I hopped the train back to Grand Central and took a subway to Union Square. I gave the dog back, using the pooping problem as an excuse. I donated fifty bucks to cover my embarrassment.
I washed the dye out of my hair and packed a rucksack with a week’s worth of pork and beans and digestive biscuits. Seven cans of beans, seven packets of digestive biscuits. Multivitamins. I bought some Marie biscuits for variety. I bought some water purification tablets and two plastic liter bottles. I bought a funnel with a connecting tube, so I could take a piss without moving. I bought a large bivouac bag and spent a day scraping it from emergency orange to white. I bought the expensive down waterproof sleeping bag and a pair of night-vision binoculars. I bought silk undergloves and thick ski gloves. I bought long johns and sweatpants and fatigues. I bought a stopwatch and binoculars that came with a tripod. I bought a snow camouflage jacket, a snood ski mask, a black wool hat, a black cotton scarf, and a wind-breaker. I bought two pairs of wool socks and a pair of cotton ones. I bought a flashlight and boots and, unable to find a knife I liked, I sharpened a long screwdriver and bought a nice new Stanley box cutter. I bought two T-shirts, a sweat top, and a black sweater. I bought a notepad, pens, pencils, and plastic bags. I bought rope, duct tape, and thin leather gloves. On impulse I bought a pneumatic nail gun, but I didn’t bring it. I bought matches, a water can, a big bag of Peanut Butter Cups, and a toothbrush. Finally I bought a box of AA batteries, a Walkman, and an audio version of War and Peace. Some people think you should get listening gear or infrared body-heat sensors or motion detectors or a device for tapping into cellular phones, but then some people are fucking eejits.
The house lay on a quiet road, with about two acres around it. A house on each side, all three of them what in Ireland we’d call mansions. The lucky break was that opposite the house was a thick, swampy wood that eventually curved all the way down to the Hudson. I suppose the marsh was why this area hadn’t been developed. It was winter and the cover wasn’t what it would be like in the summer but still pretty substantial flora nonetheless. There were bushes and big old deciduous trees and some pines and because of the water and the muck it wasn’t the place you’d go for an idle walk or take the pet pooch.
Peekskill is up the river, past Sing Sing. It’s famous for being the birthplace of Mel Gibson, the scene of an important 1950s race riot and a 1980s sitcom. It’s also the home of Governor Pataki and a couple of 1930s socialist Utopian communities. Darkey lived quite near one of these communities but in winter almost all of its residents went down to Florida. So really there were very few people around and if you found yourself a convenient little bunker, established yourself in the cover in your bivvy bag, and coated yourself up with snow, you could lie unfound for weeks, months, or maybe even until the spring. Aye, I had to admit that it was a nice wee spot and the only drawback was that it wasn’t that near the house and you’d need at least a 12 × 50 pair of binocs or a telescope. I had the binocs only because they were less bulky.
Things had gone smoothly. Napoleon was invading Russia and having a wry old time of it. A couple of the main characters were dead and this was a relief because I’d gotten a bit mixed up anyway. The lying up had been easy. I’d taken the first morning train from 125th and doubled away from the station and back through the woods. I established the OP in darkness and by first light it was snowing lightly and this made things pretty sweet. It snowed all week, and this suited me fine. Peeing was no problem and because of the cover, if I’d chosen, I could have even stood up to go, but I didn’t. Water was good too. I used the swamp and the snow. I had water-purifying tablets and with them there was a new development: a pill you put in that made it so that it didn’t taste of iodine; this was a terrific invention, and I felt very happy about it. The pork and beans were good too; I ate them cold, but I was warm enough, snug even, and most important of all, I could see a good three quarters of the house through my binocs.
A couple of times, I saw Bridget go in and out. My heart leapt and it was all I could do not to stand up and wave and let her see me. Darkey left and came back every day. He drove the Bronco; Bridget, the Jeep; when they went together they took the Jag. Darkey left early, came back late. He had two personal bodyguards and there were two more who lived on the estate and who came in rotation. There were also two servants: a man in his sixties and a woman about the same age. Four guards, that was all. I was surprised, but not that surprised. Darkey didn’t know for certain that it was me. It had been a long time since Sunshine’s death. No one knew where he lived and besides, he could look after himself, he was a big boy, hadn’t he proved that after twenty years on the street? It took me a full seventy-two hours to be sure of the routine and another three days to check it. I was all ready to go on the 23rd of December, but they’d gone out to a party and they hadn’t come back until early in the morning. I was worried about Christmas Eve, too. Wasn’t that also a party night? But by one A.M. the cars were still in the driveway and I was fairly sure they weren’t going anywhere.
Technically now, it was Christmas Day.
My batteries had finally died. I was three quarters of the way through War and Peace and finally getting into the book but if all went well I’d come back and dismantle my OP and sweep it over and take all traces with me to a dump somewhere. I could finish W&P on the plane ride to wherever the plane was going.
It still wasn’t quite late enough, but there was just enough battery life to listen to the radio. I stuck on classical to calm my nerves. They were doing the nine symphonies and I had enough third-form German to switch off after Alle Menschen werden Brüder….
It was time.
I put away the Walkman and listened to the stillness of the woods.
I checked through the binocs again, but there’d been no change. The domestics had been given the day off and aside from Darkey and Bridget, only one guy was walking the grounds, three other guys in the house. The lights were out and you could assume that Darkey and Bridget had gone to bed. If the three men were in shifts, I guessed one other would be awake in the house. That’s how you’d do it, split the night into two. One man on the grounds and one man waiting by the radio. The other two would sleep until it was their watch. So hopefully there’d be only two people awake to deal with. That was all. Unless, of course, I’d been a complete idiot. But I didn’t think I had. Shifts would be the smart thing to do. Four guys, Darkey, and Bridget. Not one of them had thought to get a dog. Jesus. I mean, did they want to be murdered?
I put on my black sweater, boots, thin black gloves, and combat trousers. I pocketed the duct tape, screwdriver, and Stanley knife. I carried the Glock, too, but I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use it just yet. I left the OP and went to a closer spot where I could see the groundsman. There was a small window of opportunity because they did a radio check every fifteen minutes at night, which at least was something you could give them credit for. I spotted the guard. I walked around the hill, following him in his circuit. I’d tail him until I saw him do his check. I knew this character, guard B. His call-ins were irregular. I assumed he was a young guy. The earliest he’d done a check was thirteen minutes and fifteen seconds and the latest he’d left it was seventeen minutes and fifty seconds. He was in darkness, but I knew him and I was well accustomed to the night now. He picked up the radio and called in and said something about it being freezing. He put the radio down and muttered to himself about the cold. I went quickly to the wall. It was eight feet high and topped with glass. Not a problem. I wouldn’t even need rope. I went up and over and lowered myself onto the snow on the other side.
At this point, you have to ask yourself, was there no indecision? And no, I can honestly say there was none. If there had been, it would have been before I killed Sunshine. Not here with Darkey. Not now, not tonight.
I stood up, braced to see if he’d heard me. But he wasn’t hearing anything. With the radio check done, it would be up to seventeen minutes before anyone would get suspicious. Plenty of time. He was wearing
a parka with an enormous hood, so big in fact that it restricted his field of vision to about ninety degrees in front of him. He was walking and muttering and carrying a .38 revolver in a thick woolen-gloved hand. So thick it would make finding the trigger difficult. I mean, I ask you. He turned and the moonlight caught him. I was a bit surprised to see that it was our old chum David Marley from way back when. He’d put on weight. He was humming a Chieftains song and banging the gun rhythmically against his leg. He turned away. I crept up behind him and shoved the screwdriver into his throat at the same time as a knee went into his back and my left hand went over his mouth. I left the screwdriver in and with my right hand I removed the gun from his grip. I had it before he even hit the snow, stone dead. I fell on top of him and we lay for a moment. Blood trickling over the snow. He gurgled for a while, and I removed the screwdriver. I looked at his gun and checked it for cleanliness: in a pinch it would do as an extra. I put it in safety mode and slipped it in my side pocket. I looked at my watch. Fifteen minutes to find and kill the other guard. With luck there wouldn’t be a shift change and I could let the other two guards sleep and live. With luck.
I had no glass cutters and I was no alarm guy. I’d searched Marley for keys, but I knew he wouldn’t have any. The indoor man let the outdoor man in and out. My plan was to go in the garage door. If the garage door was alarmed I’d have to abort, but I didn’t think it was. It wasn’t an automatic door, and I’d seen them come in late when the house was alarmed, and when the garage had opened, nothing had gone off; but another time, when they’d opened the house door first: flashing lights, whoop, whoop, whoop. But still, that wasn’t exactly proof, and if wishes were horses we’d all have a ride, as the Scotch boy used to say. But what else could I do? It was the garage door or nothing. I slipped around the side of the house. I found the garage door and jemmied it up with the screwdriver. It was aluminum and bent easy, and I made just enough space to slide underneath. I was so busy doing stuff I didn’t notice that the alarm hadn’t gone off until I was in.
The garage was connected to the house by a door that not only was not locked but did not lock. Hubris, if you ask me. I went inside through a room that contained the washer and dryer. Little night lights everywhere, and I saw that I wouldn’t need the flashlight. I crouched on the floor and listened, but it was quiet. It was the night before Christmas and all through the house, nothing was stirring, not even Darkey or Mouse.
I walked into a large, airy kitchen with marble counters and many appliances. I looked for a dog bowl or cat bowl or any evidence of annoying pets, but I didn’t see anything. I walked into a hall and listened again. The floor was carpeted, the central heating was quietly humming, faint sounds were coming from a room at the end of the hall to the right. I walked down there and listened. Someone was watching TV. The other guard? I spent a minute turning the handle and then I opened the door very slightly. The guard was in front of a small TV set. Jimmy Stewart on the screen. The guard engrossed. His back was to me, turned three quarters away from the door, which made me think that Providence was on my team, for otherwise I would have had to rush him and stab the fucker in the heart or neck, making no end of commotion. I slipped quickly over and put a hand on his mouth and the barrel of the pistol in his ear.
Who? he managed, before I silenced him by pressing in with hand and gun.
Father fucking Christmas. Now hear me. You don’t have to die. You don’t have to die, but if you make one sound or one move that upsets me, I will blow your brains out. Do you understand? If you do, do not nod your head; I don’t want you to move at all, in case I blow your fucking head off by mistake. I’m a jumpy fuck, you see. So instead, indicate that you understand by making a gentle humming sound once.
A frog was in his throat, but he managed a hum. I kept the gun in his ear and went round to take a sideways look at him. A ginger bap, freckly, young. I didn’t want to kill him. He was wearing a T-shirt and baggy jeans. There was a duffle coat on a desk beside him. I frisked him and he was clean. I took the duct tape out of my pocket and told him to take his shoes off very slowly using only his left hand. Then I told him to duct-tape his ankles together with both hands, but in slow motion. He was sweating and clumsy, but he did it. His back was to me the whole time, but I didn’t particularly care if he saw me or not. On the whole, I suppose I preferred not.
What’s your name? Whisper an answer, I said softly.
J-John.
Ok, John, now listen to me. I’m going to wrap your wrists in duct tape, behind your back. I will need both hands to do this for about one minute. Therefore, I will need to put the gun down; however, it will be beside me and if you make any sudden moves at all, instinctively I will grab the gun and shoot you in the head. Do you understand? Hum if you understand.
He hummed. He put out his wrists, and I wrapped them in duct tape behind his back. I picked up the gun again and blindfolded him with the tape. I tilted the chair.
John, I’m going to roll you on the floor; I’m going to do it gently so as not to make any noise. I need you to go limp and cooperate, ok? You can nod now.
He nodded and I laid him on the floor.
Now, John, listen to me carefully. I have business upstairs and there need not be any unnecessary deaths. I will, however, make sure that I fucking kill you if you raise an alarm or make any move at all from this position. Can I trust you not to be stupid? Nod your head if I can. He again nodded.
Good, now first tell me in a whisper when the next shift change is supposed to be.
H-half an-an hour.
Ok, good. You’re doing well. Do you wake them?
Yes.
Tell me in whispers where exactly Darkey and Bridget’s room is and where exactly the other two guards are sleeping. There are only two other guards in the house, aren’t there?
Yes.
He went on and told me where his mates were sleeping and where Darkey and Bridget were. I gagged him with tape and enjoined him not to move one inch from this cozy spot on the floor. I left the TV on quietly and went outside the room. The stairs were carpeted and curved round in a thirty-degree angle. You could see the whole house from here and it looked quite nice, a bit busy and overdone, but that would be Darkey, not Bridget. I went upstairs and paused at the top. This was the only moment of indecision I had the whole night. Darkey’s room was down the landing to the left. The guards’ room was the second door on the right. They had bunk beds and slept in the one room, John had said. (Bunk beds indeed, Darkey being a tight bastard, no doubt.) Now the smart thing would have been to go in to the guards’ room and cut their throats. But I’d already made a wee promise to myself in the outside that if I could, I’d let them sleep and live. I mean, I thought I didn’t care much about finesse, but clearly I did. Even so, just because I said I wouldn’t kill them didn’t mean I’d jeopardize the whole mission over it. Jesus. What could I do? I couldn’t very well have them wandering about the house while I was still in the process of executing their employer. Hmmm. I hesitated. I wondered what would happen if I went into their room and gave them each a hefty blow on the head with the blunt end of the screwdriver. It sounded so plausible, but wouldn’t the first blow wake the other guard?
All this went through my brain in a second, and I decided that I would take the bloody chance. It was stupid, but you have to make a decision one way or the other.
I inched up to the guards’ room and spent another minute opening the door. There were bunk beds on opposite sides of a small room. The guards were both asleep in the one to my left, one man in the upper bunk and the other in the lower, which again was lucky.
Here goes, I thought, crept over to the lower bunk, and clubbed the guard behind the ear with my screwdriver. I didn’t wait to see if it bunned him; instead, I got up immediately and thumped the other guy. I pulled out the Stanley knife to cut their throats, but it wasn’t necessary. They were both out of it. I found a lamp, turned it on, and worked fast. I hog-tied both of them with duct tape, blindfolded, gag
ged them, and stuck them in the recovery position. It was hard because they were unconscious, but it was all done in under ten minutes. I was proud of myself. I hadn’t topped them. A regular Mother Teresa, I was. Sparing the innocent.
I walked down the corridor to Darkeys bedroom. I opened the door and made sure there were two persons in the bed. Yes. I felt around for weapons, got one, listened for weird sounds. Nothing. Darkey snoring, Bridget snuffling. It was all as smooth as silk.
I turned the bedside light on.
Bridget, her hair down, beautiful. A rock on her left hand that could have sunk the QE2. Darkey, sleeping soundly, tanned, relaxed.
Bridget woke first, looked at me, screamed.
Darkey woke and reached under his pillow. I’d already removed his piece and was pointing it at him. Tight little .38, do the job.
You’re alive, Bridget gasped.
I’m alive, I said.
Bridget and Darkey were wearing matching bunny pajamas. For some reason, I’d thought he’d make her sleep in a vulgar low-cut negligee. Instead, this was domestic and cute. Darkey wasn’t a bad lad really, I thought.
Bridget seemed to be on the verge of passing out. She threw up in her mouth instead. Darkey was looking at me with no fear whatsoever. Like I say, not a bad lad.
You killed Sunshine, he said. It wasn’t a question, just a confirmation of fact.
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