Seventy Times Seven

by John Gordon Sinclair

  The place looked derelict. The only evidence that anything had ever lived there was the overpowering smell of piss and dog shit. And the temperature inside was worse than outside.

  Halfway along the unlit corridor sat two doors‚ adjacent to one another; wooden battens were nailed across their frames, barring entry. At the far end was a stairwell leading to the upper floors.

  Danny wiped the sweat from his forehead and stood for a moment, taking in his surroundings. The foul smell made him want to retch.

  It struck Danny that this was a suitable place for a tout to live: hiding out in a shithole like a fucking rat. Served O’Hanlon right.

  He turned back towards the entrance and took a big gulp of fresh air, then quickly made his way to the other end of the hallway. When he reached the stairwell he checked there was no one looking down on him before silently climbing the stairs to the first floor.

  Danny was soon standing outside the door to O’Hanlon’s apartment: listening for any signs of movement. But it was difficult to hear anything over the din of the gospel music.

  He stood for two or three minutes before creeping back along the corridor towards the stairwell and up to the next floor. As he suspected, the apartment directly above also had a piece of two-by-two nailed across the doorframe. In a matter of seconds he had ripped the timber off, and – using his Wiggler Rakes and a heavy shoulder – managed to force open the door.

  The air inside the apartment was dry and musty, and particles of dust, disturbed by Danny’s intrusion, swirled in front of him, catching what little light there was spilling in through the windows.

  In the middle of the room sat the carcass of an old sofa and next to it the remains of an upright piano. It looked as if the previous occupants had tried to strip it down in order to transport it elsewhere, then given up.

  Danny tried the doors leading to the balcony and was surprised to find that they weren’t locked. He stepped out into the warm night air and peered over the edge of the wooden balustrade. Beneath him he could see the irregular pulse of Cathode-ray blue illuminating the balcony adjacent to O’Hanlon’s and he could hear the soaring voices of the gospel choir as their song reached its hallowed conclusion. Danny didn’t mind the music, but he wished they’d turn the volume down.

  The drop to the balcony below looked no more than six or seven feet. After checking that the street was still empty, Danny climbed over the railings and started to lower himself down.

  He realised too late that he’d underestimated: even at full stretch he couldn’t feel the top rail of the balustrade below. The only option he had was to drop lower and hold on to the concrete lip that ran around the bottom edge of the balcony, but there was no way of pulling himself back up.

  The palms of his hands were covered in sweat and he could feel his grip starting to slip. If O’Hanlon looked out of his lounge window right now, it would be all over for Danny.

  ‘You breaking in or breaking out?’

  The voice startled Danny so much that his right hand lost its grip on the wooden balustrade, leaving only his left to take his weight. As he scrambled desperately to regain a hold, the voice came again.

  ‘There ain’t nothing to steal round here so I’m guessing you musta forgot your keys or something.’

  Danny managed to grab on and twist his head round. His instinct was to reach for his gun, but there was no way he could do that without falling thirty feet onto the sidewalk.

  A small, skinny black kid was leaning out over the balcony next to O’Hanlon’s. He had a joint the size of an Esplendido hanging from his bottom lip.

  ‘Hey, is that you Mr O? Can’t see for shit in this light. Your face looks all bust up. And you’ve had the fuzz shaved off, too. You okay? Ardel an me’s been in session all day; not quite on the moon yet, but we is on a rocket ship heading in that direction. We’re so out of it, we is listening to goddamn gospel music . . . and it’s soundin good! Ardel says to me, “Okay Hud, the lyrics is white-supremacist Christian, but the music is all black.” And the way the sisters sing it‚ man, specially the Mississippi Mass Choir. Man, those bitches can soar. It’s got the hairs on my neck tingling like I’m plugged into the mains.’

  Hud turned and shouted over his shoulder.

  ‘Hey, Ardel, turn the goddamn music down, man, I’m talking to Mr O . . . Come see. He’s hangin from the upstairs balcony like Batman. Where you been, Mr O, we ain’t heard you bangin around for a few days now? You been away getting yourself shaved?’

  Before Danny could answer, Ardel joined Hud at the railings.

  ‘Mr O, where you been?’ asked Ardel. ‘What you doin hangin off the balcony? You should’ve taken the stairs. They smell of shit, but they’s much more convenient.’

  Hud started laughing hard. ‘Convenient. Where’d you learn a word like “convenient”, man? You crack me up, Ardel.’

  ‘Convenient as in “convenient store”,’ replied Ardel‚ laughing too.

  ‘It’s “convenience store”. You’s Grade A‚ man. “A” for asshole. Convenience is wid an “S” not a “T”, man.’

  Danny’s strength was starting to give.

  ‘Any chance you boys could give me a hand here?’

  ‘You fine, Mr O. If you fall there ain’t nothing on the sidewalk you gonna hit, but the sidewalk itself.’

  ‘Seriously Mr O,’ said Hud. ‘You fine. Drop your feet another inch and you’re there.’

  The overhang was obstructing Danny’s view. He had to trust that Hud was right, but if they were stoned enough to think that he was O’Hanlon, they were stoned enough to misjudge the distance between his feet and the top of the railings. But Danny’s arms were aching; he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.

  Danny closed his eyes and let his hands slip from the wooden railings. Almost immediately he found himself balancing on top of the handrail below. He quickly steadied himself by bracing both arms on the underside of the overhang, then jumped down to the safety of O’Hanlon’s balcony.

  ‘You hidin from that big black dude’s been round lookin for you? That why you’re all shaved . . . you trying to look like you is someone else?’ asked Ardel from behind the dividing screen. ‘That explain why you’s pushing our buzzer and asking for Mr Slovensky? It cracked us up. I said to Hud it’s like a code or something. “You want me to bring the parcel up?”’ continued Ardel, mimicking Danny’s tone. ‘Man, we were on the floor.’

  Ardel started laughing again, but Hud stayed serious. ‘What happened to your face, Mr O? That lopsided motherfucker caught up with you already? Consolation is, your face is going to get better: his face, there ain’t no cure for. Asshole gave us fifty bucks, said there was another fifty if we call him soon as you show up.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s been hangin out over at Jo’s,’ said Ardel. ‘Drinkin margaritas and tryin to look mean. Jo’s upset cause the dude don’t eat nothing. Just drinks fancy cocktails and sits there arguing with his reflection in the window. Ah says to Jo, you don’t want to upset him by makin him eat your food, but Jo don’t get the joke . . . She thinks she’s pretty good in the kitchen, but she ain’t. Big, ugly motherfucker don’t look too well either . . . Him I mean, not Jo. Looks kinda pale for a black man. Says he has some business wid you, but if you ask me he’s not the kind you want to be doin business with, Mr O. Had a big nine-mil. stickin out his coat, was the only business he had about him. You know what I mean. What he don’t know is, Jo’s keeping a check on him for us. She don’t like the look of him either and she got an eye for that kind of thing.’

  ‘We goin back to the choir now, Mr O, catch you later,’ continued Hud as though he’d just remembered the music was still playing. ‘We see that big motherfucker hangin round we’ll bang on the wall; give you some warning. Won’t cost you fifty dollars either, for you it’s free . . . Say amen‚ somebody.’

  Ardel was laughing again. ‘“Say amen.” Man you crack me up.’

  The two of them had been talking from behind the opaque glass screen sepa
rating the two balconies.

  Just as Danny turned away Ardel’s face appeared round the edge of the glass. ‘We’ll throw you over a bag, Mr O. It’s mellow enough, but don’t smoke it all at once – it can sneak up and fuck you in the ass. Catch you later.’

  Danny shouted after him. ‘Ardel.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did the guy give a name?’

  ‘Yeah. Vincent.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Danny shouted after him again.

  ‘Ardel.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Turn the fuckin music down‚ would ye?’

  There was another burst of laughter.

  Danny turned to face the sliding glass doors. He checked to see if they were unlocked before pressing his face against the glass to look inside. That’s when he heard the scream.

  Suddenly the balcony was flooded with light. There was a woman inside, standing in the corner of the lounge, holding a Snub Nose. One hand on the light switch, the other pointing the gun straight at him. All of a sudden the balcony was plunged back into darkness.

  Danny didn’t have time to jump out of the way before there was a flash and the first bullet exploded through the balcony door. Long slivers of glass hurtled out over the railings and down onto the street below. The woman fired a second and third shot in quick succession, both bullets fizzing past close to Danny’s head.

  She’d emptied the weapon in less than ten seconds and hit nothing but the scenery. Whoever she was, she was no pro, but even amateurs can get lucky. Danny dropped to the floor. He had already fired back twice, but he was shooting into the darkness: aiming to miss.

  The next instant she was gone. Danny heard her footsteps retreating into the dingy shadows of the apartment, and she screamed as he fired another round.

  He didn’t want to hit her. He needed to talk to her, find out what she was doing there; ask if she knew where O’Hanlon was.

  He punched the remainder of the glass out of the aluminium doorframe and crawled inside, on all fours, to the far side of the room where he sat with his back pressed against the wall.

  Danny raised his hand and wiped something wet from his cheek. Several small lacerations on his face and forehead were oozing blood that collected at the end of his chin and dripped onto his shirt. ‘Jesus, what a bollock,’ muttered Danny under his breath.

  ‘Listen!’ he shouted. ‘I need to talk to Finn O’Hanlon. I don’t mean him or you any harm. I’ve come to help. I know there are people trying to kill him, but I promise you, I just need to talk to him. You’re out of bullets so I’m going to put the hall light on and throw my gun down to you. That way you’re in charge, okay?’

  Danny dropped the clip out the handle of his Walther PPK and slid the empty gun along the wooden floor.

  ‘I’m unarmed, and you’re the boss. If you want to talk, I’ll be in the kitchen looking for something to drink.’

  Chapter 25

  Cottondale, twenty minutes earlier

  Marie pulled up alongside the overflowing trashcans in the unlit alleyway at the back of Finn’s apartment, and pushed the stick into neutral. She left the engine running to keep the air conditioning on.

  The storm clouds Finn had seen from the window of the motel had travelled with them on their journey back to Tuscaloosa, keeping pace with the car as it sped along the freeway. The heavy rain had now eased to a light drizzle, leaving the ground glistening and the air stifling and humid.

  ‘I think we’re here,’ she said, talking to herself in a quiet voice. ‘Nice neighbourhood‚ if you’re into shabby.’ She was trying to reassure herself everything was okay, but when she checked her lipstick in the rear-view mirror, she noticed that her hand had a slight tremor. Marie wasn’t even sure it mattered a damn what her lipstick looked like: all she was going to do was pick a few things up from Finn’s apartment and drive straight back to the motel.

  Marie once told her friends that she felt life wasn’t so much passing her by as ignoring her altogether; exciting things always happened to other people. But here she was taking a Colt Snub Nose .38 Detective Special from her purse and unclipping the magazine like she knew what she was doing.

  ‘There’s as much chance of me shooting someone as there is of finding all four wheels on my car when I get back.’

  As she moved her purse over to the passenger’s seat a hand reached across from behind and grabbed her forearm.

  Marie jumped and let out a squeal. ‘Jesus Christ. I nearly shot out the goddamn windshield.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Finn from the floor in the back of the car. ‘Listen, if you don’t feel good about this we can turn round and head back. I don’t want you to go in if you’re not happy.’

  ‘Are you kidding? All I ever do is sit and watch the news: you think I’m going to pass up an opportunity to be the news? I’m shitting myself, but in an excited sort of a way. I’ll be fine,’ she replied. ‘In and out, grab the cornflake box, grab your gun, and hold my breath on the stairwell,’ she said, recapping everything Finn had told her on the journey from the motel. ‘Why don’t I leave this with you?’ she continued as she held the Snub Nose between her thumb and forefinger and pushed it towards Finn. ‘I’ll get your gun from under the pillow and use that. If I’m attacked on the way in, I’ll smack the son of a bitch over the head with these.’ Marie picked up the clump of keys Finn had given her and passed them back to him. ‘Which one’s which again?’

  Finn had been lying on the floor of the car for almost the entire journey: his neck felt like it was about to break and the wounds on his shoulder and knees were giving him hell. He took the keys awkwardly, trying not to raise his head above the level of the door, then pointed them out to Marie one at a time. ‘This one’s for the back entrance to the building’ – Finn held it up – ‘and this one’s the door to the apartment. If you get in there and think anything looks out of place or doesn’t feel right then get the hell out of there, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You see the window just to the left of the fire escape on the first floor?’ said Finn.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That’s the bedroom: as soon as you’re in, come to the window and flash the torch, so I know everything’s all right.’

  ‘How many times? I’m just thinking, we should have a code in case something’s wrong, you know‚ like someone’s inside waiting, then I can flash a certain number of times and you’ll know. But make it an easy code. If it’s too complicated I’ll mess up.’

  Finn let out a snort.

  ‘What’re you laughing at?’

  ‘You,’ he replied. ‘“A code”? What, like Morse code? You think you’ll have time to spell out “Someone’s beating the shit out of me. Help”?’

  ‘Sure. And where he lives; where he likes to shop – you can tell a lot about someone from what they’re wearing,’ replied Marie, joining in.

  ‘Take the gun. If anything kicks off, start firing, and don’t stop until they stop breathing.’

  Once again Finn had stopped Marie in her tracks.

  ‘That what they teach you back in Ireland?’ she said.

  ‘No, it’s what you learn when someone’s trying to kill you. If you don’t stop them – they’ll stop you. They’re going to keep coming at you until you’re dead, by which point it’s too late to say, “Shit, maybe I should have shot first.” Believe me, if you’ve ever had someone point a gun at you it’s the fastest lesson you’ll learn in your life. And if you do start shooting you’d better mean it, because they’re not going to give you a second chance. What they teach you in Northern Ireland is, “Don’t give them any fuckin chance.”’

  The atmosphere was sober again.

  Finn didn’t mean to give her a hard time, but she was treating it like it was all a joke. He needed to remind her that this was a grave situation with serious consequences. It wasn’t fair on her, but Finn didn’t know what else to do; she was beginning to matter to him.

  They both sat in silence: the connection
between them momentarily lost.

  ‘Doesn’t feel right, does it?’ said Marie, eventually.

  Finn felt his stomach churn. He knew he was asking too much of her. He’d got her involved in a screwed-up situation that was nothing to do with her and here he was giving her attitude for putting her life in danger.

  ‘You’re right! I don’t even know what I’m thinking, asking you to go in. Let’s drive round the front again and if it looks quiet, I’ll run in and grab the stuff myself,’ he replied.

  ‘That’s not what I mean. I’ve been trying to work out why this feels so odd,’ she continued. ‘I think it’s because there’s no music: makes it all seem a bit ordinary – flat, you know? It needs a bit of music to set the tone. We need a soundtrack.’

  Finn smiled. ‘We need to get out of here as quick as we can, before someone notices the car and the soundtrack’s for a car chase. Let’s drive around the front, then I’ll run in.’

  ‘What if they’re watching the apartment?’

  ‘I’ll be in and out so quick they won’t know what to do . . . plus, I know where everything is. It’ll be much easier.’

  Marie put everything she needed in her purse and opened the car door. ‘Wooh! It’s sticky out here!’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Finn.

  ‘If they spot you going into the building it’s all over. If they see a woman they don’t know they’re not going to bat an eye. It makes more sense. Will I leave the engine running? If I take the car keys, it’ll get hot in here, but then, I don’t want someone driving off with you in the back.’

  ‘Get back in the car and drive round the front.’

  Marie flung the door wide and stepped out into the warm air. The sound of gospel music could be heard, pumping out of one of the other apartments in the block. She popped her head back inside. ‘I was thinking more Run-DMC than the Mississippi Mass Choir, but at least it’s music. Be careful what you wish for, eh?’

  ‘It’s my neighbours, Ardel and Hud. When you get into the flat, bang on the wall and they’ll turn it down.’