The Sad Demise of Mike Laughlin

2

Then read me the list of the crimes that are mine,

I will ask for the mercy that you love to decline.

A singer must die, L. Cohen

Dung had stared into the night so long that he was convinced that he'd never sleep again. But somehow he must have fallen asleep; jerking awake, he found himself alone on the big bed. Still drowsy, he pulled the curtains open to see Geoff sitting in the same place where he had left him the night before. A quick glance out the window told him it would soon be midday.

"Where's Queenie?" he asked with a hoarse voice.

"Left for work this morning," the boy muttered, taking a sip from the cup in his hand. He looked a mess, and Dung doubted he'd slept at all. He couldn't blame him, though.

"But I was s'posed to talk to 'er," Dung groaned and leaned back on the bed again. A few minutes later he got up, rubbing his eyes and started picking up his clothes from the floor. "What did she say?"

"Not a word." Geoff stood up and filled his cup with water. "She just got dressed and left."

Dung stared, disbelieving. "Wiv'out even saying good bye? But, Queenie isn't like that! She's the most caring person I know."

Still, he could not free himself from the sneaking suspicion in the back of his head. Queenie worked in the Ministry; had she talked with anybody there about what had happened? The Law Enforcement department was merely a couple of floors away from her office, and it would be so easy to walk those few feet to the lift and talk with someone she trusted. Not from ill will, but just to get it off her chest. She could be so naive sometimes it scared him.

"Get your cloak on, we've got a discovery to make."

Geoff reluctantly put his cup down on the windowsill. "I can't do this," he said, turning to Dung and shaking his head as to underline his words. "I'll just go away-"

"You're not going anywhere," Dung sneered back. "We're going down there and we'll finish this game. You got us into this mess, and if you leave me alone wiv it I'll fucking kill you myself. When I'm out from Azkaban in twenty years, that is."

The boy paled and stared down on the floor, suddenly looking every bit the child he was. Dung sighed. "If you dis'ppear now, people are gonna start asking questions," he added a little more friendly. "What you wanna do when it's over is up to you; if you don't wanna stay wiv me and Queenie I'm sure Mark or Tim would take ya in."

Dung opened the chest by the bed and on the bottom he found his foster father's old wand; not the best, but it would have to do for the time being. He put on his Muggle jacket, picked up Geoff's cloak and walked back to him. "Get dressed and we'll go."

Slowly the boy pulled the cloak over his head and unwillingly followed him to the door. A few minutes later they stood outside in the cold, and shared a cigarette while looking at the wizards and witches going about their business. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and people carried colourful presents under their arms. "It's my birthday today," Geoff muttered.

Dung looked at him with surprise. "Bloody 'Ell, you're right! Well, er...'appy birthday-" His words fell to the ground like snow in the chill air. "You ready? Then let's go."

They crossed the street without speaking and descended into the Alley. The high grey walls towered over them, but the grey surface was familiar, sheltering. They met a lot of well-known faces, but everybody was busy now so close to Christmas and after a few words they moved on to the next. Slowly they worked their way down the Alley, nearing the entrance of Geoff's home.

Geoff cast a quick glance at the curtains in the kitchen window; drawn shut they revealed little more than a bleak darkness in the room within. Nothing stirred. "I don't wanna go in," Geoff muttered, stopping dead in the street.

"Rubbish," Dung hissed in his ear, while waving his hand at a passer by. "If you're old a'nuff to whack someone on the 'ead wiv a bloody poker, you're old a'nuff to face the consequences. Get your arse inside and stop drawing attention! You're gonna put us both in Azkaban for the next decade if you're' gonna stand 'ere moping." He half pushed the boy through the door, and standing in the stairway he nodded at the door to Geoff's flat, signalling to him to open it. With a shaky hand the younger wizard lay his hand on the doorknob.

The kitchen was exactly as disorganised as it had been the previous night, and the door to the living room firmly closed. "Doesn't look like anyone's been 'ere," Dung said. "I was a bit worried that a friend or some'at would show up."

"Mike doesn't 'ave any friends," Geoff muttered.

"Go on, then. Whaddya waiting for?"

"No, you open."

With a snort Dung grabbed the doorknob, not being able to free himself from the image of an empty floor on the inside. Perhaps somebody had been there, and moved the body and was waiting for them to come back. Maybe Mike hadn't died and was sitting in the armchair, waiting with the wand in his hand and all covered in blood. He wouldn't put it past the man to throw out a few Avada Kedavras. But no, Mike had been dead, he'd given up the ghost, gone to meet his maker, packed his suitcase and gone to the great gig in the sky-

He pushed the door open hard, and the door smashed into the wall with a loud thud. A foot stuck out from behind the chair. All was still.

Geoff looked like he was going to be sick again. "I'm not going in there. Don't try to make me, Dung, 'cos I won't do it-"

Dung looked at the boy sitting down on one of the chairs in the small kitchen. Should he tell the boy that Mike had been alive when he came? The man could have been alive, sitting in his living room making Geoff's life a living Hell, or in a bed at St. Mungo's. But he was not; he was lying on the floor, on top of the fake Persian rug, making the red carpet even redder with the remains of his bodily fluids. It would make it easier for the boy if he told him.

"Bar the door, Katy," Dung said and entered the room. Carefully stepping over the body, he picked the jar of floo-powder off the shelf above the fireplace. He looked down on what was left of Mike, and to his surprise his only emotion was anxiety for the call he was going to make. No, that was not true either -he felt something close to pride. He'd made a promise back then, and he had kept it.

From the kitchen he heard the sound of Geoff throwing up. He had a kid out there, sick from believing he was a murderer.

What am I doing? What the fuck is wrong with me?

But soon the flat would be swarming with healers and nurses, and it was a good chance the hit-wizards would get involved. Dung needed him to be alert; if the boy made a wrong movement now it would mean a cell for them both. He would not tell him yet.

Dung pushed all emotions aside, he had to do this and he had to do it now. He opened the jar and threw a handful of the powder into the fireplace. "St. Mungo's reception," he said, loud and clear. A few seconds later the head of a nurse showed up amongst the ashes.

"St. Mungo's emergency line, may I help you?"

"There's been an accident," Dung explained, carefully displaying appropriate concern. "My friend's step father seems to 'ave fallen and 'urt 'imself. We think 'e might be dead."

The nurse shuffled around something that sounded like paper, and after a few seconds she looked up at him again. "Hang on, we're sending a team."

Dung nodded and stepped away from the fireplace, almost stepping on one of the cold hands, chalk white against the deep red carpet. Making a face from disgust, he walked back to the kitchen to look after Geoff. The boy sat with his head in his hands, a bucket standing half hidden beneath the kitchen table.

"You all right?"

Geoff did not answer, just shook his head slowly. "They're gonna find out," he muttered. "They're gonna put me in Azkaban, Dung. I'll die if I end up there! I'll go crazy and kill myself, like that bloke who lived upstairs..."

"No, you're not! Get a 'old of yourself; we do what we gotta do, and then it's over." As the boy opened his mouth to speak, a rustling sound could be heard from the living room. Geoff jerked from the interruption, and watched the doorway as if he expected to find Mike standing there.

"Shut up, they're coming-" Dung gave Geoff a stern look before leaving for the living room again.

Two wizards dressed in green robes stood by the body while a third leaned over it, checking for the pulse. "He's gone, all right," the one on the floor said to the others. "Not much more we can do here, I'm afraid," he said turned to Dung. "Are you the son?"

"No, just a friend of the family," Dung muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "We came in 'ere only ten minutes ago, and-" He cut himself off, keeping his eyes on the armchair by the corner.

"Yes, I understand," the healer replied in sympathy. "Must have been quite a shock."

"Yeah." Dung nodded towards the kitchen with a worried expression. "My friend...'e's not taking it very well, I'm 'fraid. 'E's a bit shook up, 'e is."

"If he should need it, we have an emergency counsellor at the hospital," the healer added. "Just ask in the reception, and he'll get someone to talk to. In fact, I'd like to talk with him if I may. Just a few routine questions, and he'll have to sign the forms."

"Forms?" A chill went down Dung's spine; it was the line he had awaited for so long, dreaded to hear yet knowing it was inevitable.

"Yes, we need to take the body to the hospital for a routine check up. We'll get the body back to you as soon as possible so you can make the necessary arrangements." The healer smiled and patted Dung's back before walking towards the kitchen. Dung made a motion to follow him.

"In private, if you don't mind."

"I just reckoned Geoff would like to 'ave a familiar face present..."

"I'm a trained healer and counsellor," the healer reassured him patiently; the friendly smile on his face was getting on Dung's nerves. "He'll be in good hands."

I hope so; it's out of mine. With a sinking feeling of growing panic Dung watched the man entering the kitchen and turn left, putting on the correct concerned expression as he spoke to Geoff. Then the door was closed.

Dung pulled the chair back and sat down, observing the other men as they removed the body. It had become rigid and stiff by now, and only with a levitating charm did they manage to get it onto the stretcher. Then, with a nod to the sitting man, the healers levitated the body through the open fireplace and were gone.

A shiny object on the carpet caught his attention, the metal cap he'd dropped the previous night. He picked it up and played with it in his hand while he waited -for a sound from behind the door, an outcry from the healer as he found out the ugly truth. He heard nothing.

He had saved his friends arse, he told himself defensively. Mike wouldn't have kept his mouth shut about this; he would have cried for vengeance and reported the kid for assault, attempted murder, anything he could have thought of. Geoff would've been in his thirties before he'd see the sun again, and that was a fate Dung didn't wished upon anybody. He was so young and now his whole life was destroyed, before it had even begun. Even if they did get away with it, which he had began to doubt, Geoff would never be able to wash the blood off his hands.

He knew him so well. Despite his rough appearance, Geoff had never been a tough bloke -even as a kid he had been a whiner, quick to anger and quick to tears. Too emotional for his own good, and a red rag in the face of his step father.

It was a game no one would win. Geoff had lifted that poker, not Dung; he refused to take on the role as the guilty part this time. His fingers grabbed hard around the cap in his hand and threw it into the corner of the room. It rolled under the armchair and laid still.

He made an involuntarily jerk when the kitchen door opened; the healer came out and closed the door quietly behind him. "You didn't exaggerate," he muttered with a worried expression on his face. "Geoff is quite unbalanced. Does he have anyone who can stay with him?"

"I'll take 'im 'ome wiv me," Dung answered.

"Good, good... I really don't think he should stay here." The healer approached the fireplace, and Dung realised that the line to St. Mungo's was still active. Frantically, he searched his mind to find out whether he had done anything that could raise suspicion.

"We'll get back to you tonight with the message of when the body can be returned," the healer said as he entered the fireplace. With a reminder that the counselling department in the hospital was open both day and night, the man disappeared and the line was broken.

He walked back to the kitchen; the boy was still sitting in the same spot he'd left him earlier. Dung opened the door to the stairway and gestured for Geoff to follow him, and with heavy movements he got up from the chair. The wind had started to blow outside, icy gushes swept down through the Alley and crept under the collars of cloaks and jackets. Tiny white dots hovered in the air. "It's snowing," Dung muttered with a surprised glance up at the grey sky. Geoff kept his eyes on the ground, his face pale.

Soon they were back in the tiny flat above Madam Malkin's. Queenie still hadn't come home, but then Dung remembered the extra workload she had these days. She was probably working late again. He hoped.