TARGET MAN
The First Half

CHAPTER 1

He stared down beyond his gleaming black boots to the shiny blood-red concrete beneath them. The stadium noise reverberated from the cold ground up through his metal studs into his cold, aching bones. A pair of heavy hands slapped down onto his shoulders, amplifying the vibration passing up through him. They lingered for a moment before slapping down twice. Go time.

As he emerged from the tunnel, the white glare of the floodlights assaulted his eyes, overexposing his vision momentarily. As his sight returned, a sea of red shirts confronted him from every stand. The din their wearers made was loud and shrill. The air hung heavy; almost resisting his first step out onto the turf. Even though he had not kicked a ball yet, his legs felt unusually heavy as he led the line out to the centre circle. Saturated by the vitriol from the crowd, his walk dragged on. As he reached the centre circle, the referee and his assistants stood in its middle. Clad in black, they looked through him expressionlessly. His insides fluttered as he took his place next to them and his teammates filed alongside him.

The jeers loudened; their pitch climbed. His ears grew uncomfortable. He had never known an atmosphere like this. Leaning a little forward, he peered past the officials to the opposition players. All he could see were faceless red streaks. He scrunched his eyes closed, scrubbed them with his fists, then reopened them. Still blurred. Hot blood gushed like a geyser up the artery of his neck. The shrieks grew higher still, piercing his mind.

Something was not right. He turned back to tell his teammates. They were gone. The panic spun his head back towards the officials. They were gone too. As were the reds. His gaze shot down. His feet stood astride the centre spot. His face contorted. He looked towards the dugouts. All he saw were black gutters that the crowd bled into. Screams now. Women’s screams.

Brightness blinded him again, but this time the glare was not white but red. Heat stabbed his chest where the Weavers’ badge sat. He looked down at his white jersey. The badge was not there. A red spot of light hovered over his heart.

His breath halted. The screech surged. Bang.

Dmitriy snatched for breath as his eyes snapped open and his torso jolted out from under the covers. Over the next second, the dream fell away from before his eyes and left him surrounded by darkness. A glowing aquamarine shard of light from the window helped him reorient himself. He checked down next to him. Andriy faced his way, still fast asleep. He peeled the light cover off his sweat-drenched skin and rolled out of bed as quietly and softly as he could.

The aquamarine light shone through a crack in the curtains near his side of the bed. He turned away from it and tiptoed around the bed to Andriy’s bedside table. He silently slid its drawer open just enough to be able to fish his phone out of it, then crept back around the bed, picking up a bath robe from a nearby chair en route, and eased himself between the curtains and out of the sliding glass door.

The patio floor was cool from the night, refreshing to his overheated skin. He placed his phone into the pocket of the plush white robe before putting it on, tying its belt, then sitting down on a nearby lounger that faced out onto the glowing turquoise infinity pool and the beach and sea down beyond it.

He pulled the phone straight back out and immediately noticed there were no new message notifications. After unlocking the modern, minimalist handset – a special model designed to limit distraction through reduced functionality – no apps appeared on its white facade; just a contact list with six names. Andriy. Cas. Kazimir. Emily. Mama. Papa.

He clicked Emily’s name, opening her message feed, and gazed at the spot underneath a column of messages from him. His finger hovered over the message creation button. The waves lapped onto the white sand below. He looked out to the horizon. The dawn light was nowhere to be seen yet. He attended back to the phone, exiting Emily’s feed and entering Papa’s. It contained no messages, just records of outward call attempts. He locked the phone, set it down on the patio floor, and folded his arms to stop his warmth from escaping so quickly. He turned his attention back to the horizon ahead and the swishing tide.

The cry of a gull pierced his sleep. He peeled his eyes open to the cloudless blue sky. The golden sun warmed his face and neck, below which a blanket covered him.

‘Good morning, Mr Star Gazer.’

Dmitriy turned his head to find Andriy walking out onto the patio carrying an espresso cup and a glass of pomegranate juice, which he placed on the floor by Dmitriy’s lounger before kissing him.

‘Thanks,’ Dmitriy said as he picked up the juice. ‘And for this,’ he said, pulling the blanket off himself. ‘Did you just put this over me now?’

‘No. I came out hours ago. You looked so peaceful under all those stars, in front of the sea. Thought it was best to leave you to it.’

Dmitriy smiled gratefully and looked out across the crystal-clear water ahead. The only manmade thing in sight was a small fishing boat. ‘There he is,’ said Dmitriy in a childlike tone, pointing out to it.

‘I leave you in peace, yet you insist on tormenting me with this game,’ replied Andriy with a sardonic smile.

‘You started “Where’s Oleg?”,’ said Dmitriy.

‘That I might have, but you’re not even playing properly,’ said Andriy playfully. ‘He’s not coming in something so quaint. There’d be a speedboat with a few heavies and then a yacht off in the distance. You think he’d let a Saudi princess get a better snatch-and-grab than me?’

Dmitriy shrugged. ‘Maybe that fisherman will offer to take us out to see some dolphins and there’ll be a submarine waiting for us.’ He laughed and picked up his juice.

‘Hold it right there,’ said Andriy.

Dmitriy stopped short of taking a sip.

Andriy raised his cup. ‘Seriously, cheers to a delightful final day in paradise.’

Dmitriy kept his glass near his mouth. ‘If I don’t cheers you, that means it can’t be our final day, right?’

Andriy tilted his head in consideration. In the blink of an eye, a jovial grin spread across his face as he abruptly clinked his cup against his partner’s glass, spilling some juice onto his robe. ‘Cheers.’

They laughed as Dmitriy tried to wipe the juice off himself, making the stain worse.

‘It’ll wash out,’ assured Andriy.

Dmitriy nodded, took a sip, and placed his glass on the floor. His hand automatically searched for his phone.

‘It’s back where it belongs for now,’ said Andriy. ‘Like the bloody Pink Panther, you must have been. Save your tippytoeing for chasing silverware this season.’ He paused. ‘For now, let’s enjoy the quiet while we can. I can’t see much of it ahead of us this season.’

Dmitriy pulled his robe belt tight, dropped his head back against the lounger, and let out a guttural sigh. ‘Me fucking neither.’

Cas surveyed the rack for the right bottle. There it was – the Bodegas Hermanos. He swept it out and flipped it like a flaring bartender before skipping over to the elegant glasses ready on the counter, each large enough to contain a full bottle’s worth. He gathered them by their stems, spun on his heels, and looked out of the window to eye Amber sat at the garden dining table, where she basked in the summer sunshine whilst admiring the mosaicked playhouse. He savoured the whole scene. A cosy warmth rose inside him. As he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, the copper of her hair remained with him. Ring ring.

He controlled his exhale and slowly opened his eyes, giving himself a moment before a measured march over to his phone. He flipped it over to see the caller ID and immediately answered it. ‘Hola, Ali. For what do I owe the pleasure this day?’

‘It’s not much of a pleasure, I’m afraid.’

‘What is it? They not make the announcement until tomorrow, yes?’

‘Officially that’s right, but I have word from a reputable source that we’ve lost the appeal. The result of the game and the league stand, but he still has his stadium ban.’

‘Maltadita prohibición del estadio. No hay justicia ¡Me cago en tu puta madre!’ hissed Cas in rapid fire. ‘Are you sure?’

‘My source is solid. I wouldn’t have brought this to you if it wasn’t.’ Silence hung on the line. ‘I’m sorry. We did everything we could.’

Cas raked his teeth over his bottom lip. ‘I know . . . I know. Thanks for all of your work.’

‘It’s no problem. Speak soon.’

‘Yes.’ As Cas took the phone away from his ear, he heard his name again and re-raised it.

‘You still there?’ asked Ali.

‘Yes.’

‘Take those fuckers apart this season.’

Cas nodded. ‘We will. Adiós.’

‘I thought you’d gotten lost in there,’ said Amber with a chortle as he came out, her eyes still closed, enjoying bathing in the summer rays. ‘What were you doing?’

He clinked the glasses against the bottle. ‘Finding the perfect one for the celebrating.’

She immediately opened her eyes; a smile spread ear to ear instantly. He placed her gigantic glass on the table and began pouring with the bottle rested across his forearm, sommelier-style. A large glass would have been a third full. He kept pouring.

She smirked his way. ‘I don’t think the boss of this establishment would approve of you serving such loosey goosey measures. You’ll pour this place bust like that.’

He tilted back the bottle just enough to stop its flow. ‘Bombón . . . I am the boss.’ He resumed his pour. ‘And I would make everything bankrupt . . .’ He stopped the pour again and slid the glass closer to her.

Her cheeks flushed as her gaze locked onto his as he sat down. He poured himself a glass and lifted it.

‘To the real boss. Head physio, men’s first team. Salud.’

‘Salud.’

They clinked glasses, their eyes not veering a degree off each others’ as they each took a sip. Cas settled back into his seat, widening his visual field to take in the greens of the garden, the blue of the sky, and the golden light framing Amber. A satisfied grin emerged on his face.

She raised her glass again. ‘And good luck with the verdict tomorrow.’

He determinedly kept his facial expression exactly as it was as he gratefully nodded.

‘Fingers crossed you and the guys get what you deserve and that prick finally gets put in his place. Champagne tomorrow!’

He strained inside to keep his tone cheerful as he re-raised his glass. ‘Champagne.’ He took a swig. ‘So, they only ask you today about the promotion?’

‘Yep. Completely out of the blue. I hadn’t been sounded out about it, hadn’t expressed an interest in it, nothing. Rob’s gone all of a sudden and they’ve come to me before advertising it. I’m probably a bloody diversity hire.’

‘Don’t say that. Are you sure you want it?’

‘I mean, it’s a massive opportunity. Big pay bump. Profile. I’d be crazy not to have taken it.’

Cas eyed her. ‘Big opportunity. But I feel some hesitation . . .’

Amber swirled the red around her glass. ‘It’ll just be bizarre sat on the bench opposite you twice a season.’

‘Ha. I guess it will. But where you sit a few hours in the season is not the most important. Where you sit all the rest of the time, that’s the main thing. Sitting across from me here, now, is not bizarre. Is correcto. Destinado. Infinitamente,’ he said, holding his wedding ring.

She smiled cautiously.

‘Come home. Please,’ he said, putting his hand on the table, asking for hers.

She glanced away, towards the playhouse, then back at him and his outstretched hand. Her eyes flitted down as she deliberated. Then it came – she placed his hand on his.

‘I want to . . .’ Her eyes welled up. ‘. . . but you hurt me so bad.’

Cas dipped his head. ‘I know . . . I know.’ His words barely made it out.

‘What you thought about me.’ Her lip trembled.

‘I know, mi amor. But trust in me, if you can, when I say to you . . . it was not about you. I always feel like . . .’ he contemplated his words and gulped, ‘. . . I am not a real man—’

‘What are you talking about?’ Amber protested. ‘Of course you’re a real m—’

He squeezed her hand as tears rolled down his face. ‘Look at me. At these hands . . . they can’t protect you. I can’t even protect myself.’

‘Look at where we live.’ She waved her hand towards the house. ‘This is because of what you’re capable of. We don’t live in a slum. It’s not dog eat dog here. What could you possibly have to protect me or protect yourself from?’

He remained silent.

‘I don’t need a barbarian. I don’t want one. I love you. I married you. Being big and strong means nothing. The sort of strength that you have is what I want. You’re a good man. That is strength. You’re a loving man. That is strength. You’re a smart, creative man. That is strength. You love me – I know you do – and despite how deeply you hurt me, I love you too. Our love is real strength.’

His free hand clasped their hands together as tears streamed down both their faces. ‘Te quiero.’

‘I love you too. Infinitamente,’ she said, lining her ring up beside his. The two leaned in towards each other and softly kissed – the salty tears running between their lips – before hugging each other with all their might.

He planted a few kisses on her cheek. ‘I missed you so much. You don’t know how much. This is no home without you.’

She ran a hand through the back of his hair and cupped his face with her hands, brimming with affection. ‘I missed you too,’ she said, her tears still streaming as she met his lips with a full-lipped, luscious kiss. ‘I just need to know one thing,’ she said as she took her face back and wiped some of her tears away. ‘You won’t keep any more from me.’

He wiped his face somewhat dry, then looked at her. ‘Of course, mi amor. No more.’

‘Complete transparency.’

‘Totalmente.’

‘There’s nothing else big you haven’t told me? Nothing else that could come between us?’

His mind hurtled back to the tightening chokehold, his abject terror, and finding his trousers and underwear around his ankles, hurting down below. ‘No,’ he replied, his solitary word squeaking out of him as he tried to maintain eye contact.

Her hold of him went limp. ‘What is it?’

‘What is what?’

‘What is it you’re not telling me?’

‘Nothing, mi amor.’

‘Don’t mi amor me. Tell me,’ she said.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Cas. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.’

‘I don’t,’ he insisted desperately.

She relinquished her hold, screeched her chair back, and rocketed to her feet. ‘You lied to me for years. I see you now. There’s something else. Just tell me, for God’s sake.’

‘Is nothing, mi amor.’

‘It’s bloody well something. I don’t even care what it is. Just tell me!’

‘Amber . . . is nothing.’

She stepped around her chair, pushed it back in, and took a deep breath. ‘I love you, Cas,’ she stated, her tone low. ‘But if you’re going to wedge a lie between us, I can’t do this.’

‘I’m not—’ Her look stopped him dead in his tracks.

‘Goodbye, Cas.’ Deflated, she turned away and took off.

‘Amber,’ he called.

She carried on without response.

‘Amber,’ he said, louder this time.

She stopped and looked back at him.

He stood up and pushed his chair in. ‘Don’t go. You stay here now, in your home . . . until I make you believe me.’

‘You’re not going to make me believe a lie.’

‘You stay until we fix this. It’s my turn for the hotel now. I just get a bag and I go. This is your home too.’ He lowered his gaze and headed past her for the house. As she watched his every step, he never looked back her way.

TARGET MAN will be out at the end of this week. Keep your eye out for emails from me for its launch.