'Are you sure this is for the best?'
They sit there in silence.
Society bobs along on perfect hypocrisy, dressed up to look tolerable. But the more you dig the more you realize its foundations are made of shit and more shit. Rot and more rot. I wonder whether sometimes it's better not to dig, not to investigate, not to know. I wonder if the sedative of ignorance is the only thing that keeps up alive, looking forward to the future, our lives a fiction kinder than the truth. Whether the truth - reality - is really the evil we fear, in and of itself.
Mike gets up and comes back with a second round of G&Ts.
'What were you going to do, off him and leave it like nothing had happened?' asks Malasaña acerbically, as if I were a complete idiot.
'That means we won't be able to win the bet. And it's a lot of money, boss. No one was betting on you. Just him and me.' López points at Malasaña.
'Are you sure it's for the best? What do we do now? How did this turn up, how are we going to justify having it in our possession?' I ask Mike.
'That's all been taken care of,' he says firmly.
'How?'
'You'll see. There's no rush.'
'You're sure this is the right thing to do,' I insist, staring at him.
'If we don't do this, he'll become a legend.'
López puts his big hand on my shoulder. I feel its warmth, feel him breathing, backing me up.
'Don't mess about, boss,' says Malasaña, lifting his drink to his lips. He takes a long sip, the ice clinking, and clicks his tongue scornfully. 'As if! We do him a favour and he gets all high and mighty!'
'How did you do it?' I look Mike in the eye.
'No killer is a hero.’
‘He was a fucking coward,' says Malasaña with rage.
'Targeting those helpless women. Shooting Robot in the neck, from behind. Yup...' López looks over at Mike, a cheery glint in his eyes, lively with gin, 'he was a bloody coward...'
I light a cigarette and toss the packet on the table. They all help themselves. I wonder whether El Dandy's final thoughts included me, the man he no doubt knew was responsible for his death, albeit via an intermediary.
'What were his last words?"
Mike smiles. That plain, freckled face - the last thing El Dandy saw in his miserable life. I'm glad.
So much time elapses that I think Mike isn't going to tell me, keeping it a secret for the rest of his life, but then he suddenly says:
'“The pain! The pain!”'
Malasaña lets out a cackle and I must have a look of stupefaction on my face. He had to know I led his killer to him.
'“The pain! The pain!”'
The look on Mike's face, scornful, mocking, imitating the dead man's voice, sends shivers down my spine.
'You know that one day we'll find the Ripper?'
Nobody answers. They don't need to. I raise my glass.
‘From Hell!’
The Ripper Page 53