The Tyrant's Novel (26 page)

I was to be made the emperor's caged canary.

The Overguard dressed the notches in my wrist and gave me a suit of nondescript army fatigues to wear home—they would deliver my clothes to me, dry-cleaned, later, they promised, as if it meant a great deal to me. Chaddock met me at the palace door and led me down the steps.

Going home with the blindfold on, I asked, Captain?

Present! he told me.

Was it you brought Mrs. Carter along to kill Louise James?

What?

I think you heard me the first time.

There was a long pause. The engine hummed. I imagined the Overguard exchanging glances.

How could anyone organize a thing like that?

While I was upstairs with her, I explained, you or someone go to the old woman. You say, Look, he's enjoying a woman. Your son will never enjoy a woman! That knife, too. It didn't look a Mrs. Carter sort of knife . . .

Stop, said Chaddock softly to the driver. When obeyed he left the front seat and opened the back door for me and ripped my blindfold off. Get out, Mr. Sheriff!

I obeyed him, too benumbed to feel fear or abandonment, being reduced, it seemed, to the mere span of my three small sores of gouged flesh, the only three small voices of pain which proved I had emerged from the confrontation with Great Uncle. I got out of the car under my own power though, without any involvement one way or another by my backseat escorts.

He took me to a high wall which rose above us to the crumbling villas of an old suburb named Saltash.

Don't know what you're saying, sir, he said softly. Really don't.

It was a great temptation to believe him.

Wouldn't be so snaky, he assured me.

I couldn't honestly say he would be.

Say it was a set scene. Then someone else arranged it. Someone higher. And more secret. See? Okay. Don't talk in front of my men like that. Might get back.

Illogically I held up my bandaged wrist. I've got the marks, I told him. I'm in the clan now.

Back in the car, he said.

I accepted his logic for the moment, and rejoined the limo. As we arrived outside my block of flats, I saw the corner of the fatality had already been hosed clean of Louise's passionate and decent blood.

I took note of that, and then entered the building trembling. There was the old sofa only she had used. In my living room would be minor untidiness, the mark of our failed adventure of the flesh.

Behind me, Chaddock called, All right, Mr. Sheriff?

Yes, I said, dismissively.

I rose up the stairs alone as he watched, entered my apartment, and sat most of the night regarding a rumple our hunger for each other had made in a red and blue mat by my desk. I could not absorb any more phenomena than that; I could not bring my mind to more comprehensive exercises. And my heart creaked now for the inconsolable spirit of Louise James.

Even that next sleep-deprived day, I began to consider my options. I rang McBrien to begin with. He had heard about the James tragedy and hoped I had recovered. He had intended to call in and see me about it and other things, but he'd been all day at the ministry being briefed by experts from other government departments, and had been packing all night. He and Sonia were off in four days. Their child would be born in a top-class Parisian hospital.

And thank you, thank you, Alan.

What's your flight number?

He gave it to me.

I'll try to see you off, you miserable bastard, I told him, just to make sure you are at last off my back. You are absolved of my care now?

You're your own man, yes. But don't do anything that will reflect badly.

What if I do?

He thought about it. Please, just relax. Enjoy the rewards. I intend to.

Louise's body was still at the morgue, and Andrew, who had undertaken a campaign to have it sent back to relatives in Houston, with whom he had already spoken by phone and who were more than willing to pay that expense, asked me to come around to discuss it, perhaps to employ me as a witness to the crime to write to the authorities and plead that the body be released.

On the way to Andrew's, I told my driver, I'll be going to the airport tomorrow. To see a friend off.

Oh, he said. I'm sorry, Mr. Sheriff. The airport's a place I'm not permitted to take you.

The airport? How many other places?

None, he told me cheerily. Just the airport for now.

That's good, I said, because later in the day I wanted to go and see a friend who helped me out with a book. He's a barge captain down in Ibis Bay.

Certainly, Mr. Sheriff.

Since the airport's out of the question, we might as well go in the morning now.

For I trusted McBrien's Air France flight to be off in time.

Do you know a fellow named Captain Chaddock? I then asked him. A captain in the Overguard?

My driver said, I haven't had that pleasure, sir.

Well, I said, you're bossier than he is.

The driver chose to laugh and drove me to Andrew's place. Grace answered the door. What's wrong with your wrist? she asked me.

A graze, I told her.

The three of us, Andrew, Grace, and I, sat together in the pleasant afternoon uttering the necessary clichés with which the death of the young and the handsome needed to be honored.

What I'm expecting next, murmured Andrew, is that they'll come and ask for her program tapes. But I've already had them remastered, so that we can post them out to PBS. I mean, there's already a lot of speculation in the American papers about this death.

Admirable Andrew. I accepted from him the name and address of the appropriate official in the Ministry of Justice to whom I should write about Louise. I thought I had one literary service left in me. This one.

I wrote my plea that night, and slept lightly but at length. In the morning I checked with the Air France office to see that McBrien's plane had left. It had. So I went down to my car and driver.

We drove up over dusty Beaumont, by the hopeful markets, past the women gathering their tainted water, Mrs. Clancy-like, as children worth a dollar yelled after us. Men in ragged clothes were busy on pittance-paying tasks of an ill-defined nature. The broken promises of the world and of regimes were seamed into their faces like grit and legible in their bent backs.

We parked at last by the teahouse and the fuel-sodden soccer ground. You're free, I told my driver. Take some time off. Come back in two hours.

In fact I doubted he would go, and was delighted to see him edge away past the oil-sodden soccer field and into a side street. I feared he might not go as far as I hoped.

I set off across the pier and went looking for McCauley's barge. It was as I remembered when I'd done it with McBrien, a slog over many decks. Some backtracking and sidetracking, until the barge,
Joanna,
presented itself.

McCauley's deckhand, Bernie, was all I found aboard. Pity you came all the way out here, he told me. McCauley was back on land, in the teahouse. So I hiked and vaulted hoses and barrels and gunwales back ashore and approached the oily awning of the teahouse, hoping to look as if I merely sought refreshment.

McCauley, himself grimy and seamed, but appearing wise to the earth, was drinking Turkish coffee inside the place with a man who had the air of being the proprietor. Seeing me approach, he muttered something, and the proprietor rose and went back to his zinc counter.

I smiled broadly at McCauley. Do you remember me?

Yeah. You were going to make a film about us.

Some problems arose with that. But you're still in the business.

Why not? Sit down if you like.

As soon as I took a seat, I leaned across to him. I told him, You have to get me out.

He immediately rose. Don't you damn well dare say that to me here or anywhere.

They've taken my passport.

Why should I care? What's wrong with your wrist?

A graze, I told him.

For God's dear sake, don't even say these things here. Come out the back.

He rose and led me through a bead curtain to a yard where there were a number of rooms for rent by truck drivers and bargees, and a pungent toilet and washhouse. From the door of the washhouse, the bitterness of human ammonia emerged boldly to take on the general air of oil.

We entered deep into the room, a shower in one corner, grimy underwear hung diagonally, the undercleaned toilet in the other rear corner. I followed, standing amidst lank, damp laundry.

Who was that fellow who brought you? I saw you start out looking for me.

A driver, I said. I don't know him. Why didn't you come out and tell me not to waste my time deck jumping?

Hell. I knew you'd get me into trouble. And you're still trying to.

The driver hasn't even seen you. He's off somewhere.

Oh yes?

Yes. I want you to put me in one of your barrels and ship me out.

Prime crude, he laughed. Don't be an idiot. You'd smother.

Punch a hole in the top for air, I urged him.

What makes you think I do this sort of thing? I don't do this sort of thing. And never have. So what gives you the damned right to say otherwise?

Nothing, I hurried to say. I'm pleading with you to consider the idea, that's all. If you can transport oil in a can, it struck me you could ship someone human. Me. I'm not saying you do these things. I'm saying you could! That's all! I spread my hands, pleading.

Can't be done, McCauley calmly declared. Sorry. It's not my business.

I'm pleading, I told him. I'll pay whatever's in my means.

McCauley promised, halfway like a confession, If you're a grass or a troublemaker, I'll finish you myself. He certainly had the meaty, hairy hands for it.

We know all the Overalls, he further told me. We've got them right here, in our pockets. They'll believe me, not you.

That's not the question. I'm asking you to do this one thing, once.

What's your name again?

I told him. He wrote it down.

Stay here in the teahouse. Don't make a single call, or the owner will spot it and you'll be gone. I'll be back in an hour. Read a book or something. Write one for all I damn well care.

He went to leave, but stepped back again into the pungency from the doorway of the washhouse. He was full of a wild irritation. Look, if I normally did this stuff, ask yourself whether I'd still be skippering a barge. No! I'd be driving round like some fucking prince.

He shook his head and withdrew again, and gestured from the door. Go on, go back and drink tea. I hope your damn bladder bursts.

I sat in the shop, dejectedly drinking tea and reading a newspaper. The hour, even though it proved in the end to be only forty-five minutes, was interminable, of course, but I was full of a kind of patience, since that was one of the few virtues left to me to practice. I kept looking out at the pier to see if my driver had returned.

At last, McCauley came down the stairwell behind the zinc counter and, glancing all around, crossed the room to sit with me.

So, he told me, my Overall friends say your girlfriend was stabbed.

She wasn't my girlfriend. And they have the killer.

But you're scared they might let the killer go and turn to you, aren't you, old mate?

His eyes glittered and I could tell he was relieved that I had a normal, predictable criminal motive, not a volatile, political one. He even put a fraternal hand on my shoulder. Look, he said, I had a lot of trouble—this twenty-two-year-old . . . He exhaled, a near whistle, to show how close-run a thing that had been for all participants.

Did you kill her? he asked.

No, I was walking with her.

But did you pay the person who did do her?

No. I swear.

But then it struck me he would respect me more if there were a lingering doubt about that.

They're all mad, you know, he told me. Women. They're all mad.

I shrugged. It would not hurt me to convey the idea that I was an ordinary fellow beset by woman troubles.

I just about came to the conclusion, he told me. Live with one woman and live in one lunatic asylum. Mess around with three and live in three asylums.

I understand, I assured him, trampling on Sarah's sage residual presence.

Suddenly he was right up to my face, and full of spit. If you're playing a game with us, he told me, you'll be laughing where your throat is, my son.

I nodded.

All right. It'll cost you five thousand U.S.

Where in the hell do I get that?

You've got a U.S. dollar account, don't you? I thought you were a swank.

Yes, but the authorities would be notified if I took out that amount.

Say you went to a certain branch. What if you had the name of a sensible fellow at that branch?

It might be a help. I don't want to get arrested at a bank.

I'm not involved, declared McCauley. I'll be protected by the local Overalls, so you needn't even expect to be believed if you say my name.

I understand.

He began writing out the details in block letters on a card, and passed it to me.

Say you want the money for a car. So the rest of today and most of tomorrow, you'd better go looking at cars for sale. You'll all but close a deal, too. The next morning, day after tomorrow, go to the Bay View Café at Beaumont, near the Eastside markets. Do you know those markets?

Very well, I assured him.

Be using the toilet at nine-thirty. This won't be easy for you, you know? Not that I know anything anyhow.

That's okay. I can get to that bank branch, no problem.

Holy God, I mean
after
that! That's when it won't be easy. You'd better be able to handle claustrophobia.

Okay. I'd rather not suffocate, though.

No guarantees. But someone will do his best to prevent that.

Drop me to any ship, and as soon as I'm out of that barrel, I'll claim asylum.

Yeah, yeah. What would I know? Why do you think you'll be on my barge?

Please, make it yours.

For familiarity would be a comfort and a kind of guarantee.

We'll see, said McCauley. By the way, nothing to do with me. But if you want to take out more than five thousand, you can. But put the excess in your sock, so they don't take that too.