Mystic Detective(7)

Paul was early again for the meeting – it was how he liked it to be. It gave him time to ‘case the joint’ and on more than one occasion it meant he had avoided an unpleasant scene – including probably being beaten up.

This time there seemed to be no apparent cause for concern, no guys hanging out looking both over casual but suspiciously observant. However, that did not make it safe, merely dealt with the possible amateurs (and police) the professionals were an altogether different matter. If they were involved they would turn up with his contact and/or already be in place inside the building.

There were some hard men (and in one case a hard woman) and hard money around Manchester but usually, and thankfully, their world and Paul’s did not meet. This was apart from the rare occasions when they wanted him to do a job for them – and this was one of them – usually involving wives or girlfriends or daughters. Paul was happy, or rather not happy but willing to take on such legal jobs on condition that they stayed out of his affairs.

Sometimes he regretted this arrangement and today might prove to be one such time. He was meeting with Polish Jan, an East European man of possibly Polish origins, non-one was really sure. Jan had made his first fortune arranging ‘marriages’ between Poles fleeing their country in the 1907s and 80s. There were plenty of down at heels hippies and punks at that time eager to earn £100+ for a few minutes appearance in a registry office. Many of these characters had married more than once. Having made his first fortune this way Jan then turned to the more demanding but infinitely more profitable world of drug dealing.

Jan was a quiet speaking, well dressed and apparently gentle soul with sharp blue eyes, blond short hair, average height and the body of a man who worked out regularly at the gym. Although not that striking one first meeting he was clearly the Man – you only had to observe the way his two minders treated him and the response invoked in the bar staff.
- What do you want Jan, asked Paul after their drinks had been brought to them
- No time for small talk?
- No, this place gives me the creeps (This place being the bar at the Northern Hotel, which was notorious for its prostitutes, football players, WAGS and their hangers on.) lets cut to the chase
- My daughter is being stalked… I want you to deal with it.
- Stalked?
- Yes
- Why
- There’s a history (Paul nodded)
- Have you ever heard of OM?
- Yes
- You have?
- Yes
- Well you know then they are this meditation group and my daughter goes in for that kind of stuff (Jan spoke with a quiet venom)
- And?
- And they wanted her to join them and live at their centre in York but she’s not that dumb and felt there was something fishy about them. Now they wont let her go, they keep hassling her, or at least I think it’s them. It certainly was them one time and he’s got the bruises to prove it… Not very spiritual language when we hit him.
- But that’s not worked.
- No, it’s gone to mysterious phone calls, emails and stuff and it’s really getting Samantha down. I could get their place torched or thump a few of them but I am not sure that would work. Usually one beating is enough but in this case…
- You would like a softer approach
- I’m not that bothered how soft I just want it sorted
- Well my approach is never physical-
- I know that
- But I am willing to investigate, check this out.
- Good man
They shook hands and Jan and his sidekicks left. Paul was left wondering whether he had done the right thing.

Mystic detective(7)

Paul remembered the time he had visited Marie in hospital. Hospitals scared him, psychiatric wards even more so. But he had to visit her - she was in there because of him or so he thought. It was a modern hospital just outside the city centre and opposite the university.

It was clearly not a quiet place or refuge or asylum but then neither were the old Victorian out of town, out of mind asylums. There was a distinct smell of cheap disinfectant in the air masking another familiar hospital smell - disease, fear and sweat - all three blended together.

The staff in the unit wore everyday clothes which was a bit confusing at first for Paul until he saw the state of the patients. They each in their own way had a lost air about them - if not why would they be there after all?

Marie was no exception, in a tiny room, (but at least she had a room of her own) with just a hospital bed and a small cupboard and much else. She was lying facing the wall, dressed in old faded hospital pyjamas.

- Hi
She grunted in acknowledgement
- How are you? (Stupid question!)
- Ok (but the shrug of her shoulders told a different story)
- Er....do you need anything?
- No.... well some clothes... I guess
- Sure
There was a silence.
- Dywant to get a drink somewhere?
She shrugged.
- OK, OK
Paul offered her the flowers he had brought. She looked at them but didn't take them off him or say anything. A tear slowly trickled down her face.
- Oh Fuck!

Paul went off in search of a member of staff, at least to do something. He found one who was very kind and rather young but of no real use to him. Yes she was going to get better. Yes she was on medication, anti depressants. Yes she would eventually see a psychiatrist - probably next month. No ECT (Electro Convulsive Therapy) was not being considered.

Well no she didn't get better and yes eventually ECT was used and it did succeed in pulling her back into a kind of reality. But her lost look remained. And there was no way back for Paul and her.