The Booker

– 1 –

Barry was used to living with ghosts but tonight, something was different. After all this time, the signs were clear. He was certain it was happening again.

He pulled up into his overgrown parking space just as the sun began to set over the bay, bathing the streets in a pink and golden light. He jiggled the door handle and kicked the side, waiting for the inevitable screech as his eighties shitbox opened its rusty hinge. He leaned against the side, bumping it back into place and left it unlocked, the broken plastic pull locks resting against the dull glass. If someone wanted to break into it, they were welcome to try the esoteric ritual he went through every time he wanted to get it moving. Three pushes on the clutch, turn the key, two more stomps and voilà! By the time a car thief figured it out, he’d be ready to leave again.

Clarence, the resident cat, brushed up against his shin. He purred, the sound somewhere between a whine and a snarl. Clarence glared at him, his thick marmalade tail waving in the air. He wasn’t any kind of expert on cats but he was pretty sure that when a cat wags its tail, it’s not a good thing.

G’day mate, are you hungry? It was a stupid question. Clarence was already scratching at the door, waiting to be let in.

Hold your horses. He unlocked the door and followed Clarence down the gloomy hallway to his office. The smell of dust and cold brick permeated the place, masked only by the layers of sweat, beer and the kind of herbal cigarettes that were generally not permitted in polite public company.

Clarence trotted ahead, his tail brushing the skirting board underneath uneven layers of posters from shows gone by, including a classic shot of his old band The Maggots, circa 1989. He caught a glimpse of his old self, a dyed black shock of hair covering one eye, the tattoo of an owl with the one golden eye peeking out above his scrawny bicep. God, he was skinny back then. Not that he wasn’t slim now, it’s just that his muscles had somehow managed to take another twenty years or so to fully develop. It helped to be able to eat and visit the gym now and then, a luxury not afforded to him in those days. Still, good times.

He elbowed the door to the office, casting his eye around the stacks of Pulse magazines. The message light blinked at him from his ancient commander phone. Whoever it was could wait. He flicked on the coffee machine, waiting for the hiss to disappear before he could dump in some coffee grounds. The machine gurgled and sputtered, wafting the scent of burnt arabica and hard water through the room.

The phone buzzed and he snatched it up, swivelling in his chair.

Boardwalk View Hotel, Barry Matthews speaking.

Baz? You always answer the phone like that? John’s tinny voice came through the line. Barry nudged his cup in the general direction of the coffee maker.

Johnno? Why are you calling me here? You want a gig or something?

Yeah I do. Except my guitarist thinks he’s some kind of hotshot promoter now. Missed the last six years of rehearsals.

Hardly a hotshot. Anyway, I’m not your guitarist, you’re my bass player. He grinned, wedging the phone against his shoulder as he poured the coffee-flavoured sludge into his trusty black mug. So what’s up?

I need a favour.

I knew that. Otherwise you wouldn’t be calling right now. He grimaced, taking a sip.

John huffed to himself, the sound magnified through the crackling line. I need you to come over this Sunday and save me from my wife’s sister, Elaine.

Why, what’s she done now? Clarence sat in the doorway, fixing him with a stare. Yeah, yeah, hang on, I’ll get you some food in a minute. No, not you, Johnno. Go on. I’m listening. That cat, I swear.

I need you there for moral support. She hates me, she hates my guitars, and she’s trying to convince Sarah to make my studio into a Balinese entertaining room.

He shoved the stack of magazines to the side, flipping open his laptop. So what does that mean? She wants to entertain Balinese people?

No, smartarse. She and Sarah just came back from Bali and now everything has to have a straw roof and creepy statues in every corner. My dogs don’t like them. I reckon they move position when I’m not looking.

Barry pinched the skin between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. You haven’t explained why you want me there.

Because she hates you more than me. It’ll draw her focus from the main game.

And here I was thinking I was lovable. What’s in it for me? He swivelled the chair from side to side, trying to get comfortable.

I don’t know. Something good. Haven’t thought that far ahead.

Barry shook his head, powering up his laptop. Great. So, nothing then. I guess I’ll be there around six?

Johnno sighed. Thanks mate. I need the buffer zone. It’s just that when they get together and start talking about renovations… wait. What’s that noise? Is that at your end?

Barry jolted, nearly dropping the phone. What the hell?

Clarence howled, the sound winding up from somewhere between the basement and the kitchen. The sound tore through his skin, the mournful yowl rising in pitch until it tapered off into a whine.

Don’t know. I have no idea. There’s something up with Clarence. He tapped the speaker button, peering out the door. Clarence’s wail rose in pitch, punctuated by a rattling growl. Sorry, mate, I’ve gotta check on him. Sounds like something’s up. Talk to you later. He bolted out of the room, heading for the basement.

Don’t forget Sunday! The voice blared out of the speaker before cutting off with a click.

He jogged through the hallway, gripping the railing as he took the carpeted steps two at a time. Clarence? Where are you, mate?

The cat screamed, rounding off each burst with a hiss. Barry slowed down, even though he knew he had to get to the source of the noise. Something told him he didn’t want to find out what it was that had disturbed Clarence. He banged through double doors, past the equipment cages, winding down a second staircase to the basement.

The cat was stretched out against the base of one of the storage doors, claws raking over the same spot. His back legs kicked out, shivering, his tail waving from side to side as he let out another hiss followed by a low growl.

What’s the matter?

The cat scratched at the door, ignoring him. Barry tried to lift him out of the way but Clarence hissed, scratching his finger. A bead of blood came to the surface.

Come on, back off. What’s wrong with you? He leaned past the cat and opened the door. Clarence raced in before he could stop him.

Barry blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light. A hot metallic smell assaulted his nostrils.

At first he thought it was a joke. Someone had left streamers up and cow entrails just like that awful gig a few months back. What were they called? The Knuckle Crusters. Something like that. That’s what this was. Stage props. A set or something. But the smell…

Clarence trotted over to the corner of the room, lapping at the floor. Barry’s stomach lurched, the muscles clenching as he took in the scene before him.

Clarence! he whispered.

He took a step towards the thing in the middle of the room, trying to make sense of the shape. No matter what he told himself, he couldn’t understand what he was looking at. He stopped when his feet slipped on a smear of blood. Shit.

He backed up, wiping his desert boots on a triangle of offcut carpet. He squinted up at the shape, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

The figure came into focus, the hulking body hanging from the ceiling, arms outstretched, its once-white collar soaked with blood. The floor was coated with partly congealed blood and something else that he didn’t want to examine too closely. The man’s chest and stomach were hollow, flaps of skin hanging loose as if his body had exploded outwards, covering the room with a strange assortment of body parts and fluids. Strings of intestines fanned out from the stomach cavity to the walls, weaved together in a strange web-like pattern between his knees. In the middle of the web, the man’s head rested on its side, blank eyes staring back at him.

He tried to speak but no sound came out. It couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be real. He fought the urge to throw up, covering his nose with his sleeve.

He edged around the figure and scooped up Clarence, flinching as the cat snarled, scratching at his arms. He backed out of the room and turned, sprinting up the stairs as the cat’s claws dug into his fingers.

He kicked the door to his office shut, staring at the blinking light on the phone. His breath rushed in and he had to let go of Clarence to lean on the desk, steadying himself before his knees gave out.

Clarence slipped under the desk, settling on his haunches to lick at his paws, spots of his fur still soaked red in peaks.

Were they still here? Whoever did this, were they here? Were they still in the building? He stared at the phone again, watching the light blink on and off. Call someone. Think, Barry!

He pressed the message button.

Hi Barry, it’s Margot. I know you’re still in the middle of renovations but I was just calling about locking in a couple of dates for Garage Head. They’re setting up a tour of Geelong, Bendigo later this year and then coming back to Melbourne around the…

Someone banged at the door to the back entrance. He clicked off the machine and stilled, waiting for them to go away. He had to get his thoughts together. There must be an explanation for all of this. There had to be. Someone was playing a joke. Stage props, that was all. Pretty sick for a joke, though. He couldn’t think of anyone that would do something that extreme.

He shook his head, clenching his hands to stop them from shaking. There was no point following this train of thought. He knew that this wasn’t a joke. He was only fooling himself. It was real. Someone really did those things to that man and for all he knew they were still here, waiting for him.

Two thumps. Then nothing. He hissed out a breath. Was it them?

The banging started up again, rattling against the corrugated iron near the window. Baz, darling… you in there?

Shit. It sounded like Simon. Or Felicia, depending on what he was wearing tonight.

Baazz! I know you’re here. I can see your car in the spot!

Barry edged out of the office, shutting the door behind him. Clarence hissed at him through the door. Shut up, Clarence! Stay in there.

He opened the door a crack, eyes darting to the empty lot, pile of leaves blowing past the broken paving stone and rambling wisteria next to his car. I’m busy. What do you want, Felicia?

Baz! I knew you were in here. Felicia pushed past him, sauntering down the hallway in his red velvet off-the-shoulder number. He walked fast, despite the black patent leather stilettos that pushed him well over the six-foot-five mark. Barry caught up with him, blocking his progress. He stared up into fake eyelashes, taking note of the slight stubble underneath Felicia’s chin.

Felicia, it’s not a good time. I’ve got a situation. Clarence yowled from the office.

Felicia tossed his hair over his shoulder, smoothing down the wavy blonde wig. Keep your hair on, darling. I only came to get my knickers.

What?

I left my knickers in the men’s room last Saturday when I was…

Stop. Stop. Okay. Too much info, mate. Look, I haven’t even opened up yet. It’s just me and Clarence and I really need to catch up on…

I’ll just go through the lost and found. You won’t even know I’m here. Felicia sucked in a breath, putting a manicured hand to his chest. Is that blood? Did you cut yourself or something? Barry followed Felicia’s gaze to the door to his office, noting a bloody smear from his boots in the doorway.

I’m fine. Barry lowered his voice, glancing around the hallway. Look, it’s not safe, Felicia. Something happened here tonight. I need to…

The phone chirped from his office. Come on, you need to get inside, he said, grabbing Felicia’s arm and bundling him through the door.

Ow, unhand me, Baz!

Just keep quiet. Please. I need to answer this.

Felicia perched on the side of his desk, smoothing down his dress. Such a brute.

Barry held a finger to his lips and scrambled to answer the phone, spilling his coffee in the process. Clarence whined, scampering under the desk to avoid the steady stream of drips.

Shit! Yeah, what? I mean, hello? he said, running a hand through his hair.

Mister Matthews? The voice was smooth, with a hint of an accent. Barry shivered, a wave of chills washing over him.

Yes?

Mister Barry Matthews?

Yeah, who is this?

I’m glad I caught you, Mister Matthews. It’s important I speak with you before you do anything you might regret. Speaking of which, how is your leg?

My leg? What are you talking about? Who is this?

I see. So you want to be a tough guy. I understand, but I don’t approve. Let’s start again. I need you to think carefully. Do you think this is the way you should be speaking to a respected businessman such as myself? The voice on the line hissed out a breath, clicking his tongue.

Listen, mate, I don’t know who you are, and I sure as hell don’t know what you want. I’ve got a bit of a situation here and I…

Mister Matthews. You will have more of a situation if you don’t listen to me. This ‘situation’, as you call it, is just between you and me. Got it? You will not be going to the cops. That’s the first rule. There will be consequences. Do you understand? Or do you want another incentive?

Okay, okay. Right. No cops, he said, trying to push away the image of the man’s dead eyes staring through him. The guy on the phone sounded serious. I won’t call the cops. Can you at least tell me who you are?

Who I am is not important for the moment. I trust you’ve met my associate. Rocco can be quite persuasive when he wants to be. And when he knows I want something, he makes sure I get it. If you don’t want your other leg to meet with another ‘situation’, I would advise you listen closely.

Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else.

This is the Boardwalk View Hotel.

Yes.

And you’re Barry Matthews.

Yes, I said that before.

Well then, Mister Matthews, by now you will be properly acquainted with my associate, Rocco.

Who the hell was this Rocco? He hadn’t met anyone tonight. Except…

Wait. Does he have dark hair? A heavy mustache? Big guy?

"That’s Rocco. Now when you tell the nice people at the hospital about your leg, this never happened.