The Fly Guy (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

When Martin woke, he felt like he was still drunk. The whiskey had turned his head inside out. He could hardly bear to open his eyes. When he did open them the room trembled around him. When he closed his eyes again he felt like he was falling. He got out of bed. He went downstairs and poured a pint of water, drinking it back in one and refilled the glass.

“So did you have a good night?” Alison asked. She was in front of her computer, sitting at the table. “You were in quite a state when you rolled in.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Martin said between gulps.

“Well, you have to get yourself better by tonight, we’ve been invited to dinner.”

“Really? By who?”

“Andre and Cassandra. So if you feel like you need more sleep, then get it now, because you look like you need it.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t know, but we can’t turn it down. Your suit’s already in the wash, just drink more water and go back to bed. I’ll wake you. You look awful. Ozzy is always bad news.”

When Martin lay back in bed he started to remember walking through the suburbs. He had flashes of following someone. He felt the cold of the night and pulled the covers around his body. As his mind let go of consciousness he felt like he was falling into himself, and it was cold. He pulled the covers tighter. The chill was deep in him, coming from the inside.
How long have I been falling,
he thought, just before he went to sleep,
have I been falling without even knowing?

* * *

Later that evening, sitting at a table in a restaurant with Alison beside him and Andre and Cassandra opposite him, he remembered being outside the door of the Sugar Club. It startled him for a moment and he paused in mid-movement, with his fork halfway to his mouth. The others looked at him. He said, “Oh, I just remembered something, something I haven’t done. It doesn’t matter.”

Andre said, “Do you need to make a note of it? If it’s inspiration don’t ignore it.”

“No, no, really it’s fine. Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Oh just about that old Bucket O’ Blood. It’s the only one that won’t budge on the docks development. I mean we have offered more money than the place is worth, more money than he’s going to make in his lifetime running that place. Have you been in it?”

Martin shook his head.

“The place is a dump,” Andre continued, “a nasty little drinking hole. All of its customers must be dying.”

Martin wanted to say that every customer is dying, but instead he chewed on his food and nodded his head.

Andre didn’t stop. “It’s such a pain when people stand in the way for no good reason, and you’ve got to follow the course, you know, go through the steps. We don’t have the freedom of the artist. I so envy you. You can make it up, but we have to follow the rules instead of being creative. The artist, you know, you’re almost expected to break them.”

Cassandra looked bored as she sipped her wine.

Alison said, “You’ve got to stop obsessing about that place, though. I mean, maybe the fact that we’ll build around it and that it’ll be the only remaining thing of the original docklands will be what makes the place a success.”

“That’s nice of you, Alison. Isn’t she nice? But it won’t fit into the new development. That place’ll never be a success. The landlord is just too drunk to do anything. But he’ll have to crack eventually. Now, hey do you want to know why I invited you guys out tonight?”

He took the champagne from the ice bucket, which was mounted on an elaborate steel stand beside the table, and refilled everyone’s glass.

“Well, I’ve got to tell you that we’ve secured the contracts for twenty-six percent of the docklands, which combined with what we’ve got going on in the inner city and the Acre projects, makes us the biggest native property developer in the city.”

Alison and Martin gave a little cheer, and raised their glasses. Cassandra raised hers too, and they all clinked.

“Now, the reason you’re here is because I just want to thank you so much, Alison. You’ve done fantastic work, and I really think you’ve brought something very special and dynamic to the company. I’m setting up a team for the docklands contracts, and I want you to be the Project Development Manager. There is one particular investor I want you to deal with, very wealthy and open to creative suggestions, and you’re the one I want him to deal with. You’ll also have to pick a team.”

“Oh, Andre …”

“Now, wait before you say anything. It’ll mean a pay rise, but it’ll also mean a lot more meetings, dinners, cocktail bars, premiers, grand openings, probably a few new backless dresses and power suits. You are my number one, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Alison said, “Oh, Andre, I’d be delighted!” They all clinked their glasses again.

The waiter came and cleared the starter plates. Martin was starting to feel drunk again. He excused himself and went to the rest rooms. There was an elaborate figure of a man in a long-tailed suit and a top hat on the door, and as he pushed it open he could smell a strong cinnamon, soapy odour. He stood in front of a sink and splashed his face. There were freshly pressed face and hand towels in a basket next to the sink and he patted one on his face. It was soft and warm. The lights were low and there was quiet classical music playing gently around him as he looked in the mirror. His suit looked too big on him.

He went back out to the table. They were talking about him as he sat down. Alison was saying how he was slotting right into Spiral. Andre winked and said, “Well, there’s a ladder for you to climb, you’ll leave the others behind in no time.”

Martin said, “Ted seems like a good guy. He said he wants to set up an art house wing, a specialist section of Spiral. That’d be good to be a part of.”

“Well, he’s definitely expanding, he’s going to be moving to the docklands,” Andre said. “He’s put a bid in for one of the sites, the old fishery; it’s a large plot.”

The waiter appeared carrying their mains. As he put Cassandra’s plate in front of her she said, “Isn’t it lucky that Alison met Ted that night? It’s great what a word in the right ear will do.”

Martin looked at Cassandra, who was smiling now, and then to Alison.

“What’s that? You and Ted?”

“Well, yes I did have a word with him.”

Martin felt his stomach being pulled away, and a gaping hole started to grow within him. He saw that everyone at the table felt it, too. There was a second of uncomfortable silence, an extra beat, as if the scene had been badly edited. The job had come from Alison, all of that stuff that Ted told him was a cover. Ted was just doing Alison a favour. That’s what he was. A favour. He felt his intestines and stomach slowly drop away into the darkness that was rising within him.

“What did you say? When was this?”

“I just mentioned that you could do with a start, you know, it was nothing, really, Martin, we were just talking.”

Andre chipped in. “Well, he was the right guy to ask.” He pointed a fork of meat at Martin. “It’s a growing company with plenty of opportunity. And isn’t there always a gap between the finishing of the book and the publishing? It’ll give you a well-earned break.” He started to cut the meat on his plate. “Hey Martin? How is the book anyway? You finished yet?”

Martin took a moment. His throat felt dry and tight. He concentrated on his plate for a second. The meat glistened in the light, there were baby carrots arranged in an arc and broad beans in a cluster with a light peppered oil drizzled over them. Between the food, the white plate was impeccably clean, as if this was the first meal ever to be on it. He wondered how he was going to eat when the darkness was squeezing his throat like this.

“I’ve … it’s finished, I think … I’ve … well, I’ve stopped making things up.”

Andre nodded, “That’s what I’m talking about, now’s the chance to refuel that creative engine.” He raised his eyebrows and pointed his meat at Martin before putting it in his mouth. “Mmm, this is fantastic. Have you got the veal too? It’s delicious.”

Martin started to eat but all he tasted was grey. All of the colour had gone from his taste, and when he swallowed the emptiness crept up his throat.

Cassandra said, “What’s the publication date?”

Martin looked at her. Her smile was wider now, more energised than he had seen it before. He wanted to cry. He said, while his insides shook, “Sometime next year, I don’t know exactly, but the editor is very excited. And excited to see what will come next.” He picked up his glass of wine and took a gulp.

Cassandra didn’t stop looking at him, even after he had put the glass down and started cutting his meat again. Her eyes said,
I know you’re a fake. I knew you were a fake the first time I saw you. A fake who can’t even get a job without his girlfriend asking around for him.
Of course it had been too easy, Ted hadn’t spotted something special in him at all. Alison had taken him aside. Or maybe not, maybe in front of everyone Alison had said,
Please give him a job, anything. He needs something, please.
She must have, why else would Ted have just welcomed him in like that? Was it purely charitable? Or what did Ted get in return?

All of those late working days, those extra office hours. Martin realized he really had no idea what she was really doing all that time. Every mouthful was getting harder to chew, the food was just a thick grey mess. Each swallow was more and more difficult. Andre kept talking, now about the timing of the renewal project, how this is just the perfect time, about how so much has to do with timing.

As the meal continued Martin took part in some of the conversation, but every time he spoke it hurt. His centre had been removed, and he knew Andre and Cassandra and Alison could feel its absence. He knew they could see it, that he was caving in.

In the taxi on the way home, Alison said, “You shouldn’t take it so bad that I spoke to Ted about getting you a job. It just came up in conversation. I don’t know why you are taking it so badly. I’ve done you favour.”

“No, no it’s fine,” he said, but he knew she knew he was lying. Still he repeated those words. “It’s fine.” They were only words after all. Just sounds, there for a second and then gone, like a car passing in the night. They’ll do for the moment they exist, they’ll cover the silence for a second, they’ll move things along to where they’re going. They’re necessary, but they don’t amount to much in the long run. Best to just let things move along and follow them, making appropriate noises as you go.

When they got back to the house, Martin went into the writing room.

“Come to bed, babe,” Alison said, “It’s late.”

“In a bit,” Martin replied and closed the door.

The curtains were open and he could see the dark trees at the end of the garden. He saw beyond the estate to where diggers and earth moving lorries and scaffolds were standing behind aluminium fences, waiting for morning to come so that they could build, build, and build, and push the darkness back further still.

He picked up a bound copy of the book and the plastic box of memory sticks. He gathered all the loose paper, the notes, the drafts of chapters, and stuck them under his arm. He closed his laptop and picked it up. Then he went downstairs and put all of it in the bin.

He stood for a while in the kitchen, looking at the bin, before he took everything out again. He grabbed a plastic bag from under the sink and stuffed everything into it. He took an unused spade from the closet under the stairs, then walked to the end of the garden with his spade in one hand and the plastic bag over his shoulder.

Then, in that black space beneath the trees right at the back against the wall, in that last refuge for the darkness, he started to dig.

***

Chapter Thirty-Four

By the time Gregor gets to the turning for his house, the smell of chlorine on his clothes is giving him a headache. He rolls down the window. The hedges on either side of the long narrow driveway block out the sky.

He has a bag of food on the passenger seat. Fresh veal, eggs, prosciutto ham, spinach and kale, and a carton of full cream. There are bottles of wine rattling in the foot-well. As he approaches the gates he presses the remote control on his key fob and they start to open. Just as his car crosses the threshold, he sees movement from the corner of his eye.

Headlights flash at him and he throws himself across the passenger seat just as he hears two gunshots ring out. He unclips his belt and reaches into his jacket for his gun. There are more shots, and glass breaks, falling on him in tiny shards. The eggs have broken and are leaking onto his shirt as he takes his gun in hand and turns over, so that he is on his back. He raises his pistol with both hands in front of him and aims just above the edge of the window.

There is the sound of footsteps and he sees the crown of a head just above the sill of the window. Straightaway he squeezes the trigger and there is a bang, and the head disappears from view. There is another shot which hits the seat.

He reaches behind and opens the door, pulling himself out of the car as more shots hit the body and the inside of the car. He looks under the car and can see a body lying on the ground, a man with his eyes open and a big red hole where the top of his head should be, like the top taken off a boiled egg. He sees the feet of another man who is approaching the car, stepping over the dead body.

Gregor crouches down and moves to behind the bonnet as the man gets close enough to see into the car. Then he moves around the front of the bonnet, standing, raising his gun and firing in one swift motion. There is an explosion of blood and torn muscle and the man drops to the ground, his ass a sticky bloody mess.

Gregor moves from behind the car and picks up the gun which has been dropped. He stands above the bleeding man. He’s groaning and rolling from side to side. It’s one of the men from the deal. The other one is on his back. His arms are spread wide and the top of his head is missing. The mess of skull and brain starts just above the bridge of his nose, and a thick pool of blood is seeping into the gravel of the driveway.

Gregor leans and drags him aside. Brain is spread along the driveway, and bits of gravel are sticking to the inside of his open head. Gregor gets back in the car and drives his car away from the gates. As soon as his car is out of the way they close. He opens the boot of his car and takes out a chain. He wraps the chain around one of the bars of the gate, pulling it tight, then goes to the man who is trying to sit up and is searching around for his gun on the ground. He leans down and grabs the man by the collar, pulling him up to a sitting position.

“You’re going to tell me everything.”

The man spits blood and saliva into his face. Gregor grabs the man by the throat and punches him in the face hard. He starts to take the man’s clothes off. Within minutes the man is naked and Gregor is standing him against the gate and tying one arm to either side before moving down and securing his ankles, one on either side with the chain. Blood is running from the wound, coating his leg. Gregor gets some on his hands as he ties the man’s ankle into place. He wipes his hand clean on the man’s chest.

“I’ve never tried this before,” Gregor says. “Now, let’s see what happens when I press this.” He presses the button on his key fob and the gate starts to open. The man’s legs are spread wider and his arms are stretched.

“So Stranstec decides to buy Spiral and then steal back the money. But who’s the rat? Who sold me out?”

The gate keeps hitting a point and starting to close, and Gregor keeps pressing the fob again and again. The man’s body jerks each time he does it, and the mechanics of the gate whir and whine. It opens a bit wider each time. Gregor picks up a handful of gravel and steps closer, reaching underneath, and grinds the stones into the wound, then sticks his gun into the torn muscle, pushing and poking the grit further into the bloody mess. He presses the fob again, and the gates open out. He reaches underneath the man’s groin and puts the tip of the blood soaked gun between his buttocks. He presses the fob again and the gates stretch the man’s legs even further apart. He pushes the barrel of the gun into the man’s anus. The man cries out and spits again. Spit drips from Gregor’s face, but he doesn’t wipe it away. Instead he moves closer.

“I could pull the trigger. Or I could go and get my dogs. They’re out back. A couple of pit bulls. I don’t tend to feed them very much. I’m sure that they’d have some fun with you all tied up like this. You’ve already got blood on you. That’d send them crazy. Or should I pull the trigger now? I could always pull the trigger and then get them. The thing about the dogs though, is that they can’t think through what they’re going to do to you. They don’t think about maximising the pain. And that’s the bit I like. That’s the bit I like the most.”

He presses the fob again and the gates open a bit more this time. The barrel of his gun goes a bit deeper.

“Tell me. Who’s the fucking rat?”

“A … a big guy, gold tooth … Asian. He set the deal. I … I don’t know his name.”

“He doesn’t know where I live. Who gave you the address?”

Gregor pushes the gun deeper.

“Fuck you.… Aaah … aaaah … It was Stranstec’s pussy.… She gave the address. A little blonde piece … aaah … take that fucking gun out … of my ass you sick fucker.…”

“When I let you down, you’re going to call Stranstec and tell him that you’re here and the hit was good. A bit scrappy and I got a lucky shot, but you’re okay, and I am out. The hit was good. The blonde is here, and I’m dead in the car. The house is fucking full of Spiral, more shit than you can carry. You got it? If you try and tip him off I’m going to feed you to my dogs fucking slowly. I’m going to tie you up so they can only reach your legs, and when they’ve ripped them off, I’ll think about what to do next.”

He presses the fob again and the gate’s gears whirr and whine again, pulling the gates further apart. He hears a shoulder pop and the man cries out, gritting his teeth.

“I’ll do it.… I’ll do it.… Just get the gun out!”

Gregor stops pressing the fob and pulls the gun down. He puts it to the man’s face and stuffs it deep in his mouth right to the back of his throat. The man gags. Gregor stares in his eyes for a moment, then turns away and rummages through the pile of clothes. He takes the man’s underwear and puts the gun back in his mouth, forcing it as far as it will go, then stretches the underwear over his head, holding the gun in place. He goes to the dead body, pulls it back across the gravel drive, props it against his car in a sitting position, then starts to undress it.

He starts with the shoes and pants, then unzips the jacket and pulls the t-shirt over the bloody mess of a head. Gregor is sweating now as he steps out of his shoes, takes his own trousers off, and pulls and forces them onto the dead body, turning it over and tugging the waistband up. There are smears of blood and brain on his face and sweat drips from him as he takes off his own jacket and shirt and wrestles these onto the corpse. Then he steps back into his shoes, and, naked but for his underwear, socks and shoes, turns the newly suited corpse around on the ground so that his feet are close to the driver door. He opens the door and walks around to the other side of the car, climbs in and leans over to haul the body into the car, legs first. He moves from one side of the car to the other, pushing and lifting, dragging and pulling, puffing and heaving, the air around him clouding with heat, until the dead body is in the driver’s seat, lying over the passenger seat, over the crumpled shopping bags, shattered glass, crushed kale, and leaked egg yolk.

Gregor picks up his gun and goes back to the man stretched across the open gate and tears the underwear from his head. Long threads of saliva drop and drool from his mouth, soaking the barrel and the butt of the gun. He retches as Gregor pulls the gun from his mouth, and gasps great noisy breaths as Gregor walks over to his pile of clothes. He wipes the gun on a shirt and then goes through the pile until he finds a phone.

He walks back across the gravel and puts the nose of the gun against the man’s wound, pushing, and says, “Give me the code.” The man moans out a number and Gregor turns away from him, entering the code on the phone.

He goes to the car and leans in, putting the gun in the corpse’s hand, then steps back to take a picture. He pauses for a second. He walks around the car, leaning in the other side, and picks bits of gravel from the broken skull and bloodied brain, then wipes his hands on his sweaty sticky torso and thighs. He steps back again, taking a picture from one side of the car and then the other. He retrieves the gun and walks back to the gate. The naked man with his legs and arms spread, stretched on the iron bars, is still grimacing in pain and puddles of spit and blood have gathered beneath him.

Gregor steps back in front of him, his skin glistening in the moonlight. His face and body are smeared with sweat, blood, and brain. He smiles for a second, his teeth flashing white, then his face straightens again.

“I’m going to let you down and you’re going to make the call. You’re going to send Stranstec those pictures. That’s me with my head blown off. You see? I’m dead. It’s all done and I’m dead. He needs to come down here and see this place. It’s full of Spiral. You will make the call. Don’t fuck with me.”

* * *

Lucy wakes up on the couch with the blanket still over her. The TV is off, and the house is dark. She stands up and wraps the blanket around her as she walks upstairs. It must be the middle of the night. There are no lights on and a silence which feels like it has been undisturbed for hours. The smooth banister feels cold, and the stairs seem to go on forever in the darkness as she goes slowly up step after step.

When she reaches the top she switches on the light and the chocolate carpeted corridor looms in front of her. The swirling paisley patterns on the walls are frozen and lifeless, all of the motion and energy in that purple and silver edged pattern has disappeared and she feels like she is walking into a flat photograph. She hears running water, the sound of the shower as she passes the bathroom. The water against the tiles sounds like static interference on an old radio.

When she gets into her room, the eyes of pretty girl on the verge of tears follow her and she walks to the window to draw the curtains. Below her, off to the right, she sees a glow. It’s the barbecue. There is still smoke rising from it and she sees hanging from the side an edge of shimmering blue material. She kneels on the cushioned sill, cups her hands around her eyes, and presses her face against the window.

The security gate is open and there is a car she hasn’t seen before parked next to Gregor’s car. The shimmering blue hanging from the barbecue bowl is the dress she wore. She goes to her wardrobe and opens it. The hangers are bare, swaying slightly. Cold fear runs through her, and she knows she has to leave now. She turns again to the window. This could be it, he could have come at last, but she doesn’t recognise the car.

The gate. The gate is open. She has to go now.

She runs to her door and pulls it open. The sound of the shower stops suddenly, like the radio signal being switched off. She runs past the doors and to the stairs. As she turns the crook of the staircase she hears a door open and close above her. She runs to the front door and it is locked. The lights go on.

She turns to see Gregor coming down the stairs toward her, naked, his skin glistening, still wet. His eyes are wide and intense and his hair is greased back away from his face, dark and shiny in the light of the hallway. There is still soap on his calves, running down to his feet as he gets closer.

She turns her head away and sees, through the door of the parlour room, a man tied naked to a chair with his head flopped forward. The man raises his head. He has tape over his mouth and his face is bloody. An eyeball is hanging out of its dark socket, touching his bloody chest. Her insides are torn from her as she sees that it is him. It is Stranstec.

She sinks to her knees as Gregor reaches her. She’s holding her hands up in front of her face, starting to sob with fear. He grabs her by the hair and yanks her up, then pulls her up the stairs. She is half crawling, screaming and sobbing and he pulls her up step by step. When they get to the corridor he drags her to the door on the left, which has always been locked. He opens it and drags her inside. There is another stairwell, narrow and dark, and he climbs each step, pulling her behind him. Lucy is shrieking, her voice deadened by the close walls.

When they get to the top he lets her go and she crawls away from him, to the other side of the room, huddling against the wall, pulling her knees up to her chest. He stands opposite her, his naked body pale and shining, his head seeming too big for his body, like a grotesque ventriloquist’s doll that has broken free and is ready to exact a terrible revenge.

There are no windows in this room, there is no bed. The walls are grey and there is a thin mattress against the wall. In the corner there is a small tin sink with a single tap. There is a small wooden table with a lamp on it. That is the only light source. Gregor is standing in front of the open door, the narrow staircase behind him.

Lucy tries to speak. “Please Gregor, please. I’m so sorry, I’ll do anything,” she tries to say, but her words are stolen from her by sobs and gasps for air.

Gregor puts his face right to hers and bellows, the force of his voice shaking the room. “You thought you could play me? You thought you could manipulate me? Me? No-one can manipulate me! No-one plays me! No-one! I took you in and gave you everything. Now I am taking it! I am taking it all away.”

“He made me, he made me do it. He made me, he made wait at Archie’s and said … he said that you would never be able to resist me, but I don’t want to be with him, I want to be with you, please Gregor, let me, please, please I’ll do anything for you.”