One of Us

by Michael Marshall Smith

  What could be secret and important enough that a cop would go to all this trouble both to hide the information and also to back it up? Not official business, that’s for sure.

  I slipped the sheets in my pocket and left the house, pausing only to take a piece of fried chicken from the fridge and wish the appliances good luck.

  Deck was sitting at the table, looking stressed. Laura was lying on the sofa with a large drink in her hand. Though she was stretched to cover its entire length, she didn’t look relaxed either. She looked angular and jumpy, and was clearly in a strange mood. She was dressed in woman’s jeans and a baggy sweater, presumably an outfit left in Deck’s closet by some special person who’d decided to go be special to someone else. They were far too big for her, and she looked like a pretty scarecrow dressed in its Sunday best. She’d pulled the sleeves of the sweater up, and the scars on her wrists looked raw. The fear in her eyes had got worse, like someone who knew she was going to start pounding her head against the wall again, but was powerless to stop herself.

  ‘Yo, Hap,’ she said. ‘The prodigal loser returns.’ The sentence came out like someone trying to speak Dutch with a speech impediment, and I raised an eyebrow at Deck.

  ‘You try stopping her,’ he said.

  I perched on the arm of the sofa. She craned her neck to look up at me. Her eyes were holding, but only just. ‘Hi Hap,’ she said. ‘How you doing?’

  ‘Not as well as you, by the look of it. You think maybe it’s time for that coffee yet?’

  ‘Hmm. Do I want a coffee?’ She mimed deep thought, a performance slightly marred by missing her chin with her index finger. Then suddenly she shouted, ‘No of course I don’t want a fucking coffee.’

  ‘Laura, it’s going to be really hard for us to talk if you have any more to drink.’

  ‘We’re going to talk, are we? How nice. What about?’

  ‘Whatever you want. About what’s going on with you. About what we can do to help.’

  ‘What are you going to do, save me?’

  Abruptly I felt tired and worn out and not in the fucking mood. ‘Laura, do try to remember that people other than you have problems. I’ve spent the entire afternoon in a police cell. That incident I told you about? It’s back on the database, and Travis knows it. To stop myself from going down on a recall rap as well I have to help him catch the psychos who are after you, because he thinks they killed Hammond, and my sole payment for doing that is the freedom of my ex-wife—about whom I have complicated feelings, not least because Travis let it slip that she may be hoping to cash in on a lucrative whack which has been laid on my head. By anybody’s standards that’s a lousy afternoon, so what say you give me a break?’

  She giggled. ‘Why did you split up with your wife?’

  ‘Because our cat died,’ I snapped. ‘Now are you going to have a coffee or what?’

  ‘No, but I’ll accept a massage.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘My neck hurts,’ she said, pulling herself laboriously upright on the sofa, ‘and it might help if you would massage it.’

  ‘We’re not going to have sex, are we?’

  She blinked at me, looking mildly sober for a moment. ‘Er, no.’

  Deck sniggered in the background, went through into the kitchen. He knew what was coming. He’s heard it before. I explained, at some length, my feelings on the subject of massage. That I disliked having it done to me, that I found it both boring and irritating, and why. I also explained my views on the sneaky and underhanded way that women had got massage redefined as foreplay, so men had to do it to them more often. After centuries of it being something you did to athletes, or if you’d sprained something, suddenly all the good sex advice—propagated either by women or bearded idiots who do what they’re told—said that massage was an essential element of making love. And so now, not only did men have to ensure that women had orgasms (their right, to be sure, and a pleasurable task, but ladies—have you tried it? It’s either very easy or like playing pool with the lights off: never anywhere in between. I think every woman should have to try giving another woman an orgasm. We’d hear a bit less on the subject then, I fancy) but suddenly bone-crushingly dull and detumescing things like massaging someone’s foot are now part of the whole sexual ritual, and if a man doesn’t spend half an hour happily kneading his girlfriend’s calves then he’s some kind of sexual caveman. Men haven’t suddenly come up with some whole new thing, have they? Some new sexual hoop for their partners to jump through? They haven’t decreed that being nice about their jokes and serving them beer and pretzels are now essential parts of the sexual enterprise, or that they simply can’t get nicely relaxed and in the mood unless you watch the ball game together beforehand.

  It’s just not fair, dammit—and I for one am not standing for it. Or taking it lying down. Whichever.

  I went on a bit, I have to admit. Intentionally. After the first couple of minutes Laura’s shoulders started to slump, and when Deck brought her a cup of coffee she took it without a murmur.

  ‘I’m not surprised your wife left you,’ she said, curling her legs up beneath her. ‘Sounds like you were kind of a drag.’

  Deck spoke quietly: ‘You don’t really think Helena’s going to clip you?’

  ‘Probably not,’ I said. ‘She saved me at the Café. She brought the machine back here. And probably it was her who was in my apartment and turned the sheets back: a message I was just a bit too dense to get.’

  ‘Which implies she’s been looking out for you for a few days.’

  ‘Big fucking deal,’ I said. ‘Too little, too late.’

  ‘Hap, if she really wanted to kill you…’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ I said irritably, ‘I’d be dead already. Do you have any idea what it was like to have a significant other who’s universally acknowledged to be tougher than you are?’

  ‘No, but then I’ve never been married.’

  ‘Very droll. You get that off a cereal box?’

  ‘I might have done if I could read.’

  ‘Jeez,’ said Laura, ‘I’m amazed you guys ever go out. You can have so much fun just staying in talking.’

  ‘Laura,’ I said, ‘what happened to you? This morning your company was almost bearable. Now it’s like eating a ground glass enchilada. You want to talk about that?’

  ‘Oh God,’ she sneered, ‘Doctor Hap is back in session.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ I said, for the hell of it. ‘Feeling bad about Monica Hammond?’

  I don’t know what reaction I was expecting. Maybe a realization on Laura’s part that I knew slightly more about her life than she thought. Perhaps just shutting her up for a moment.

  That wasn’t what I got. She went absolutely berserk.

  She launched herself off the sofa, already screaming. I fell backwards awkwardly and landed with her on top of me. I was so surprised that it was a few moments before I could even put up a defence, by which time I was seeing stars. Laura was completely frenzied, beating at my face with her hands and shouting words I couldn’t hear. I tried to grab her hands but they were moving too fast and too unpredictably.

  Then Deck was behind her, and managed to get hold of her shoulders. He pulled her backwards until her fists were out of range, at which point she started kicking at me instead. Deck got an arm fairly gently round her neck, and eased her back far enough for me to drag myself away. Laura was still shouting, but more slowly, her voice dropping in pitch to somewhere near its normal range. I still couldn’t make out what she was rasping, though it sounded like four words being repeated over and over.

  ‘What the fuck,’ I panted, ‘was that all about?’

  Deck’s arm was still around her neck, but her body was shaking less. He had his head in close to hers, and was stroking her hair with his other hand. Laura’s eyes stayed locked on me, heavy with fury and shame.

  She kept repeating the words, like an automaton wearing down, until finally I understood what she was saying.

 
‘Monica is my mother.’

  She wouldn’t say any more. We all sat in our places for a few minutes, catching our breath, feeling the fire in the room gutter out. Then Laura struggled out of Deck’s grip and went into the bathroom, shutting the door loudly behind her. Deck and I looked at each other and couldn’t find anything to say. He used a cushion to mop up the cup of coffee which had gone supernova. I went back into the kitchen to make some more.

  A few minutes later I heard Laura emerge from the bathroom. She muttered an apology, then sat back down on the sofa. I kept out of sight, manufacturing hot drinks so slowly I almost went into a Zen trance. I heard Deck ask Laura a question, something uncontroversial, and after a long pause she answered. Slowly he started telling her about some of the stuff on his walls. I didn’t get the sense it was an excitement explosion for her, but she seemed to be listening at least.

  I decided to stay in the kitchen a little longer. Deck is one of those people you can’t help liking. I’m not. People find it enormously easy. Some of them don’t like me several times a day, just to keep their average up.

  I perched on a stool and had a cigarette. My face hurt, and when I wiped my finger under my nose it came away lightly smeared with blood. Also I thought she might have cracked one of my ribs. I hoped not, because cracked ribs are a pain in the ass. I have a couple on my right side which are weak now, and each time they get rebroken you’re looking at about four weeks of significant discomfort, without even anything to show people.

  To pass the time, I wondered how long it would be before Travis tracked me down. As far as I was concerned losing the tail wasn’t breaking the terms of our agreement, but he’d probably feel different. I also thought about my chances of making bail on the bank job, and cut the odds at less than nothing. I drank my coffee slowly, and felt my heart rate return to normal. I listened to the murmur of Deck’s voice, Laura’s occasional grunts.

  Then I heard a sound, coming from the front of the house. At first I didn’t know what it might be, then I got where I recognized it from.

  It sounded like a car, driven fast, roaring down the road towards the house. Maybe more than one car, in fact. Maybe three.

  Time seemed to slow down, like a pianist doing a melodramatic rallentando. As I slowly swung my head, mouth gathering to shout to Deck to look out the window, the back door to the kitchen was yanked open and someone thrust their head inside.

  ‘Quick,’ Helena said. ‘Hap, you’ve got to come with me.’

  I stared at her, blinked twice. There was a scream of brakes from the front of the house, the sound of doors being thrown open. I heard Deck leap to his feet and swear inquiringly; then the sound of running feet and the door downstairs being blown off its hinges.

  But what I saw was Helena’s face. Soft skin over sharp bones, ice-blue eyes and dark brown hair. Maybe a couple more lines, a little more defined. Otherwise exactly the same.

  Footsteps running up the stairs to the front door.

  I shouted Deck’s name, dragging my eyes away. Deck reacted instantly, grabbing Laura by the arm and hauling her off the sofa. As I yanked my gun out I felt a hand grip mine, pull me towards the back door.

  Helena hissed: ‘Hap, for fuck’s sake—quickly!’

  Laura stumbled over a rug and fell onto her knees. Deck turned to help her up. The first shotgun blast hammered into his front door—wood splintered straight off, followed by the sound of an explosive kick. I started to run to help Deck, but Helena wouldn’t let go, and pulled me back towards the door. I whirled to face her and she yanked my face close to hers. ‘Come with me, now,’ she said. ‘Or I’m leaving you here.’

  I heard Deck and Laura running towards us. Helena turned on her heel. I hurtled after her out onto the platform, and clattered onto the stairs. Deck and Laura were a few paces behind, but Helena was right, as always—I couldn’t help them run. They had to do it on their own.

  There was an enormous crash as Deck’s front door was finally smashed to pieces, then the sound of shouting. I tripped and nearly fell headlong down the stairs, but flailed out and grabbed a rail just in time. Helena was pattering down the metal steps in front of me, lithe and fast, and for an absurd moment all I could focus on was the length of her slim back, and the kick of her hair as it bobbed and swung.

  I tumbled onto the ground a few paces after her, and remembered the car I’d stowed behind the building the night before. Helena followed my eyes. ‘Got the keys?’ she asked, racking a cartridge into a gun which had appeared from nowhere. It was bigger than mine, naturally. I shook my head, craning my neck to see that Deck and Laura had only just made it onto the platform above. ‘No time then,’ she said. ‘Just run.’

  Obediently I started to stumble backwards, shouting up at the others to hurry. And I saw:

  Laura and Deck, frozen in motion. Deck just ahead, but Laura coming on fast, head ducked and face caught between fear and determination. Deck already reaching for the rail, eyes judging the angle to throw themselves at the stairway.

  Then, behind them, an explosion of yellow light. At first I thought it was muzzle flare, but the light was too soft and too large and came on far too slowly. Not an incendiary device either—because there was no sound except a deep humming that made my teeth vibrate. Two figures slammed out of the kitchen, the point men in suits. Deck’s head turned slowly; I heard the crack of a shot from Helena’s gun, which didn’t seem to affect anything; a whisper of a scream from Laura, as if heard from the end of a tunnel through the centre of the earth.

  The light changed, condensed into a white bulb around Laura and Deck. The top of it scrolled twenty yards up into the sky, until it looked more like a column. Still running backwards, still trying to shout, I tripped and slammed into the ground. As Helena tried to pull me to my feet it happened.

  Deck’s face changed. At first it just seemed to smooth out, then bits of it faded away. The parts I’d never really noticed disappeared, leaving only his eyes and cheekbones and mouth. The same was happening to Laura, but faster. Within two seconds all I could see was two terrified circles. I felt an odd twist of emotion towards them, something inappropriate and strange—and for a second I thought I saw something in the air above the house, like an empty room formed out of air. The vibration got louder and fatter, pulling at my mind like hooks into memory. The remaining fragments of Deck and Laura’s face glowed for a moment, as if glimpsed in a photograph of long ago.

  Then they weren’t there any more.

  The white light disappeared as if turned off at a switch. No further men came out onto the platform, and the first two seemed to have vanished. I turned, looked at the street out front. The cars had gone. All that was left was the back door flapping open in a non-existent breeze, and absolute silence.

  Twelve

  An hour later we were in Venice. I sat on a wall looking across the beach at the sea. Helena stood five yards away, reloading her gun. Apparently she’d emptied a whole clip into the figures on the platform. Hadn’t made any difference. The exchange of this piece of information was the only conversation that had taken place, which is just as well. I didn’t really have it in me to shout at Helena, and so I wished she’d just go away. The moon was out, turning shredded clouds into pale rips in deep blue cloth. The beach was too wide for me to hear more than a faint whisper of the tide massaging the waterline, like someone gently rubbing their finger across a rough piece of paper. A jogger passed behind us on the pavement, measured taps fading in and out of the darkness like an asteroid temporarily swinging through our orbit, someone gliding along the regular rails of an explicable life.

  Helena and I had stood motionless for a full minute after the white light disappeared, heads swinging back and forth like two cats trying to work out where a moth had gone. Deck’s back door flapped for a few more moments, then gradually became still. I ran up the stairs and checked in the apartment. It was empty, and apart from a couple of up-ended chairs and a pile of big splinters of wood in the hallway, completely undama
ged. There was no sign of a big impact, nor evidence of scorching.

  I knew where Deck kept his tools, and quickly yanked his bedroom door off to serve as a replacement front door. It seemed important at the time. The door fitted, more or less, and I secured it as best I could with a chair under the handle. I also slung the memory equipment in one of his closets, and covered it with stuff.

  Then we left, expecting the cops to arrive at any moment, drawn by reports of noise and violence. But as we walked quickly away I saw nobody hanging out of windows or gathering in the street outside. We looked around, expecting to see at least one person staring and saying, ‘What the heck?’

  Nobody. Like it never happened.

  We didn’t say anything. Just kept walking, a couple of yards apart, until we found ourselves in the old neighbourhood. Almost like we were going home. Then I abruptly lost interest in going any further, and set up camp on the wall.

  Helena finished with the gun and stuck it in a shoulder holster. Stood with her hands on her hips.

  ‘What happened back there,’ she declared, ‘wasn’t normal.’

  ‘No shit.’

  ‘We’ve got to tell someone about it.’

  ‘Tell them what? That two people and three cars just disappeared? And tell who, exactly?’

  ‘But who are those guys?’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me? You seem to be pretty far ahead of the game.’

  She came and sat on the wall a yard or two away. ‘All I’ve been doing is following you. I saw you run from them at your apartment. Saw them arrive at the Café. Saw the cars on their way tonight.’

  ‘So why have you been sticking so tight?’

  She looked down, kicked at the sand. ‘I’ve been watching out for you.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Not hunting me down?’

  ‘Don’t be a prick, Hap.’

  ‘So you’re not in the frame for a whack on me?’

  ‘Yes, dear, of course I am. And why do you think that might be?’

  ‘Because I didn’t massage you enough?’