Chapter 14 Chapter Thirteen

Jackson parked at the end of Caroline Street, right behind the Drury Theatre.She took a flashlight from the glove box on the dashboard and walked towards Aldwych Street.She knew that there were two pubs on the right, Henry Fielding's and Pepys', but both were connected to the building next door.There was no fence in sight, and she thought calmly that it was a futile search.The direction Susan gave was unimaginably vague—a pub on Caroline Street, with a gap between it and the adjacent building, separated by a fence—where would it exist in a place where the price per square yard was tens of thousands of pounds? Such a gap, Jackson expressed high suspicion.

At 1am, this part of Covent Garden was deserted, although there was occasional traffic from the Strand to Fleet Street through Aldwych Street.Theaters, bars, and some restaurants had closed long ago, and Jackson was alone on the street.She walked along the sidewalk, waving her flashlight at every shadow cast by the street lamps, but all the houses were closely connected to the houses next to them.She sighed helplessly, crossed the road, walked back, and repeated the search.nothing. Other than those two bars, there's not much else Jackson could classify as a bar.A restaurant is obscured by the discreetly drawn mesh curtains on the windows, but the name - Bon Appetit - is hardly a drink place.Leaning against her car, she gazed across the road at an empty house under renovation.There is no gap between it and the building on the right, but it is on the corner of Caroline and Russell Streets, with some barely legible letters on the weathered storefront signs above the whitewashed windows that look like "Giovanni bar and grill".

Not sure yet, Jackson entered Russell Street hopefully, walking along the side of the house, the flashlight bouncing off more painted panes.At last I found this so-called gap, which was really only a yard wide, and which seemed to serve no purpose at all except to let a little light into the adjoining windows upstairs.The 7-foot-by-6-inch metal railing, with no beams in between to stand on, was there simply to keep someone from climbing into a narrow 20-yard alley that ended in a brick wall.There was no door to the alley, and no sign of it being used, except as a container for cigarette butts - piles of butts piled grimy by the entrance.

Jackson moved to the left, raised the flashlight, and shone it diagonally down the alley. The light was not bright enough to produce a little light on the brick wall at the end, but she was able to shine evenly to the right and then again. To the side wall of the alley.Whatever the reason, this wasted space in the heart of London suddenly takes a 90-degree turn, and it doesn't take a genius to conceive it, leading directly into Giovanni's abandoned kitchen. It also doesn't take a genius to figure out why this railing is necessary.For the past three centuries, when Covent Garden was a flower and vegetable market, labor was cheap, and the garden never slept.Fresh produce is brought here in the dark and sold by various stall owners the next day. The underground car scrapping plant and brothels are open 24 hours. Movie fans and opera lovers flock here to catch lunch and evening performances.A trespasser may meet all kinds of challenges and obstacles to enter along any alley or passage.

Now that the market is gone and the area has been transformed into a daytime tourist attraction, only a fool would leave a deeply sunken back door to make it a good meal for nighttime burglars, and if that happens, even insurance Fees are not available.Jackson sighed again in frustration.She studied the bar, wondering how Acklan could have climbed over the railing without help.Let's say he's there.She raised her voice, "Charles! Are you there? I'm Jackson. Susan sent me here. Can I talk to you? Okay?" No response, "Whoever it is, is there anyone there?" She started yelling, "I'm not a cop. I'm just trying to find a friend." She shone the flashlight at right angles, looking for something moving, and she thought she saw something white flash past.a face?

"I hope to find a friend here," she cried. "Can you help me? He's a lad with a blindfold on." "Who are you?" asked a voice hoarse from alcohol and tobacco. "My name is Jackson. Is he with you?" "Maybe." "Can you get him to talk to me?" "I asked him, but that doesn't mean he'll agree." There was a long pause, "He said he wasn't going out. You had to come in." "Great!" She shone her torch on the fence, which stood straight up with just two beams, one at the top and one at the bottom, both sides firmly glued into the brick wall. "How do I turn over without help? Is there any trick?"

She heard titters. "Being skinny helps, girl...but seeing you're blocking most of the entrance, that's certainly not the case. There are riveted knots on the outside of the fence. It's easier if you can grab those knots with your toes...but you Better put a coat over the spikes at the top. With your size, if you're not careful, it'll come down like a ton of bricks." Jackson cursed under his breath as he inspected the inch-wide rivets that held the fence into the building.Even barefoot, she had trouble holding onto a foothold, and she certainly couldn't fantasize about stepping over those ornamental spears at the top.Still, she bent down and unlaced her boots. "Can you do me a favor?" she called, "Come and hold the flashlight for me, please? That way I can see what I'm doing."

"As long as you don't blame me for your big fall." "I won't." She reached out and hung her boots upside down on the two pointed spears in the middle, shrugged and took off her coat, rolled it into a thick cushion, and covered the remaining pointed spears on the left hand side.A figure came down the alley, and she flashed the flashlight quickly over the bearded face, then held the flashlight over the fence and handed it to him, "Thank you." The light turned on her. "God, you're a big girl. Are you sure you want to do this?" "It depends on how drunk you are." She reached through the fence again and directed him to hold the beam of the flashlight on the left stud. "See if you can steady your hand."

"I'm as stable as a rock when I'm drunk." The man breathed out a strong breath of alcohol, "I only tremble when I'm sober. How about this?" "Okay." She put her two hands on the two boots on the top beam respectively, inserted her left toe into the highest rivet she could reach, took a deep breath, jumped up, and locked her arms, "the next step where?" "That's why being skinny helps. If you relax a bit, there's room between your ass and the spear. You have to carefully squeeze down, mind," another snicker, "I'm not saying it won't occasionally Sting you."

"You're such a good helper," Jackson said sarcastically.Shifting her weight to her right hand, she freed her left hand to readjust the coat over the boot, making a makeshift saddle. "Here." She took the phone out of her trouser pocket, "Catch it." She threw the phone at him, and grabbed the beam again with her right hand, "If I get pierced by this nasty thing, before I bleed to death, hit me." Call an ambulance. Don't move the flashlight!" "You're bossy!" he said, "like my wife." But he caught the phone neatly, focusing the flash on the rivet.

"With a husband like you, you can't blame her," Jackson said, supporting himself on his hands and lifting his left foot against the wall. "Does she have money for the kids, or do you buy the wine first?" drink?" "Haven't been together long enough to have a baby." Jackson's toe locked to another stud. "I have to concentrate on stepping over and get ready to move in case I lose my balance." With a grunt, she straightened her left leg and swung her right leg, like a female gymnast on uneven bars, unexpectedly With a graceful movement, she straddled the saddle and turned over the spearhead, "Didn't even touch it," she said with satisfaction, hopping to the ground. The drunkard nodded approvingly. "Not bad for a big girl," he said. "You have a lot of strength, that's for sure...assuming you were a girl." She covered her head to toe, "You're not the kind of man who wants to be a woman, are you?" "No," Jackson said without hesitation, "I was born with a butt." She took off her coat and boots, away from the piles of cigarette butts, wiped the crumbs off her socks with the back of her hand, and put on her boots, holding her breath as she tied them to avoid inhaling the choking smell of the man.To explain why she thought Charles might be on Caroline Street, Susan told stories about Jackson street punks urinating on old people.Jackson concluded that the vagrant was not just the one who had been peed on, and that, judging by his strong odor, he hadn't washed his clothes since the incident.Either that, or something wrong with his prostate. She stood up and stretched out her palms, "Where's the phone?" She asked happily.He gave her the phone, but wasn't so keen on returning the flashlight.She pointed to the alley and said, "You lead the way, I will follow." But with the traditional thinking of protecting women, he insisted on walking beside her, carefully protecting her back with one hand, and holding a flashlight for her with the other to illuminate the road ahead. In the narrow alley, this This behavior brought the two of them close together, and Jackson wasn't quite sure if he was teasing her.He was a few inches shorter than her, but his shoulders looked strong, and, despite the graying of his beard, she suspected he was younger than he looked. "There are three of us," he told her, "me, an unconscious boy, and the guy you're looking for." "What kind of 'unconscious'? Drugged?" "Never seen him smoke... but I can't vouch for it. He showed up half an hour ago fine, he said he was sick, he had a stomachache, and passed out quickly." They turned the corner, and he put The light shone on two figures who sat one against the other in the dark doorway. "It's not great here," he said apologetically, as if Jackson had asked to join them, "but it's safer than the Strand. You'll meet some real madmen there." "What's your name?" Jackson asked him. "Jock." He shone the light on a few pieces of luggage against the wall, and seeing that they were still there, he returned the light to Jackson with satisfaction. "Lieutenant," he said the rank in an American accent, for reasons that only he knew, "we planned to call for help, but you showed up, and he said you were a doctor." "yes." "So you want to see this kid? I guess he's going to die if no one does anything about it." "Of course. What's his name?" "Ben. I don't know his last name." She stepped forward and shone the flashlight into Acklan's face. "You were supposed to help me when I climbed over the railing," she reproached mildly, kneeling beside the boy next to her. "What good would it do you guys if I got a spear point through my ass?" She held her hand The electricity shone on the face of Aklan's companion, his face was gray and unconscious. "I feel like if I crawl out, you won't come in." "Why not?" She lifted the boy's eyelids with her thumbs and shone the light on his unresponsive pupils. "I don't know what your schedule is like. The first time I met you you told me you were working for the police." "Just performing the function of a doctor. I don't round up witnesses for them." Jackson leaned forward and sniffed the unconscious boy's mouth. "His breath smells like nail polish. How long has it been like this?" "It's been that way since he got here. He smells stronger when he's awake." "Did you try to talk to him? Called his name? Did you respond?" "No, he's been like this since he passed out." She shone the light on the boy's neck, where several red spots rose above his ashen-pale skin. "How long have you known him, Jock?" "A month or so. He's a pretty little guy, so the gays keep following him. I put him under my flag because I can't stand that kind of shit. A runaway boy doesn't mean He deserves to be in the hands of street perverts." "I agree. Did he cry out for thirst?" "Haven't seen him for a while." "Does he pee a lot?" "Anytime, anywhere." "how old is he?" "He said he was 18...but I figured he was about 15. What happened to him?" "His symptoms suggest a diabetic coma, caused by a buildup of chemical toxins in the blood." She pulled out her phone, scrolled down the menu, and selected a number. "Yes...Trevor Monaghan on the phone... ...Dr. Jackson...emergency. Thank you." She glanced at Jock, "Go back to the railing and call for an ambulance, and you," she said to Ackland, pulling the Car keys, "jump out and get the medical bag in the trunk of my car. It's a black BMW parked on the corner of Caroline Street, across from the bar." She put the keys into his hands, "Trevor Is it convenient for you? I need you to meet me in the emergency room, I have a sick child here, deep diabetic coma.. The initial diagnosis is type 1 diabetes, ketoacidosis shock due to untreated. Can you Organize an ambulance for me? Yes... definitely priority... at the corner of Caroline and Russell Streets in Covent Garden... and we need the fire brigade... can't get out without a ladder..." "Is he going to die?" Jock asked 20 minutes later as paramedics loaded the stretcher into the ambulance.He was impressed by the speed with which the firefighters erected the ladder on the railing shortly after he yelled "the ambulance is here" to Jackson. "Only when a person is seriously ill will there be so many people around him." Jackson was writing a note to the consultant on Acklan's back. "He's very sick, Jock. Juvenile diabetes is a serious disease, and being on the streets makes it worse." She signed herself She put the note into the envelope she took out of the medical bag, "Don't worry, I'm sending him to the specialist." She stuffed the envelope into Jock's hand, "Make yourself useful ...Give this to the ambulance driver, take your things and follow me to my car. I'll drive you to the hospital." She pointed at Ackland, "You too...take Ben's stuff. There might be some personal information in there." Akram shook his head and stepped back to the nearest wall, where his, Ben's, and Jock's luggage was stacked.Because the alley was too narrow, these things were moved together when the stretcher was brought in. "It's none of my business. I don't know the boy." "Nor do I," Jackson said, kneeling down to zip up the medical bag, "but that didn't stop you from involving me in this." "You chose to come here." "That's true." She stood up, "Then what should I do?" "Nothing to do. You have no responsibility to me, you go your way...I go mine." She looked at him curiously for a moment, then shrugged slightly in disappointment, "You're not who I thought you were," she said. "You too," murmured Akram. "We're both wasting time." She nodded slightly goodbye and headed for the ambulance, where she briefly explained to the paramedics and Jock before walking to her car. Jock came over, "Move your ass," he ordered, "Your girlfriend wants us to follow the ambulance so we can see the boy delivered to them safely." He picked up all the luggage on the floor, including Acland's, walk over to Jackson. Aklan strode after him angrily, "Did she tell you to do this?" "what?" "Take my purse." "Just doing you a favor, man." "Not interested. I want my stuff." "Then express some gratitude to the lady first." Jock crossed Caroline Street and threw all the luggage into the open trunk of the BMW. "Grow up, kid," he said sternly, "do you think anyone cares enough about me to come here for me?" Jackson said nothing as Acklan followed Jock into the back of the car and closed the door.She just opened the window a little to let the smell out of Jock, and headed for Aldwych Street.Jock cheerfully announced that this was the first time he had been in a car since leaving his wife.Jackson was amused.She encourages him to talk about himself, asking how old he is. "The last time anyone noticed me I was 33...but I stopped counting. I went drinking with some buddies...drank a little too much...come home and my wife is waiting for me. She has a bad temper, that woman. She doesn't want to celebrate my birthday and is mad because I did it myself. Is it fair? Is it fair!" Jackson laughed. "How long ago was that?" "Now you're asking me." He thought for a moment. "About 22 years. I was born in 1951...joined the army in 1969...three years in Germany...a few years in Northern Ireland...married in 1978... Fighting in the Falklands War in 1982...cashed out a year later...then, when I couldn't stand my wife anymore, I started a nomadic life. She blamed me for not having children, which pissed her off." "Have you ever thought about asking for help?" "No. Waste of time. Guess the best thing I can do is fuck off right away and let her try with someone else." He sounds amused by that. "It's not really a marriage. She's just pretending I'm not around I only like me when I'm writing—letter or something—as soon as I get home, the knife is exposed." He pulled his face, "I drink probably has a lot to do with this. I don't have a few glasses of wine in my stomach. There's no way to face her... I keep asking myself why I'm tied to a chunky roll pudding - no offense - if I could have gone after something I could embrace with open arms." "What have you been doing since you left the army?" "Nothing's been done. The world seems to be pretty depressed after the Falklands War." Jock sighed. "I should have been a soldier all my life. I've been fighting all my life." Jackson glanced at Acland in the rearview mirror, and if he had any military affection for Jock, he didn't show it. "What rank are you in?" "I made it to the corporal before I set out for the South Atlantic. Those were the best years of my miserable life...it's been downhill ever since." This time Akram finally showed some interest. "Which Legion?" he asked. "Second Parachute Regiment." "Which company?" "B Company." "So you participated in the Battle of Green Goose Village?" Jock gave a dirty thumbs up, "Of course. We captured Boka Mountain. I lost a good comrade in arms there." He shook his head suddenly nostalgic and sentimental, "We participated in the Jun, I can hardly remember what he looks like now...you can't understand, can you?" Ackland stared out the window as the car turned toward Waterloo Bridge.The river is only so beautiful at night, when the lights on its banks shimmer like diamonds set in black velvet, and the Palace of Westminster, illuminated by arc lights, doesn't look like a government building but rather More like a castle in a fairy tale.In the daytime, when the embankments and bridges were crowded with people, he saw no beauty at all. "So how did a corporal from the 2nd Parachute get into the gutter and drink bad liquor?" he asked sharply. Surprisingly, Jock isn't angry. "I never drink red wine," he said, as if the abstinence was something to be proud of, "though I'd still drink some white wine if I could get it. It's not that bad—corrodes your The brain rots your liver—but it's cheap, and it keeps me from being bored for a few hours." He scratched his mustache, "I prefer apple juice." "That's not the answer. If you weren't a good soldier, you won't get the rank of corporal. Where's your comrade? What happened?" Jock shrugged. "Who knows, maybe just got lost in the Falkland Islands."