by Hugh Fraser
The old man with the grey hair comes through the door in his pyjamas holding a dead bird. He grins as he spreads out the bird’s wings and comes towards me. I try to get up but I can’t move. He stands beside me and holds the bird above my feet and grins at me, then he moves it slowly up over my body until it’s above my head. I try to scream but I can’t make any sound. He lowers the bird down and presses it onto my face. I feel its beak pushing into my eye and its claws digging into my cheeks and my mouth’s full of feathers. I try to breathe and I suck feathers down my throat and into my lungs and I know I’m dying and the old man’s laughing and saying, ‘Scum … scum … scum …’
I feel pain in my shoulder and a voice is shouting. ‘Come! You’ve got to come, she’s smashing herself up!
Georgie’s standing over me and shaking me. I hear a crash of breaking glass. I run through the kitchen into the back room. The window’s smashed and mum’s on the floor lying on broken glass in front of it. There’s a gash on her forehead and a big bit of glass sticking out of her neck. I pull out the glass, tear a piece off her skirt and wrap it round her neck to try and stop the bleeding. I feel for her breathing, but there’s nothing there and I know she’s gone. She must have tried to get out through the window in her madness, trying to get back to our old kitchen. I cradle her head in my hands and close her sad eyes. I kiss her forehead and I feel all the unfairness of it.
Georgie’s standing by the door crying. ‘I was in the kitchen and I heard her,’ she says.
‘It’s all right. Go in the front room now,’ I say.
There are footsteps on the stairs. Maureen comes in. ‘Oh my God, Rina. She’s not …?’
I nod my head. Maureen comes and kneels beside me. She feels for a pulse in Mum’s neck then she shakes her head. She helps me into a chair and sits holding my hands. I look at Mum lying on the floor and at the little room with the mattress and the metal box beside it. She wouldn’t have a proper bed upstairs like the rest of us when we came here, only her old mattress on the floor and her box. She’d become like a child, sucking at her gin bottle and throwing her tantrums. Now and again she’d come to her senses, like the night when I done Johnny, but she’d been well gone ever since we moved here. Maureen and me had tried to get her to the doctor, but she fought us off and screamed the place down every time we tried.
We lay her on the mattress and Maureen puts a blanket over her. I go through to Georgie. She’s sitting on the sofa with a book on her knee. I sit next to her and put my arm round her. She leans into me and I stroke her hair.
I say, ‘Mum’s gone.’
‘She wasn’t very well.’
I hold her tighter and I can feel her crying. I want to cry too, but I can’t get my breath. I feel like there’s a metal band round my chest that’s getting tighter. I start to sway and I feel as if I’m going to pass out. I rest Georgie against the sofa cushions and make myself stand up. I go in the kitchen. Maureen’s pouring boiling water into the teapot and the sound of the water pouring’s getting louder and the room’s going round. I sway against the table and slide down onto the floor.
I come round and see Maureen’s kind face in front of me. She holds the back of my neck and gently pushes my head down between my knees. My head clears and I sit up slowly. I’m at the kitchen table. Maureen’s rubbing my neck and shoulders.
‘Why did she have to do that?’ I say.
‘She was in a bad way, love.’
‘I should have tried more to help her.’
‘You did all you could for her.’
‘She never wanted to come here.’
Maureen puts her arms round me and says, ‘Don’t blame yourself now.’
I lean against her and feel the wool of her cardigan against my cheek getting wet with my tears.
She strokes the back of my neck and says, ‘There now, you’re all right.’
‘Where’s Georgie?’
‘She’s just in there. I’ll get her.’
Georgie comes in from the front room carrying her book. She sits down and puts the book on the table in front of her. She looks at me. Her eyes are dry and she has that cold look that she gets. I know I should speak, but I don’t know what to say to her. She opens the book and starts reading.
Maureen pours three cups of tea and puts them on the table. She sits next to Georgie, puts her arm round her and says, ‘I’m afraid it was her time, love.’
Georgie looks at Maureen and repeats, ‘She wasn’t very well.’
Then she looks down at her book again.
I take a drink of tea and say, ‘No school today.’
‘I want to go.’
‘Not today, love,’ says Maureen.
‘I’m going,’ says Georgie. She gets up, closes her book and goes to the door.
Maureen follows her, takes her arm and says, ‘You can’t, love, not today.’
Georgie twists away from her. ‘I’m going!’ she says.
I stand up and say, ‘At least have something to eat before you go.’
Georgie snatches an apple off the sideboard and goes out of the door. Maureen starts after her.
‘Leave her,’ I say.
Maureen turns and says, ‘Will she be alright?’
‘It’s where she wants to be.’
I go to the window and wait until I see Georgie wheeling her bike out of the front door and onto the road.
‘She’s on her bike,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t seem …’
‘I know.’
We sit at the table and drink our tea.
Maureen says, ‘I’m really sorry she went the way she did, love.’
‘At least it was quick,’ I say.
‘After you moved us all in here, to this lovely place. It seems a shame.’
‘I don’t think she knew where she was.’
We sit quiet for a bit, then Maureen says, ‘You stay here with her and I’ll go down the undertakers in Westbourne Grove.’
‘Is that what you have to do?’
‘I think a doctor has to see her for the death certificate, but they’ll know how it goes.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No, love, you’ve been up all night. You stay here and rest.’
I hear a knock at the door. I go and look through the spy hole and see that it’s Dave. I bring him into the kitchen.
Maureen goes to the cooker and says, ‘Hello, Dave. Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘Ta, Maureen,’ he says, taking off his Crombie. He’s got himself a new dark blue suit with a velvet collar and a pair of suede brothel creepers with thick rubber soles that give him an extra inch or two that he can do with. He looks in the mirror above the sink and combs his hair. He flicks his quiff with the end of the comb so it hangs over his forehead and sits down at the table. He looks like a miniature gangster.
Maureen puts his tea in front of him and says, ‘I’ll get off then, Rina.’
‘OK,’ I say.
‘Bye, Dave.’
‘Bye, Mrs Welch.’
Maureen shuts the door behind her. Dave crosses his legs. ‘Go all right?’ he asks.
‘Apart from the old boy coming downstairs in his pyjamas waving a shotgun.’
‘What?’
‘Game old bugger.’
‘What happened?’
‘He won’t be going upstairs again.’
‘Who the fuck was he?’
‘You tell me. You sussed the place.’
‘I don’t fucking know.’
‘Postmaster?’
‘He lives in Bow, goes home every night.’
‘So who was he?’
‘Fucked if I know. Where is he now?’
‘In the river.’
‘Did you leave anything?’
‘Of course not.’
‘You done the safe?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How much?
‘Seventeen hundred and a few postal orders.’
‘Not bad.’
I take out the five hundred and p
ut it on the table. ‘There’s a monkey. That puts us square on this place.’
‘Yeah.’
He puts the notes in his inside pocket, takes out his poncy silver cigarette case and his lighter and lights up a fag. He takes a long drag and sits back.
I say, ‘I need a gun.’
‘Yeah.’
‘That could have gone bad last night.’
‘I know.’
‘And I want a big score and out.’
‘With them two?’
‘They’re alright.’
‘She’s been round the clubs a lot looking like she’s won the pools.’
‘I’ll tell her to keep it down.’
‘Sammy sort that alarm?’
‘Yeah.’
He stands up and puts his coat on. He has a quick look in the mirror and says, ‘Meet me at the Elgin tonight.’
We go into the hall and I see him out.
When I go into the kitchen, I feel dizzy again. I grip the side of the table, sit down, put my head between my knees and after a few moments I feel better and sit up. My head clears, and I know that I want to be with Lizzie.
I’m not sure she’ll be alone now, but I decide to go and see. I leave a note on the table for Maureen, saying I’ll be back later, pick up my jacket from the hall and let myself out.
21
Pilar is calling my name and shaking me gently.
I wake and she says, ‘Juanita is coming.’
I get out of bed, look around for something to put on, and pick up the white cotton dress from the floor. Pilar’s legs disappear beneath the bed as Juanita knocks at the door.
‘Come in,’ I say, as I slip the dress over my head and step into the silver slingbacks.
Juanita enters and says, ‘Carmela and Rodrigo are waiting for you on the terrace.’
‘Thank you. Tell them I’ll be there in a few minutes.’
Juanita nods and leaves. Pilar slithers out from under the bed and we laugh as she puts on her underwear. She is so beautiful. I want to tumble her back into bed right now and to hell with Carmela and Rodrigo.
‘How did you get in here?’ I ask.
‘There is a way.’
‘That’s a high wall.’
‘I can climb a palm tree.’
‘Perhaps you should teach me.’
‘I will.’
‘The girls?’
‘They went to Mexico City.’
At the dressing table, I apply a quick layer of makeup to my face and smooth some foundation cream over the bite mark on my ankle.
‘I have to have dinner with Carmela and Rodrigo.’
‘I thought I would find you in a prison cell.’
‘I managed to get myself upgraded.’
‘That is good.’
I find a pair of white silk pants in a drawer of the dressing table and put them on.
‘I must go. Will you be here?’
‘Yes.’
We hold each other and kiss. I go to the door and say, ‘Shall I lock you in?’
‘Anytime.’
I laugh, close the door, turn the key and slip it into the pocket of my dress. As I shade my eyes from the evening sun, I notice a black van parked on the drive near the gates. My partners in crime are sitting at a table by the pool. Rodrigo is now wearing a seersucker jacket, jeans and cowboy boots. His hair is tied back in a ponytail. Carmela glowers and bulges next to him in her sweat-stained singlet and shorts.
Rodrigo indicates a glass on the table. ‘Whisky?’
‘Thank you,’ I reply.
I sit down and he says, ‘Lee Masters.’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘Carmela tells me he’s going to give you a million bucks to pay Manuel at the border for coke, so he can bust him in possession.’
‘On the US side,’ I say.
‘Right. Did he give you a location?’
‘No.’
‘A time?’
‘He said Guido would call him, take instructions and set things up.’
‘We’ll get him out now and make him do it.’
Rodrigo gets to his feet. ‘Wait a second,’ I say.
He turns. ‘What?’
‘Lee is expecting to do a deal with Manuel, and last time I looked he was dead.’
‘He is.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Come.’
Rodrigo leads the way through the French windows and across the hall to a room next to the front door. Inside the room, two men wearing white overalls and gloves are bent over a body, partly covered in a sheet, lying on a long table. One man has a syringe in his hand and the other holds a small brush and an artist’s palette. They straighten up as we enter and one of them addresses Rodrigo in Spanish. I approach the body and see that it is Manuel. Rodrigo indicates that they should continue, and we watch as the man with the syringe slides the needle into Manuel’s cheek and slowly pumps fluid into it. The needle is withdrawn and his colleague mixes a colour on his palette and brushes it onto the cheek. He adds a couple of strokes to the forehead and chin and then stands back. The other man lifts Manuel’s eyelids and pushes a small metal clip under each of them so that Manuel appears to be staring vacantly at the ceiling. The men look to Rodrigo for his approval. He takes a close look at Manuel’s face, nods and asks them a question. They remove the sheet covering Manuel’s body and stand at each side of his head. At a nod from the taller one, they each put one hand under his neck and the other beneath his shoulder. There is a metallic clicking sound as they lift Manuel up to a sitting position and let go. He remains upright.
One of them lifts his right arm until it is level with his shoulder and it remains raised when he lets go of it.
Rodrigo shows no sign of being disturbed by the sight of his dead brother gesticulating at him in full make up. The men take Manuel off the table and with more sounds of clicking and ratcheting they bend his legs at the knee and sit him in an upright chair. The effect is macabre. I am reminded of a shop window mannequin with a bad case of haemorrhoids.
Words are exchanged with Rodrigo, and the men pack jars of fluid, surgical instruments and various sinister-looking cogs, bolts and strips of metal into cases. Rodrigo ushers them into the hall and I see him hand one of them an envelope and shake their hands as they leave by the front door.
He joins us and says, ‘Good enough?’
‘From a distance,’ I say.
‘That’s all it needs,’ says Carmela.
Rodrigo turns, walks across the hall and says, ‘Let’s talk to Guido.’ We go through the door and down the steps to the basement.
Rodrigo opens the wall cabinet and takes out the bunch of keys.
He is breathing heavily as he looks at me and says, ‘Where is he?’
I remember that I put him in the torture cell and say, ‘Third door.’
He walks to the door and tries several keys. Finding one that turns the lock, he opens the door. I can see Guido cowering in a corner of the cell. Rodrigo rushes at him and throws a flurry of vicious punches at his head. Guido ducks and covers. Rodrigo hacks at him with his pointed boots and Guido rolls onto the floor. Rodrigo picks up the chainsaw lying against the wall and pulls maniacally at the starting cord, producing impotent whimpering sounds from the machine.
Carmela strides across the cell, grabs the chainsaw and slaps his face. She shouts a command, shoves him against the wall and holds the blade of the chainsaw against his neck. Rodrigo’s fury subsides and Carmela releases him, picks Guido up off the floor and sits him in a chair. Guido whimpers and looks anxiously at the electrodes lying on the table in front of him.
Carmela says something to Rodrigo and he nods, pulls Guido to his feet and pushes him towards the door. Guido falls to the floor. Rodrigo and Carmela pick him up and drag him along the corridor and up the stairs. I follow them to the hallway. They carry Guido up to the office and dump him in a chair next to the desk. Rodrigo immediately leans over him and starts to fire questions at him until Carmela moves him gen
tly but firmly away from his victim and indicates the chair behind the desk. Rodrigo sits glowering at Guido while Carmela goes to a tray of drinks and pours a glass of brandy, puts it to Guido’s lips and coaxes him to take some.
Carmela pulls up a chair next to him and begins gently to interrogate him. I lean against the wall by the door and watch, impressed by her technique. After a while, seeming satisfied with the information she has received, Carmela goes to the mantelpiece, tugs at the bell pull and says something to Rodrigo.
He looks over at me, indicates Guido, and says, ‘He killed my brother.’
‘I understand,’ I reply.
Juanita knocks at the door, enters and says, ‘Dinner is ready in the dining room.’
‘I need to call London,’ I say.
Carmela looks at Rodrigo and says, ‘I don’t think so.’
‘My sister is sick and I need to check on her.’
Rodrigo goes to the desk, unclips an earpiece from the back of the telephone, shows it to me and says, ‘You permit?’
I nod, pick up the receiver and dial. After a few clicks and buzzes, the line connects. I listen to it ring and ring. It’s morning in London, Graham must be at the hospital. I replace the receiver.
Rodrigo puts back the earpiece and says, ‘Your sister is seriously ill?’
‘I’m not sure yet.’
Carmela gets up and says, ‘Let’s eat dinner.’
• • •
Carmela and Rodrigo help Guido up and take him into the dining room. As we enter, I look for any lingering signs of the morning’s violence, but can see none. Carmela takes off her belt, ties Guido to a chair, and we sit at the round table. I see that the skeleton of Santa Muerte is still in pole position in the centre, although she no longer glows. I wonder if she’ll continue to protect me.
Juanita enters with a large round metal dish and places it on the table. I can see shrimps and mussels and chunky-looking bits of meat poking out of a bed of yellow rice. Rodrigo picks up a serving spoon and offers it to Carmela.
She ploughs the spoon into the pan and distributes generous helpings to each of us. Juanita pours wine and I pick up a fork, hoping it did not feature in this morning’s crucifixion. Although it looks unfamiliar to me, the food tastes delicious and I quickly empty my plate and wish I could smuggle some back to Pilar.