by Louise Welsh
'Fuck you, William.'
'No, fuck you, you mad bitch.'
Sylvie turned away. I watched her walk slowly back down the corridor towards the lift then tried the card again. The lock glowed green. I pushed open the door, hesitated, then went in.
It was the stench that hit me first. I half gagged, trying to place it, then suddenly I knew. It was my smell magnified a hundredfold. A dim slice of light shone in from the corridor. It wasn’t much to see by, but it was enough to reveal the few possessions I’d brought to Berlin strewn around the shadows. My clothes had been dragged from the wardrobe, the duvet and pillows pulled from the bed. And somewhere, smashed amongst the debris, was a bottle of expensive aftershave that no longer smelt suave. I picked up the paperback novel I’d been reading. Its pages had been ripped from their cover. It was a shame. Now I’d never know how things worked out.
I pressed the light switch; there was a dull click but the room remained in gloom. It was a fitting end to the evening. I’d been beaten up, lost my job, alienated the girl I fancied, forfeited my money and fallen out with the only friend I’d made in the city. Robbery and a dead light bulb dovetailed perfectly. Way down the corridor I heard the lift doors breathe open then chime shut.
'Fuck, fuck, fuck.'
I snibbed the lock in the slim hope that Sylvie would decide to come back, then closed the door softly behind me and checked my watch. It was 3 a.m. All across the city people were snug in bed. Loved ones spooned together, rosy-cheeked children sucking their thumbs as they slumbered. I moved towards the window to let in whatever light the street offered, or maybe to watch Sylvie walking away. My foot hit against the whisky bottle lying on the floor and I bent over to pick it up, reminding myself that friends needn’t always be flesh and blood. Perhaps something snagged the edge of my vision because I turned in the direction of the bathroom door just as it started to open.
Montgomery looked older, as if retirement wasn’t suiting him. My waters shifted and I balled my fists, taking a step backwards. Montgomery shook his head sadly.
'You’re a bloody mess.'
His voice was soft, concerned. My own voice sounded gruff, but more confident than I felt.
'A bit like this room then.'
'Yeah,' He smiled a melancholy smile. 'Sorry about that, I thought I could save us both a bit of bother.'
I sat down on the bed. 'Maybe I’m getting thick in my old age, but I’m still in the dark.' I looked at the unlit room and amazed myself by laughing. 'Obviously I’m in the dark. What are you doing here?'
Montgomery took a bulb out of his pocket and screwed it into the bedside lamp. A soft light showed up the full mess of the room.
'Better?'
I looked around at my scattered belongings. The ex-policeman had done more than search. His assault on my possessions had been furious. The duvet and pillows had been sliced open, coating the floor in a mess of foam and feathers. My jackets were shredded.
The jaws of my suitcase gaped wide, its red lining slit and lolling, reminding me of the damage I’d inflicted on Kolja’s face and making me wonder if I was about to taste my own medicine. I took a pack of cards from my pocket and started shuffling, giving my hands something to do.
'Not really, no, in fact I’m two seconds away from phoning your Berlin colleagues.'
'You’re a disappointment, William. For a moment there, when you were straight about recognising me, I thought you were going to be a good boy.' Montgomery stood in front of me and I realised it had been a mistake to sit down. 'Where is it?'
'I’ve got perfect recall remember? Part of the job.' I squared the shuffle. 'It’s an advantage in my game. For instance, I’ve memorised this entire deck in the time we’ve been talking.' I offered him the pack. 'Pick a card and I’ll tell you the rest of the sequence. Then you can tell me what it is you’re after.'
Montgomery knocked the cards from my hand; they scattered over my lap and onto the floor, like a cheap metaphor for my life.
'I asked you a question. Where is it?'
'Where’s what?'
'What are you after? Money?' Montgomery’s voice had lost its coolness. It was still low enough to stay within the bounds of the small room, but its tone was jagged. A spray of spittle landed on my face. 'You know damn well what.'
I hadn’t got round to replacing my drowned mobile yet. I looked towards the toppled bedside table where the hotel phone should be. It was missing, ripped out of the wall, and probably tumbled amongst the rubble of my belongings. Somewhere down the corridor I thought that I heard the lift doors ping open. If I made a rush for it I might be able to get help. I shifted from Montgomery’s shadow and started to get to my feet.
'You’re barking up the wrong tree, pal. Whatever it is you’ve mislaid, it’s nothing to do with me.'
Montgomery smiled, stepped to one side as if he were about to go, then turned suddenly, shoving me square on the chest. I sprawled back onto the bed and the policeman flung himself half astride me, his knee between my legs, hand at my throat, gently pressing the cutting edge of a knife below my Adam’s apple. I felt my flesh shift beneath the blade, not quite ready to yield my blood, but thinking about it. We seemed to lie there for a long time, though the red numbers on the radio alarm glowing from beneath a pile of my shirts stayed at 3.06.
'You are fucking trying my patience, Wilson.'
Montgomery’s breath was warm against my face. My own was stuck deep in my chest, somewhere near my heart. I found it, exhaled slowly and tried to think of something soothing to say, something that might get him to take the knife away.
'You’ve searched the room, there’s nothing of yours here.'
'Not here maybe.' The knife pressed down harder. I could see the blood climbing up Montgomery’s face, but when he spoke the voice behind the whisper was calm. 'Are you a fan of the movies?'
I wondered what soundtrack played in his head while he acted the master villain. This was my cue to bound free, while he described the elaborate tortures in store. It worked in films, but I had Montgomery’s full weight pinning me down, a blade at my throat and there was no unseen orchestra edging its way towards a climax. I swallowed, not liking the way my throat moved against the blade.
'Isn’t everyone?'
'Quite right, they’re a popular pastime. Did you see that film…’ He paused as if searching his memory. 'What was it called now? It was by that young American guy, ugly git, total genius… Reservoir Dogs, that’s it.' Montgomery smiled at me. 'You seen it?
Fucking marvellous. They cut a guy’s ear off.'
I stared into his eyes and spoke with as much command as I could muster.
'You won’t cut my ear off.'
The knife regained its pressure and Montgomery leaned in towards me.
'Oh I will, and a lot more besides if I don’t get what’s mine.' He caught me between the legs, cradling my shrinking balls in his hand. 'Not much there but I dare say you’d prefer to hold on to the small portion God granted you.'
We lay there panting, his hand on my vitals, our faces strained, looking like an ugly scene from a very specialist porno movie. There was a slight movement on the right of my peripheral vision. I concentrated my gaze on Montgomery’s and tried to avoid looking towards the not-quite-shut door as it slid slowly open.
Sylvie hadn’t put her shoes back on; she edged silently across the carpet, her gaze on the bed, like a cat stalking a pigeon. I remembered I’d never yet seen a cat get to the kill.
Maybe the thought made my eyes shift towards her after all or maybe the policeman simply felt the atmosphere change, because suddenly Montgomery gasped as if he had felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced towards her. Sylvie kicked the door shut and levelled my gun somewhere near the centre of our huddle.
'Having fun, William?'
For a second I wondered whose side she was on, but then I felt Montgomery’s body tense.
'Not really my idea of a good Saturday night.'
'Hear that you old pervert?'
Sylvie moved forward until the gun was squarely aimed at Monty’s torso, still staying far enough away to make it difficult for him to grab her. 'Be a dear and let go of his dick.'
Monty gave the blade another press and I thought he was going to call her bluff. But then Sylvie said, 'Now please.' And maybe he sensed a strain of madness in her voice, because he raised his hands slowly in the air and threw the weapon beyond reach towards the far side of the room. 'Good boy, now kiss him goodbye and get to your feet.'
Monty said, 'You must be joking.'
'Just get off him.'
The policeman eased himself upright. His voice had regained its gentleness.
'It’s not a real gun.'
I stood up holding a hand to my scratched throat, though it was a small wound in a night of pain. 'I’m afraid it is. Real bullets too.'
'We can check if you like.' Sylvie’s voice was light, conversational even. She kept her eyes on Montgomery. 'No? Don’t fancy that idea? Then reach slowly into your pocket and throw your mobile on the bed. Any funny business and I shoot.'
Her dialogue was pure movie gangster, but maybe that appealed to Montgomery because he did as she said.
'William, phone the police.' I looked blankly at her and she said, 'The number’s 110.'
Montgomery started to talk quickly.
'This has nothing to do with you, darling.'
'Don’t worry, I have a feeling William wants to talk to the police as little as you do, but as long as they’re on their way we know you’ll make yourself scarce. When they get here we’ll say it was a simple break-in, unless you want to stick around and tell them different.'
Montgomery looked at Sylvie with a respect that was laced with frustration. I picked up his phone and dialled.
'I understand you want to protect your boyfriend, but he’s not the plaster saint he makes himself out to be.'
He started to lower his hands.
'Any further and I’ll shoot you in the stomach.'
The other end of the line picked up and I started to give the address of the hotel. Sylvie kept the gun level. I tried to think of the German word for emergency, failed and said,
'Schnell bitte.'
Montgomery smiled.
'You know I could take that off you don’t you, darling?'
'I know the safety catch is off, I know that I’ll press the trigger and I know it’ll make one hell of a bang whether I hit anyone or not. You, on the other hand, know fuck-all.'
I said, 'Danke,' and killed the call. 'They’re on their way.'
'Look, I went about this wrong. Your boyfriend’s got something belonging to me.'
Montgomery smiled, still holding his hands up to show he was no threat. 'Thirty-five years on the force,' he took a small step forward. His voice took on a hypnotic tone. 'I tend to get a bit impatient… go in like a bull in a china shop when there’s no need… forget that sometimes softly, softly is better. It means a great deal to me. Sentimental reasons as much as anything else.'
'He’s lying, Sylvie.'
Montgomery’s voice was gentle.
'There could be a lot of money in it for you both.' He took another step. 'A lot of money.'
Sylvie’s eyes locked with Montgomery’s and I realised she still wasn’t quite sober. The policeman took another step and I braced myself to go for the gun. Then Sylvie put her finger on the trigger, and a small smile touched her lips.
'Do you really want to test me?'
Montgomery took a step back and raised his hands a little higher.
'I guess I just did.'
A passing car broke the silence of the street outside. There were no sirens but it was enough to sever the spell. Montgomery turned to me.
'This isn’t the end, Wilson. If I were you I’d be a sensible boy. I’m not going to let up.'
'Are you threatening him?'
'No, love, I’m making him a promise. Until I get what I want your boyfriend’s the walking dead. You’ll never know the day or the hour, but know this, I’ll fucking swing before I’ll let him away with it.'
'You’ve had your say, now scram.' Sylvie was in her element, Bonnie Parker and Patty Hearst all rolled into one. 'I’m going to keep pointing this gun at the door. Anyone walks through who isn’t a member of the Berliner Polizei and they get a bullet in the guts.'
Montgomery hesitated, his gaze shifting between Sylvie and me. He said, 'You better get me what you owe me, Wilson, or you’re a dead man.' Suddenly he smiled. 'Your agent tell you about the TV scout looking for you?' The realisation came before he said it. 'Sorry, chum, you just failed the audition.'
The policeman smiled again but there was a brittleness to the smile that belied the gag.
The door closed quietly behind him, the latch clicking to, mild and gentle as his voice. I sunk onto the bed and put my head in my hands. Sylvie stood, legs apart, keeping her aim steady, looking like a female action hero towards the end of the movie. Her voice was level.
'William, go to the window and tell me when he leaves the building.' I concealed myself behind the curtain and looked down into the street. Sylvie asked, 'What was all that about?'
'My last chance to get on TV.'
'And I thought the dance world was tough. I’m not the prying type, Will, but I think you owe me an explanation.'
'I’ll tell you back at your place.'
'You take a lot for granted, Wilson.' She sighed. 'OK, later.'
Later was fine. By the time later came I’d have made up something that sounded plausible. Or perhaps I’d have left Berlin. Or maybe I’d be lying snug on a satin mattress in a rosewood bed while my mother stroked my forehead and remembered the sweet boy I’d once been.
Outside it was dawn. After a minute or two Montgomery strolled across the road, all hint of menace gone, looking like the kind of man you might turn to for advice, a respectable middle-aged man with a sleep problem who liked to take the air in the early hours. He pulled up the collar on his jacket and glanced back at the hotel. Maybe he saw me, or maybe he just guessed I’d be watching. He made the shape of a gun with his fingers, squeezed back the imaginary trigger and fired right between my eyes. I stepped behind the curtains. When I looked again he was gone.
'That’s him.'
Sylvie breathed out, bent into a long stretch then straightened up.
'I guess you should have this.' She grinned and handed me my gun. 'It was naughty of me to put it in my bag, but I thought it might come in handy one day.'
'It did.'
'Yeah it did, didn’t it? I was sure he’d spot it for a repro, but he was quaking in his unfashionable boots.'
'It’s the real deal, Sylvie.'
Her face creased into an expression that the sight of me with a knife at my throat had failed to raise.
'It’s what?'
'It’s got to look good if the illusion is going to work.' I clicked the safety catch home, Sylvie’s reaction making me glad the revolver was back in my possession. 'I told you, there’s always a slim element of risk in the bullet trick, but believe me, you weren’t in any real danger.'
'You bastard.'
Sylvie threw my ruined paperback at me, but it was a half-hearted gesture and for the first time that night I sidestepped a blow.
'I thought we’d decided we were on the same side?'
I opened the gun and checked the cylinder. It was empty. Suddenly I realised what a truly accomplished liar Sylvie was. Her skill had possibly saved my life. I put my arms around my rescuer, kissed her cheek and made a resolution never ever to trust her.
I woke up suddenly, grabbing my arm with the feeling that something small and quick had just run across it. I hit the bedclothes trying to kill it or flush it out, unsure whether there had been anything there at all, then lay back and looked at the ceiling. Day had slid back into night. Soon I would have to get up and face my old enemy the world; soon but not yet. Somewhere down the hallway a door shut. I wondered if it was Sylvie or Dix, or maybe some inhabitant of the apartment I hadn’
t met. After all, life was full of surprises.
I needed to work out how to get myself back to Britain. My credit card was long past fucked and my wallet nearly empty. I’d have to blag the fare from Rich or the British Consul or maybe my mum, though I wasn’t sure she’d have the money.
I wondered if the hotel would come after me for damages and unpaid charges. Maybe there would be a stop at the airport. A hesitation when I handed over my passport then, would you mind waiting here, sir? Even if I made it home there would be the problem of a fresh start with no money. I’d packed in my flat in Ealing. New deposits and first month’s rents were expensive. I was homeless, jobless and stuck in a foreign country, without even the stake for a reckless bet. I ran my hands down my body checking the damage. The pain was a comfort of sorts. A skelped arse gives you something to cry over, as my dad used to say.
All of this was just a way to avoid thinking about the envelope I’d sent unopened to my mother’s for safekeeping. Would Montgomery think to search her out? He was a trained policeman. He was smart and plausible and ruthless. My mum would welcome him with a smile. Montgomery would pat the dog, step through the front door, then what?
I swung my legs out of bed. My clothes were a ruined heap. Sylvie’s floral robe hung on the back of the door. I reached over and put it on. There was no point in trying to hold onto my dignity now.
Sylvie’s voice sounded soft and serious through the living-room door. Dix’s low rumble of reply was forceful, insistent. Sylvie said something harsh and Dix countered with a soft, measured response. It was an argument of sorts, but the words were beyond my reach. I concentrated, holding my breath to try and make out what they were saying, and realised that they were talking in German. I hesitated, not sure if I should knock, then pushed open the door, coughing as I entered the room.
Sylvie was curled up on the couch dressed in jeans and a scruffy T-shirt, her body bent towards her sometime uncle who was leaning back in his usual seat. Dix’s fingers still played with the gaffer-taped tear in the chair’s arm, but he looked like a different man from the shabby dope smoker of that first long evening. Black trousers and a clean white shirt had taken the place of the stained joggers and distressed cardigan. His face was freshly shaved. He might even have lost weight. It suited him, except for around the eyes. They looked strained, as if lately he’d had too many worries and too little sleep.