Fast Fiction: Come Home, Walt Dougal
When a private detective goes looking for Walt Dougal he gets more than he bargained for, as Richard Mallinson reveals in this story.
‘I am looking for Walt Dougal,’ I say, ‘is he around?’
‘Oo wants te know?’
‘Bill Selsey, private detective,’ I reply.
The man points to a door and says, ‘There’s someun in there.’
I go in. There are beer cans on the floor and table. The place stinks of cigarette smoke.
A man in a dirty singlet is lying on a mattress.
‘Are you Walt Dougal?’ I ask.
He is pouring beer into his mouth, then stops.
‘Brought any beer?’ he asks.
He is straggly-haired, unshaven, grubby.
‘No,’ I say, ‘and I don’t want any of yours either.’
This annoys him. He flings his can against the wall and it spurts.
‘What do you want?’ he grunts.
‘I’ve come to take you back to your family.’
‘Are you mad?’ he says.
I get him sobered up, fully dressed and out of that place. A minute later we reach a badly-lit square. I hear the sound of breaking glass and raised voices from fights.
In front of me two women lunge and scream at each other.
*
Now it is midnight. I’ve been robbed and beaten up by Walt Dougal - or the man I’d assumed was Walt Dougal.
In this gutter, I’ve become an object to be kicked and spat on by every passing yob, addict, dealer and pimp.
Vaguely I wonder if this is how it is all going to end.
