In The Family - Part 5

“And you’ve no idea who these men were that kidnapped you?” The police sergeant was giving me a look that said he wasn’t sure whether to believe me or not. Maybe it was the look he gave everyone he spoke to. A one-size-fits-all police look that says, I know you’ve done something. I didn’t like it.

“I’m not making it up,” I said. “Ask Sid. Uh, Sebastian Sidney. My midfielder. He saw them and so did my new player, Yves Palomer.”

“Is he that French player that went to the American soccer team?”

“Yes, he’s been in a few,” I said. “And now he's here. His last team was the Unison Dragons. They’re based in some Chinatown. I think he must have got tired of trying to learn Cantonese.”

“Hm. You didn’t think of following these men and their van and seeing where they went?”

“Sergeant,” I gave him my own patent don’t-be-stupid look, “I’m not in the business of doing your work for you. Also I had to get back here as I had injured players down a hole in the ground.” I waved my arm around what was left of my new stadium. Actually, quite a lot of it was left, but there was a big hole where the pitch ought to be.

The ambulance was just about to take Barry to the hospital. As Sid had feared, his leg was broken. Fib was going along with him to keep him company and to have a slightly sprained ankle looked at and I’d also ordered James into the ambulance as he’d suffered a concussion. I'd decided to do without medical help for my own injuries, not feeling I needed hospital assistance for a nosebleed and a set of assorted bruises.

I concluded my business with the police sergeant and went to find Sid.

“Yves gave the police the registration on the van.” Sid didn’t turn round as I joined him. He was standing near the hole that used to be my new football ground and looking down into it.

“That’s good,” I said. “I hope they can find out who did it. I’m more concerned about this right now. How did you get out of it to follow me?”

“Stood on Fib’s shoulders,” Sid said. “And Yves came because he was the only one not hurt apart from me. I think he landed on top of all the rest of us. Fib couldn’t get out because of his ankle and he thought someone’d better stay with Barry.”

“He was right,” I said. “I’ll go see Barry at the hospital shortly. Bloody hell. No goalkeeper.”

“James’ll be right soon enough.”

“Hm.”

“He’s not very good, though.”

“Well.”

“It’s okay. Even he knows he’s not very good. He’s a bit surprised you keep him.”

“So am I,” I admitted. We smiled at each other. “I had Barry for a buffer,” I said. “Now I don’t.”

“There’s Jelle.”

“I hope to God I can afford him,” I said, deciding I’d better call Holland as soon as I got back to my office.

“This new stadium, though.” Sid was shaking his head and gazing mournfully down into the depths.

“What about it?”

“It’s a real money pit.”

I stared at him.

“I feel I might have one more injured player shortly,” I said as Sid backed away from me.

“There’s Donato,” he said, pointing behind me.

I turned round to see my centre-forward, who’d just got out of his car, staring open-mouthed at the scene before him. I noticed a couple of other vehicles arriving which were disgorging persons who looked like members of the press.

“We’d better go bring him up to speed,” I said. “And get back to the office. I have to sort out my goalkeeper problems and the Board need to hear about this from me before they read it in the papers.”

*********

I put down the phone with a feeling of relief. I’d spoken to four members of the Board of Directors so far, one of whom I’d called, and three who had called me. Fortunately, they’d all been too shocked by what had happened to be particularly angry and for once, nobody was blaming me.

I’d also arranged for surveyors to come and find out what had caused the collapse of the ground. Nobody I’d spoken to seemed to think there was any reason for sudden subsidence in the area and the closest I’d got to any kind of idea was a suggestion that there might be an underground watercourse running under the new pitch. The surveyors would no doubt have maps of the area showing things like that. I didn’t think it would be much help knowing about it. It wasn’t as if I could move it, or move the pitch either. I had no idea what I was going to do.

“Boss.” My wing-back, Jason Lee, was sticking his head round the door.

“What now?” I asked. Quite a number of players had turned up today, anxious to find out what had happened and, more importantly, what was going to happen, now that the new ground was several yards nearer sea level than it used to be.

“That new guy’s back. Feary.”

“Good,” I said. “How’s his ankle?”

“He’s just got a bandage on it,” Jason said. “It’s his toenails that’re the problem.”

“Have they fallen off with the impact?” I asked. Would that make a difference to his ability to kick the ball? Surely not, as long as he was wearing boots.

“No, he’s painting them,” Jason said. “And he’s got a frock he’s going to put on. And some of the lads, well, they were giving him grief about it.”

“I wish Wes was here.” I got up from my desk, irritated that without my captain I had to deal with all the little things myself.

“And there’s a dog,” Jason said. “I think.”

“What?” I shook my head. “Just show me.”

Everyone else had, apparently, been congregating in the players’ room; the room that would have been our canteen, should we have been able to afford to run one. Now they were all in the toilets by the sound of it. I could hear them yelling in there and no wonder. Standing in front of the toilet door was what looked like -

“That looks more like a wolf than a dog,” I said.

“Well, I didn’t like to say that,” Jason said. “I mean - it sounds a bit weird, doesn’t it? A wolf in the players' room. I wasn't sure you'd believe me.”

“Sounds quite reasonable to me.” Fib looked up from where he was sitting over by the window in an old armchair with a rip down one side. The furniture in this room had been collected over a long period of time from various second-hand sources and most of it was looking ready for retirement. “He’s just a big softie really,” Fib added. He whistled to the - dog? wolf? - who came over and sat by his feet, long tongue hanging out in a doggy grin.

“What’s he doing in here?” I asked.

“He’s protecting me from insults and discrimination,” Fib said. “While I’m busy painting my toenails.”

“So - he’s your dog?”

“We’re friends,” Fib said.

I shrugged and went to open the toilet door and have a word with my players on the subject of we’re all on the same team. I was definitely going to make them wear rainbow laces if the campaign ran again this year.

********

“How come the dog or whatever it is didn’t attack you?” I asked Jason as we walked back towards my office.

“I wasn’t kicking off about the toenail painting,” Jason said. “And I’m not bothered by shapechangers.”

“Shapechangers?” I asked. “Aren’t those werewolves and so on?”

“Transvestites as well, I should’ve thought,” Jason said. “That’s what they’re doing, isn’t it? Changing their shape?”

“Oh, Boss, there you are.” Sid was coming up the corridor from the direction of the outside world, holding a couple of carriers which had shapes inside them looking very much like Chinese takeaway. I suddenly realised how hungry I was.

“I love you,” I said.

“I know,” Sid said, with a wink. “What’s that?”

“Eh?” I bent to pick up what he’d nodded his head at; a sheet of A4 printer paper shoved nearly all the way under my office door, just its corner sticking out. I turned it over and read what was written there, then I hurried into my office and picked up the phone.

“What’s up?” Sid followed me in, Jason following him.

“Hello?” I waved a hand for silence as I got through to the hospital switchboard. “I’d like to make an enquiry about two patients you’ve got there. Barry Wallis and James Halliwell. Yes, this is their manager. Yes, the Wanderers. Oh. That’s very kind of you. You’d like - certainly.” I put my hand over the phone and signalled to Sid.

“Get an autographed ball for the hospital,” I said. “They want it for the children’s ward. Yes?” I said as I came off hold. “Thanks. No, that’s fine. Have a good day.”

I put the phone down on its base. “Barry’s still in the hospital,” I said. “Sid, text James and see what he’s doing.”

“What? Why -”

“Just do it, do it now,” I said. I watched as he did so, a slight frown of puzzlement on his face.

“On his way here in a taxi,” he said after reading the reply. “Why, Boss? What’s going on?”

“In that case, we must have got a message meant for some other team,” I said, passing him the sheet of paper that had been pushed under the door.

“You what?” he said as he read it.

It said, in large printed capitals;

WEV'E GOT YOU'RE GOALIE

*********

“James is here,” I said, waving my hand at him where he sat on a sagging pouffe in the players’ room. We’d all adjourned there to eat Chinese food. Fib was still in the old armchair, toenails resplendently painted and wearing a silk kimono decorated with cherry trees. Nobody was passing any comment on this. The dog/wolf had disappeared for now, but my players had expressions on their faces that said they’d seen it once and once was enough.

“Barry’s in the hospital.” Donato spoke through a mouthful of prawn toast. “We have no other goalkeeper.”

“They’re just trying to wind you up.” Sid collapsed into one of the oldest of the chairs which nearly collapsed under him in turn. He reached out with one hand for a salt and pepper spare rib and took out his phone with the other. Like most of my players, Sid didn’t like to be far from his phone. I’d thought about writing an article for the New Scientist or somewhere about how our mobile phones had become like a bionic organ for many people, a network of electronic ganglia dedicated to information storage and communication; but since I had no qualifications, I didn’t think they’d take me seriously.

“Yes, but who are trying to wind me up?” I asked. “There’s been nothing but trouble today. The new pitch has collapsed, I’ve been kidnapped - briefly - and now this. Is it all the same people?”

“What, you think they dug a big hole under the pitch?” Konstanty Dunajski asked me. “Or maybe employed a Karzalek to do it?”

“Do what?” Sid asked. “Pass me that fried rice, Arthur.”

Jason, who had been nicknamed Arthur due to the misfortune of having a brother named Galahad, passed the rice.

“A Karzalek is a mine spirit,” Fib said. “Like knockers and that type. No, it’s not likely. This area’s never been populated by the svartálfar.”

“Fine,” I said. I had no idea what he or she had just said but it was probably best to agree and move on.

“Are knockers like tommyknockers?” Sid asked, still studying his phone. “Like that book by - Jesus fucking Christ!” he burst out, spraying rice everywhere.

“Sorry?” Fib said. “I thought he was a carpenter, not an author?”

“It’s Jelle!” Sid said, holding his phone out to me.

“Stop waving it around,” I said, leaning forward. “I can’t see what you’re showing me.”

“It’s Jelle,” he said, waving his phone in an even more agitated way. “He’s posted on my page on Facebook. He says he’s got an overnight flight and he’ll be here in the morning.”

“What?” I asked. “Tomorrow?”

“No, fuck, no, today,” Sid said.

“What?” I repeated. “How could he know I wanted him even before we lost Barry?”

“Eh?” Now it was Sid’s turn to look confused.

“You said last night, Boss,” Donato put in. “You told Sid that Jelly could come and see you. That you would pay for the flight.”

“I - did?” I didn’t remember any of this. “Why?”

“I dunno,” Sid said. “But you did. And now look what’s happened.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, having the uncomfortable feeling that I was being blamed for something. “If he’s coming today, surely that’s a good thing?”

“You see him anywhere?” Sid gestured around the room. “He should have been here by now. And what about this?” He picked up the sheet of paper from the table and waved it at me.

“We have your goalie?” I said. “But - Jelle’s not our goalie. Not yet. How could they know?”

“Jesus, Boss, you use Facebook,” Sid said.

“Oh, shit,” I said. “They follow you on Facebook -”

“And they’ve read it on my page and put two and two together and got seven and a half,” Sid said.

“Where would he be flying to?” I asked. “Leeds/Bradford? I’ll call them and see if the flight was delayed. You try and get in touch with him in case he’s stuck in traffic or lost.”

“What shall I do, Boss?” Donato asked.

“Find Yves,” I said. “He got the registration of that van this morning. If we can find out - it’s probably them, right? There can’t be two groups of kidnappers targetting us in one day.”

“Makes sense, Boss,” Donato said, taking himself off.

“Fib, get dressed,” I said. “Where’s that dog? He might come in useful. Why didn't I pick up that fucking shotgun when I had the chance? Anybody know how we find out who owns a car?”

“DVLA?” James said.

“That’d probably take weeks,” Jason said. “You can find out through Experian. My brother uses that in his job. He works for a temp agency and they use it to check credit ratings, but I think they do cars as well.”

“Don’t you have to register with them?” I asked, having a vague memory that Experian had emailed me about examining my own credit history at some point. “Jason - would your brother do it for us?”

“I dunno,” Jason said. “Maybe.”

“Offer him tickets to a game or something,” Sid said, frantically texting.

“Yes, offer him anything,” I said. “We need to get Jelle back as quickly as we can.”

“We’re not playing for a few w-weeks yet, are we?” James said. “We’ve got that friendly against -”

“It’s not that,” I interrupted. “Why do you kidnap somebody?”

“Uh - m-money?” James offered.

“To get them to do something you want?” Fib said. He had reverted to jeans, with sandals to show off his toenails.

“Exactly,” I said.

“But -” James thought about it. “Nobody’s asked us for any m-money. Or to do anything.”

“So what else happens to people who get kidnapped?” I said.

“Oh, fuck!” Sid said. “They’re going to - kill him?”

“I’m just saying it’s a possibility,” I said. “If it’s some group that’s got it in for the Wanderers, for whatever reason -”

“They might not k-kill him,” James said. “They might just break his fingers or s-something. So he can’t save goals.”

“That’s very reassuring,” I said. “Shush, now, I’m ringing the airport.”

The room was filled with muttering and hold music as everyone used their phones, Sid having given up on texting and now trying to call Jelle; me waiting for the airport to bother to answer me; James trying to convince his brother to do something against his employer's rules and for all I knew, against the law as well.

I hoped we were wrong. I hoped Jelle was on his way to us now, perhaps stuck behind a road accident traffic jam on the motorway. Perhaps sitting down to a meal in some services somewhere, having been overtaken by hunger on the A1(M).

At least he spoke English, I told myself. Was that any help if he had been kidnapped? Was it better to know what was going on in those circumstances or not? I didn't like the idea of Jelle, with his childlike face and his collection of phobias, in the hands of people who meant him harm.

I shook my head. I was beginning to feel that I was under a curse. Or that the club was. Maybe I should join Fib in the ranks of the believers in all things paranormal and - do what? What did you do when you'd got, what was it, knockers? Surely they didn't kidnap people, though? Although I could remember plenty of stories from childhood in Scotland about the fairies running off with a child and leaving a changeling behind.

“Can I help you?” I'd finally got through to a human.

“I certainly hope so,” I said, abandoning the nonsense that was running through my mind in favour of actually doing something about my problems.

NOW GO TO PART 6.... 

http://www.queerromancemonth.com/ 

 COPYRIGHT NOTICE - THIS STORY AND ITS CHARACTERS ARE COPYRIGHTED.

PLEASE DO NOT COPY AND PASTE THIS STORY ANYWHERE WITHOUT PRIOR PERMISSION.

DO NOT COPY THIS STORY IN WHOLE OR IN PART AND CLAIM IT AS YOUR OWN WORK.

COPYRIGHT ALEX SWEENEY SEPTEMBER 2014