INTERIOR: A man is sat up straight in a chair, alone in a dark room, at a table, under direct, strong light from above. He is somewhere between impassive and defiant, staring ahead at nothing. A door opens. No light is cast in from outside. Two figures, both men judging by the sound of their footsteps, move into the room. The Man in the Chair does not respond to this. The door closes.
Male Voice: Leonard McNair.
There is the sound of a chair being dragged across a hard floor. One of the Men draws into the light. He sets up opposite the Man Sitting. He likewise sits.
Man Speaking (MS): We’ve been trying to… [nods] get to you… for a while, [with purpose] Lenny. That is your name…? It is your name. See, Lenny, I’m surprised, well… I’m surprised you’re here. [Man Speaking drops a small wad of papers onto the table, he smiles.] What gives?
Pause. Lenny stays impassive. He does not respond. The Man Speaking is puzzled.
MS: I’m serious, Lenny. [Sits forward] You’re a player… serious stuff… you know, going by that, well, that, business with the Marble Arch mound. I mean, you… your gang, the [quizzical] Rats…? [Arranges papers and reconsiders his thoughts] I find it hard to believe this is some kind of… mistake.
Lenny fixes the Man’s gaze but still does not answer.
MS: I want to know, Lenny.
Lenny (L): [Softly] London.
Pause.
MS: What?
L: London is the reason.
MS: [Smirks] You get that, Eddie? [There is audible laughter from the darkness]. My deputy told me that you talk like… well, like this… [Pause] when you do talk, anyway. [Sighs] Now that we have you, let’s converse, tete-a-tete, shall we? My name is Detective Inspector Kendall. My invisible colleague is Sergeant Edison. [Pause] Where is Mira Tukachevsky?
Pause. Silence. Lenny slowly blinks, rolls his eyes, but says nothing.
Detective Kendall (DK): This is her [Holds up a picture of a professional-looking photo of a disconsolate young woman, blonde, in a sparkly cocktail dress. Puts photo down. Tone darkens.] You know where you are, Lenny?
L: [Monotone] We are in London.
DK: We… [leans back] are in Paddington Green, or rather we are under Paddington Green. This is where we bring terrorists, you know, Lenny? Now, we could treat you like a terrorist, but… [He waits for a reaction but none is forthcoming. He leans forward again]. Let’s see… [DK picks something out from the stack of papers] You, Leonard McNair, and your associates entered the home of a Russian financier, Genrikh Tukashevsky, a proper little mansion in Holland Park, see, this is you guys [slides a picture across table] about seventy two hours ago. [The picture is greyscale, pixelated but of four figures standing on what looks to be a patio area.] It was supposed to be empty, yes? That is your style… But his wife, Mira was there… and now she’s… We don’t know where she is and neither does Mr Tukashevsky. Now, I know we’re not supposed to like Russians anymore but Mr Tukashevsky is a rich one, and we know what havoc these oligarchs can cause in this fair city you say care so much…
L: [Interrupting. Flatly.] Mira Tukashevsky is in London.
DK: What? [Pause. Silence.] I’m going to need a little more than that to go on, otherwise…
L: Mrs Tukashevsky is alive and well and in London.
DK: Where is she?
Long pause.
L: We don’t have her. She is free.
DK:So she wasn’t in the mansion when you entered?
Another pause.
DK: What did you want from this, Lenny? What are your demands, this time, I mean?
L: Our demand is always the same.
Pause.
DK: So, if we were to search one of your safehouses we wouldn’t find…?
L: [With the faintest hint of emotion.] Mira Tukashevsky is in London. [Pause] We are in London. [Another pause. Impassive again.] And you are searching our safehouses, right now.
DK: [Knowingly] All five of them.
L: [Still impassive] All five.
DK: Let’s move on, shall we?
L: Please.
DK: I’m… [nods] glad you agree, we have a lot of ground to cover. [Withdraws the picture] We will come back to her. [Pause] You’re quite the hero though, aren’t you? [No response.] How many names have you got? [Still no response. DK searches through the papers.] Where’s the list?
An invisible hand hovers over DK’s shoulder.
Invisible Hand: Here.
DK: [Takes paper. The hand withdraws to the shadows.] Yes, thank you. [He reads with increasing incredulity.] Jack Cade, Phil Piratin, Colonel R, Substance D, Wati, Wolfie, Ishmahil, 31011974… [Slaps list down on the table] You gave yourself these names?
L: Of course not. [Pause, now DK is lost for words.] What kind of social bandit wants a name?
DK: Robin Hood?
L: [Suppressed vehemence] The state gave him that name.
DK: [Smile, knowingly] So this is all just from the reputation you’ve built up, your fanbase?
L: [Sighs and looks away.] I cannot account for them. [He returns attention to DK.]
DK: How do you contact them?
L: Them?
DK: Your… [considers word] followers.
Pause.
L: We don’t.
DK: [Quickly] We?
L: We.
DK: You must feel some responsibility toward them though?
L: London shall provide.
DK: [Shakes head] How many people do you provide for?
L: To whoever asks.
DK: Like when you emptied a supermarket on Ealing Broadway…
L: [Over DK speaking] It was needed…
DK: In sixty seconds…
L: [Over DK] For a foodbank…
DK: At exactly four in the morning, while the cameras were [air-quotes] magically turned off…
L: [Over DK] Britain has the cheapest food but people are still hungry.
DK: [Mock exasperated] Oh woe… [Leans forward and examines L very closely then signs in BSL.] It doesn’t matter though. [Pause. Speaking this time.] It’s not relevant to this case. Where is Mira Tukachevsky? [Pause. Silence.] So you have some kind of… abnatural skill, yes? You or your associates?
L opens his mouth as if to speak.
DK: And please don’t say something like ‘London makes all things possible…’ [Pause] You were going to say that, weren’t you?
L: I was going to say ‘yes.’
DK: Well, I mean, it does make it snow on the Marble Arch mound…
L: In the middle of summer.
DK: Where are…? No, [shakes head] scrap that. How can we find them? They weren’t with you when…
L: [L stands up slowly] We unite at points of common purpose.
DK looks puzzled but remains silent and seated.
L: [Knots hands into fists] We do our job and then go.
DK: [Still sitting] What job were you doing in Holland Park?
L: [Relaxes for the first time in the discussion, L releases his fists, cranes his neck and squints.] London is 1.72% linear public space… [leans back] or it was. That percentage has changed now.
DK: [Slowly stands] You liberated it?
L: [With the faintest of smiles] Check again.
DK: Where is Mira Tukashevsky?
L: [Pause. Impassive again] Where is Genrikh Tukashevsky?
DK’s face leaks small amounts of worried confusion. He composes himself quickly.
DK: May I remind you where we are?
L: We are in London. Where is he?
Both men walk around the table. Swapping places.
DK: We are under London, yes? There’s a big difference, being under. [Pause] Who do you think knows you’re here?
L: The city.
DK: Maybe… Maybe you should have some time alone to think about this, yes? [Points] You’re in big trouble, Lenny, oh yes, big trouble, and you need to cooperate. In this case things can come down to… [pause] kidnapping from [shrugs] murder.
L: Mira Tukashevky is alive and well and living in London.
DK: I don’t believe you.
L: [Sits down] It’s true.
DK: And she’s not in any of the five safehouses your little organization has?
L: No, but you’ll find that out.
DK: So, [pensive] I suppose, [he also sits down] to get to Mrs Tukashevky we have to understand your confederates.
L: [Softly quizzical] Don’t you want to know how we did it?
DK: We’ll get to that but…
L: [Over DK] Surely that’s the most…
DK: [Over L] Lenny, Lenny, Lenny… [L stops] You’d make a crappy detective. You have to build a fuller…
L: Where is Genrikh Tukashevsky though?
Silence. DK doesn’t answer.
L: He’s been in contact with you. You know what he does and [hint of disgust] how he makes his money.
DK: A question?
L: A statement. He has been in contact with you. Where is he now?
DK: That’s none of your…
L: I can make it worth your while. [Pause. No response.] I can tell you how we did the Highgate job.
DK: I want to know about Holland Park.
L: [With a wave of the hand.] Oh, you know about that, really… think about it. [With a tint of smugness] You’ve not heard about the Highgate job, have you?
DK leans back and folds arms.
L: It’s not in your [picks up papers] little packet there? [He drops the papers on the table again.] Where to begin? [A grey light appears in the room. It grows. It flickers. The outline of the room is just about perceptible. The room is large.] My confederate, one of my confederates, I know her as Nia… [The light begins to grow. It is a moving image. L shifts in his chair to look at it.]
DK: [Focusing on L, he does not turn his head to see.] Others know her as Rebecca Riot, the woman who put a statue of Winston Churchill next to the statue of Winston Churchill so [smiles] the state would have to knock down a statue of Winston Churchill.
L: [Faintly melodic] She procured a set of mannequins from an art exchange in South London.
The moving image resolves. DK finally turns his head. It is CCTV footage, a high angle interior shot of a foyer. Several people are waiting in a queue, their attention focused out of frame.
L: HSBC, on the High Road [He focuses on the timestamp] three weeks ago.
Two mannequins dressed in suits glide impossibly into view, carrying what look like sawn-off shotguns. They are not noticed until one of them fires a round into the ceiling, causing distortion on the image. People immediately panic and recoil. Two more mannequins now file into view, past the ones wielding guns.
L: The ideal… [small dose of irony] henchmen. [Pause] Disciplined…
The robbery is underway.
DK: It’s funny you call them that.
A new shot, this time of the bank’s counter. The bullet-proof barrier has descended. The two unarmed mannequins are assaulting it with a hammer and a crowbar. They are able to force a break in the barrier, shattering it, after which they climb over the remains.
L: United… strong… They have no fear.
Another view, from behind the desk. A staff member is forced to their knees and shot in the head at point blank range.
L: They have no pity. [Long pause] What else is there to call them?
DK: [Turning attention back to L.] I see your point though.
L: Do you? [Looks back at DK].
DK: [Smiles] The thing is though… this didn’t actually happen. [The footage shuts off suddenly] You’re a reality bender.
L: London is reality. [Pause] We make reality. [Another pause] And that did happen.
DK: If you’re like this, why not just… [shrugs] manifest your desired reality?
L: [Pause. In clipped monotone] If I could do that why would I be here? [Pause, then slowly] Reality is a battle, [pause] you should know that.
DK: OK, I imagine you’re going to put some kind of demand or… demands to me, yes? [Pause. L says nothing, gives nothing away] But… [another pause] You are a reality bender, don’t… don’t try to deny it. [Still no response. DK casts a long glance over L, who is in a very defensive posture.] But, you may not know this, but… the whole process, the physics of [air-quotes] ‘remvergentis’ is eminently…
Instant scene change. The pair are sitting together at the same table but now in a walled garden, in daylight. The scene is greyscale and a little pixelated. There are four people in the near-distance standing, stock still on a patio area, outside a mansion.
DK: Reproducible… [Stands up, gestures for L to follow him] Never mind the hows and the whys, I say, let’s just walk through this, yes? You did come to us, after all.
L stands up. They walk toward the gathering.
DK: [Points] That’s you. That… [points again] should be our friend, Rebecca Riot. [He glances at L, smirking. L does not seem put out.] What was she doing here? [L does not answer. They get closer. The scene otherwise is not moving.] We’ll find out, I guess. There’s also Karl, we’re not sure what his surname is, but lots of people seem to call him The TV Eye for some reason. How do they come up with these names?
L: [Deadpan] He works in television.
DK: [Nods, seemingly impressed] Is that so, how’d you reckon that?
L: [Still deadpan] He gets us into all the studios.
DK: Whatever for? [No response] I mean, I don’t watch much TV anymore. It’s hard to believe he was the one who bricked up the London Stock Exchange while trading was going on and filmed it for the morning news. [Pause. They stop next to the scene.] This, I suppose, is Bogdanov, only a surname this time. We don’t know much else about him. He’s not Russian but has a definite knack for opening doors, doors between community halls in Edmonton and the Excel Centre during the Good Food Exhibition.
L: [Nods] Who’s that? [He points behind them, to a very tall, blue, blurry figure standing, rigidly, by the far wall].
DK: You’re not the only one with a man on the inside, Lenny. [Across the gap] Sergeant Edison. [The blue, blurry figure appears to acknowledge this].
L: We don’t have a man on the inside, Detective Kendall.
DK: [Pause. He scans across the scene.] So, these are the Rats and you run this town?
L: [Looking at the motionless sky.] They’re everywhere in London.
DK: We will start this going in a moment, follow the action and, will we find Mrs Tukashevky?
L: You’re welcome, welcome to try anyway.
DK: So, the richest Russian exile in London lives here?
L: Lived here.
DK: I mean, he wasn’t friends with the Russian…?
L: London doesn’t care about the Russian President, or the King of Saudi Arabia, or the man who owns Wentworth, or Witanhurst, Selfridges, the South Bank, the Emirates or One Hyde Park.
DK: Genrikh Tukashevky…
L: Is the son of a former Nomenklatura, Mikhail Tukashevky, not the disgraced general, but some guy in Gosbank. He was allowed to have his kids educated abroad, so, of course, he takes his family to Switzerland in 1992 after the fall of the USSR. He dies the following year in what some say are suspicious circumstances, but immediately after his boy, Genrikh, gets a job in a bank there, laundering money for the Blonde Group, a mafia front that has blessing from the president, no less. Where better to launder than in London property? He falls in with a certain FSB agent though, who lets on to MI6 about plans for the Crimea and, whoops, something gets dusted onto some sushi. So, Genrikh is fully Britain’s man. He needs protecting. More money comes his way, this time it’s money from Afghan heroin being recycled through hotels in Tallinn that double up as safehouses and brothels. [Pause, then quickly.] Long story short though, we did an online poll, who should we hit next, and this scumbag came first.
DK: [He is momentarily confused but then nods] Fair enough. [Claps] Let’s see what you did to Mira shall we?
L: Shall we?
DK: [Declares] Press play.
The scene begins, silently at 1.5x speed. The group gather around Bogdanov, who performs a series of complicated, opaque gestures, drawing occult shapes upon the mansion’s front door, he pushes through the door at ease, the gang head inside. DK and L attempt to follow, but are blocked by something, a red brick wall.
DK: [Shocked] What…?
Painted on the wall, in white letters, are the words: “This is Free London - entry STRICTLY on admittance. ACAB.”
L: [Triumphant smile] Not really, Mira just let us in. She had been one of Genrikh’s girls. He bought her, got to know her and grew not just to pity her but to love her. [Pause] More fool him. Now she is in London, Free London. We claim reality. London will be free, Detective, one way or another.
DK: [Simmering anger] London might be free… [clicks fingers].
Lights go out.
DK: You won’t be. This is Paddington Green… where we bring terrorists to, and we treat them… like terrorists… yeah? [A little confused] Sergeant Edison, can you [pause] do your…? [Pause] Sergeant… Edison…? [Pause. Aching silence] Edison…? Where are you…?
A door opens, casting light into the room. DK turns in horror. A figure is standing in the doorway, in silhouette.
L: London will be free, Detective Kendall, one way or another.
He closes the door.
This story originally appeared in Locust Review 9 print edition. Social media splash image by Adam Ray Adkins. Locust Review 9 cover by Adam Ray Adkins.
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