Ink Portals

A friend in need

4

It was dark by the time Abby pulled into the driveway with Arthur on the back of the motorbike. They had overtaken Jack on the way home, driving in-between lanes in the congested evening traffic. Abby stopped halfway up the driveway and let the bike idle between her thighs, she had spotted something on the porch in the glare of the headlight.

"What is it?" Arthur said, looking over her shoulder.

"You see that?" she said, motioning her head towards the lawn.

"See what?" Arthur said, following her line of sight.

"There's a guy, on the statue," she said.

Arthur studied the over-sized Buddha statue next to the front door, partially illuminated by the porch light. (Jack had bought the statue at an estate-auction somewhere in the Hollywood hills, he said he found it soothing to look at and just had to have it. Some guys with a flatbed truck and a crane delivered it to their lawn the next day). Arthur spotted a man in a waistcoat, cradled serenely in the arms of the statue like a baby, with the red ember of a cigarette glowing in front of his face. The stranger's suitcase was already waiting on the porch by the front door.

Arthur swung his leg over and got off the bike. He lifted up the back of his shirt and pulled out an unregistered handgun from inside the waistband of his pants; Jack had given him the gun a while back, you know, just in case of trouble.

"Be careful," Abby said.

The man let out a puff of smoke as he caressed the statue's face, as if lost in a tranquil dream.

"Can I help you?" Arthur said while keeping the gun hidden.

"I certainly do hope so," the man said sitting up, he sounded properly British. "I am looking for Jack Remington. He does live here doesn't he?"

"Who's asking?" Arthur said with an edge of aggression his voice.

Arthur suddenly realized that he had seen this man somewhere before, but he couldn't quite place him - then it dawned on him; a picture in one of Jack's old photo albums, from when he lived in Tokyo years ago.

Another set of headlights swept the driveway as Jack's Bentley came gliding down the street and rolled up in front of the garage.

"Ah," the man said, scooting forward and rising to his feet. "Here he is now."

Jack got out of the car, squinting in the darkness at the stranger in front of his house.

"Jack, you old bastard!" the man said, smiling.

"Well I'll be fucked," Jack said pacing up the drive, sounding rather underwhelmed. "Pierre Evans."

"My word," Pierre said, walking over to meet Jack halfway, "you have so many new wrinkles, they make your face look like an asshole!"

Pierre held up his arms, welcoming an embrace - then a jaw rattling punch rang out on the quiet street, sending Pierre tumbling to the ground in a feeble pile of limbs.

"What the fuck, dad?" Arthur said, looking down at the man who was knocked out cold in their driveway.

"That was for the asshole joke," Jack said, straightening up his shirt.

"Is this... who I think it is?" Arthur said, tucking his gun back inside his pants. Abby was now edging closer to get a better view of the stranger.

"Yep," Jack said, grabbing hold of Pierre's feet. "Help me get him inside."

Arthur looked at Abby and shrugged. He grabbed a hold of Pierre's shoulders and hoisted him up.

Pierre woke up in a dimly lit living room with the curtains drawn. He was slumped back on the couch with three sets of eyes on him; two young and unfamiliar faces, and one well-worn mug that he couldn't have forgotten even if he tried. Pierre winced as he touched his throbbing jaw. His lower lip was swollen and bleeding a little bit.