Chapter 16

I waited until day's end before I closed up the office. Jack hadn't returned and while I worried a little about that and would have appreciated a call, I realised he could probably look after himself well enough.

Better than I could, anyway.

That thought boomeranged around my mind as I headed to my car, flexing my left hand and wincing with the movement. The shallow cut I had made across my palm had closed but was still there.

A week ago, it would have already healed.

Which meant that along with the loss of my supernatural strength, I had lost my enhanced healing too.

That left me vulnerable.

Still, I couldn't rely on anyone else and until I figured out why I had lost my powers and gained a new one, I would just have to suck it up and do the best I could. While hoping no one tried to kill me, since I was feeling very fragile.

Jack didn't have Banners address in his address book, but he did have a file on the drug dealer in his filing cabinets. It was sparse, the details few and far between and reading between the lines I didn't think the two of them had had much contact.

It was the sort of information that was gleaned from second-hand sources. Vague descriptions of what he did, and nothing in relation to what he looked like. Which was perfect. Jack would be less likely to suspect foul play when the evidence pointed at Banner if he didn't know him that well.

With that in mind, I set off. Across the city, to the furthest western outskirts and the rather rough and ready estate of Chapelfields.

A working-class estate consisting of post-war council housing, the vast majority of the people who lived there were working-class families. Those in work during the current recession, were in manufacturing, manual labour and low-paying service jobs.

Jobs typically vulnerable to economic downturns, much like the one we were in.

That meant people out of work, down on their luck and feeling hopeless. The perfect crowd for a drug dealer to prey upon.

I despised Banner already and was almost giddy with the idea that he would take the fall for my crime. He was the perfect patsy. Someone the police wouldn't be too interested in looking into if he disappeared, and someone who had a believable motive to kill Kenny.

And someone who was enough of a bad person that I would feel little guilt about pinning a murder on him.

The estate was just north of the primary school and there were no parks or green spaces in the area. The kids, on the summer break from school, spent their time playing in the street or exploring the abandoned houses that took up a good portion of the dilapidated estate.

Twice I had to slow down as a battered and worn football came flying across the road, kicked by some kid who chased blindly after it, not even looking for oncoming traffic.

It was a miracle I didn't hit anyone.

When I pulled up in the pub carpark, I breathed a sigh of relief and killed the engine as I studied the squat, flat-roofed building before me. It was red brick, with heavy iron bars on the small windows. Many of those frosted glass panes were cracked or broken and patched with cloth and cardboard.

There was no beer garden, or seating outside, just the weed choked carpark which contained only two other cars beside my own.

Grabbing my purse, and anything else of value in my car, I climbed out and went around to the boot. I had a cautious look around before I opened it and reached in, grabbing the plastic bag that held Kenny's watch and ring.

Slipping them into my purse, I closed and locked the boot and took a deep breath before heading to the main doors of the pub.

I stepped through the doors and stopped, immediately aware of all eyes turning towards me. I refused to wilt beneath their hostile stares and lifted my chin before marching straight-backed to the bar.

The barman blew smoke and ground the cigarette butt in the almost full ashtray beside the till. He eyed me warily and took a cautious look around before leaning in.

"You sure you're in the right place, love?"

Not even remotely, and I swallowed hard before I spoke, keeping my voice even and cool.

"I'll take a vodka and coke, please."

The barman's brow furrowed, and he gave a slight shake of his head. "Rough place this, love. You might not want to hang around."

"Whys that?"

"Pool tournament on tonight. Local lads against the Black Swan lads from Clifton." He placed my drink on the bar. "Tends to get a bit rowdy."

Good to know, since I had neither strength nor healing to rely on. The last thing I needed was to be caught up in a barroom brawl. Still, from the file in Jack's office, Banner did most of his business out of this pub, and I was guessing that a night with a lot of people in, would be a night he'd definitely be here.

"Thanks," I said, handing over the last of my change. I'd need to break a note if I wanted another drink. Payday couldn't come soon enough. "What time does it start?"

"Lads'll be in by six, match starts at seven."

Fighting by eight, and in cells by nine, no doubt. I smiled my thanks and turned to survey the barroom.

It was split into two sections, with the smaller room a third of the size of the other. The smaller room had the pool table, a dart board and upholstered benches against the walls. While the main room had round tables with upholstered stools and chairs, and a long bench set along two of the walls.

The upholstery was stained and torn in places, and the walls were coloured by the years of smoke. A pair of old men sat together playing dominoes while a third watched, and there were a couple of mixed groups of middle-aged folk drinking.

About what you'd expect with most people home with their families for their evening meal. As I watched, a group of men came in dressed in work clothes, chattering loudly as they crossed to the bar.

I received a few curious stares, a couple of the lads showing obvious interest and I rolled my eyes.

Just what I needed.

I moved away from the bar and chose a table where someone had left a copy of the day's newspaper. One of the tabloids, much to my annoyance. I made a show of reading it, skipping quickly over the half-naked image of the page 3 girl, and kept my head down.

"You waiting for someone?"

I glanced up and quickly back to the newspaper as I replied, "Yes."

The young man took that as an invitation and he slid into the seat opposite me, placing his pint of bitter on the tabletop and ignoring the cardboard coaster.

"I'll keep you company till they arrive," he said, leaning his elbows on the table.

He smelt strongly of stale sweat and ash, his clothes smudged with plaster dust and dirt. His fingernails were bitten short, and his hands still bore the dust of his profession. His smile was pleasant enough, but it was too far too cocky and confident.

"I'd rather you didn't," I said, coldly.

A quick flash of annoyance crossed his face, there and gone in an instant, and he harrumphed. "Alright, love. Steady on. Just being friendly. There's no need for you to get all arsey is there?"

Clearly, he had never tried to sit quietly and be left alone in a pub.

"Please, just leave me be."

"Give us a smile and I will," he said with a leer and a wink. I sucked in a deep breath, reminding myself I couldn't exactly do much to hurt him without my strength.

"Oi, Plant-Pot, piss off."

The speaker, a man in his forties with a large gut that overhung his belt, jerked a thick thumb back towards the bar as he came over to my table. The young man muttered, but picked up his pint and left as the new guy took a seat at the table next to mine and I prepared myself for an even more unwelcome come on.

"Don't worry, lass," he said, pulling tobacco and cigarette papers out of his pocket. "He's an alright lad, just a bit slow."

"Oh?" I tried for disinterested, but it didn't seem to be picked up as the man kept talking.

"Aye, that's why they call him Plant-Pot, see; empty inside."

Surely there were better names that made more sense than that? I considered pointing that out but realised that would just further engage with the man, which I didn't want to do, so I remained silent and pretended to read the paper while he finished rolling his cigarette.

"You here for the pool?"

My brow furrowed and I sighed silently as I reconsidered my idea to sit and wait for the drug dealer to show up. It was looking less and less like I would be allowed to quietly wait.

The man looked expectantly at me, waiting for a reply.

"No."

He nodded, sagely. As if that meant something.

"Meeting someone?"

I hoped so.

"Yes."

"Ah, right." He finished rolling the cigarette and reached for his lighter. "Who?"

I gave him another look, the tone of his voice wasn't quite right as he asked that, making it sound more like a command to tell him than a request.

He wore the same work clothes as the others he'd come in with. T-shirt and jeans, the clothes torn and soiled with the work they did. His dark hair was combed back to better hide the thinning patch on his crown, though with little luck.

His face was weathered, and hard, showing a strength hidden not far beneath the layer of fat he carried. I had no doubt he would work hard all day in a manual job and still have energy to spare. The others looked to him as their leader, and I figured him to be either the actual boss or a local leader of sorts. The kind of guy people looked to for answers in their tight knit community.

"Emma," I said, holding out my hand. He stared at it for a moment before taking it, surprisingly gently, in his own. It dwarfed mine, and he shook, firmly but without too much pressure.

"Banner," he said, then paused before, "Who was it you said you were waiting for?"

The other men he'd come in with had given up their pretence of chatter and were openly watching us both. There was something I was missing, something more than just the usual dislike for strangers in their community spaces.

I didn't know enough to play it safely though, and I was very much out of my depth.

The door swung open and my heart beat faster as all eyes turned to the newcomer. He took one look around and stalked across the bar towards my table, those deep brown eyes fixed entirely upon me.

"Him," I said, smiling brightly. "Meet, Jack."