Girl Seven (29 page)

I was on the tube on my way to the Underground when I was struck by a paralyzing thought: I hadn’t packed my passport. It wouldn’t be at the club in my bag. It would still be on my bed in Mark’s flat, where I’d probably fallen asleep on it before I decided to call Seiko and become distracted.

I banged a fist into my leg, resisting the urge to snap, ‘Shit!’ out loud. How could I have been so fucking stupid? I looked around me at the other passengers, as if they could offer me a solution. But there was only an old Indian woman and a man in paint-stained dungarees. I was going to have to go back.

Muttering to myself under my breath, I stormed out of the carriage at the next stop and changed direction.

I didn’t think enough time had passed for anyone to have fully understood what had happened yet, I thought... I hoped. It wasn’t as if I had a choice in going back, but I wanted to be at an airport that evening and the end of the day was creeping up on me; like a rapist at a deserted train station it was creeping up on me.

It was still uncomfortably hot and beads of sweat were running down my face by the time I reached Mark’s building. My phone had rung once: it was Daisy but I ignored it. It rang again and it was Mark but I ignored that too. I took the lift up and, with a deep breath, let myself back in.

There won’t be anyone there, I kept telling myself. There won’t be anyone waiting for me. I’d just get my passport and—

But there were people waiting for me.

I guess I deserved it: to die because of my own stupidity. I hesitated, with the door half open, and wondered if I could run. But it would only make things worse, so I came further inside and shut the door behind me.

The driver, I recognized. The other man, I didn’t.

There was no point in being tense or ready for a fight so I sat down instead. I crossed the room in silence and sat on the sofa with my hands in my lap and my bag on the floor.

I sighed. ‘So... I guess you’re here to tell me off.’

The taller man, the one I didn’t know, wasn’t exactly handsome. More... compelling. He had strangely shaped lips, pale skin and neat dark hair. His suit jacket looked expensive and the heat didn’t seem to be affecting him. Everything about him was meticulously placed and I could tell from how he held himself that this was the man in charge.

‘Seven,’ he said, in a soft Russian accent that wrong-footed me. ‘It is
Seven
?’

‘Well... yeah.’

‘I know your full name but if you want to be called Seven then I will address you as such. You have met Mr Yakimov.’ He held a hand out to the driver, who was still wearing sunglasses and said nothing.

‘Um, yes.’ I wasn’t sure what he was aiming for with the pleasantries but it was definitely making me feel worse. My insides were knotted and I was finding it hard to sit still. ‘Look, if you’re going to kill me then you might as well get it over with. I just don’t cope very well with suspense and it’s been a bit of a weird day.’

Maybe it didn’t really matter if I died now? I’d done what I wanted to do; I’d killed the man who’d killed my parents and sister. Did it matter that much if I stayed alive, just existing out of an attachment to routine?

The man indicated for the driver to sit down opposite me, but continued standing.

‘Do you know who I am?’ he asked, like some celebrity.

‘No.’ I figured it would be appropriate to know the name of the person killing me. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Roman Katz. Alexei and Isaak, and this good man here, work for me. Well, they did work for me, until you put on your show. It was very clever, you bringing Nic Caruana. What did you tell him to make him help you?’

They both listened with attentive expressions.

I stammered, becoming more and more short of breath. ‘Um, well I knew he was watching the house so I... I, er... went to him and said that I’d overhead some guys talking in the club about raiding a house. I made out that I wanted to warn them... so that when he saw me going in he’d think it was just me. So he came in after me.’

Katz smiled at Yakimov. ‘It is very clever, yes?’

Yakimov didn’t seem quite as amused as his boss. He said something in Russian, sounding irritated.

Katz waved away his protest. ‘You are from Japan?’

My leg started jigging up and down. ‘Yeah, originally.’

‘I love Japan. I went there twice and everyone is so polite and... what is the word? Never mind. Everyone is so polite. I like how you bow. I like... er... hierarchy. I would not get seen by a guard at a train station because I looked like a westerner and the Japanese queue up behind me refusing to be served until I am. Wonderful. And the food is wonderful!’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’

The more he talked to me as though we were lunch-dating, the more he terrified me. I decided I would not cry in front of him. No matter how scared I was, I would not cry.

‘You’d better hurry up,’ I said, sitting on my hands. ‘If you hang about too long this guy called Mark Chester might walk in and you really don’t want to meet him.’

Something in Katz’s face changed. ‘Mark... Chester?’

‘Yeah, this is his place.’

‘Mark Chester’s apartment?’

‘One of them, I suppose. I get the impression he has a few. Why? Do you know him?’

Katz glanced at Yakimov. ‘Yes, I know him. I don’t know this place. I don’t know him... closely, but I... You’re living in one of Mark Chester’s apartments? Why?’

I was struck by the crazy idea that name-dropping Mark might save my life. ‘He was helping me with a job actually, tracking someone down. I just came from there.’

Katz stood up and took a few steps towards me. He looked down and searched my face, and reached down and slowly turned my head to the side. His hands were freezing and his touch like leaves. He ran a finger over my neck, hesitated and then turned my face into the light and examined my swollen eye. He stepped back, smiling.

‘Blood,’ he said, going back to his position on the arm of the sofa and eyeing my bag. ‘You are quite the mystery, no? Where did you come from?’

‘I just killed someone actually.’

‘Who?’

‘No one you know.’

Another glance was exchanged between the two of them.

‘I’m sorry about Alexei and Isaak,’ I said, not feeling remorseful at all but thinking it was a tactful thing to say. ‘They were going to kill me anyway so... I’m sorry, they were probably related to you guys, right?’

‘They were related, but not to me.’ Katz’s expression was disdainful. ‘It is only now I find out about you. They were stupid, reckless. They should have seen what was going to happen; they did not think about the consequences.’

Yakimov snapped something in Russian again, gesticulating.

Katz raised his voice and stood up to reply and cut him off.

I shrank a little lower.

‘You have some choices to make, Seven,’ Katz said, turning to me again with no trace of anger left in his voice. ‘I can shoot you, right now, in the head... right there.’ He pointed at me, two fingers extended, thumb in the air. ‘It will be quick.’

I swallowed. Here it was. ‘OK. What’s the other option?’

‘You bring your money and your... fake passport and your clever brain inside that pretty face of yours and you come and work for me.’

Yakimov put his head in his hands.

I watched Katz’s face, which remained still, for any sign of a joke. It must be a joke. He was trying to lull me into a false sense of security and then shoot me.

‘I’m... sorry? What?’

‘I would like you to come and work for me. One of you would be worth two of Alexei and Isaak, after all. You could think of it as a compensation, you working for me.’

My mouth fell open as I racked my brains for the sinister subtext, but I couldn’t find one in his tone or in his demeanour. ‘You want me to come and work for you? After all this... you’re offering me a job?’

‘I am offering you
their
jobs. You have a face no one would accuse of anything and you think... forgive me, but you think like a man. I mean this as a compliment. Killing you would be of no use to me. I take no delight in killing for fun; this is not a game. I like people with brains working for me and I think you are perfect.’

A slideshow of a new future moved behind my eyes. I had no doubt that Roman Katz was a charming and opportunistic psychopath, like the rest of them, but what did I have to lose really?

‘Are you serious?’

‘I am never not serious. My wife uses an American way of speaking when she says I have a
sense of humour bypass
.’ He chuckled but Yakimov was now glaring at him. ‘Her American is far superior to mine.’

‘What would you want me to do?’

‘Anything I want.’ His smile was dead; everything about him looked dead. ‘But you would be paid a lot. More than you are now. More than you can expect anywhere else.’

I tried to choose my words carefully for once in my life. ‘And what if I say no? Is that not one of my choices?’

‘You could say no, but why would you?’

‘I’d like to go home.’

‘To Japan?’

I nodded.

‘It is understandable. Are your parents there? Your boyfriend or something?’

‘My parents are dead and... But there are people there.’

Katz folded his arms and shrugged. ‘OK, so you have a love there. But what would you do? Love does not put food on your table or buy you a nice house... nice car. What would you do for a living? The same job you do here? You would dress up that great mind and go take your clothes off for rich men again? Would you be satisfied with that?’

I reddened. ‘Maybe not, but the only reason I did all of this was so I could go home, and if I have a choice then I should at least try. Otherwise this would have all been for nothing and I don’t think I could live with that... assuming you let me live, of course.’

Yakimov sneered at me and said, ‘Not if I had my way.’

‘
Silence!
’ Katz whirled upwards and drew a gun from inside his jacket, jamming it against Yakimov’s head and spitting, ‘I have heard enough from you with your
insubordination
! Shut the fuck up or I make a third job for someone to fill! You
never
fucking question me again!’

Yakimov had both hands above his head, breathing hard, eyes to the floor. ‘I apologize.’

I wished I hadn’t chosen to start the debate about going home. It might come across as pushing my luck. I picked at my nails until the atmosphere subsided and Katz put the gun away.

He shrugged. ‘If you want to go, you can go. That was a third choice.’

I didn’t believe him. ‘You wouldn’t just let me go. What’s the catch?’

‘There is no catch, not for me. I just know that you will be back.’ He sounded so damn certain as he stood up and handed me a business card. ‘When you change your mind, which you will, you will go to this restaurant, ask for a seat in the upstairs bar and ask for a glass of port. Then I will come and see you, and we will talk.’

I took the card and my hand shook. His fingers lingered on mine for a while.

‘And you think I’ll definitely come back then?’ I said, my voice catching in my throat.

‘It’s what you’re good for.’ He saw right into me, right through me. ‘You know it.’

As I walked I couldn’t stop looking behind me, peering inside buildings and through the windows of passing cars, but as far as I could tell no one was following me. Katz had seen something, the same thing that Mark had, the psychopathy that Darsi Howiantz had talked about. It made me feel disgusting inside, that he might have looked into me and seen something cold and unfeeling that he wanted to exploit.

Noel called. I wanted to ignore it but if I ignored it I’d never have another chance to speak to him. I wondered if he already knew everything, or whether I’d be afforded one more conversation untarnished by betrayal and violence and deception.

I answered the phone, halting in the middle of the street and letting groups of tourists walk around me in the dying light.

My passport was in my pocket. I felt broken inside.

‘Hey, what are you doing?’ He had that voice on, the one he always put on with me when he was tired and horny. ‘Come over.’

I hated how much I wanted to see him again; hated how weak it made me. I took the phone away from my ear for a moment to think. There wouldn’t be a flight at this time of night anyway. I could either sleep at Noel’s or sleep in an airport.

‘Hello? Are you there? Seven?’

‘Hey, sorry.’ I put the phone back to my ear and wiped sweat from my forehead. ‘One condition.’

‘
Anything, my lady.’

I put on such a coquettish voice that I physically cringed. ‘You switch your phone off and focus all your attention on me... I miss you.’

‘Done! Make haste!’

It’s what I’m good for.
The hand holding my phone dropped to my side with a despondent and audible thump after I hung up.
It’s what I’m good for.

We didn’t talk much until the following morning, when Noel seemed happier than I’d seen him in weeks, in his relaxed and sweaty post-sex state. It was only in the heat that the make-up I’d used to cover my black eye had started to run and he suddenly sat up on his elbows and frowned.

‘Are you OK, baby? You have a... thing?’

I went to touch my eye but it was still tender. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, I just hit my face on a table.’

‘You’re the least clumsy person I know.’ His expression darkened. ‘Did someone hit you?’

‘Of course not.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Who would hit me?’

‘Hm...’

The wedding ring was gone. He must have seen me check because he became quiet and took a few seconds to think about his words.

‘We’re getting divorced,’ he said.

I was too surprised to say anything tactful. ‘Oh.’

‘She hasn’t just left, she...’

‘She really asked for a divorce?’

‘No.’ He grinned. ‘Actually I asked. Thanks for the assumption.’

‘Shit, sorry. What changed? I mean... you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t—’

‘She made me feel like a child, in every way really. She was smarter than me, more mature. It wasn’t even her fault she made me feel like that, it was actually me that was just... too insecure to deal with it. I always expected her to come to her senses and leave eventually so, like an idiot, I started trying to give her reasons to.’ He snorted. ‘I suppose a psychologist would probably say I was trying to feel in control of the situation. I just wanted to feel that, when she left me, it would be for something really shit and horrible I’d done instead of looking at me one day and realizing I’m... nowhere near fucking good enough for her.’