Chapter 18

They strolled in silence, side by side. Jack’s eyes constantly darted this way and that; watching for signs, for body behaviour, for something out of the ordinary, for excessive, out-of-place energy.

Amy observed him, admiring his profile, his constant devotion to his job, wondering if he ever stopped working and what he was like on a day off. Were they allowed days off?

Catching her questioning look, he glanced across at her and turned away, avoiding her eyes. She’s staring at my scars again.

Amy looked away.

“You never stop, do you? You’re always working,” she muttered.

“No.” He subconsciously ran a hand across his face, feeling the grooves of skin reminding him why he was there.

“What drives you so hard? Do you ever take time out? Surely, we’re entitled.”

“No, we aren’t here for long. There are too many bastards out there. I want to get as many as I can before my time is up.”

He looked at her, questioning. “Besides, what else would I do?”

“Well, err…we could go to a movie…or something.”

“What something?” he pushed.

Amy blushed; fearing he could read her mind. Sitting in the back row of a cinema would be nice.

She blurted. “Oh, I don’t know, go to a shooting range…”

“What?” he laughed.

“You like shooting, don’t you?” immediately wishing she’d said something else. For fuck’s sake…a shooting range? Why? I just wanna shag the guy. Urgh… duh!

Just then, a young couple crossed their path. Jack stretched his hand out and gently brushed the female’s wrist, causing a link in her bracelet to snap and fall to the ground. She heard it tinkle as it dropped and turned back to find it.

Jack and Amy walked on.

“Err…yeah. I like shooting, but not on my days off.” He glanced at her.

Amy felt his scorching gaze. Why do I always seem to make him angry?

“We are here to do a job, Amy. We have a short window of time to work in. I’m just gonna get on with it and nail the baddies, OK?”

“Is that what you called them when you are a little boy, goodies and baddies?” she asked, wishing to lighten the mood.

“Yep, nothing much changed when I got older. I joined the army and was trained to kill the baddies, or they’d kill the goodies. Simple. They just wound me up and pointed me in the right direction. It’s all I knew.”

“Did you enjoy the army?”

“Yeah, it kept me out of trouble. The aftercare needs a bit of tweaking though. They don’t know what to do with us when we we’ve burned out and it’s time to leave.”

“Is that how you died? On duty?”

He didn’t answer.

“Is that how you got your scars?” she pressed.

“I don’t discuss how I got here, Amy.” He fidgeted about with her questions. “I just want to get on with it, OK?”

“Yeah, but you can’t save everyone. There’ll be others after us who’ll eventually catch up with the shits that we don’t get. Take some time out, Jack. Why are you so driven?” Amy said, tilting her head towards him, trying to understand this charming, funny, sexy, angry, achingly troubled man she just wanted to jump on. If all these bloody criminals could just get out of the way for five minutes.

She gave him a playful dig in the ribs.

“What have you done that you’re paying penance for, Jack?”

He looked sheepish; his hand lifted to his face, hiding the scars on his jaw.

“Nothing. Shut up, Amy. Let’s just get on with it, for god’s sake.” He marched on ahead of her. “You can talk about being driven, but you want to hang, draw, and quarter every paedophile in the country. You don’t relax either.”

She’d pissed him off. Amy scrunched her face. Fuck, shit, bollocks. I’ve done it again.

Behind them, a motorbike raced out of a side street at a high speed. The reckless rider noticed the couple, but too late. As the girl bent down to retrieve her bracelet, the male stepped ahead, straight into the bike’s path. The bike smacked him, ricocheting his body high into the air. Where it flailed in slow motion before dropping and smashing down onto a parked car’s bonnet, snapping his neck.

Amy heard the commotion and glanced over her shoulder. She turned and challenged Jack with a questioning what-the-fuck look on her face.

“He beat her,” he said matter-of-factly. “He didn’t deserve any help.”

Additional Policemen, arriving at the robbery scene, changed course and scurried up the road to the crash site. The girl sat shocked on the pavement as onlookers fussed around her. She focused her gaze on the sky, then closed her eyes. Amy saw bruises, a black eye, and cuts to her lip. A small white feather floated to the ground beside her.

“How do you know he was responsible for the injuries?” she asked.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on him, gave him a few warnings, which he ignored. She just wasn’t strong enough to leave. Fear kept her with him. His coercive behaviour has been building for a year. Sooner or later, he would take it too far and kill her, like he did with his previous girlfriend, it won’t have been the first time, so…” he shrugged.

“You’re playing God again, Jack?”

“You can talk. I didn’t kill him. I just saved her.”

Amy wasn’t listening. As often happened when she accompanied him, her concentration would zone out as he spoke. Dreamily, she gazed at his lips, watching his mouth move, longing to reach out and kiss him.

Oblivious, lacking any ego or vanity, he couldn’t imagine someone wanting him, least of all a woman as beautiful as Amy. He continued. “We’re here to sort out the shits and protect the innocent.”

She couldn’t keep from staring at him. She found his scars attractive, especially the way they framed his face, underlined his cheek bones, gave him character and strength.

“I protected her,” he added, as if he had to convince her.

“How did you get your scars?”

“I’ve told you. It’s none of your business.” He stroked the torn skin of his jaw as if rubbing them would make them disappear.

“Not telling me makes me want to know more.”

“Well, tough.”

“I think they’re attractive. That’s all. It’s normal to wonder how you got them.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“But—”

“Drop it. For fuck’s sake,” he barked. “What part of no don’t you understand?”

She’d upset him again. She always pushed it too far. He hiked on, leaving her skipping behind.

Amy tried to appease him.

“Well, I’m pleased you saved her. You did good.”

“I don’t pretend to be God. I just help out. We all help out.”

“Soooo pleased I’m not in the God business,” she mused. “They have to make decisions like this all day long…who lives, who dies…pressure or what? No thanks.”

“What do you mean they? Don’t you believe in one God?”

“Not sure. There’s something up there, but I don’t know what, and I don’t know how we, the Units, fit in.”

They changed direction, taking a right on Thurloe Street and passing the oncoming ambulance. As the screeching siren subsided, Amy continued.

“When my dad died, a few nights after the funeral, his spirit visited my mum to say goodbye. She was sleeping. He sat on the edge of her bed and said, ‘Honey, you’re not gonna like this.’ Mum, a staunch Irish Catholic, sat up, rubbed her eyes, and said ‘What?’ He said, ‘There’s three of them.’ He blew her a kiss and left. My mum went back to sleep, muttering, ‘There he goes again, still making trouble.’”

“Three of them? Father, Son, and Holy Ghost?” offered Jack.

“I don’t know if it’s three different religions or Tom, Dick, and Harry. All I know is there’s good and bad. If there are a few Gods up there, as long as they get on, then great…and if there are no Gods up there, there’s been a hell of a lot of waste over the centuries; wasted time, prayers, wars, and lives.”

“Three Gods. I like that idea. But if there are three, working together, they’ll be looking down on us, scratching their heads and wondering how the fuck their followers all ended up killing each other, asking where it all went wrong. But if there are no Gods, then who’s running us?” asked Jack, looking up at the sky.

“Well, whoever, whatever it is, it’d better be good, or I want my money back.” Amy let her lips turn up a bit.

They marched into the side of a building, the red brick wall giving them no resistance. In a nearby alleyway a smouldering cigar ash fell to the floor. A black patent shoe scrunched it into the ground and a black-gloved hand reached up and tapped an ear.

A gravelly voice whispered in the darkness.

“They’re going vigilante and asking too many questions. It needs reporting.”