Almanac Fiction: Swifty Taylor and the Dead Coach (Episode 12)

 

 

 

 

 

It was to a cacophonous hammering on the door that I was unceremoniously dragged from my reverie. I quickly prised open the front door, half expecting the man standing there to be Fred Flintstone, calling out for Wilma. Attached to a pair of large hairy fists that was an unpleasant-looking thin man, with a forehead so wide it could have housed four sets of eyebrows. Another of Shep’s minions, I guessed. I made a show of looking down at the porch. “No room service? Not even something from UberEats?” I asked. The man’s countenance grew even more unpleasant, if that was at all possible. But at least I had guessed correctly. In the strongest possible terms he then delivered a message that Jack Shepherd wanted to meet with me. Good old Shep, I thought. No man can avoid his destiny, and I had been doing my best to duck and weave mine. But now here was fate itself on my doorstep, staring me right in the face.

The building at the east end of Williamstown Beach was once a derelict eyesore, smelling of stale urine and general neglect. Formerly a dressing pavilion, it had been re-modelled as an upmarket Spanish-themed restaurant. Shep was seated at a table by one of the large windows, which looked out onto the sand and the waves beyond. At this time of year, the water looked as uninviting as the two goons seated at another table nearby. I was unsure where this parlour game was heading, but I was curious just the same.

 

 

 

 

Shep stood to greet me. He shook my hand, and his manner was jovial. But even crocodiles could look as if they were smiling. “Swifty, my man. Please, take a seat”. Given how rudely I was awoken that morning, my patience was thin. So I decided to open the batting: “What’s this all about, Jack?” He paused for a moment before responding. “I wanted to thank you, Swifty. If you hadn’t disarmed your girlfriend…err, ex-girlfriend…I reckon she’d have killed me.” I recalled the fires of hell I saw in Laura’s eyes. “Of that I have no doubt, Shep. And who would blame her? She believes that you killed her brother. And I’m reserving my judgement.” He shook his head slowly. “Swifty, I swear it was an accident. We argued, he stumbled. I shouldn’t have thrown his body overboard. But I panicked. There was blood everywhere. It didn’t look good. And anyway, I’m going to do time for that. My suits can’t keep me out of jail forever.” Part of me wanted to believe him. But the other part of me wouldn’t have a bar of his fake sincerity.

 

 

 

 

“I took the liberty of ordering for us,” Jack said, as a bottle of red wine arrived at the table. “To good health!” We clinked glasses. He rambled for a while about growing up in Williamstown, explaining minute details with which I had great familiarity. “Jack, there is no need to annotate your stories. I grew up in Williamstown, too. You might not remember me when we were kids. But I remember you. You were a bully.” He stared at me as if he was seeing me for the first time. “It’s true, Swifty. I was a bully. And in many ways, I still am.” Again, he shook his head with an affected sadness. But I sensed not a hint of regret. “You saved my life. I’m prepared to call a truce, if you will too.” He added with a touch of menace: “And I’ll forget that Laura pulled a knife on me.” He did not want to me to forget. Not that I could.

 

 

 

 

Later that night, sometime after my second or third Jameson, my phone received a text message. It was succinct and to the point: “Swifty, I need to see you. Laura”. I hadn’t heard from her in weeks. But that hadn’t stopped me thinking about her. I had figured that it was best to leave her to her own devices, and maybe she would contact me when she was good and ready. Now, it seemed, she was ready.

I had confronted destiny once already today, and survived. Now I was emboldened. And I didn’t care whether or not I had a winning hand. I just knew that it was time to put my cards on the table. And maybe much more else besides.

 

 

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