Persona Non Grata Read online

  D.C. GRAHAME

  persona non gratA

  Orewa Storytelling Company

  Auckland, New Zealand

  Copyright © D.C. Grahame & Danny Ledger

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, please contact the Orewa Storytelling Company at [email protected].

  First Orewa Storytelling Company edition May 2018

  Exterior Design by OSC Art Dept.

  Interior Design by OSC Author Services.

  Manufactured in New Zealand & the United States of America.

  ISBN – See regional informational available at merchant address.

  Dedicated to Nancy, my co-adventurer.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The air was cold and the night was young. Only the inner-city had a pulse, the suburbs that surrounded it remained ever dormant. Winter continued its course, and the city’s populace separated into their appropriate factions.

  The older generation hibernated within their expensive, refinanced homes. While the young blew what little income they had on the white-lies of the promo flyers, dotted around the city’s pavements. Kingsland, which was once a small, unnoticed seaside town, had become a rapidly, growing metropolis. Both a source of legitimate prosperity and a mecca for criminal activity. Loved by some, loathed by many, a city that could extinguish dreams and hopes with a single broken bottle.

  Indeed the nightlife had earned its fair share of notoriety. Ran almost entirely by the local mob, the city’s bars and clubs had become a gateway to an underworld. An underworld whose tales while unknown to the average tourist. Were recycled and told as bedtime stories to the people that called the city home.

  The city’s high street, Chapel Road, was where many of those tales were born and even more buried. By day, a pleasant road worthy of being in the centre of a seaside resort. By night, a platform for low-level crime and questionable behaviour. Living for the weekend, thousands would swarm upon the infamous street for a night of drinking, sex, and violence.

  Indy Vinyar didn’t care for it. He didn’t care for much associated with the aspirations of today’s youth. An attractive twenty-something lost in time and disillusioned by his own generation. He navigated through events like a shadow. With choppy brown hair and dark facial stubble. He walked down the road in semi-formal, casual attire. A long, thick winter coat reached his knees as he tucked his chin behind a small black scarf.

  Withdrawing a small wad of cash from the nearby ATM, he slid it deep into his left jean pocket, removing his phone at the same time from his right. A concise text from his twin brother Frank asked how far he was from reaching their scheduled catch-up. He was right in front of it, a club named Que Pasa, Kingsland’s most prominent drinking venue. Indy loathed the place. Delivering a false smile as he reached the shorter VIP entrance queue.

  The Vinyar family were a name in this city, whether he liked it or not. Stemming from their fair share of altercations with both criminals and the law alike. Their eldest brother John, who had been absent for some time, had a particular amount of eminence.

  Indy was acutely aware of the names and faces within the club, some sharing a history with his ancestry. His primary aim was to find his look-alike sibling and persuade him to exit the establishment. Regardless of how much his brother wanted to bathe in the venue’s atmospherics.

  So many of the club’s attendees spent their last on a Saturday night. Scraping what they could from the bottom of their bank balances and overdrafts. Indy struggled to relate to this idea, choosing instead to accept the label of the recluse. He scrutinised the club floor, failing to see his brother amongst a room drenched in skin-tight dresses and spray-tanned biceps. Pausing the search for a drink, he made his way to the bar, garnering a few female admirers on-route. The bartender spotted his face, opening a Corona as Indy made his way to him. Flicking the lid off the bottle, the bartender nodded to the balcony area. Indy turned and followed it to see his brother, resting over the balcony railing. In deep thought, admiring the barely-clad females below. A mirror copy of Indy with the only visual distinction between them being the hairstyle. It was perhaps a visual metaphor for their almost oxymoronic differences. Indy sported the standard inch of hair while Frank’s grade one buzz cut was hard to ignore. Almost brash in appearance, the twin brother had the look of a cocky yet charismatic young man.

  Frank was far more outgoing than his reclusive twin. An extrovert of whom the role of an event promoter or club runner suited well. Frank’s noisy, catalytic demeanour had earned him many phone numbers. It had also made him many friends and the occasional enemy along the way. As Frank scanned the dance floor for his next sexual pursuit, he noticed Indy in the crowd making his way to him.

  They grabbed a seat opposite each other in the VIP booth. Frank reached for a nearby ice bucket, pulling out some mid-market Cava.

  ‘I hope you appreciate my VIP status here.’ Frank both simultaneously noted and bragged. A motif of his.

  ‘You say VIP, but the table top’s just as sticky as down there.’ Indy muttered unimpressed.

  ‘Never satisfied. Have a drink, crack a smile’ he insisted.

  ‘I thought we were just meeting up to talk?’ Indy queried.

  ‘We’ll chat, but can you just take a moment to appreciate the beauty around you.’ Frank asked, raising his hands either side of his head. ‘Specifically that blonde over there.’ Frank advised, gazing over the dance floor once more.

  Indy could never truly gauge his brother’s mentality. Genetically identical and yet so very different in how they saw the world. A pair of manic depressives refusing to adapt to each other’s trajectory. Frank was a believer in pharmaceuticals. Indy was not. Keeping a long-expired, pot of anti-depressants in his medicine cabinet at home. He didn’t want to rely on a pill for balance. And yet the thought plagued him. Was Frank’s lack of inhibitions, his ambitious and exuberant nature, actually just the real Indy. One not subsidised with chemical imbalances. Knowing this to be a possibility, he still refused to medicate. His disorder meant he lived with two minds, one manic, one depressive, constantly fighting for the dominant phase. It was in this battle. This argument between his two minds. That he would often deem Frank’s self-medicating a kind of lie. Frank duo-minds were not at balance, but rather the pills simply delivering him one over the other. One that could leave him living drunken, free of anxiety and threat. Frank was living in a dream world it appeared, and his conduct and gestures were a product of such.

  ‘I’m pretty sure she’s ten years your younger bro.’ Indy warned.

  ‘Hopefully.’

  ‘Let’s head down the lanes. You can do your thing after.’ Indy insisted, striding away from the seating area and down the stairs. Frank still distracted by the ground floor, nodded semi-interested. He began to mouth a reluctant okay before double-taking, realising Indy had already begun his exit.

  Frank rushed through the main doors, wrapping his coat around his torso. He found Indy accelerating away, twenty feet ahead of him.

  The lanes were a smaller set of roads with more relaxed venues. A tourist haven during the day, with novelty stores distributed evenly. By night they homed a series of eclectic bars. Each spraying a multitude of coloured neon light against the street surface.

  ‘What’s your problem with Que Pasa?’ Frank called out.

  ‘Frank it’s been a long day, I’m tired, let’s just get a drink somewhere, you can go back to fishing in your clap-filled pond once I’ve gone.’

  ‘I’ll have you know comrade, that club happens to be my desk job, and the subject of this scheduled discussion.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Indy questioned curious, facing away slightly to appear aloof. He could
see his brother puffing up his chest with pride. Never a good sign.

  ‘I’m going to buy it.’ Frank announced with a level of calm that implied plenty of self-confidence. Indy looked back perplexed, taking a quick peek back at the venue before returning to his twin.

  ‘You’re going to what?’

  ‘Buy Que Pasa. I’m going to own the gaff, run it.’ Frank reaffirmed. Indy couldn’t grasp the mathematics of the notion. Frank was an event promoter, and though he had received money from circumstances prior. The place would come with an extravagant price tag.

  ‘Have you been playing tequila-monopoly again?’

  ‘I’m not talking shit.’

  ‘Your lips are moving.’ Indy interjected.

  ‘I’ve got a backer.’ He announced. The prospect unnerving Indy somewhat.

  ‘What do you mean backer? The only people stupid enough to give you money are hazardous for lack of a better word.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. It’s an old colleague of John’s.’ he replied, noticing Indy’s patronising gaze shift to a condescending look-to-the-skies.

  Indy assembled a shortlist of candidates in his head, some infamous, others comical. Individuals who had the means and the incentive to fund Frank’s aspirations.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Big Red.’ Frank replied. Indy gave a slight smirk, trying to appear unimpressed by Frank’s decision-making. He was already bored of this announcement. Knowing it to be one of Frank’s many pipe-dreams.

  Looking beyond his antagonising reflection and further afield to a parked taxi outside Que Pasa. He watched as a young, elegant woman, blonde and full of smiles climbed out. Indy raised a hand and waved, causing her to head their way with a wide excited grin. He had been dating the young Eva for a few months. Her sister Grace, hesitantly following, was already a significant member of Vinyar family history.

  Indy held a smile internally as he studied Frank. A man who often thrived on awkward situations, didn’t care for this one. Eva was his ex for a very brief moment and her hesitant sister, was his elder brother John’s one-time fiancé.

  Frank was keen on an exit. He’d rather be in the club, pretending to listen to a law student’s hopes and dreams.

  ‘I’m going to head back in.’ He said, retreating from Indy.

  ‘Frank, why do you do that? You’re all good with Eva, and Grace still considers you John’s adorable idiot brother.’ Indy informed.

  ‘Does she?’ Frank asked, in a tone almost rhetorical. ‘I’m still going to head. We’ll chat later.’ He noted, walking back towards the club, giving the girls a brief wave as he passed them.

  Eva’s face lit up at the sight of Indy. She loved every minute they could get together and Indy at times found her infatuation perplexing. Especially given him and her ex-fling were identical in appearance. It was for that reason that he wondered if her attraction was purely physical. But she had noted more than once that to her the brothers sat either side of the coin. On opposite ends of what she labelled the douchebag spectrum. Indy had as many faults as Frank. But it was his honesty and empathy that set him apart.

  Indy didn’t need a deep, profound reason to want to spend time with her. He’s stereotypical heterosexual yearnings took care of that. She was gorgeous, a smile that had everyone excited, a body that had every man eager and frustrated. The little fact that she was the kindest, sweetest woman he had ever met was just a bonus.

  She wasted no time wrapping her arms around his head, squeezing tightly. He absorbed her appreciation for him. It was something a manic depressive could rarely self-develop. As he felt the hug, he opened his eyes to see her elder sister stationed behind them. Armed with a look that somehow blended care and distrust into one uneven stare. She was visually older than both of them but still classically alluring like her younger sister.

  ‘Hey Grace, how are you?’ he asked softly, as Eva slowly retracted her bear hug.

  ‘I’m good Indy, you?’ she calmly replied with a light smile, giving nothing away.

  ‘Good. A bit tired of work but you know. Shall we get a drink?’ He asked, directing them any which way that wasn’t the venue behind them all.

  ‘Sounds good.’ Grace nodded, taking the lead. Indy leant into Eva’s ear as they followed.

  ‘She realises that I’m Frank’s twin right, not Johns?’

  ‘She’s okay. A long day I reckon. Our parents are still giving her a hard time about George. Why didn’t Frank come with?’ Eva asked, interlocking her fingers with his as they pursued a cross-armed Grace a few yards ahead.

  ‘Gone fishing’ Indy said, suddenly hearing a screaming crowd grow more and more anxious behind him.

  Exploring the sounds, he turned to see several figures outside Que Pasa having a violent altercation. Several glass bottles flew in the air with a malicious speed. The sound of shattering glass was quickly drowned out by an arriving police car. Indy halted for a moment, looking to see if Frank had already entered the venue and away from the conflict.

  ‘I’ll catch you guys up.’ Indy murmured, absorbing the scene. The police quickly separated the two warring parties apart.

  One of the two tranches were entirely African-American. Finding themselves aggressively herded by the police to one narrow corner.

  The remaining tranche, a multitude of Caucasian and other races. Quickly diffused into the spectating crowd, a few even entering the club. The police began to interrogate the usual suspects, directing onlookers away. Indy looked at the chaotic spectators, noticing one onlooker taking an almost pleasurable interest in the bias efforts made by law enforcement. Mads Kane, the son of the city’s most recognisable crime lord, Isaac Kane. The young man, about the same age as Indy, was well groomed though somewhat narrower in stature. He took pleasure in the polices effort to gather and pressure a handful of Yardies. A rival gang that had arrived some time ago from the capital fifty miles north.

  Mads was also an acquaintance of Frank, much to Indy’s displeasure. Often spotted in a VIP booth of Que Pasa, throwing fifties at the bar service with a clear and ostentatious agenda. Mads shifted his gaze from the complaining Yardies and out towards a disapproving Indy. Immediately differentiating the twins from one another. The pair shared a distrusting gaze before Mads turned and entered the club.

  Alone again, Indy returned to the lanes and the path of neon lights. Wondering if the man had any part to play in Frank’s ludicrous ambitions.

  ✽

  The next day, Indy made his way down Kingsland’s main high street, now calming from a hectic rush hour. Midway through a phone-call with Frank. He bragged of his work ethic having collected the latter’s drug prescription for him.

  In debate rather than gratitude, Frank expressed bewilderment at Indy’s preference not to medicate himself. It was just another bullet point in a list of criteria he believed Indy created to separate them further. Frank saw little problem in routine consumption. Merely adding the Cymbalta pill to his current weekly stack of weed and charlie. Even ketamine on a slow day. He knew Indy’s previous problems with alcohol and morphine had served as a red-light for his sibling.

  Much to Frank’s ignorance, Indy worried about his brother and the constant state of mania he appeared to tip-toe within. He worried about the kind of scenarios Frank would find himself. The dubious transactions he would make in phases of delirium.

  After all, they were the last two of a family on thin ice with the city. Their father James, to Indy’s shaky recollection, was a mid-level gangster. A personality both cherished and lamented by public figures. Their elder brother John, a respected bare-knuckle fighter who made as many enemies as he did friends.

  Following their mother’s death and other unfortunate circumstances. There was now only two Vinyars left in Kingsland, Indy and Frank. With nothing little left to their family legacy but each other and a cool hundred-dollar life insurance premium split between them.

  ‘So have you decided on your alternative medicine for the day yet?’ Frank asked.
‘A pointless hour with the therapist, a double espresso and some chin-ups?’ He listed, referring to Indy’s self-prescribed routine.

  ‘You think you know me so well, I’ll catch you later.’ Indy replied, hanging up as he entered Starbucks.

  As he queued for coffee, he could hear the greetings of a friendly barista he often shared small-talk. He smiled and nodded without actually engaging, knowing his order was already in the prep queue.

  Waiting for his beverage, absent of his customary earphones which drowned out the typical coffeehouse ambience. He semi-consciously eavesdropped on the conversations that surrounded him.

  The couple behind were discussing the growing crime and turbulence appearing in the Imperial Quarter of the city. A regional rejuvenation project abandoned by the council after budget cuts. It now played stage to drug dealers and offenders looking to set themselves up in the city. Over recent years, crews had created so-called incubators, designed to develop and amplify products and services that continued to threaten and plague the city. The North London Yardies, in trouble with police last night, was one of several factions that utilised the quarter.

  Indy dismissed the rumours as business as usual. Looking forward to the attractive pregnant woman in front. Feeling a slight guilt as he checked out and admired her rear.

  His mild shame was quickly supplanted by the sound of two male youths having a rather loud and inappropriate conversation a few metres ahead. Their topic of discussion being the sexual antics of the night before. Either oblivious or carefree of the environment and the families sitting within the coffee shop. They detailed the rather mature exploits and performances of the evening. Commenting on the shameless filth and eagerness of a mature woman they had together seduced.

  Indy was already socially awkward enough without a socially awkward situation appearing on its own accord. He noticed several of his peers attempting to ignore the pair, some even looking distraught by the comments.