by Monica Ali
When he finally gravitated to the kitchen, he saw Benny standing at the counter reading a book.
‘Benny? It’s four a.m.’
‘Yes, Chef,’ said Benny. ‘It is very quiet now. Most of the orders were coming between one and two.’
‘Oh,’ said Gabriel, ‘of course.’
‘You don’t mind, Chef,’ said Benny, ‘if I undertake some studies while I am waiting?’
‘It’s fine. I wasn’t checking up on you.’
‘I appreciate,’ said Benny, his accent flowering the word with many syllables, ‘your support on this first night of room service.’
‘Wanted to, ah, make sure you were OK.’
‘Thank you, Chef.’
Benny spoke with such good grace Gabriel felt chastened for having forgotten all about it. He picked up the book. ‘What are you studying? Accountancy?’
‘I hope to qualify. But it will take many years.’
‘How do you find the time? You’ll have to stop working double shifts.’
‘But then I will not be able to afford the fees for the course.’ Benny chuckled from deep down in his belly.
Was he going to study and work day and night? Gabriel looked at Benny’s small, neat frame. How could it contain such reserves?
All of a sudden and with tremendous force it struck Gabe that he had misunderstood everything about Benny. Benny was no mere victim, of war and poverty and fate. That he had made it this far, across continents, could be no accident. Here was a man who had hewn his own life, out of the most difficult material, out of granite, and with only a blunt penknife.
‘Chef, are you OK?’
‘What? Yes, of course, I’ll let you get on. You can get back to your studying.’
Benny waited politely. After a while he said, ‘Excuse me, but is it possible for me to have my book back again?’
Gabriel released the book, which had somehow become clasped to his heart. Benny searched for his place, running his finger up and down the text.
Gabe thought about Benny’s story, the one he refused to tell. There was fighting and I ran away. He thought about Kono, the little general who needed the encouragement of the knife. He looked at the scar, five inches long, across Benny’s face.
The room-service phone began to ring.
‘Kono?’ said Gabriel.
Benny looked at him with his sad yellow eyes. He picked up the phone. ‘Good evening, room service,’ he said. ‘Benny speaking. How may I help you?’
Gabriel must have nodded off on his feet on the stakeout, wedged in the first-floor alcove. Branka, about to sink her teeth into a chambermaid, knocked on the door and Gleeson’s forked tongue replied. ‘Yes, yes.’
Branka gave the girl a quick shove in the small of her back. They went in together and Gabriel’s heart began to accelerate. He made up his mind to march in there and get cooking, slap the steak right on the flame. But as he moved away from the wall there was Ivan, with his bandanna pulled over his cauliflower ear and menace in the swing of his arms, and Gabriel shrank back. When the door had closed behind Ivan, Gabriel tiptoed across the hall. He pressed his ear to the wood but could not hear anything except the sound of his own breath. It would be stupid to go in now, three against one, better to wait until later and catch Gleeson on his own and off guard.
For the next three hours he fried up paperwork at his desk until, around eight thirty, Ernie scuttled in ducking his head.
‘The very man,’ said Gabe. ‘Good.’ If he let Ernie go this morning that would be one less thing waiting to be done.
‘Ah want to let you know,’ said Ernie, ‘Ah’ve been brushing up ma skills.’
‘Always useful, Ernie, to make yourself more marketable. Would you like to sit down?’
‘It’s Oona,’ said Ernie, still standing. His toes pointed in, his hair stuck out and his trousers skimmed the tops of his socks. He wasn’t so much employed as in day care.
‘What’s Oona?’ said Gabe.
‘Taught me to use the computer,’ said Ernie. ‘Ah’ve nae problem now.’
‘The thing is, Ernie …’ said Gabriel. But maybe it was true. When he’d done the stock-take with Nikolai, all the records matched up. ‘I mean, can you do it all by yourself? Filing orders, tracking them, booking everything in?’
Ernie’s head bobbed loosely. ‘Chef,’ he said, ‘you’d let me know if … if Ah was for the can?’
Gabe looked at Ernie and saw that he had his fingers crossed like a kid. ‘Job’s safe, Ernie,’ he said, ‘as long as I’m here I’ll make sure.’
‘Ach,’ said Ernie. ‘Thanks.’
‘How’s it going with the poems, Ernie? The cards? How’s it going with the business targets and everything?’
Ernie smiled serenely at the top of the filing cabinet. ‘It was going quite badly, actually, Ah was missing every target, you know. But Ah’ve fixed it OK now.’
‘Have you? How’d you manage that?’
‘Simple,’ said Ernie. ‘Changed the figures so they matched. Matched the forecasts with what Ah’d sold. Revision, it’s called, like re-vision, to see again.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Gabriel, ‘you just changed what you wanted to happen, the plan, to fit what’s really happened.’
‘Ach,’ said Ernie, modestly. ‘Aye. Exactly right.’
A couple of minutes later Maddox entered in his usual manner, like this was a bust.
‘Was that Ernie out there? Thought you were supposed to be putting him out of his misery.’
‘Had a review with Ernie,’ said Gabriel. ‘He’s doing OK. Had some training and he’s fine.’
‘Didn’t I tell you …’ Maddox suddenly halted the baton charge. He moved a stack of Gabriel’s papers and sat down carefully on the edge of his desk. ‘Never mind.’
‘I know he’s been on courses before,’ said Gabriel, ‘but I don’t think they suited him. I arranged some one-to-one tuition this time.’
Maddox waved the matter away. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, slowly, ‘that I’m getting on a bit. And there’s nothing more ridiculous in our society than an angry old man.’
‘I definitely want to keep Ernie on.’
‘It’s a young man’s game,’ said Maddox. ‘Be angry while you’re young, Chef, that’s my advice.’
‘Do you want me to …’
Maddox talked over him. ‘I don’t want to be on my deathbed and all the family’s grouped round, and there I am, Daddy, Great-uncle Brian, Granddad, calling the doctor a bloody fool and telling the priest he’s a prick.’
‘So it’s fine then?’ said Gabriel.
‘What? Oh, Ernie, yes.’ Maddox shifted his weight. ‘What did I come down here for?’ He picked up the stapler and fired staples over the floor. ‘Sorry, must stop doing that. Right, the event on Saturday night, you know half the PanCont board will be there. We need to run it through.’
They moved into a discussion and Maddox gave his instructions with great civility. Gabe found it disconcerting. It was like swimming in the warm shallows, knowing that close by the ocean floor shelved steeply and the dark waters ran suddenly cold. And Gabriel was so tired he could hardly see straight. He wished Mr Maddox would go. If he could have a little nap he’d be fine. He hadn’t slept a wink in two days.
As soon as he was alone, Gabriel lowered the blind in his cubicle and closed the door. He sank down in his chair, legs stretching under his desk. His entire body heaved in gratitude as he lost himself to sleep.
The sweet oblivion didn’t last long enough. The dream grabbed him and pulled him down and as he was reaching a hand out to the body he woke with a sob and a whiplash neck.
He flew out to the kitchen and shouted, ‘Where is he? Why isn’t he here?’
Victor, setting up his station, performed a drum roll with two wooden spoons. ‘Who, Chef? Who?’
‘Nikolai,’ said Gabriel, trying to calm himself. ‘Where?’
‘In the locker room getting changed,’ said Victor. ‘What’s the …’
Nikolai sat on a bench buttoning his whites.
‘You’ve got to tell me,’ said Gabriel. He pushed a locker door, which banged shut and flew open again. ‘I can’t sleep. I need to sleep.’
‘What is it,’ said Nikolai, lacing his delicate fingers, ‘that you need from me? I am no longer a doctor, I cannot prescribe any pills.’
Gabriel hovered back and forth between the chipped enamel washbasin and the black plastic bin. ‘This dream, you know all about it, I’ve told you, and you don’t say anything. What is it? What the fuck is it? What does it mean? It’s got to stop, I’m telling you, because I have had enough.’
‘Ah,’ said Nikolai. ‘You still believe it has … significance.’ He inserted the word like a rectal probe.
‘Damn it, damn it,’ cried Gabe, hopping about. ‘I don’t know. You knew him. He was your friend. Don’t you care? You must know something, you must have an idea, a hunch, anything.’
Nikolai unlaced his shoes. He slipped his work clogs on. ‘Such as?’
Gabriel drew close to Nikolai. ‘Maybe he was killed.’ He was panting. His mouth was hanging wide. ‘Maybe … how about this, there’s a clue. The clue is in the dream, you see, somewhere in my subconscious I know something but it’s buried and I can only find it by … digging. It’s in the food. Or …’ He held up a wavering finger. ‘Or, the clue is on the body and that’s why I have to keep looking very, very closely, so disgusting, I can see the hairs on his toes … But then, no, how would we … where is he buried? Even if I … can he be dug up?’ He broke off and slumped against a locker, groaning. ‘Oh, it’s too revolting. And then there might have been … someone else, someone living in the basement with Yuri, I don’t know, I’m not saying, you have to understand …’ He burbled on without the faintest idea of what he was trying to say.
‘Chef,’ said Nikolai. He put his shoes in a locker, turned the key and put it in his pocket, everything he had to do was so clear, so easy. ‘Chef, there was a post mortem, there was an inquest. They didn’t find anything wrong. Yuri’s death was an accident.’
‘I know,’ howled Gabriel. ‘But the dream!’
Nikolai shrugged. ‘These things we cannot control.’ He put on his toque and went to the door.
Gabriel was still gripped by the conviction that Nikolai knew why he had the dream; it was a faith that went beyond reason, was without explanation, and defied all logic. He knew it in his bones. He wanted to seize Nikolai by the shoulders and shake it out of him. But it was Gabriel who shook as he put a hand on Nikolai’s arm and breathed, ‘For God’s sake, tell me why.’
Nikolai smiled gently. ‘OK, I’ll tell you.’
The words coursed through Gabriel’s body.
‘You think it has some significance. You want to know what that is. Am I correct?’
‘Yes,’ murmured Gabriel, ‘yes.’
‘The significance of Yuri’s death,’ said Nikolai, ‘is that it is insignificant. That is why it is so troubling. That is why you dream.’ He freed his arm from Gabriel’s grasp. ‘But this is only my interpretation and, of course, the dream belongs to you. Naturally, you may interpret it any way you wish.’
The last person he wanted to see right now was Oona and sure enough there she was, all plump-armed and broody, smiling at him with her hearthside eyes.
‘Oh, what is it now?’ he said, as if she’d been bothering him all morning.
‘Been looking h’all over,’ said Oona, laughing.
‘Well, you couldn’t have looked very hard. I was in the locker room.’ Why couldn’t she laugh like a normal person? Why did she have to laugh like that? What was funny, anyway, about finding him here in the kitchen? The kitchen was where you’d expect to find a chef.
‘About Saturday,’ said Oona. ‘Had a few ideas. Pretty good ones, hoo-hoo.’
Her laughter enraged him. It had no range. If you wanted to laugh after praising yourself you did it in the appropriate manner, with a knowing smile. Oona’s cosmic laugh was plain wrong for every occasion. She never got it right. ‘Leave Saturday to me, Oona,’ he said. The event was too important to let her fuck it up.
‘Won’t take a little minute,’ said Oona, licking her finger and flicking pages in her file. ‘We can go through them now.’ She backed her rump on to the big sack of dirty linen that was directly behind her and settled down to hatch an egg.
Gabriel looked around at his crew. Lunch service was about to start. He didn’t have time for this. ‘No,’ he said, ‘we can’t.’
Oona laughed again. ‘Don’t make me get up, Chef. Got nice an’ comfy here.’
‘Right,’ shouted Gabriel. ‘That’s it! Another warning. Second formal warning for you.’
Oona pressed her hand deep into her bosom. ‘Warnin’?’ she said. ‘What for, darlin’? Why?’
Gabriel tore at his hair. ‘Laughing,’ he said, striding up and down, ‘inappropriately. Inappropriate laughter. I’ll take it to Human Resources this time. It’s on my list. You’re on my list, Oona, there’s no escape.’ He continued to pace.
Oona got up and patted her chest as if inviting him to snuggle down on it. ‘Let’s get you in your office,’ she said, ‘and have a nice cuppa tea.’
‘Look at that,’ said Gabriel, as she took his arm. ‘Look at Damian! What time is it? Not even twelve and he’s drinking.’ He snatched his arm away from Oona and sprinted around the counters. ‘Not in my kitchen,’ he said, almost hollering, ‘you don’t get drunk in my kitchen. Not here, not on my time.’
Damian backed away from him, twitching and chewing on his tongue like a newborn calf. ‘It’s w-water,’ he stuttered.
‘Water?’ roared Gabriel. ‘Water?’ He picked up the glass. ‘Is that what it is?’
Oona waddled in front of Damian. ‘Oh, bless him, poor ting, not drinking any more, m’mm.’
Damian’s gormless face peered over Oona’s shoulder. Gabriel raised the glass to his lips. He lowered it again and swept round. ‘Everyone looking?’ The kitchen had stopped work. Suleiman, Ivan, Victor, Nikolai and the rest stared back at him. ‘Everyone looking?’ repeated Gabriel. ‘Oona, you got that boy under your wing? He’s not drinking? This is not vodka? I don’t know anything?’
Nobody spoke. An extractor hood gasped and wheezed. A big slug of vodka, thought Gabriel, was exactly what he needed, hell, it was what he deserved. He took a swig. Water. He pressed the glass into Oona’s hand.
‘The boy having a few troubles,’ said Oona. ‘Few troubles at home. Got him a bitta counselling and …’
But Gabe wasn’t listening. He was watching Ivan staring down Victor and miming slitting his neck.
‘Come with me,’ called Gabriel, motioning to Victor. ‘Yes, you, it’s your lucky day. Come on. Jump to it.’
He stayed so hard on Victor’s heels he almost pushed him down the stairs. ‘In there. No, no, there. And yes, I’m closing the door.’
They stood in the meat locker. Victor’s head was positioned between the two hanging halves of a suckling pig.
‘This time,’ said Gabriel, picking up a big beef shank and swinging it like a truncheon, ‘I’m getting some answers. I’m getting some answers from you.’
‘Tough guy,’ said Victor, his right leg vibrating anxiously. ‘Think you scare me?’
‘We’ll see,’ said Gabriel. It was Victor who would tell him what was going on with Ivan and Gleeson. Victor knew. He hadn’t fallen out with Ivan just over some girl.
‘Man,’ said Victor. ‘This is bullshit.’
‘What is it with you and Ivan? Did he cut you out of some deal? Some sordid little thing you had going with Gleeson?’ Gabriel knew when a steak was done. He didn’t need to work it out. He didn’t time it. He just knew.
‘You gonna hit me with that bone?’ Victor sniggered.
‘Maybe,’ said Gabriel, whacking it hard against a metal surface.
Victor squealed something about hara
ssment and lawsuits.
‘Still watching all those cop movies?’ said Gabe. He moved in close to Victor, close enough to see the pimples nesting in his eyebrows.
‘Man …’ said Victor.
Victor was the weak link. He was the one who would talk. That was why Ivan kept threatening him. Gabriel threw the shank aside. ‘You think Ivan’s your worst nightmare? I can protect you from Ivan. But who’s going to protect you from me?’
‘In Moldova …’ began Victor.
‘Fuck Moldova.’ Time to cut the steak. ‘You’re in London now.’ Gabe seized the sides of suckling pig and swung them against Victor’s head. He squeezed the halves together with his forearms, crunching them on to Victor’s cheekbones. Only his nose poked out. The nose went red, then purple. It pitted with white. Victor re-enacted the animal’s last, piteous sounds.
‘Are you going to talk?’ said Gabriel. He was dizzy from squeezing so long, all the air pressed out of him.
A muffled yes escaped from the pig. Gabriel let go. Victor crumpled to the ground as if Gabriel had been dangling him by his head. Gabe squatted next to him. ‘Go on.’
Victor rubbed his face with his sleeves. He spat and rubbed his mouth. ‘Stinks.’
‘What else can I do to encourage you?’
Victor sat up, propped against a shelf of vacuum-packed duck breasts. ‘Ivan, that motherfucker,’ he said. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of cologne. He sniffed it like smelling salts.
‘What did he do?’
‘He gets girls from the hotel. He gets them and sells them on.’