Arms and the Women (54 page)

'Take them out?' said Daphne. 'As in NATO bombers taking out an anti-aircraft battery?'

'That sort of thing. Now here's what I suggest. Wendy, you get up against the wall there next to Shirley . . .'

She flashed a smile at Novello who was looking so pale she was almost translucent but whose eyes were bright and taking everything in.

' - . . and look terrified. You'll have the gun. Put your arm around Shirley and keep it hidden behind her. How good a shot are you?'

'In normal circumstances, excellent.'

'Don't overdo the false modesty,' said Ellie. 'Your job will be to deal with Big Ajax, OK?'

'I'd have said that Jorge was the more dangerous,' objected Wendy. 'Possibly. But Big Ajax has got a neck like an elephant's leg and I'm not sure if Feenie can pull the same trick with him that she managed on Little Ajax here.'

Feenie, who'd been listening with close attention said, 'You're right, my dear. I was just about at my limit with this one. But I reckon that, given a firm standing, I could lever that little runt Jorge's head right off his shoulders.'

'I can't believe I'm hearing this,' said Daphne. 'I've eaten too much lobster and am having a weird nightmare.'

'You ain't heard nothing yet,' said Ellie, now really fired up. 'This bit you're going to love. Daphne, I want you to pull your knickers round your ankles, your skirt up round your bum and lie on the floor just about here.'

'You what? You realize you're talking to the President Elect of our local WI? If you feel pulsating pudenda is the best bet for distracting horrible Jorge, why don't you flash yours?'

'Don't worry, I'll be doing my bit,' said Ellie, tearing at her T-shirt and ripping down her bra. 'And if it's your modesty you're worried about, it's OK. He won't be able to see a thing because you'll have Little Ajax here on top of you. There we go. Do I look like a woman wronged?'

She stood before them, her breasts spilling out of the ruins of her T-shirt.

'No, you just look like Cher at an awards ceremony. What was that you said about
him
being on top of me?'

'I think,' said Feenie, 'that what Ellie is suggesting is a scenario in which Little Ajax has run berserk, sexually speaking. Attacked her, shot Mrs Woolley, and is now ravishing you. Jorge will certainly not be pleased. May I suggest, my dear, that we can both add to his displeasure and also add a little verisimilitude to Little Ajax's extraordinary behaviour
thus!'

As she spoke, she went to the grip, opened it, took out one of the plastic bags, ripped it open and scattered the white powder on the floor.

'There. Now, Mrs Aldermann, if you don't mind, time is of the essence. I could render you unconscious if that would make things easier for you, but I think in the circumstances at least one of you ought to be moving.'

It was hard to tell how serious Feenie was. Absolutely, was Ellie's guess. And Daphne's too, for she now let herself be arranged in the proposed tableau, her resistance reduced to repeating over and over, 'I do not believe this . . . I do not believe this . . .' as they eased Little Ajax's body on top of her.

'His trousers need to be down,' said Ellie.

'Yes, of course. At my age you forget such details,' said Feenie as together they dragged the dead man's trousers down over his buttocks.

'That's fine,' said Ellie. 'Daphne, dear, could you writhe about a bit and shriek? Give the impression that Little Ajax is having a good time and you're not?'

'You've got that half right,' said Daphne. 'Oh God. How's this?'

One thing you had to give these public-school girls, once you persuaded them to take part, they didn't hold back.

'Excellent. But don't tire yourself out. Relax till the curtain goes up. So here's the scenario, ladies. I shall rush out of the door, sobbing and sighing and crying rape. My guess is they're down in the cellar. I'm going to make a lot of noise because I want them to hear me coming so they don't start blasting away out of sheer surprise. If all goes well, Jorge and Big Ajax will come rushing in here to see what the hell's going on. The picture they'll get is that Little Ajax has been snorting coke and has got ambitious to screw us all. Jorge will rush across to him to beat him senseless, Big Ajax will remain standing at the door. Wendy will blow his head off and Feenie will break Jorge's neck. Any questions?'

From the floor, Daphne said, 'I've been in many amateur dramatic productions and my experience is, as Sod's Law, or maybe it's God's Law, states, something always goes wrong. What do we do then?'

'Improvise,' said Ellie. 'Anything else.'

Feenie said, 'One suggestion. I am normally totally opposed to drug abuse in any form, but I think on this occasion a little artificial stimulus to our perceptions and reactions might be useful.'

She stooped, dipped a finger into the spilled coke put it to her nose, and sniffed. Then, taking a handful, she went round the others like a priestess round her acolytes, offering each of them it in turn.

Mrs Stonelady shook her head, but all the others partook.

Ellie sniffed long and deep.

It felt good. She felt good.

She looked down. She looked good.

Her breasts were firm, her nipples engorged.

She said, 'I shall wound every man, no man shall wound me.'

Then, screaming hysterically, she opened the door and staggered outside.

xx

Liberata liberate

It was like stepping into a black hole.

She must have got used to the light coming through the huge window in the main chamber, adjusting as it thickened with the onset of evening and the storm. By contrast the anteroom through which they had entered the pavilion was in darkness, accentuated rather than diluted by the dull grey square of the window in the door.

The door.

The door that led to the outside world.

It would be easy to open it and run free into the night. The storm would make it almost impossible for them to find her. She could salve her conscience by sticking her head back into the big chamber and inviting the others to follow. Except of course that two were wounded and Kelly Cornelius was in the hands of Jorge and Big Ajax.

Curiously, these pros and cons didn't enter her mind in the form of a debate. There was never a second when she seriously considered escape. Perhaps it was the coke, perhaps her own adrenalin, but the only reason she thought about them at all was that, in stark contrast to the darkness around her, her brain was lit with the clarity of a tropical noon. Nor did her thoughts occupy any significant portion of time. She didn't need either thought or sight to register that the anteroom and the kitchen were empty, and she was staggering down the steps into the cellar, sobbing and wailing, without the slightest perceptible physical pause.

There was light down here, shed by a pair of hurricane lamps, the kind of light sought by horror-film directors for dungeon scenes, and there was enough horror here for the most gothic of tastes.

The low ceiling room was full of boxes and chests, presumably containing the arms that Popeye had sold to Chiquillo. Across one of these lay Kelly Cornelius, naked, her face and body pied with blood, her arms twisted above her head by Big Ajax while Jorge knelt before her with his pistol barrel thrust deep between her legs.

Don't react, Ellie told herself. You're in shock, you've got nothing left for anyone else, you're so deep in shock you'll even ask animals like these for assistance.

Jorge had dragged the pistol out of Kelly's body and was pointing the bloodstained muzzle at Ellie.

'Help me . . .' she sobbed, 'oh help . . . he's gone mad . . . please . . . please . . . please help ... or he'll kill everyone . . .'

Jorge looked for a moment like he might think it wasn't such a bad idea. Then he started jabbering in Spanish so rapid she couldn't pick out more than the odd pronoun, and came towards her, pushing at her with his weapon. Behind him, Big Ajax hauled Kelly to her feet. Ellie was able to register with relief that she still had enough strength to take a couple of staggering paces before Jorge spun her round and prodded her back towards the stairs.

So far so good, she told herself. But the big test was yet to come. Daphne was probably right, Sod's or God's Law would be invoked and something was bound to go wrong - Wendy might miss, Feenie might not be able to cope with Jorge as easily as she thought - and as the only able-bodied woman available (Mrs Stonelady didn't count and Daphne could hardly be expected to hurl Little Ajax's bulk to one side and join the fray), she had to be ready to lend a hand wherever it was most needed.

What would happen if Sod and God combined and
everything
went wrong she didn't care to contemplate.

They were back up the stairs, Jorge was pushing her through into the viewing chamber and the show was on the road.

It looked good, she thought, not without a
soupqon
of self-congratulation; in fact, it looked just like she'd envisaged it, a disaster zone - the ripped coke package trailing powder over the floor - Wendy cowering against the wall next to Novello with her wounded leg prominently displayed - Mrs Stonelady sitting as still and as harmless as a garden gnome - and Feenie looking about two hundred years old, teetering in helpless protest over the
piece de resistance
of Daphne (what a trouper!) screaming and thrashing under the bulk of Little Ajax which she was flinging around in a facsimile of frenetic fornication which Ellie suspected was well outside his range in life.

And Jorge's reactions were straight out of her script too. With a high-pitched cry of rage he threw Ellie aside and ran to the couple on the floor, where he began beating Little Ajax over the head with his gun.

Ellie moved to the centre of the room to make sure she wasn't interfering with Wendy's line of fire. But when she looked towards the woman, she didn't see a gun, only a look of anguished frustration on her face. A glance over her shoulder revealed the cause. Big Ajax was standing as precisely on his allocated spot as an old pro actor on his chalk mark, but he had his arms wrapped around Kelly and was pressing her hard against his body, clearly enjoying this chance to cop a feel. If she were anything like as good as she claimed to be, surely Wendy would have no difficulty in putting a bullet into that broad skull, thought Ellie. At the same time, she could see how the idea of missing and blowing a hole in the person you were trying to rescue might give even the crackest of shots a moment of self-doubt.

But it was now or never. Jorge's rage could not blind him much longer to the fact that even a sexually absorbed Little Ajax ought to be showing just a little more response to having his head beaten to a pulp.

Ellie glowered at Wendy and hissed, 'Do it!'

The woman began to withdraw the gun from behind the recumbent Novello.

And at that moment, like the sound from without a tilt-yard which announces the arrival of a new contender to enter the lists, a horn blared, long and hard, and light poured through the ante-room window and spilled over into the viewing chamber.

It was the truck horn and headlights. Luis and Popeye were back. The odds had swung against them dramatically.

There was a moment when they might still have done it. If Wendy had shot Big Ajax ... if Feenie had attacked Jorge . . . but they both froze, waiting for the other. Then the horn sounded again and Big Ajax, still with his arms round Kelly, retreated into the anteroom and the moment was past.

The only plus was Daphne, who must be a wow in her local dramatic society, thought Ellie.

Sensing Jorge's attack on Little Ajax's head was winding down, and seeing puzzlement replacing anger on his face, she had let out one huge last scream, rolled the body off her and scrabbling to her knees sobbed, 'Oh thank you, thank you, thank you, you've killed him, I think you've killed him, thank you,' then hurled herself at the dead man, beating his face with her fists in a marvellous simulacrum of fury.

The Cojo felt Little Ajax's pulse, dropped the limp hand in disgust and turned to snarl,
'Es muerto,'
at Big Ajax in the anteroom. That got his attention. There was a pause, then a crash as the big man let Kelly slump to the floor. Now he was unprotected as he strode back into the viewing chamber, but the clear shot offered was useless as Jorge had moved away from Feenie to check just how much of his precious coke had been lost from the grip.

Outside the horn was sounding a third blast. It went on even longer this time before it fell silent.

Big Ajax stooped, grunting with the effort, to check Little Ajax out. It was rather touching really. Perhaps they were related. Daphne kept up her posthumous attack on his head. Another house point to the archdeacon's daughter. It wasn't a good idea to let either of these two get close enough to that end of Little Ajax to work out how he'd actually died. But Big Ajax was no respecter of female priorities, or maybe he knew something about Little Ajax's sexual proclivities that no one else did.

He pushed Daphne aside and stooped to examine his comrade's head and neck. When he rose his gaze went slowly round the room, then he stepped close to the window to take a look at the pattern of bullet strikes.