Artichoke Salad

The knife flashed in the broken shards of sunlight filtering into the alley.

Andy shrank back, his shoulder bumping into the rusted dumpster, “Mum,” he said, his voice squeaky.

“Yes dear?”

“He’s got a knife.”

“I can see that dear, there’s no need to state the obvious. Let me talk to this gentleman and see what he wants.”

“You shut up lady,” the man’s voice was thickly accented. His face barely visible from within the dark hooded top, as he loomed over her. “You give me, phone, jewellery, I take that bag too.”

“I’m afraid this bag was a gift, and I really can’t do without my phone. So that’s not going to work for me.” She stood, hands on her hips, glaring back at him, looking like a mouse that has decided to take a stand against the neighbourhood cat.

“You don’t get it lady. You give it me. Or I cut you up and your pretty boy there too.” He waved the knife towards Andy.

“Mum, just do what he says,” Andy mumbled, his mouth dry, his hands making the keys in his pocket rattle.

“Not now dear.” She turned back to face the massive man blocking the alleyway. “Well, I must admit your argument is pretty compelling.” Sandra looked down and rummaged in her handbag. She took out a wad of notes and peeled a few bills from the top. “Why don’t you take this and run along and we’ll say no more about it.” She smiled sweetly and held out the money like she was giving him a few pennies to buy candy with.

A smile appeared in the dark recesses of the hood, broken yellowed teeth, amidst the dark shadows. “I think I take it all now. Then maybe you and me, we have a little fun.”

A bottle smashed in the alley behind them, Andy spun around, his heart hammering in his chest, two men filled the end of the alley, one carried a long black knife, vicious serrations along one side, the other held a broken bottle. Both men were grinning as they advanced slowly down the alley, idly kicking boxes and cans out of the way.

There was a scuffle from behind him, then a thud and a clattering sound as a knife skittered across the pitted tarmac. The grins faded from the men’s faces, replaced by a look of confusion. Their mouths fell open and they both turned and sprinted from the alley. The broken bottle crashing to the floor as they fled.

Andy spun back to his mum, the huge man was lying motionless against the wall, his neck at an odd angle. His mum was crouched on the floor picking up the contents of her handbag, scrabbling around under the dumpster, finally bringing out a red lipstick and a brown envelope. She quickly stuffed it all into her bag before standing up.

“Mum, what did you…” Andy said.

“Boxercise,” Sandra said, still smiling, “you know on a Thursday night at the village hall.” She gave a few tentative punches.

“But he…” Andy pointed at the man lying slumped against the wall.

“Oh, he tripped and bumped his head, I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

“Should we call the police?”

“Oh, I don’t think we need to bother them, no harm done. I’m sure these gentlemen don’t want the police involved. Around here they tend to whack you first and ask questions later.”

“But I think he’s—”

“No, no, he’s just a bit stunned that’s all. I’m sure he’ll be fine in a few minutes.” Sandra straightened her black pencil skirt, tucked a few loose strands of long blond hair back behind her ears, and grabbed Andy by the arm. He was a full four inches taller than her, but she still towed him along like he was a toddler. “Come along Andrew, we’re going to be late. Your dad and sister will be at the restaurant already. And you know how he gets when we’re late.”

“Yes, but—" The look on her face silenced any further questions that were whizzing through his mind.

The restaurant was packed, tables spilling out across the cobbles. His dad and Gillian were sat at a table overlooking the market square. The old buildings must have been grand in their colonial heyday, but now they looked tired. Neon signs bolted to the crumbling stone work, tacky stalls and kiosks filled the spaces between the once imposing structures. The tall stone façade behind the restaurant sprouted balconies of the cheap hotel rising above them.

“Sorry I’m late love,” Sandra said, bending down to kiss Ian on the cheek, before sliding into her chair. “Took a short cut down an alley, and well you know how it is.”

“Yes, I do” he replied, peering intently at Andy who stood to one side a blank expression on his face.

“Dad, these three men—”

His mum cut him off, “Yes, we were lucky that Veronica, you know the one with the funny eyebrows, dragged me along to that fitness class last year. I never knew it would come in so handy.”

“Quite,” said Ian taking a sip of his cola.

“But—” said Andy.

“Oh stop being so wet,” cut in Gillian, “it all sounds very exciting but I’m hungry. While you two were clowning around, we ordered for you so I hope you like whatever this is,” she said pointing at the menu.

Andy’s hands were still trembling, cutlery chinking against the china as he pushed his food around his plate. Some sort of miscellaneous brown meat with mixed vegetables. The massive artichoke chunks were carefully pushed to one side. Gillian must have laughed out loud ordering that for him, while she got herself a pepperoni pizza. Mum seemed to have completely forgotten about the alley. She chatted with Dad and Gillian about paragliding tomorrow, she was either a very good actor or simply didn’t care. But every time he blinked he saw the two shadowy figures blocking the end of the alley.

“That was lovely,” said Sandra, pushing back from the table and standing up. “I just need to pop to the ladies room. Could you get the bill and then maybe we can go to the market on the way back to the hotel, I saw some handbags that were to die for.”

Ian rolled his eyes at Andy, “Your mum and her shopping,” he chuckled, “every time we go anywhere, she has to buy a new handbag. There must be a whole shelf of them gathering dust at home.” He caught the waiter’s eye and did the funny writing on his hand with a finger thing whilst mouthing ‘Bill please’.

The waiter returned sliding a small silver tray on to the table. The folded paper, weighed down by four mints. Ian counted out a few notes and slid them under the tray dropping a handful of change on it. “Right when your mum gets back from the loo what do you two fancy doing? Apart from handbag shopping that is?”

“I just want to go back to the hotel,” Andy mumbled.

“Don’t be such a square,” Gillian said, elbowing him in the ribs. “Mummy kept you safe from the nasty local boys,” she added in a baby voice.

“Gillian, you weren’t—” his reply was cut off by a scream. He automatically looked up. A man was dropping like a stone from the hotel above. He caught a flash of white and a glimpse of blonde hair disappearing from one of the balconies.

The man hit the cobbles head first with a wet splat. He stayed upside down, legs splayed at weird angles either side. He balanced for a few seconds before toppling sideways.

“Ooh nasty,” said Gillian grimacing, then slurping the last of her milkshake.

Dad leaned back in his chair, stretching out his shoulders. “Ah, there’s your mother, time to go.”

Andy glanced over at his mum as she pushed through the throng of shocked onlookers. “Sorry love, there was a queue.” She kissed Ian on the cheek as he stood up, “Everyone ready?”

“Mum, you’ve torn your blouse,” Andy said pointing at her shoulder.

She looked down running her fingers along the split seam in the white material. “Oh, how silly of me, I must have caught it on something.” She paused, “Still maybe I can buy another one in the market.” She winked at Andy and smiled.

“But what about the man?”

“What man?” she asked innocently.

“That man, Mum,” Andy replied pointing.

Sandra looked, “Oh dear, how terrible, I wonder why he jumped?” she said sadly. Then she clapped her hands together, “Still mustn’t let that poor chap ruin our holiday.” She picked up her handbag and pulled Andy from his chair. “Let’s shop,” she added with a grin.

Gillian linked her arm through his and between her on one side and his mum on the other, he was dragged through the restaurant and down a side street, just as the first police cars pulled into the square. All loud sirens and flashing lights.

“I don’t think he jumped,” Andy said quietly, as he stumbled along between them.

“Well people do have accidents all the time,” said Ian. “Balcony falls account for half of all fatalities on holiday, you know.”

“Dad, you just made that up, didn’t you?” said Gillian.

“Maybe,” he replied grinning.

“He was pushed,” Andy said.

“I don’t think so, dear,” said Sandra, “I suspect he slipped on something, those railings looked awfully low.”

“You were there, I saw you. On the balcony when he fell.”

Gillian’s footsteps faltered, “Mum?” she said.

“Oh,” said Sandra.

“I knew it. I was sure it was you.”

“You mean you didn’t know before?” Ian said.

“I do now.”

“Ooh, that’s let the cat out of the bag, Dad,” Gillian said.

“You knew?” Andy said, his voice rising. “How come you knew?”

“Because you’re such a dweeb,” she said sticking her tongue out at him.

“But you’re…you’re two years younger than me.”

“I know, but then I’m awesome and you’re…” she looked him up and down, “not.”

“Now, now, it’s nothing like that,” said Ian, “Gillian is just nosey, six years ago she found—”

“Six years, six bloody years,” Andy shouted.

“Keep. Your. Voice. Down,” said Sandra her voice cut through his rising anger like a scythe. He’d never heard that tone of voice come from his mum before. She sounded like a completely different person. Like someone who would leave a would-be mugger dead in an alley, or throw a man off a balcony, or…

“Oh my God, Naples. That car crash. The car that drove into that giant fish tank in the lobby of our hotel, the man was eaten by piranhas in his convertible. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Ian looked across at Sandra who shrugged.

“Yes, that was me,” he said.

“But why?” Andy said.

“Money’s good.”

“No not that, why did you kill him, what did he do.”

“Oh, I see what you mean now. People trafficker.”

“And the guy on the balcony?”

“Black market arms dealer,” Sandra said.

He looked at his sister, “The hot air balloon last year. Gillian you were puking over the side and then that skinny guy fell out.”

“Oh yeah I hated that,” Gillian said.

“What killing someone?”

“No ‘course not, I didn’t kill him,” she nudged their dad with an elbow, “the rhino he landed on did.” She laughed out loud. “No, seriously there was nothing to drink and my breath smelled of puke for hours.”

“That was me,” Sandra said, "I’m quite good at the old up and over the edge, if you know what I mean.”

“Copenhagen, the man who slipped on a coffee and fell in the Lion enclosure.”

Sandra nodded.

“Paris three years ago, when that railing fell off the Eiffel Tower, I suppose that was you, Dad.”

“Oh no that was me actually,” Gillian said beaming, “my first one.” She added with a bow. “It impaled him right through the—”

“Femoral artery.” Ian finished the sentence for her.

“But that was three years ago.”

“Yes,” Gillian said expectantly.

“You were thirteen.”

“I guess I’m just an early bloomer.”

“Not really,” Sandra said. “I was eleven, Grandpa took me to Disneyland.”

“Grandpa?” Andy asked incredulously.

“Who do you think taught me?” she said.

“Bali, the guy who spear gunned himself snorkelling?” they nodded, “Seychelles? Fiji? the Rio carnival? That awful trip to the Atacama Desert,” more nodding, “How, how was that even possible, there wasn’t anyone else there?” His parents both shrugged. “Lapland, oh not Lapland, Mum please tell me that when we visited Santa all those years ago…”

Sandra smiled at him, “Does that make me a bad person, honey?”

“Oh God,” said Andy, slumping down to sit on the kerb, his head in his hands.

“Look,” Ian crouched down and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know it’s a lot to process. Your mum and I were hoping you wouldn’t have to find out this way. But let’s go back to the hotel, have a cuppa and then you can decide.”

“Decide what,” Andy mumbled without looking up.

“Are you in, or are you out.”

Andy sat in the front of the car. He ran a finger around the collar of his white shirt. The material was sticking to him under his black suit jacket. “I don’t see why I have to drive you to this party,” he said.

Gillian leaned forward through the partition, “It’s because you love me, Big Bro,” she kissed him on the cheek, leaving a smear of red lipstick. “We’ve been through this. In this stupid country I’m still too young to drive.” She opened the door, “And besides, I look amazing in this dress and you can’t walk in heels.”

As she stepped out onto the pavement, he wound down the window and leaned out. “Hey Little Sis. You know what this guy’s like. Have you got protection?”

“Urgh! You are like so embarrassing,” she said, her cheeks flushing red. She paused, looked around, then slid the red silk dress up one stockinged leg. She patted the small black pistol strapped to her thigh and winked at him. “Always.”