Scary Fred

To her, he was Scary Fred, and not without reason, the man looked terrifying. She wouldn’t have sat next to him, but she was wearing new shoes and even now they were beginning to rub. By lunchtime, she expected to be crippled.

He was sitting in the aisle seat, scowling at everything.

‘’Scuse me, can I sit next to you?’ she’d asked, indicating the last spare seat on the bus. She’d fully expected to have to squeeze past him, hanging onto the headrest to keep her balance. He’d scowled at her. She’d smiled back. Working in the bar at the Rose and Crown had given her a lot of experience dealing with men and a smile was a golden pass. He shunted across. Her smile grew broader; it was embarrassing. What if he wanted to talk? She needed the seat, so she nodded and sat, staring at the map plastered on the seat in front, daring him to interrupt.

‘You new here? In London?’ he suddenly asked.

‘No. Why?’

‘You been staring at that map like you lost. But you not lost, so…’

Italian, she thought. I’m sitting next to The Godfather.

‘Where you goin’?’ he wanted to know.

‘Oh, nowhere interesting. Just work. You know…’ she shrugged. She wasn’t about to tell him. What if he was one of those stalkers, those murderers? What if he just turned up at the Rose and Crown at lunchtime? What if…

‘I use ta work. I was a cleaner for a big important firm. Cleaned up all their mess. Retired now so I’m gonna feed the pigeons,’ he volunteered.

‘You’re not allowed to do that anymore. They’re pests. They’ll fine you.’

‘The pigeons will fine...?’ he wrinkled his brows.

‘No, the authorities. There’s fines for feeding pigeons.’

‘Tsk! Not allowed to feed the birds.’ He shook his head in despair. ‘What will they ban next?’

‘Anything that’s fun and they can make money out of. Here’s my stop, I’ve gotta go. Bye!’ She almost catapulted out of her seat and left the bus one stop early. By the time she hobbled into work, she was regretting the impulse that had made her flee. But she’d learned: don’t share. Keep private. Keep safe.

The next day he was there, sitting on the aisle seat, blocking the window seat, scowling at everyone.

‘Hello.’ She smiled.

He promptly shifted across and patted the seat he had vacated – and that set the pattern of their days. It seemed that he sat and scowled at everyone else, but for her, he shifted.

He was from Calabria, Italy and he loved to talk about it. She was quite prepared to listen, it got her a seat and, she had to admit, it was interesting. She’d never been to Italy, was never likely to go and the closest she imagined she’d get was the occasional takeaway pizza from Joe’s.

‘I am Fredrico. Fred. Whas’ your name?’

‘Ginger!’ she laughed out loud. He was puzzled. ‘Ginger! Fred and Ginger, get it?’ He obviously didn’t. ‘They were a dancing couple, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. My name is Gina – so it’s close.’

Fred didn’t look impressed. He didn’t speak for the rest of the trip and when she left, he didn’t even glance up.

Well, that’s the end of my free seat, she thought as she dodged her way through the busy London streets. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she trilled as she pushed open the kitchen door of the Rose and Crown.

‘I’m getting used to it’ grumped Tony.

Gina gritted her teeth. Bloody men! Was it any wonder she didn’t want anything to do with them.

Fred didn’t reappear for three days and Gina resigned herself to standing, hanging on tight and lurching her way to work for the rest of her life. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted…

Then he was back. He was looking out for her and almost jumped across to the window seat for her.

‘Hey Fred, what happened to you? I was getting worried.’ Gina didn’t add that she was worried about never getting a seat again.

‘I fall down. I bang my knee. She’s no good for a coupla days so the pigeons go hungry. But there’s a lotta rubbish in Hyde Park so maybe they manage without me, hey?’ He smiled and his disgusting gold tooth flashed in the sun. She flinched.

‘You like? Is very expensive.’ He tapped his tooth and desperate not to offend, she nodded enthusiastically.

Suddenly, he looked shifty and the epithet ‘Scary Fred’ fitted him like a shroud. ‘Gina, I do something silly today. Rushing, I pick up the wrong bag. Look.’ He held up an ordinary brown paper bag and waved it. Gina nodded, but couldn’t have cared less. ‘I don’ wanna take this to the park in case I drop it. I got no pockets. Can you hold it for me today? Tomorrow I bring a shopping bag an’ get it back, okay, you do that for me?’

‘What’s in it?’

‘Jus’ my address book. See.’ Fred pulled a slim black book out of the bag and flipped it through. She could see jottings of names and addresses. ‘Nuthin’ special to anyone but me. If I lose this, I lose miei compagni. You look after it for me today, yes?’

Oh, for…. She forced a smile. ‘Of course. Pop it in my handbag. I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?’

‘Yes. Molto grazia, Gina.’

They exchanged waves as she bounced off the bus. As it pulled away, Scary Fred’s tooth glinted in the sunlight and Gina shuddered – then promptly forgot all about him as she hurried off to work.

‘Gina! There you are. I need you to scrub out the bins.’

‘What? I’m a barmaid.’

‘And today you’re a scrubber!’ Tony laughed as if this was the funniest thing. ‘We got the health inspector coming tomorrow.’

‘How do you know? They don’t make appointments.’

‘Got friends in low places,’ Tony grinned and tapped his nose. That’s probably right, thought Gina. ‘Now, no more out of you. You put these gloves on and get on with it. I need them all done by ten so you can get the bar ready before eleven. Yeh?’

‘Yes Tony.’ Gina passed her scrubbing time fantasising about killing Tony and stuffing him into one of his own bins. It was the best bit of the day.

The next morning, Gina double-checked that she had Fred’s book. But he wasn’t on the bus! I love starting the day off grumpy, she thought. It saves time. I should give up optimism.

At the Rose and Crown, Tony had her mopping the floors and wiping down all the surfaces. As she finished, the health inspector swooped in and Tony made a great show of being surprised.

‘Can I get you a coffee, Pete?’

‘No thanks, Tony. I’ll just have a quick look ’round and then I’ll be off. Your place is always clean.’

‘I like to keep it up to scratch. It’s easier that way. One bad smell, one bad review and we lose a lot of punters. Wanna start in the kitchens?’

‘Lead the way.’

The newspapers arrived and Gina quickly flicked through one. It wasn’t until page sixteen that she saw the tiny item: The body of an elderly man had been found in Hyde Park by a man walking his dog. Adrian Cutterhouse told reporters, ‘The dog went nuts and started pulling so I went to see – it was awful! His throat had been cut.’ Police are treating the death as ‘Suspicious’ and are appealing for any witnesses.

Good luck with that, Gina thought. Suspicious, my arse! What do they think, he cut himself shaving behind a bush? Lurking at the back of her mind a tiny thought tried to be noticed. You don’t think it’s Fred? No, I don’t! she told herself firmly and shut the thought down. But all day, it nagged.

The next day, Fred wasn’t on the bus.

Fred wasn’t on the bus again. Now the tiny doubt was a raging scream! And then on page five of the newspaper, ‘Fredrico Campelli of Hammersmith had been found murdered, his throat cut. There has been a crime wave sweeping the East End recently and police are concerned that a turf war is behind the escalating violence…’

There was a lot more, but Gina barely glanced at it. She knew a murder victim! Someone she knew had been murdered! Her thoughts lurched between thrilled and horrified, when a thought struck her: I still have his address book.

So what? So, it’s not mine. I should give it back… Who to? He’s dead. Throw the damn book away! No, have a peek first. Okay, that works.

That night, she picked up the little black book.

It was written in Italian. His handwriting was spidery, cramped and difficult to read. Gina quickly realised she was wasting her time. But at H she found something she could read: H Pk Box 72/A/5413. Nothing else. She tossed the book into the garbage.

At 2am, she pulled it out.

H Pk. Hyde Park. Box 72 – a safety box. Where? In the railway station? 5413? The code to open it? Well, I could go and look. If it means that I can get back to sleep, then - yes. She slept.

Gina got off the bus at Hyde Park and turned into the underground.

And then it was all surprisingly easy. Box 72. Code 5413. Push the button. Open the door. Another brown bag. Gina grabbed it guiltily and turned around as if someone might be watching, following, accusing, ready to attack her. She strolled away casually. You’re just going to give this to his family – you know that, don’t you. Yes. But I feel sneaky.

At home, Gina picked up the bag and looked inside. Another black book, bigger than the first. On the first page was an Alpha/Numeric list. The rest of the book had been hollowed out and stuffed with wads of $100 notes. OMG – she counted them. $20,000. Gina could hardly breathe; she’d never seen that much money.

‘I think tha’s mine,’ a voice gravelled in her ear. Gina jumped. The notes fluttered across the floor. She swung ’round, terrified. Fred was grinning evilly, his disgusting gold tooth gleaming in the light.

‘I thought you were dead!’ she gasped.

‘No, somebody else. Jus’ looks like me. Change the hat, the coat, put a wallet in a pocket an’ you got – me! All old men look the same. Invisible. People walk past, they don’ see us.’ Fred shrugged. ‘You din’t see me an’ I was sittin’ on the doorstep. So yes, I’m dead. Now I come for my book. Books.’

‘Yes, sorry. I thought you were dead. Here, let me get this for you.’ She scrabbled around. As she gathered up the notes, she wondered how a cleaner had got so much money.

‘Feedin’ the pigeons,’ he said as if reading her mind. ‘Crumbs of information, a bit here, bit there, stashing the money around the world. But you need both books. Without the code, it’s nothing, jus’ fake names an’ addresses. I was a cleaner for the Firm. They had a problem, I cleaned it. It paid well. But they came after me, so I needed a dead body. Nobody misses an old man an’ now they’re not lookin’ for me anymore. Now it’s time for me to go back home to Calabria. But first I gotta clean up…’ He nodded grimly.

As Gina silently held out the wad of notes, Fred's hand whipped in an arc. A silver blade sliced through her throat. As she stumbled, her blood pumped and sprayed. Her eyes locked onto him in amazement. Her mouth moved, but not even a moan passed her lips. Fred leaned over and wrested the wad of notes from her hand.

‘Everyone wanna die rich,’ he murmured. ‘Brava, Gina. Miei complimenti.’