The Lucy Ghosts

Adam broke free and went to grab the snake, but the fat boy pulled back and, in his surprise, released its head. It lunged for Adam, its fangs drawn.

But he had it by the throat, its head firmly trapped in his hand.

The others fell back and watched him with the reptile, watched the battle at a safe distance.

The snake, its head now in strange hands, the smell not one it was used to, sensed it was in danger and quickly wrapped itself round Adam's forearm.

Adam held it tight by the neck, yet felt the reptile squeezing hard, starting to cut off his blood supply. He squeezed back, but it had little effect. He wished he had its head in his hand where he could have crushed it with his fingers. He tried to claw its head down into his palm, but the skin, dry under his touch, presented nothing he could grip on. He brought his left hand over and tried to catch the snake's head, but it was too fast for him, he knew it would sink its fangs into him before he could trap the head in his free hand. After a few moments he felt his grip begin to weaken, the tourniquet pressure of the entangled snake taking effect. He knew he couldn't let go of its head, knew that it would strike at him immediately. He tried to reach into his inside top coat pocket for his gun, but it was impossible, his left hand couldn't get into the pocket as the jacket flapped uselessly.

He heard Fruit Juice laughing, then the fat boy and the others joined in the merriment.

He dropped to his knees and tried to smash the snake's head against the base of the tomb, but it had no effect.

'Heya, what you doing?' he heard Fruit Juice shout.

He turned sharply and saw the machete glint, saw it come down towards his hand then veer off and slice into the snake's head.

He looked up at Billie, the machete in her hand, pushing down with all her strength and pinning the snake's head to the stone.

The grip round his arm began to weaken as he heard Fruit Juice shouting. He saw Fruit Juice try to wrench the machete from Billie. Adam managed to shake the snake free and finally let go of its head as he stepped back.

By the time Fruit Juice had taken the machete off Billie, the near dead snake had wriggled off the stone and into the undergrowth.

'What the fuck you do that for?' yelled Fruit Juice, his young face suddenly looking very old and tired. 'That fucker cost me a hundred dollars. You owe me a hundred.'

Behind him the others were still laughing.

'It was going to kill…' said a startled Billie.

'Gonna kill nobody. Shit, we already drained its poison. Capped its fucking fangs also. Couldn't kill a butterfly.'

'That's not…' she was beside herself with fury.

'Mebbe woulda scratched him. Mebbe just tore a little skin. Shit. That was a good snake.'

Adam put his arm round Billie. 'Relax,' he said. 'And thank you.' He turned to Fruit Juice. 'Any more? Or is that it?'

'You owe me five hundred bucks.'

Adam reached in his pocket and took out the notes. He added another note to the pile and handed them to Fruit Juice.

'A hundred more for the snake.'

Fruit Juice didn't bother counting the notes and simply put them in his coat pocket.

'Trust me?' asked Adam.

'You ain't a shyster. But you sure gotta death wish, boy.'

'He got that,' said the wobbling fat boy. 'He sure got that.'

'I ain't seen no one like that before. You woulda let that snake bite you. Fuck me, you woulda done that.'

'I never seen that either. A real fucking death wish.'

'Why you wanna die, boy?'

'Nobody wants to die,' replied Adam quietly.

'Mebbe you don't wanna die, but you sure don't care if you live.'

'Interesting show,' said Adam changing the subject. He took Billie's arm. 'It was quite an experience. I think it’s time to go.'

'You okay?' Adam asked her as they walked towards the entrance.

'I am now. God, what were we doing there?'

'Thanks for helping out.'

'I couldn't believe it. That snake…yech…I thought you'd had it.'

'I wondered why they were all laughing. The bastards had drained its poison sac.'

'Some performance.'

'Wasn't it? Showtime in New Orleans.'

'Was it all just a show?'

'Who knows?'

'What did he mean? Two of you? Two spirits in one body.'

'I don't know,' he lied. But it was the one part of the ceremony that had shaken him. How the hell did they know?

'It shook you up. You went crazy.'

'Of course. The snake was about to have a snack, and I was it,' he joked.

'You holding something back?'

'No. You see that sex thing between them?'

'I couldn't believe it.'

'Clever. Clever. I wonder how they pulled that trick. Just like getting that snake out of his mouth.'

'Wasn't up his sleeve. He was bare naked.'

'In his fat. In the rolls of fat round his belly.' He relaxed as he joked, pleased that he had got her off the subject of Marcus.

Marcus, Marcus. So someone else had finally seen you. And who was good and who was bad. Am I bad, Marcus? Me? The one with blood on my hands. That fat bastard saw me for what I am. Bad. At least you're there. At least you're the one who keeps me straight.

Ch. 39

Sverdlova Prospect

Moscow.

The big Zil limousine was stuck in a traffic jam, not uncommon in these days of cheap imported cars and unrestricted travel across the Soviet Union.

'It gets more like the West everyday. The people are starving, but they'll give up everything to be seen in a new car,' remarked Rostov to his deputy as he looked out on the motionless traffic.

'Keeping up with Boris is how Time magazine reported it. The new snobbery,' replied the number two, a younger man in his early thirties. Like Rostov, he was a practicing Christian and both men felt comfortable in each other's company. It was a trust they had shared since the early days when their practice of religion had been a secret thing. 'Those journalists are quick to criticise. They should try and live in a revolutionary society that is changing day by day. I'd like to see how well they would cope if their beloved capitalism had been taken over by our system.'

'It never happened. Which is why we're stuck in this jam. We should never have closed the central lanes. It's not dignified to be sitting here in this big car with nowhere to go.' Rostov referred to the central lane on the major routes into the city that had once been reserved for party officials and official motorcades, now another casualty of the old regime. 'Is New Orleans in place?' he asked, his voice suddenly lowered.

'It is. Nobody expected us to move so fast.'

'An opportunity not to be missed.'

'One problem has arisen.'

'Only one?' came the laconic reply.

'The person we are dealing with is a double.'

'Damn. I don't want the Americans to know.'

'It's our only contact in the city.'

'Then we must proceed and take a chance.'

'I've already actioned it.' The Deputy noticed Rostov's quizzical look. 'I took your order of immediate response to mean just that.'

'And the rest?'

'The plans are coming together.’

'What about the old woman?'

'Pensioned off and sent to a state home in Perm.'

'Under surveillance?'

'Like a hawk. Including the phone she has access to.'

'Good. If you use the German station, be careful. Trust no-one. Especially the Germans. They're either at your throat or up your arse. ‘

Rostov settled back. Actions had been put into motion. Hopefully they would force a reaction that would open up the way to a satisfactory conclusion. A little bit of pressure here, a little there. Push down in one place and it pops up somewhere else. That was the only way.