Eyes Full of Empty
Page 16
He doesn’t answer. I rack the slide. He hears the noise and must be picturing the round entering the chamber.
“Stop it! Put that fucking thing away! Please!”
I lower the weapon.
“I didn’t do anything. All I did was tell them that I wouldn’t pay. That they’d go to jail.”
I forgot for a moment he was a coward, that he’d never be able to make a call like that, that he wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty.
“You knew they’d kill him! You wanted to push them to it and cover your tracks.”
“I was just testing it out, to see. It could’ve worked; I wasn’t sure. I didn’t do anything wrong. It was just bad luck.”
“You fucked me over—”
“No. I paid you for your time. You did all the rest. You’re the one who wanted to play the white knight. I had nothing to do with it. Nothing.”
I bring the gun to his forehead. He keeps his eyes down and lets out a little “no,” almost like a nervous breath. A few seconds of dead time before I stick the gun back in my belt and pick up my baseball cap.
“Pleasure working with you,” he mutters after me as I go through the door.
I don’t look back.
In the metro, my phone rings. It’s Thomas. I hesitate to pick up—then figure I’m not afraid. He has a right to know. If he asks, I’ll give him a straight answer: his father’s a murderer and I fucked his wife.
“Hello?”
“Idir, how’s it going?” He sounds happy.
“Never better. You?”
“Great! I have some big news.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to be a dad!”
The bar’s noisy, everyone knocking drinks back nonstop. I spot a merry Cherif way in the rear. He gives me a wave and we go out the back door. By the trash cans, he lights a cigarette.
“How’d it go?”
“I just gave him a scare, is all.”
Cherif lets out a smoky sigh of relief.
“You afraid I’d kill him?”
He gives me an even look. “No idea. Maybe. You seemed to have it in for him.”
“I just wanted it to be over with. I didn’t know what I was doing—no, I did, I knew I couldn’t kill him. I could never do a thing like that.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Forget all those assholes—”
“She’s pregnant.”
“What?”
“She’s pregnant.”
“How do you know?”
“Her husband called to tell me. He was over the moon.”
“Are—”
“No, it wasn’t me. It’s been over three months, he said.”
“And she knew?”
“No. She just found out. That’s how they got to her. She was afraid for her kid…and for me. Eric said he’d kill her if she didn’t do what he said.”
“Goddamn—what a fucking mess! C’mon, let’s have a drink.”
At the bar, I remain silent for a few moments, staring at my beer and remembering: I’m out. In front of the prison, no one’s waiting. My father isn’t here to pick me up. He said he’d never set foot near here. You can say a lot of things about the man, but one thing’s for sure: he sticks to his word. I don’t want to take the bus. I’ll take a taxi, even if it costs me my right arm. The taxi driver’s smoking a cigarette, leaning against the door of his car. He sees me coming. Without a word, he tosses his cigarette and gets inside. I get in the back. The radio’s tuned to the news, an endless stream of opinion and conjecture about falling towers in New York.
“Where to, boss?”
I give a start. I’ve forgotten how people talk outside.
“Paris.”
I look out the dirty window at the street. I wait for the car to start up and the landscape to begin passing by, but nothing happens.
I straighten up and look at the driver, who turns his head my way.
“Where, exactly? Paris is a big place.” He pauses, and his eyes get mean, then worried: “Hey, what’s wrong with you?”
I realize I’m completely lost. And for maybe the first time in my life, I know exactly why I’m crying.
Outside the bar. Two a.m. Not a taxi in sight. I’m walking home. I’m drifting away when a voice rings out behind me.
“The fuck are you doing, Idir?” It’s Cherif. He runs up.
“Going home.”
“What, not even a good-bye?”
“I’m beat, I really need to go.”
“C’mon, one more drink.”
“No.”
“One more drink and then I’ll drive you home, OK? C’mon, dammit, don’t make me beg.” He puts an arm around my shoulders and leads me back to the bar.
“Just a quick one. Whisky.”
“OK.” He slaps my back. “Don’t worry, Idir, everything’ll be OK. Better this way.”
So we go back in. After all, it doesn’t cost me a thing to pretend he’s not wrong.
Right about now, all I’m hoping is that I’ll never feel moist dirt on my bare skin. And that when dawn comes, I’ll walk over to my window after waking up alone in my bed and watch the sun hit the boulevard with everything it’s got.
JÉRÉMIE GUEZ was born in Paris in 1988 and has already been hailed as the rising star of contemporary French noir. His two previous novels, Balancé dans les cordes and Paris la unit, were awarded the 2013 SNCF du Polar and 2012 Plume Libre prizes, respectively. Eyes Full of Empty is the highly anticipated first English translation of Jérémie Guez’s work, and the third novel in his Parisian trilogy. He lives in Paris.
EDWARD GAUVIN is a prolific translator and the recipient of numerous awards. His work has been featured most recently in The New York Times, Tin House, Best European Fiction 2014, PEN America, Words Without Borders, and Gigantic, among others. He lives in San Jose, CA.
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