evening as well. I threw the paper off me and grabbed whatever clothes looked the part; an open short-sleeved shirt, charcoal suit and some black derby shoes. Pocketed my Players cigarettes, my identification that read Hugh Blakey and what little money I had on me. That was 5 shillings to be exact. 5 shillings to see what trouble I could get into.

***

Outside it was the quietest it had been for weeks. The streets were empty like an early Sunday morning. I went through my pockets and got a cigarette. Inside the packet were a bunch of matches. I lit one up and blew out smoke, which drifted with the wind, down the road and faded out before it got to the promenade, glowing in all its glory. I hadn't been to the beach since I came home. The thought of the large crowds made me cower back into my flat. I took my time walking down the street, taking note of how most of the houses could do with a good lick of paint. I suppose people had other things on their minds after the war. The closer I got to the promenade the more I heard the sea crashing onto the shore. An all-black car chugged past me and stopped a foot away. I kept my pace thinking nothing of it. The window of the passenger side wound down. A bright-eyed boy, who looked about 16 popped out his head and whistled at me. I would have ignored it, but tonight I felt like stirring the pot a bit. I turned to look at the boy. The car was packed with his cronies. They all looked alike; pale, dark suits and blondish hair slicked back with too much product. I almost felt I woke up in an alternative reality where the Nazi's won the war. I didn't say a word. My cigarette was firmly on my lips waiting for the boy to say something. I could see he was bamboozled at my silence, as he stuttered for his words. His friends sniggered in the back.

"Evening sir." He said in a well-spoken accent.

"Have you got a pet dog?" I responded.

"Huh?" He grunted, looking confused.

"I'd say save the whistling for your pets, who haven't got a grasp on the English language."

"I meant nothing by it, Sir." He said with a grin on his face.

"What is it you wanted to ask me?" I said, trying to mimic his face.

"Can you recommend a place to drink?" The boy asked.

It was then I realised why the boys in the car were so giddy. They were all tipsy. I edged a bit closer and could smell the booze from inside the vehicle.

"I don't think I can help you there." I lied.

"Come on, sir. Don't be such a square." He said, pointing at me.

I leaned in, so I could see him and his boys properly. "Drive all the way up the road. When you get to the Palace Pier, take a left and once you take that left keep going. Keep driving until the road ends which should take you out of Brighton."

One of the boys from the backseat wound down his window and threw something at me. Luckily I saw him in time, to which I moved my head to the side. The glass bottle smashed on the wall of someone's house and shattered into a thousand pieces. They all laughed and put the car in go before I had to chance to react. They swerved left onto the seafront, the motor revving loudly until it faded away into the distance and all I could hear was the sea again. I wasn't angry. Strangely enough, after it happened I quickly forgot about them.

***

I leant my arms on the green metal railing that stretched out across the whole seafront. I could just about see the dark water washing up onto the pebbles. Somehow it felt relaxing listening to the violent sounding sea. If I were to jump in I'd be pulled under and dragged into deeper territory, but because I was at a safe length I felt in control. I had the urge to jump and fight with the water for being so beautiful and ugly at the same time. They say mother nature always wins, but sometimes it's not all about winning. I had learnt that the hard way in the war. Sometimes our greatest victories came with heavy losses. Looking at the sea gave me flashbacks of bullet-ridden bodies of men piling up onto the sand. Trying to take my mind off that memory I looked over at the West Pier. The lights reflected bright colours into the black sea. My cigarette had left a sour taste in my mouth. Didn't help I had just woken from a Biblical sleep and my mouth was as dry as the desert. I decided to walk down the quiet promenade and see if there was a place to relieve me of dehydration.

Lights dawned down on the road and the sound of a lonely piano came from The Norfolk Hotel. It was a lightly coloured building, that was of a French design. Not that I'm an expert, but it definitely drew a lot of similarities to the buildings I saw in France when I was over there. It wasn't as big as other hotels on the seafront, but it was popular enough. The lights of the hotel focused on a lone woman leaning against the bannisters of the promenade. She stood facing the hotel smoking her cigarette. She wore a long dark green dress that went all the way to the ankles. Her hair was let down and curled as it reached the bottom of her back. From where I was standing she looked good, you know, easy on the eye. The closer I got that was confirmed. Her eyes were big, her nose was pointy, her cheeks perked and her lips were a crimson red. She definitely got my attention, but there was a hint of sadness and worry in her eyes. It looked like the cigarette was her only comfort. I shot her a look as I came up beside her, but she ignored me and turned round to face the sea. With a woman, I know when I'm playing a losing game. Despite that, I had a weird feeling I'd bump into her again that evening.

I faced the hotel and the music seemed inviting to me. Inside, the marble floors glistened all around. A large staircase led to the many rooms of the hotel and on my right was the main front desk. There wasn't a porter behind it. On my left, there was the sound of the piano I heard from outside. I walked in to see a large room that was decked out as a bar. The lights were low and so were the number of customers. Perfect for me I thought. Two men sat at different places in the room; One sat at the bar and the other on a table, alone. The pianist gave me a little nod as I entered and I tipped my hat. I've seen enough musicians in my time to know when they are playing well, and he wasn't. He clearly had talent, but the clientele wasn't going to be inspiring him much. He was playing the melody for 'South of the Border' a song I hadn't heard since 39' and I didn't really care for it then either. The memory of the beginning of the war didn't give me the feeling of nostalgia you'd expect.

The man on the table was well-dressed of medium build I'd say. It was hard to make out because of his double-breasted suit jacket. His hair was slicked all the way back and I could smell the product from where I was standing. He sort of reminded me of the drunk boys in the car. He stared at the window and gently tapped his cigarette. His drink, of what looked like whisky, was untouched.

The second man at the bar was slumped over a pint of beer, staring at the foam at the top of the glass. He was the complete opposite of the well-dressed man. He was scruffy, to put it nicely. His shirt was opened three buttons down, revealing stringy hairs on his chest. His suit was creased and looked to have a tear in the shoulders of the jacket. His shoes needed a good shine and at the bottom of his trousers were wear and tear from being dragged on the ground. His hair stuck up in different directions.

I sat on a barstool, two meters away from him. He looked up at me and shouted, "Jim!"

There was a door behind the bar, and a very young man dressed in a uniform consisting of a waistcoat and a bowtie came out. He walked straight up to me. "Are you staying in the hotel, sir?"

Quick and off the top of my head. "Sure."

"What room?" He asked.

"I've had a tiring day, are you going to serve me or not?"

Jim looked like he was loving the power he had over me.

"Depends if you are staying at the hotel?"

I wasn't in one of my sharpest moods so I let him win this one.

"Room 13." I guessed. "Whisky, Scotch?"

"We've run out of Scotch Whiskey."

"How?" I asked, almost astonished that would happen on a night like this one. I instantly thought of the well-dressed man and how he probably took the last drop of the stuff. I was on my way to not liking him.

"We've recently just run out. It's been busy and with the rationing and all..."

I cut him off by just shaking my head.

"I'll just have a beer," I said through gritted teeth.

Jim the Bartender: 2, Hugh Blakey: 1.

While he poured my drink, the man next to me was fidgeting in his seat. He was looking in my direction and looking to start a conversation I had no interest in partaking in. A beer was placed in front of me and I slipped a shilling for the trouble. Jim took it, dropped it in his pocket and walked out back. The man next to me began to cough, trying to get my attention some more.

"I thought TB was dying out?" I said, not looking in his direction.

He sniggered and slapped the bar. I didn't think it was that funny, but a compliment is a compliment.

"Don't worry about Jim. He's just angry because his lady broke up with him." Said the scruffy man.

"I guess I should feel sorry for him then?"

The scruffy man shrugged at that.

"Cause I'd rather feel sorry for the poor girl, who had to put up with him."

At that, he slapped the bar again and laughed. I took a sip of my beer. It tasted nice, but I wasn't really in the mood for one. I wondered if the smart-dressed man would swap.

"The names Gordy." The scruffy man said, interrupting my train of thought.

"Pleasure Gordy. The names Hugh."

"You from around here?" He asked.

"Depends, what you are asking for, Gordy?"

He smiled and took a sip of his drink. "Like are you from Brighton?"

"I can see you are an intelligent man Gordy," I said, patronising him. "You saw through my hotel lie. And to answer your question, yes I am from around here, but don't tell Jim."

The pianist finished the last few notes of the song. I decided I would clap. He turned and smiled, I'm sure that made his night.

"It was a lot busier in here last night," Said Gordy, not taking the hint that I didn't want to talk.

"Was it now," I responded, not really knowing why because I didn't really want to talk.

"All of em' celebrating. Some of these people weren't overseas fighting and they were celebrating like they won it themselves."

I took another sip of my drink and lit up another Players cig.

Gordy carried on. "Last night a bunch of young lads came in here, all drunk and full of spunk. They were gonna smash up the place I tell ya. I grabbed em and I told em that I fought over in Germany and you know what they did?"

I blew out smoke and sighed. "Please. I hate cliff-hangers."

"They laughed." He said with disgust.

I shrugged my shoulders, not really knowing what to say to that. Not because I didn't have any wisdom to share, but because I didn't care.

"They don't know the things I've seen and the things I've done to people." He continued.

Through the main hallway, the woman from outside walked into the bar. I could see the pianist looking in her direction as she passed him. She walked with an air of confidence and sat on the table where the well-dressed man was. She gave him a killer smile, that almost had me hot under the collar. The man reached for his whisky and began drinking it. I started to become jealous at that point. Not because the beautiful lady was with him, but because he could drink whisky.

"They wouldn't last 5 minutes over there on the battlefield. No, not at all. I once caught this German trying to disguise himself as the resistance, but I sussed him out and put a bullet right between his eyes." Gordy waffled, mimicking a gun aimed at his face.

"How noble of you," I replied and trying to drown out the sound of his voice.

I inspected the woman and the man. They began chatting, the talk looked intense, like they were listening to every word spoken. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He slid it onto the table, right in her direction.

"I don't like them Jews much myself and I think they might have got what was coming to them..." Gordy continued. By this point, I only caught bits of his drivel.

The woman picked up the envelope and pulled out the contents. She stared at the piece of paper like she was thinking.

Gordy hadn't got the hint that I wasn't really interested and tried to raise his voice a bit.

"Your views sound very interesting," I said sarcastically, knowing full well he wouldn't understand I was mocking him. "But I came out to have a nice quiet drink not to hear the ramblings of Oswald Mosley or Lord Haw-Haw."

He smiled at that, did a little 'hail Hitler' salute and went back to his drink. I knew he wouldn't be quiet for long.

I turned my attention back to the table where I got an image of the lady looking at what was in the envelope put in front of her. She looked spooked. The well-dressed man was facing away from me so I couldn't see what his facial expression was. She placed it back on the table and nodded at him. At that, he got up from his seat. He turned to the direction of the bar with a grin on his face. He stood between Gordy and I. Gordy called for Jim and he was in no rush to get back to work.

"He'll be here in a minute," Gordy said, almost happy that someone else might talk to him.

The well-dressed man nodded. I didn't like the way he did it though. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but sometimes people have that look about them where you can't help but not like them. He looked at me and quickly turned away. I guess he didn't think me much of a threat.

"That's quite a lady you got there." Whispered Gordy.

The well-dressed man just nodded with a large smirk on his face.

Jim appeared from the doors at last and nodded at the man.

"Same again." The man said in a soft accent. He definitely didn't sound like a regional accent from here. My guess is it was somewhere between here and London, but then again I couldn't be too sure. It was an accent I must have encountered when I was overseas when the whole world was at war. After awhile all English accents felt like a nice big cuddle from the motherland. Then when I got back I couldn't wait for people to close their mouths.

At that moment Jim pulled out a bottle of Scotch from underneath the bar.

At that moment, I purposely knocked my beer over and let it spill everywhere. The glass rolled in the direction of Jim, as he poured the man his drink. Jim's eyes darted at me.

"While your there, mind filling up my glass with what he's having," I said, looking at him ever-so innocently.

He tutted and picked up another small glass and poured one for me. He didn't look happy doing it. The defeated Jim picked up my glass and rubbed a cloth over the spilt beer.

I grabbed my Scotch and smiled at him.

"You know how much it costs?" He growled.

"As much as my spilt beer probably, which I couldn't finish on the account of my accident."

I was starting to like the boy. Our one-upmanship was something I could get used to. I could see that he was thinking of what to say next and I couldn't wait. Unfortunately, this time, he didn't say anything.

I took my first sip of the whiskey, Old Angus is what I thought the name was. It sure hit the spot. So much so I almost forgot about the well-dressed man and the woman with him.

"Is that all?" Jim said to the man.

He nodded, to which Gordy took a sharp look in the woman's direction.

"What about your lady-friend?"

The man laughed and said 'thank you' to Jim. He walked back to their table and sat down. The woman still looked uneasy.

"Can you believe that?" Said Gordy, shocked that the man brought a drink but nothing for his lady.

"Sounds like a cheap night."

This time Gordy didn't laugh. I guess I'd have to work on my material.

The second sip of the Old Angus was even sweeter. The first sip of any whiskey is usually a journey into the unknown. Sometimes the first sip is the hardest, getting used to the taste and fragrance. The second sip means, if you aren't wincing and rushing to the loo, you've found one that fits your desire.

Jim finished cleaning my mess and in an instant walked to the backdoor.

"Thanks, Jim," I shouted. He ignored me and slammed the door.

Gordy found himself a cigarette in his pocket, which he lit up straight away.

"Women are funny aren't they?" He said.

I didn't want to respond, but I hate being rude. "Funnier than Max Miller."

"Are you always a smart Alec?"

"Not always, I was hoping tonight was my day off."

Gordy tutted. "I don't know why I'm talking to you."

I was happy by this point, happy that he had got the hint. I thought I could now drink in peace, but that wouldn't be for long. The night had other plans for me.

***

I had just taken my last sip of Old Angus when the woman knocked over the well-dressed man's drink, splashing all over his suit.

"YOU ROTTEN BASTARD!" She shouted.

She stormed out of the place. The pianist stopped playing and Gordy turned to see the drama. The well-dressed man got up calmly, brushed the drink off himself and went after her.

"Someones in for a hiding," Gordy said, turning back to his beer.

I looked down at their table and realised the lady left the envelope he gave to her.

I could have had just a calm night but, that envelope reminded me of the dark, crashing waves on the shore. I was about to jump in and fight the waters.

I walked over to the table and took the envelope, knowing one of them could walk back in the bar, once they realised they forgot whatever was in there.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Shouted Gordy.

"Shut-up Gordy," I called over.

I opened the envelope and there was a note that simply read: Mazda - 12.00.

Gordy by this moment decided to step off of his stall and assert justice from the Third Reich.

"I think you should stay out of people's business." He called out. The piano player lit up a cigarette and began to watch how this would play out.

Gordy pulled on my shoulder to turn around but I didn't.

"Why did you have to go and do that?" I said.

I spun around and with my elbow clipped him around the face. Not hard, but just enough to let him know he was touched. He stumbled back and had a shocked look in his eyes. He edged forward. "Your gonna wish you never did that." He shouted. He was right, it was a waste to use my energy and time on him. He pulled up two fists like he was in a boxing match. My stance was that of someone who was too pre-occupied to care about a fight. He swung a right, but I dodged it and threw a fist to his ribs with my left hand. He went down instantly with the wind knocked out of him. The pianist clapped a sign of approval, returning my gesture from earlier. I looked down at Gordy who was gasping for air. "A bit of advice for you. Your shoulders give you away, I knew your favoured hand before you even threw the punch."

"Fuck you." He wheezed.

"Charming. And after all the bonding we did."

I knelt and held the note in front of him. "Now you seem like a knowledgeable man. Any idea what 'Mazda' means? I may not be the sharpest tool in the box but I can guess '12pm' means exactly what it says."

"I don't know." He scoured at me.

"The Fountain." The pianist said as he turned to his piano. "The Mazda Fountain on Grand Parade."

"Ahh yes," I said, remembering the location.

Gordy cowered away from me, but I was done with him. I stood up and made my way back to the bar. I downed my drink and headed for the exit. I tipped my hat to the pianist. I assumed Gordy would use this experience to add to his sob story. I get why Jim stayed out back when he was at the bar.

***

I walked from the seafront, all the way through the Lanes and the Pavilion Gardens. It felt like a ghost town. A few people wandered through the streets, but it was nothing like it had been. The pathway through the Pavilion Gardens was lit up by tall lamps. The Pavilion itself, stood lifeless and out of place to what was around it, which was mainly rows and rows of slums. I came to the end of the path and walked under the North Gate, with a mini spire placed on top of it. I looked to the right of me and could see the statue of King George IV, with his back towards me. Over the road, was a statue of Queen Victoria and behind her was darkness until the Mazda Fountain. The water flowed as the multicoloured lights shined below it. It stuck out and I made a be-line for it. The sound of a chugging car came from the seafront. I couldn't see too much, but it looked like the car from earlier. It was passing slowly, but I doubted that anyone could see me in the dark. Someone put their head out of the window and screamed: "Wake up Brighton!" I kept my pace until I got closer to the fountain and that's when I saw it. Something floating in the pool of water, below the actual fountain. I stopped and listened for the rustling of footsteps or heavy breathing, but I couldn't hear anything but the sound of the water flowing up into the air and splashing down into the pool of water. I edged forward and could see a man floating face-first in the water. In the back of his head was what looked like the handle end of some scissors. Maybe Gordy was right. It was none of my business and now I was deep-diving into something I couldn't escape.

I left the body floating and made my way back to where I came. There were a few reasons I didn't call the police. The first being, I had been known to them since a young boy. Mainly discipline issues - I liked to talk back and I liked a good fight here and there. The second, I didn't really like them and the third they didn't really like me. The only thing I knew was that the floating body had something to do with the girl in the green dress and the man and the oversized suit.

I emerged from the darkness and heard footsteps coming up the road. This time King George was looking down on me and his arm was extended like he was telling me to follow the road. I peered around the corner and saw some legs sticking out from behind a large tree. I moved forward some more and saw the girl in the green dress looking over the Pavilion. I continued my walk with a line of conversation in my head. She looked in my direction and before I could say anything she called me out.

"Excuse me, do you have a cigarette?"

That was going to be my line. I reached into my pocket and handed her one and lit it for her as well. She sized me up.

"You look familiar." She said, taking her first smoke.

"I was thinking the same about you."

She smiled. I took her in. She was clean, no signs of blood, or mud or anything to indicate a struggle. Could the guy she was with, really be in the fountain?

"The names Darla." She said, giving me a look that I knew meant trouble.

"Peter." I lied. She probably didn't tell me her real name either.

"Well, Peter, what brings you out at this time of night?"

"The quiet. It's probably not safe for a girl like you to be out at this time of night?"

She laughed to herself. "You going to hurt me, Peter?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said, playing her little game because I knew she recognised me from the bar.

"You want to be my hero? My knight and shining armour?"

"I tried being a hero when I signed up to be in the army. That's the last time I'll do that."

"But what if I was in serious trouble?" She said.

"Call the police. That's what they get paid for."

She laughed at that. There was silence. The wind had picked up and that was the only sound between us.

"Your names not Peter." She said with a large grin on her face.

"And your names not Darla," I responded.

She looked behind me and at that moment I sensed someone behind me. Someone so quiet that I didn't know of their presence. I turned and moved my shoulder at the right time as crowbar just missed me. I didn't get a good look at the person, but I could tell it was a man by his big build and the low grunt as he swung at me. I knew I didn't have much time to waste in trying to subdue him, but I let him fling another a shot at me. It was a dangerous game, one of those shots would send me into a deep sleep. I dodged him again, but this time I struck back. Only with my fist mind you, but then again, that's the only weapon I had. I caught him on the chest, winding him. He was so big it didn't really put a stop to him, it only made him angry as he began to swing ferociously. The edge of the crowbar caught my sleeve and created a tear on my jacket, my only jacket. This time I couldn't dodge the onslaught and when the weapon got close to my face I caught it with my right hand. I could smell the damp rustic iron smell from the weapon. He sent a left fist into my ribs while I was occupied trying to stop the crowbar from meeting my face. I couldn't tell if they were broken, but it sure felt like it. Breathing became hard. I went down on my knees and lost grip of his weapon. I then felt a thud and a sharp sinking pain in the back of my head. I went limp and everything I know went pitch black for a moment.

***

My head felt like I was having one of the worst hangovers. My ribs felt like they had been caved in. At the top of my head, a large lump had already formed. Blood wasn't pouring but it had dried on my head and around my neck and face. I slowly got up and saw a little pool of blood from where I was just laid out. No cars or people around. I didn't want to stay around. Although my head was in a bit of a fog, I went into battle mode. I thought of Darla (if that was her real name), the man in the oversized suit and the big man who knocked me out. I then thought of the person, laying face first, dead, with a pair of scissors lodged in the back of the head at the Mazda Fountain. That was my first stop. Passing the Prince Regent statue again, his hand gestured that I should go back. I made my way over to the fountain, my adrenaline was fading fast as I began to feel dizzy. The technicolour water was my lighthouse in the storm. I reached the fountain trying to keep myself up. I took one look at the water and it was black. My legs felt like jelly and I dropped to the grass, knees first. I wanted to sleep, take a load off my chest, but I knew that I'd be dead if did so. I began to crawl on the grass, gripping at the mud, closer to the fountain. The drizzle of cold water lightly tapped the back of my head. It brought some comfort. I reached over to the edge of the fountain and took a handful of water into my muddy palms, threw it over my face. The fuzziness forming at the corner of my eyes started to disappear. Reaching back into the water I splashed my face once again. A sudden jolt of energy came over me. I struggled to my feet, feeling like an infant child learning how to walk and looked at the water. I noticed that the body was gone and not a single trace of where it went.

***

My watch read quarter past two as I made the walk back home, along the seafront, hearing the waves crash against the shore once again. It helped take my mind off the pain that lingered from the back of my skull. The sea sounded nearer to me, like the crashing of bullets, bombs, sirens, screams and cries. Forgetting is harder than remembering. France. 1944. Operation Overlord. Landing on code name 'Gold' beach in the land of Normandy. Met with gunfire and missiles. Shoot at the air and hope for the best. Maybe you'll hit something. Duck, cover and run. Repeat. Sand everywhere. shrapnel everywhere, then a trail of Blood. Not my blood. It ended at a poor soul, a bullet through the throat, by a large rock. Young and still not out of his teenage years. He looked at me to help. Bullets pelted the rock that kept him safe. Orders were to carry on pushing up the beach. I stopped for a moment, with chaos all around me and looked deep in the boy's eyes. I shouted something to him I don't think he heard. Then a missile dropped. The earth erupted. The aftershock caught me and dragged me through the air and then it was lights out for me. I remember the pain in my head as I tried to pick myself up - dried blood all over my face and sand everywhere. A fog surrounded me. The gunfire stopped and there was only the sound of murmured speech. Soldiers appearing from the mist like the walking dead, with injuries and dishevelled looks. I expected the gunfire to start again and in my dreams it usually did. Not all the time though. But most of the time I saw the boy with a look of hopelessness. I never found his body or knew his name.

The seas rage faded and I was back home. Head still ringing from earlier. I stopped for a moment and took a breather while looking down at the beach. The water worked it's magic and calmed me down. Next, I went for a cigarette and near enough smoked the thing in one toke. As I blew out smoke, I noticed something floating in the sea, getting pulled into the waves and then pushed back onto shore. I rushed down to the beach and saw a dark green dress. As the sea pushed her back to the shore again, I grabbed her leg and pulled her away from the water. It was Darla. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth wide open and her tongue hung out at the side. Dark marks formed around her throat. I tried to see if she had any pockets or something that would tell me who she was, but there were none.

"Good Evening, Sir." A shadowy figure said at the top of the beach. They got closer, pebbles crunching each time. He was short but built to fight. His suit was too small for him and it was tight on his shoulders and arms. He took off his hat and threw it to the ground.

"What's good about it?" I shouted over to him.

"Have you never heard the phrase: don't touch want isn't yours?"

The closer he got, I saw his clean-shaven face and a stern-looking jaw with a wide nose.

"I ain't too clever, mister. What do you mean?" I said.

He was about two meters from me. "Well, she's mine."

"I didn't see your name on her. What name would that be."

He laughed. "Nice try. Why don't you move along before I give you a taste of deja-vu."

Blood began to pump to my hands and my heart pumped.

"That was cheap, what you did back there."

"You've got heart, I'll give you that. I don't care about what's fair and what's not. Last chance, Sir."

We stared each other down. Who makes the first move - stand-off. I reached into my pocket and got myself another cigarette and lit it.

"Where did the body in the fountain go?" I said over to the stranger.

"Looks like your times up, Sir."

He got to moving. I took a toke of my cigarette, quickly removed it from my mouth and flicked into his face. He let out a short yelp and started swinging his fists at the air. I waited until he stopped waving his arms about and hit him right on the nose. He didn't even nudge. I went for him. Blood dripped from his face but, again, he didn't move. He smiled and put his arm behind his back and pulled out the crowbar from his trousers. He swung it at me, but I ducked. He clipped my shin on the second. I went down to my knees and he charged over swinging. I rolled along the pebbles as he continued to strike the ground. The crowbar then hit my chest, taking the wind out of me. He climbed on top and struck me in the face. Another deep sleep was coming. I felt on the ground and clawed at a large pebble and with about as much strength as I had, bounced it on his temple. The pebble broke in two. The stranger started to shake. He screamed while grabbing his head. I crawled from under him and saw his crowbar was free and picked it up. He looked up at me, blood gushed from his head so much it was starting to cover one side of his body.

"Where's the other body and who are you?" I shouted.

There was still some fight left in him as he tied to get to his feet. I took my chance and swung at him. KLUNK. The same side I already hit him on. He went down and hit on the pebbles. He wasn't getting up ever again. I knew I had to be quick. I went through his pockets and got everything inside them. I threw the crowbar into the thrashing waves and then dragged him down into the sea and let it do its work, with the hope the body would float away and sink to the bottom. Last was Darla. I decided to leave her where she was. I thought at least then that someone would identify her. My guess was she fell victim to the stranger and deserved some justice, even if it caused me some pain in the process. After mulling on the thought, I ran from the beach and never looked back.

***

Once home, I laid out all of what I found in his pocket. On his ration card it read; Billy Fischer, 29, address Withdean Road. To live in that part of Brighton, you had to have some money and he enough on him. I wasn't too proud to keep the thirty pounds he had on him. He had some novelty matches that read; Sherry's Dancehall, West Street, Brighton, on the front of the packet. Lastly, there was a note that simply said: Any trouble. Ask for James Thompson.

I'd look into Billy in the morning, but at least I got a bit of bob to help me to pay rent and get back on my feet. I poured myself my last bit of whiskey and took one sip. I felt tired and no matter how much I tried to fight it, my body wouldn't let me give in. I fell asleep with the £30, snuggly tucked into my trouser pocket. I felt at ease and calm. The young boy visited me in my dream again and told me I did well. He said that the girl would be found but it wouldn't receive any press and she would be nameless forever. The same ending wouldn't be for Billy Fischer. He would go on the missing people's list and be front-page material in the newspapers for a few weeks before his family would accept that he was never coming home. The boy said Billy's father was a barrister and I would never be the wiser as to who was in the fountain and I would never find out who the well-dressed man was. It's strange because the bastard was right about the whole thing.