Then, without saying a word, he stood up and walked calmly towards the door. Just before placing himself in the doorway, he raised his arms in the air. That was the only movement that still caused him a little pain.
And a flood of memories.
CHAPTER 5
Ben Shepard moved behind one of the cement mixers, trying to find the best position from which to keep the door in his sights. A bead of sweat running down the side of his face reminded him how hot and damp the building was. For a moment he was tempted to wipe it off, but he preferred not to take his hands off his Remington pump-action shotgun. Whoever was in that room, he didn’t know how he would react to the order to come out. Above all, he didn’t know if he was armed or not. Anyhow, the man had been warned. He was holding a shotgun, and he never said anything he didn’t mean. He had fought in Korea. If the guy or guys in there didn’t believe he was prepared to use it, they were making a big mistake.
Nothing happened.
He had preferred not to switch on any lights. In the semidarkness, time seemed like something personal between him and the beating of his heart. He waited for seconds that seemed an eternity.
It was pure chance that he was here at this hour.
He had been on his way back after an evening spent bowling with the team he played for. He was driving along Western Avenue and had just passed North Folk Village when the oil gauge had lit up on the dashboard of his old van. If he kept going, the engine might seize up. A few dozen yards up ahead was the track that led to the his construction company. Rather than be forced to brake, he had quickly done a wide turn onto the other lane and then onto the track, immediately afterwards switching off the engine and putting it in neutral to take advantage of the momentum and get as far as the gate.
As he approached the building, hearing the loose stones under the tyres roll with an ever deeper sound as he lost speed, he’d had the fleeting impression that there was a dim light visible through the windows.
He had immediately stopped the van, taken the Remington from behind the seats, and checked it was loaded. He had got out without slamming the door and had approached, walking on the grassy verge in order to avoid making a noise with his heavy shoes. When he had gone out, a couple of hours earlier, he might have forgotten to switch off the light.
That must have been it.
But in any case he had preferred to make sure by being at the right end of a shotgun barrel. As his father used to say, nobody had ever died from being too careful.
He had kept on, hugging the fence until he came to the point where it had been cut. Then he noticed that a light was on in the room in back, and saw a silhouette passing the window.
His hands on the grip of the Remington had started to get damper than they should. He had quickly looked around.
He hadn’t seen any cars parked in the vicinity, which he found puzzling. The building was full of materials and tools. They weren’t worth a great deal, but they might still tempt a thief. They were all quite heavy, though. It seemed strange that someone would come here on foot if they planned to clean him out.
He had gone through the hole in the fence, and reached the door next to the vehicle entrance. When he had pushed the door, he had found it open. Groping with his hands, he had felt the key in the keyhole, and in the dim light from the lampposts reflected off the clear wall he had seen that the little window in front of the fire extinguisher was half open.
Strange. Very strange.
Only he knew of the existence of that spare key.
Curious and cautious in equal measure, he had gone inside, woven in and out of the equipment heaped up there, and kicked the door of the backroom wide open.
Now he was holding his shotgun aimed at the open door.
A man appeared in the doorway with his hands up. He took a couple of steps and stopped. Ben moved accordingly, so that he was still protected by the squat, ungainly mass of the cement mixer. From here, he could keep the man’s legs in his sights, and if he made even one abrupt movement he would shorten his height by ten inches.
‘Are you alone?’
The answer had come immediately. Calm, steady, apparently genuine. ‘Yes.’
‘OK, I’m coming out. If you or any friend you have with you are planning any nasty tricks, I’ll blow a hole in your stomach as big as a railroad tunnel.’
He waited a moment and then came cautiously out into the open. He held the shotgun at his side, firmly aimed at the man’s stomach. He took a couple of steps towards him, until he could see his face clearly.
And what he saw sent a shudder through him. The man’s face and head were completely disfigured by what looked like terrible burn scars. From his face, they continued down his neck and disappeared inside the open collar of his shirt. His right ear was completely missing while all that remained of the other was only a fragment, attached like a joke to the cranium, where coarse healed skin had replaced hair.
Only the area around the eyes was intact. And now those eyes were following him as he approached, more ironic than worried.
‘Who the hell are you?’
The man smiled. If what appeared on his face when he moved his mouth could be called a smile.
‘Thanks, Ben. At least you didn’t ask me what I am.’
Without asking permission, the man lowered his arm. It was only then that Ben realized he was wearing gloves of some light material.
‘I know I’m not easy to recognize. I was hoping at least my voice had stayed the same.’
Ben Shepard opened his eyes wide. Involuntarily, he lowered the barrel of his shotgun, as if his arms had suddenly become too flabby to hold it up. Then the words arrived, as if he hadn’t had the gift of speech before now.
‘Christ almighty, Little Boss. It’s you. We all thought you were…’
The sentence was left hanging.
The other man made a vague gesture with his hand. ‘Dead?’ The next sentence came from his lips like a thought spoken aloud and a long-buried hope. ‘What makes you think I’m not?’
Ben suddenly felt old. And he realized that the person in front of him felt much older than he. Still confused by this unexpected encounter, without really knowing what to do or say, he went to the wall and reached his hand out to a switch. A dim emergency light came on. When he made to switch on another light, Little Boss stopped him with a gesture.
‘Let it be. I guarantee I don’t look any better in the light.’
Ben realized his eyes were moist. He felt useless and stupid. Finally he did the one thing that instinct dictated. He put the Remington down on a pile of crates, approached this soldier and gently embraced him.