The Bullet Trick

by Louise Welsh

  'But you knew her? You knew Gloria?'

  There was silence as the policeman searched for an excuse and failed. I wondered if there was a release in surrendering to the truth, but if there was, no sign of it appeared on his face. Montgomery looked ten years older than the man I’d first seen in Bill’s club. He sighed and said, 'Yes, I knew her.'

  Sheila gasped and I realised that until then, despite the photograph I’d shown her, she’d been unconvinced of her husband’s involvement. Montgomery took a step forward, looking up at the gallery like an aged ruined Romeo.

  'I swear, as soon as I met you I knew the affair with Gloria had been nothing. She was nothing compared to you.'

  Sheila shouted, 'You think I’m upset about that? You think I care about that? About the sex? You think I’m jealous of Gloria?' She gripped the balcony and fought for composure.

  'What did you do, Jim?'

  Montgomery talked on, as if he hadn’t heard her, or as if he’d been preparing his speech for a long time.

  'We were young… Gloria was bored… she thought it was funny to seduce a policeman…

  to have lovers on both sides of the law. I was naïve… unsophisticated… easily flattered.'

  Sheila’s voice was shrill.

  'You’re blaming her? A dead woman?'

  Montgomery whispered.

  'No… no… I …'

  'Tell me Jim or so help me God I’ll throw myself off this balcony. Did you and Bill Noon kill my sister?'

  'No!' James Montgomery looked away from his wife, out into the empty stalls. 'No, I never killed her. It was Bill. He knew she’d been mucking around and he lost his temper.

  She fell down the stairs. Nobody meant it, it just happened. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and he made me help him.' His voice was cracking now. 'He made me.'

  'And young Bill?'

  'I swear I had nothing to do with that.' He took another step forward. 'I never touched Gloria. All I did was help dispose of her body and I’ve been paying for it ever since.'

  Heavy footsteps sounded across the stage. Montgomery looked at me, then towards the wings where the tall figure I’d been hoping to see all night was walking towards us.

  'No, you haven’t.' Blunt was as scruffy as ever, but his voice was strong and sober.

  'You’ve been avoiding it. But you’ll start paying pretty soon.'

  Montgomery looked at Blunt blankly, then he saw the uniformed policemen behind him and realised what was happening. He edged backwards across the stage.

  I said, 'There’s nowhere to go, Monty, you’ve got to face them.'

  James Montgomery took a last step back. Sheila gasped and I reached out to grab him.

  Our fingers touched and then he tumbled beyond my grasp. It was as fast and as sure as gravity. The feel of his hand was still upon mine even as I saw him twisting awkwardly and heard the sickening thump.

  There was a clatter of police boots and a cackle of radios on the back stairs as the uniforms ran the slow route down. Blunt walked across the stage and looked into the audience pit.

  'He’ll live.'

  The sound of Sheila Montgomery’s sobbing drifted down from above. Blunt made his way wearily down into the stalls and started to recite the police litany.

  'James Montgomery, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention now anything you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be given in evidence …'

  I sank to the floor, put my head in my hands and shut my eyes.

  Berlin

  SYLVIE’S RED LIPS mouthed something that might have been I love you or Don’t do it or Do it quick. My consciousness shifted and I saw us both caught in a tableau. Sylvie afraid but determined, her pale skin shining as if it were drawing all the light in the warehouse towards her, and me in my ridiculous costume, right arm raising the gun level with my shoulder. Somewhere in the dark the stranger and Dix were watching, waiting for me to go through with the trick, and somewhere far off so was I; still sure the wax was in the chamber, but wondering what it was that I’d missed. I lowered the gun and took a step towards Sylvie. Scared as she’d looked, her fear had been nothing to the terror that suddenly shadowed her face.

  'Come on, dear,' her voice shook with the effort of calm. 'Why don’t you show them our William Tell act?'

  And I realised that the die was cast. I had been tempted with money and performance pride but something worse than humiliation would happen if I rejected the challenge now.

  I slid from my position on the outside, back into myself, breathed deeply, raised my arm, slowly took aim, squeezed the trigger and fired. The glass shattered and the target flew backwards into the centre of an explosion of noise and red.

  I sank to the floor, into the warmth of my own piss, putting my head in my hands, feeling a thousand shards of glass rain down on me, scattering across the floor like diamonds spilled by a careless hand.

  I crouched there, hearing nothing but the repeat of the blast exploding over and over in my ears. After what seemed like a long time Dix touched my shoulder.

  'Here,' his voice was gentle. 'Swallow, you’ll feel better.'

  I kept my eyes on the ground unable to run towards the red blur at the edge of my vision and asked, 'Did I kill her?'

  'Shhhh.'

  Dix prised open my mouth and slipped a pill beneath my tongue. I swallowed then hunched back on the floor, letting darkness claim me. He was right, oblivion was better than the knowledge of what I’d done.

  Consciousness brought the sharp tang of disinfectant. My first thought was that they weren’t making hospital beds any softer. But when I forced open my eyes I lay curled in a square of sunlight beneath the warehouse’s skylight. The shadows of pigeons roosting in the roof above crawled across me. One touched my face; I winced and raised a hand to bat it away though it was nothing.

  I thought of Sylvie. The vision of her ruined body dropping to the floor flashed into my mind in bloody Technicolor. There was a sudden pain in my gut and I twisted into it, heaving deep dry sobs whose echoes were my only replies. Above me the birds launched into the air, their wings beating out a fractured rhythm; I thought of the sound a pistol makes and groaned.

  I’m not sure how much time passed before I managed to raise my head, but I know it was a long interval between that first move and struggling to my feet. Someone had covered me with my raincoat. I pulled it on and stumbled like a three-day drunk to the spot where Sylvie had fallen. The warehouse was huge and empty, a transitory space where things were stored then moved on, where women were shot then disappeared and shattered conjurers stood and wondered what to do next.

  Someone had done a good job. There was no sign left of my crime, except for a patch on the floorboards that was cleaner than the rest, where traces of blood and tooth would still be stored, if you knew how to look. I got down on my knees and traced my fingertips across it. The boards were rough and unpolished, their surface still vaguely damp.

  My hand went into my pocket feeling for the gun, but instead of hard metal my fingers closed around a stiff paper package. I drew it out and looked at a large bundle of euros, more cash than I’d ever seen. I stared blankly at the money then put it back in my pocket, fastened my coat and stepped out into the open air, walking a long way until I felt straight enough to hail a cab. The door to Sylvie and Dix’s flat was open, the place abandoned. I’m not sure how long I stayed there, sitting on Dix’s chair, pulling at the gaffer-taped tear in its arm, wondering what had happened and what to do, waiting for the police to arrive. But some time after it had become clear that no one was going to come for me, I found myself on a flight home to Glasgow.

  London

  IT FELT GOOD to be back in London. A friend of Eilidh and John’s had a studio apartment he’d wanted to let in a hurry. Johnny had given me a reference that dispensed with the deposit and I’d managed to cobble together a month’s rent. After dumping my few things in the fl
at my next stop was Rich’s office.

  I braced myself for Mrs Pierce’s disapproval but there was a young woman at the desk.

  Slim and dark, with short black hair framing a pixie-like face.

  She called Rich on the intercom and he buzzed me straight through.

  'Bloody hell, I thought you were dead or in jail.'

  'Neither.' I sat on the visitors’ chair. 'What happened to Mrs Pierce?'

  'Retired, said she had no desire to work past sixty.' Rich looked disgusted. 'I don’t know what’s happening, William, used to be you got loyalty, now what do you get? Women who work for you for forty years then suddenly want to spend time with their grandchildren. I ask you.' He looked at me. 'Oh I get it, what you mean is, who’s the sweet young thing sitting out front?'

  'My womanising days are over.'

  Rich smiled like he’d heard it all before.

  'That says a lot about why you’ve been off the map. I’ll tell you what my old dad, God rest his soul, told me. He said, Don’t go for the good-looking ones Richie, they’ll only give you grief. He was right. My mother was an ugly woman, God rest her, and Mrs Banks…

  have you met my wife?'

  I shook my head. 'No.'

  'Well, Mrs Banks is what they used to call homely, but she’s a wonderful woman, William, a good mother, good cook and… well… Take my advice, find a woman who thinks she’s lucky to have you and she’ll treat you like a king.'

  'I’ll give that serious thought. In the meantime I was wondering if you’ve got anything in my line.'

  Rich blew through his lips.

  'Nada. Summer season starts in a couple of weeks and I’ll more than likely manage to scrape something up for you then if you’re still looking but right now trade’s as dry as Mrs Pierce without her HRT.'

  I raised my eyebrows and he said, 'Crude, I know, but that woman left me in the lurch.

  Been threatening to go for years, then suddenly she’s off. Unbelievable.'

  He took a cigar out of his desk and started to unwrap it.

  'Is that the best you can do?'

  Rich shrugged.

  'I told you, it’s quiet. You know the drill. Work up something good and come and see me in time for the Summer Season casualties. Bound to be some lushed-up comedian hits the skids and needs replacing.'

  I shook my head.

  'Always the bridesmaid.'

  'They also serve who only stand and wait, William.'

  'Christ, if I ever end up as a waiter I’ll saw myself in half and disappear up my own jacksie.'

  'If you learn how to do that get in touch but in the meantime…'

  'Cheerio?'

  'You always did catch on quick.' He picked up the phone. 'Rozena, Mr Wilson’s on his way out now. Don’t let him chat you up, he’s got no money and fewer prospects.' He put the phone down. 'My accountant’s daughter, I promised him she wouldn’t lose her virginity on the premises.'

  I said, 'You’ve nothing to fear from me.'

  'It’s not my virtue that I’m worried about, son.'

  I closed the door just as his phlegmy laugh descended into coughs.

  Rozena put an arm over the file she was reading but too slowly for her to hide that it was mine.

  'Interesting?'

  'It confirms what Mr Banks said. No job, no prospects, but reading between the lines I’d say you know your way around.'

  'Only because I’ve been around for a long time.'

  'Long enough to give a girl a guided tour?'

  It was the kind of offer that only comes once or twice in a lifetime. She smiled and I saw how even her teeth were. A lot of book balancing had gone into making that perfect smile. I lifted the file, looked at my own grinning face clipped to the right-hand corner, slid the photo from the folder and put it in my pocket. If I ever came back to the office I’d replace it with one that looked like me.

  I said, 'There’s a tour bus leaves Marble Arch every half-hour, I’ve heard they give a good commentary.'

  And went out into the sunshine.

  Back out in the street my phone beeped. I flipped it open and read the new text.

  Gt yr arse up2 Glesga by 25 June you’ve got a wedding 2go2 — Johnny I texted back A OK and replaced the phone in my pocket. I wasn’t the best man but that was all right, when was I ever?

  I caught the underground to Tottenham Court Road then walked into Soho. I was making a new life. That meant no avoided streets and no-go areas, and that meant facing up to the past.

  Maybe I was half aware of the clatter of high heels and the scream of giggles gaining on me from behind as I approached my destination. But if I thought about it at all I probably imagined it was the sound of a couple of teenage shop-girls released from the prison of their counters and making the most of their lunch hour. Then someone hooked my left arm in theirs and an instant later a second person put an arm around my shoulder, hugging me into a squeeze. I jarred to a halt.

  Shaz giggled.

  'Remember us?'

  It was a moment before I regained enough breath to reply.

  'How could I forget?'

  Jacque looked at me.

  'Did we give you a fright?'

  'Maybe a wee bit.'

  The girls laughed. Jacque’s hair was cut short and streaked three different shades of blonde. Shaz’s dark curls were perhaps a trifle longer. But otherwise the Divines looked unchanged from when I’d seen them last, except of course that they had their clothes on.

  'You’re both looking great.'

  They chimed thanks. Nobody complimented me on my weight loss, but perhaps they hadn’t noticed.

  Jacque let go of my arm.

  'That was one weird night wasn’t it? You know Bill was shot?'

  'Yeah, I heard.'

  'Lucky we were well clear by that time.' Shaz shook her head. 'He always was an oddball.'

  'Was he?'

  'Oh for sure, way out in cuckoo land.'

  Jacque giggled.

  'He was off the cuckoo map.'

  Shaz joined in.

  'Way out in the cuckoo sea.'

  'Without a cuckoo paddle.'

  I broke in before they could stretch the fantasy further.

  'It’s good to see you looking so well…'

  Shaz cut me off.

  'Ah no, you don’t escape us so easily.'

  She caught hold of my left arm again and her girlfriend took my right.

  'Come and have a drink.'

  'I was heading somewhere.'

  Jacque nipped my wrist.

  'A couple of exotic dancers not good enough for you anymore?'

  'It’s not that …'

  'What then?'

  I wanted to say I couldn’t be trusted around women, but the explanation would be too long and too strange so instead I smiled and said, 'OK, where do you fancy?'

  Jacque giggled.

  'That’s why we came chasing after you. There’s something you’ve got to see.'

  Shaz looked at her watch.

  'And if we’re quick we’ll just be in time.'

  After Montgomery’s arrest I had expected to find myself back in the cells en route for extradition to a German jail, but Sylvie’s name was never mentioned. Eventually, during one of the long debriefing and drinking sessions that took place between Blunt and me, where some of the liberties we’d taken were edited out of our recollections, I steeled myself and said, 'Montgomery threatened my mother.'

  'The guy was desperate and ruthless, not a good combination.'

  'It got him pretty far up the police ranks.'

  Blunt gave me a look.

  'It doesn’t matter what line you’re in, the bosses generally feature a couple of successful psychopaths.'

  'Is that right?'

  He nodded.

  'Makes sense when you think about it, explains why all bosses are cunts.'

  I nodded and took a sip of my beer.

  'He also threatened a lassie I was friendly with in Berlin. I wondered if he mentioned he
r?'

  'Nah, he’s not going to drop himself in it is he? Was it nasty?'

  I thought back to our encounter in the pub beneath the railway arches.

  'He said, 'I know all about your little German girlfriend.''

  'Typical con talk. He knew you had a girlfriend so he threatens her as a matter of course. Maybe he knows where she lives or works, maybe not. But he brings her up and you go into a panic. It’s an old trick.'

  'I thought …'

  'What?'

  'I guess I didn’t think. I just reacted.'

  Blunt snorted.

  'Aye well, some women have that effect. Make you imagine all sorts of daft things.'

  I’d nodded and downed the rest of my pint.

  The trial filled the papers for weeks. Montgomery had admitted to helping dispose of Gloria Noon’s body, but still maintained her death had been an accident. Gloria and he had been having an affair for six months before Bill Noon had got wise and made a point of coming home early. Montgomery stuck to his story, maintaining that Noon had caught them together and Gloria had fallen down the stairs in the ensuing argument, hitting a fatal blow to her head. He’d panicked and he and Bill had disposed of the body, pooling their gangster/police expertise to ensure Gloria would never be found. It was their shared experience of crimes and villains that decided them to take the photograph as insurance.

  Montgomery described their controlled fear, how he and Bill senior had become uneasy allies and hatched a plan, waited till dark then driven through the night before slipping Gloria’s weighted body into the country park lake. Then they’d kept on driving, forced to stick together until the shops opened and they were able to lodge the film in a distant quick-developing chemist’s. He and Bill had sat together in silence, deep beneath the earth in an underground car park, until the prints were ready. Then they’d taken a copy each and burnt the negative together.

  The bond between them had been formed that night. Maybe it was a union forged in blood and taboo, or maybe they were simply greedy men who each found an ally on the other side. Because after that evening neither man seemed able to leave the other quite alone, and the jury heard how many of Bill senior’s scams and undertakings had benefited from Montgomery’s influence.

  There was no one left to dispute Montgomery’s story. He admitted a lot in the hope that a show of honesty and contrition would validate his denial of involvement in Gloria’s death.