Ritter grabbed her hair and rammed her face down onto his up-thrusting knee. Her nose burst with a distinct crack and he tossed her back onto the couch.
‘ You really are obscene,’ he said, standing over her, looking dispassionately down at her exposed body: her gown, covered in blood, had sagged open and ridden up.
But Sue was past modesty. She had never felt such incredible pain before. She whimpered like a kitten: ‘What do you want?’
He smiled benevolently. ‘That day at Bayside — why were you there? Were you watching me, seeing who I was meeting? Is that why you were there?’ His questions were relentless.
‘ I was having a picnic,’ said Sue.
‘ Liar!’ His foot lashed out and he kicked her shins hard. She screamed in pain. ‘Now — why were you there?’
‘ Having a picnic… boyfriend…’
Oh God Damian, where are you? Come to my rescue.
‘ You’ve been following me, haven’t you? Building up a dossier. Who I meet, who I speak to. The boat I own — do you know about that too? What about my condo? Have you checked my bank accounts? I bet you have, you accountancy cunt. You know all about me and Corelli, don’t you?’
‘ No, no, no,’ she cried desperately. ‘You’re wrong, wrong. Oh, please Damian, help me.’
‘ He won’t help you,’ sneered Ritter. ‘He’s miles away, with Mommy. So, who else knows all this?’ he demanded.
‘ No one… you’re insane.’
He grabbed her by the hair again and yanked her into a sitting position. Then leaned down and glared into her eyes. ‘Who… else… knows?’ he repeated slowly. Spittle ran from the corners of his mouth. ‘Where is the file?’
‘ There is no file. I know nothing about you or Corelli,’ she said.
He flung her back contemptuously, revealing her shaking folds of flesh.
‘ Oh, you really are gross,’ he said disgustedly. ‘It’ll be like sticking a pig.’ And he pulled a knife out of his pocket.
Sue tried to scream but no noise would come; she tried to get up and run away, but fear had driven all responses from her body.
Ritter plunged the knife into her chest, piercing her heart. By the time he’d removed it and plunged it in a second time, she was as good as dead. This didn’t stop him from stabbing her in a frenzy of utter blind madness another thirty-eight times. And that was just the beginning.
Joe Kovaks drove into Liberty City at nine that evening and cruised the streets slowly, making sure that he wasn’t being followed. He couldn’t afford to be caught out on this one, either by his own side or the other. This was his little operation and its success depended on no one else knowing about it.
Kovaks looked cynically at the streets where in 1980 the whole world had been made aware of Miami’s race problems; four days of rioting had left eighteen people dead. A white face here was still unwelcome. Now, even though he was streetwise, unafraid and armed, he kept his windows closed, door locked and never stopped at a traffic light.
Once he was satisfied he was alone, he drove out west to a rundown motel just on the edge of Liberty City and made straight for Room 103. After knocking in a particular way, he let himself in with his own key.
The room was untidy, but at least the bedclothes were clean. Laura lay motionless in the bed with the duvet wrapped tightly around her head. She hadn’t heard him either knock or enter.
In the corner of the room a TV set blared out. Fast-food cartons, their contents half-eaten, were strewn on the floor. Kovaks switched the TV off and went into the kitchenette where, after clearing and wiping the work surface, he emptied the bag of groceries he’d brought into the relevant cupboards.
As he was doing this, Laura surfaced. Wearing only a pair of panties she sat up, head in hands, rubbing her face.
‘ Joe, you got it? I need It, Joe!’ she said through her fingers.
‘ I got it. Be patient.’
‘ Come on, man. I need it. You promised.’
‘ I always keep my promises.’ Kovaks returned to the bedroom. ‘But first you gotta do something for me.’
‘ Yeah, yeah, anything, Joe.’
‘ Clear the fucking place up or you get nothing — understand?’
It took a few seconds for his order to reach her brain. Then, without a murmur of dissent, she got to it. In a matter of minutes the room had been tidied. The fast-food cartons were in the bin, the bed was straight, clothes and shoes were put away.
Kovaks sat on one of the two easy chairs and watched her scurrying about the room. He’d always known about the power that pimps and dealers had over drug addicts, but had never imagined how easy it was to get in such a position of dominance. You had what they wanted and they’d do anything for you to get it. A very simple equation. Power went to the people who had the drugs and were not users themselves. People like Corelli.
Kovaks had always found it difficult to understand addiction, but thanks to his short association with Laura he was learning fast. In her lucid moments, the black girl was bright, intelligent and articulate. What had been her downfall was circumstance, lack of money, lack of guidance.
But he didn’t really care about that. He had decided to use her and use her he would. He exerted power over her now and that’s what mattered. She would do anything for him, just to feed her habit.
‘ There,’ she said, standing up, pushing her dry hair back, ‘done.’
She moved in front of Kovaks and stood there. Her body was still painfully thin. Her ribs protruded through her skin and her knees stuck out gnarled and unsightly. ‘Anything else? I need it, Joe. Come on, man.’
He took hold of her wrist and pulled her gently down towards him.
Her thin body was easy to bend.
‘ How much do you want it?’ he teased.
‘ You know how much.’
‘ Will you do anything for me?’
‘ Yes, I will.’ Her bloodshot eyes looked pleadingly into his.
He had been leading up to this, never actually saying it, always insinuating it, prodding, pushing her in the right direction.
‘ Will you kill Corelli for me?’ he whispered.
She didn’t even have to think. ‘Yes, I will,’ she gasped.
Kovaks couldn’t suppress a grin of triumph. Laura had lived in this motel room since her discharge from hospital and Kovaks, at his own risk and expense, had nurtured her, clothed her, fed her, provided drugs for her and now she was completely reliant on him. He was her world. She loved him. He was her provider. And he didn’t beat up on her, abuse her or want to fuck her ass.
She didn’t know that he really did want to fuck her. But fuck her good and proper.
Kovaks reached into his pocket. He handed her a brown bottle which contained a bright green liquid, rather like Creme de Menthe. It was methadone, heroin substitute. Twice her daily requirement, provided by a ‘doctor’ Kovaks knew who owed him a favour.
She unscrewed the cap and swigged the contents in one, wiped her mouth and smiled at him as warmth spread into her stomach and from there into her bloodstream.
‘ What about my baby?’ she asked.
‘ I’m negotiating. It looks good.’ It was a lie.
‘ Joe, I love you,’ she said dreamily. She put her arms around his neck and sank her bony frame onto his knees, curling up like a child.
‘ I want you to kill Corelli,’ he whispered in her ear.
‘ I will,’ she said. ‘Give me a gun. I’ll do it.’
‘ You’re a good girl.’ Kovaks sighed. Suddenly a surge of guilt whipped through him, but then it was gone. It was the only way, he assured himself. The only way.
Damian lay under the bed for twenty minutes before he dared to move. He was not a brave man. He’d heard the outer door of the apartment open and close but hadn’t had the courage to emerge just in case it was a ploy.
He tried to stand up but his legs were so weak and shaky that they wouldn’t bear even his meagre weight. So, on all fours, stark naked, he crawled slowly towards the door.