He was easy to follow, an angry driver sees only his road. Aston Towers had the smell of money and he drove into a basement garage. I waited fifteen minutes then went to check the name bells. Rang the top one, a woman answered. I said, ‘Pizza for the Trentons.’
They buzzed me in. I found the stairs, went to the first floor, knocked at a door, a voice said, ‘Who is it?’
I took a breath then tried a loud Yank accent, ‘David ’ol buddy, you ready or what.’
‘You want 4B for Godsake.’
Not a sound in the place. Money buys quiet. Listened outside 4B, could hear nothing, rang, kept my face in profile. Letterman asked, ‘What ya want?’
‘Electrician.’
He threw the door open and I said, ‘Our next guest is…’
Put the gun in his face and added, ‘Let’s take it inside.’
He backed slowly away from me into a living room. Cassie was lotus style in front of a huge TV, or is that yoga. Anyway with her legs folded, hands resting on her knees. Dressed in shorts and a halter top, for all the world like Sarah Miles at rest.
‘Guess what… she turned up.’
‘I can see that.’
‘No, I mean like… today. Go figure huh…’
Cassie said, ‘Put on some music, maybe the artist formerly known as Prince for the guy who used to have hair… how would that be.’
I said, ‘Everybody stay put – and you fuckface, wot’s yer real name.’
‘Believe it or not, it’s David. Is that serendipity or what?’
‘You knew I couldn’t understand how Cassie could follow me so successfully… but, if she’d a partner… What I can’t get is why.’
Cassie shrugged, ‘Bucks – as mundane as that.’
Letterman smiled, said, ‘You’ve gotta admit, you’re a natural patsy, the original fall guy.’
I used the gun to indicate the room, asked, ‘But this place, the Audi…’
‘All hired.’
‘And are ye… related?’
Letterman gave a snigger, ‘Only in the sack buddy.’
Cassie began a series of stretches, said, ‘What are you gonna do now hot-shot. I mean, you have a plan… right.’
Letterman added, ‘No shit buddy but first, I did give the straight gen on one thing… I was in the Marine Corps and they showed us…’
He did some split-second manoeuvre, his leg shot out nd my gun went flying across the room
‘… this…’
With a second kick to my chest I was thrown back across a sofa to curl on the floor in agony.
‘… and that… impressive huh!’
Cassie retrieved the gun and examined it closely. Letterman hunkered down in front of me, said, ‘See this hand, not a fist… watch the birdy.’
Shot it into my chest. The pain was nothing I’d ever experienced, it burned screaming into my brain. I couldn’t help it and roared, he roared right along with me. When I stopped he said, ‘I guess you won’t tell where the loot is but I’ve got a few methods to change your mind. Lemme give you a pointer, it involves a needle.’
Believed him, said, ‘I’ll tell you.’
And did.
My body was paralysed. I couldn’t move to even relocate the pain. Letterman said to Cassie, ‘You wanna do him sugar?’
‘Why bother, just leave him.’
‘Hey babe, he’d come after us… motherfucker doesn’t know how to quit.’
‘We could drop a dime on him, let the cops have his ass.’
‘Naw, he’d give us up.’
He bounced upright and left the room. My eyes locked on Cassie’s, hers had an expression of… such softness, it was eerie. I asked her, ‘Did you burn my house?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘To get your attention.’
Back he came with a kitchen knife, saying, ‘This fucker’s not even sharp but, what the hell.’
Cassie said, ‘Let’s not do this.’
‘Get real babe, he’s a liability.’
And bent down whisperin’, ‘Thing about a blade is… it’s so personal, goddamn intimate. Am I gettin’ hot already… Cassie… I’m gonna need my ashes hauled.’
The shot was loud in the room and a coin-sized hole appeared above his left eye. Then he fell beside me. Cassie said, ‘We’re pulling the plug on your show, the ratings just aren’t there.’
Again I tried to move but the effort was awesome, she said, ‘If you he very still for a time, gradually the agony will slip away.’
‘How the fuck would you know.’
‘He’s done it to me.’
She began to collect her things and then rummaged in my clothes, found a key to my room. So close I could have kissed her. Then she laid her hand on my bald skull, said, ‘I prefer you with hair.’
And she stood up, ready to leave. I shouted, ‘You want me to thank you for saving me… is that it?’
‘No David, I guess I don’t.’
‘At least tell me what the fuck all of this was for… Did you kill Laura… Why’d you shoot Doc! Who the bloody hell are you?’
She smiled and answered, ‘I’m no big deal.’
‘Wait… I mean… c’mon… was anything true… your bone disease, the daughter?’
‘In Morocco they say the only truth is the love of a child. But hey, maybe that’s a crock.’
Then she was gone. As she’d said, the pain began to fade but it was still two hours before I could move sufficiently to get out of there. I stood for a moment over Letterman and said, ‘Not so hot now eh!’
By the time I got to The Gate, Cassie had three hours on me. How long would it take to walk away with a million quid.
The house was quiet and I had to force the door. I hoped she hadn’t shot the landlady.
The suitcase was on the bed, a white envelope resting on it. I opened the case, the money was gone. Then I grabbed the envelope, one short sheet, it read:
‘Guess Who
The lady is gone
who stood in the way so long
the hypnosis is over
and no one calls encore
to the song.’
I sat on the bed and tried to see how I’d lost it all,
Doc
Cassie
The money
ME.
Yeah, when those blasts took the cashier, they took me too. I hadn’t been caught but, oh shit, I hadn’t got away. What is it – the bank robbers’ prayer: ‘Lemme get away CLEAN.’
I was dirty to my soul and I felt it began to leak, to seep and fester.
Some line of MacNeice… to wait for the gun-butt… rap upon the door.
I began my sentence, this was hard time all the way.
On the floor I saw a pack of Camel Lights and, way-to-go, a battered Zippo.
Thinking ‘Why the hell not?’ I shook one free, got it in my mouth and cranked the Zippo, one, two, three.
Zip
Nada
Zilch
Outa gas.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 1998 by Ken Bruen
cover design by Jason Gabbert
This edition published in 2011 by MysteriousPress.com /Open Road Integrated Media
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