Black Butterfly (10 page)

Please
, he says.
Stop the car, sir. You’re crazy.

I scream with laughter. Crazy? Crazy? I’ve never felt so good in my life! I throw the car into fourth and ram down my sandalled foot on the accelerator but it’s not fast enough. I want my foot to go clean through the floor.

Ahead of us, boxy cars flash by. Ugly, squalid, stupid little cars. I jab the heel of my hand against the horn and the hot evening splits apart with the shrill blast.
Come on!
I yell.
Come on! Out of the blasted way!

Tail-lights bob and weave ahead like animals’ eyes caught in a flashlight, and the highway becomes a kind of tunnel as we
tear along, swerving round other vehicles, street lamps blurring, neon advertising signs jumping out of the darkness: smiling girls with toothpaste smiles. And I’m grinning now and my face aches with it and the shrieking laughter that I can’t keep down.

And the concierge looks scared stiff and that makes me laugh even more.

Slow down, mister!

The giggle rises in my guts again and then bubbles to my lips. I rock back and forth, back and forth, gripping onto the steering wheel for grim death or grim life, my teeth bared in a rictus of pleasure. And I floor the accelerator because we have to go faster, faster,
faster.

Houses that are just corrugated roofs glitter in the neon wash. We zip past and I try to overtake a fat Mercedes. Its horn screeches in response. I catch a glimpse of the driver’s bleached face and he looks so scared that I laugh again and then swing the Chevy towards him. There’s a big crunch and its loudness surprises me but I like the sound so I do it again.

Jesus!
screams the concierge.
Pull over, man! Pull over!

But I ignore him completely. Instead, I swing the car left and then roar back towards the Mercedes. The other car’s left headlight explodes into fragments that scree past us like comet dust. I see the driver’s face again and it’s comical, wildly animated, his mouth jabbering curses at me. He tries to drop back but I don’t want to let him, so I grapple with the gears and smash the Chevrolet into him again.

I feel long and lean and brilliant. The concierge is sweating, pale. He grips his seat and screws shut his eyes.

What’s the matter?
I cry.
It’s fun! It’s like
Ben Hur! Ben HIM!

For God’s sake
, he hisses, and his teeth are clamped together.
You’re gonna kill us! You’re gonna kill the both of us!

I shake my head and find I can’t stop. The pulsing pounding is like a marching band inside my temples. And the slamming of my heart is hot and furious as lava, coursing through every vein, every sinew.

But then the Mercedes suddenly drops back and I’m totally blind-sided and he hammers into the rear of me. The concierge yelps in panic as we lurch forward and then I’m disappointed because I lose control of the car. I grapple with the dimpled steering wheel but my hands are slick with sweat and the Chevrolet leaps into the oncoming lane. There’s a fresh chorus of enraged horns. It’s a fanfare. I laugh again.

Oh God–Oh God–Oh God!
whines the concierge, clasping his arms around himself as a pair of huge headlights rear up before us. Then there’s a stomach-deep thump and then a whiplash that makes me feel sick and we’re flung violently to the right and then there’s nothing but a skidding swirl as the car spins off the road. Headlights and tail-lights and neon signs and bar signs screw up into fireworks and then the car crunches onto its side and I feel heat as though an oven door has swung open. Then sudden cool and I know I’ve been thrown clear and…

…and the light is strange and different and I taste coarse sand in my mouth.

I look around quickly. Distantly, the black ocean glitters
under a half-moon. The Chevrolet is on its side next to a knot of palm trees, flames licking at its rear. I struggle forward on my elbows. My heart is still racing and my mouth is parched. Through the shattered windscreen, I see the concierge, his head lolling on his chest, and I know he’s dead.

But I don’t care about him. Why should I? I have to get going. And the pulsing pounding is like thunder, blocking out all other sounds.

I drag myself under some palms just as the fire takes hold and the car explodes. I turn my face away from the fierce orange flame and then I hear another car. It screams across the beach and Kingdom Kum gets out and runs over to me. Then his long fingers are on my mouth and something bitter is dropped on my tongue and he’s forcing me to swallow. But I’m not interested in him because I see something that doesn’t make sense. In the hard, white sand is one of the Chevrolet’s wing mirrors. It’s cracked in two but in the moonlight and the glow from the wreck, my own face is reflected back. And it’s the face of an old man.

A
man with an unkempt moustache was shining a pencil-thin beam of light in my eyes. I could see nothing except him, pooled in darkness. I recoiled, then realised that his thumb was holding open my eyelid. I cursed him–his fingers stank of nicotine–and then there was a hand on my arm and a voice: ‘Easy, baby.
Easy
.’

Then sleep crashed over me like the surf on the bone-white Kingston sand.

I turned over, hot and anxious, the bedsheets too tight, swaddling me. I cried out and then felt a hand on my jaw again, but this time a gentle, cool hand. I tasted the same bitterness in my mouth, though this was assuaged immediately by a drink of water. It spilled over my chin and onto my chest, but I didn’t care about that. Sleep dragged me down once more.

I felt a bar of sunlight on my face and was suddenly awake. I took in the iron-framed bed, the white-walled room, the ridiculous pyjamas into which I’d been decanted.

Kingdom Kum, searching me with wide-open eyes, sat opposite.

‘Hey,’ he said.

I blinked.

‘How’re you feeling?’

I rubbed a hand over my bristly chin. I felt ancient, fragile as a disinterred mummy, and my muscles were weak. I remembered the feeling from my schooldays. Trying to button my shirt after a freezing cross-country run. Hands too numb. Why was I thinking about school?

‘Where am I?’ I said at last.

‘Private hospital in Kingston.’

I shivered inside my pyjamas, muscles throbbing, hamstrings aching. ‘Lovely place,’ I murmured. I felt my eyes roll in my head and made an effort to focus. ‘Kingston-upon-Thames. Leafy. Very leafy. Hm?’

Kingdom Kum got up and poured a glass of water. ‘You don’t remember what happened?’

I took the water and then noticed my own trembling hand. My delicate, veiny, age-spotted hand. ‘I know you, don’t I?’ I said, smiling at the boy. He nodded. ‘And there was something about butterflies. I’m rather fond of butterflies.’ I drank some of the water.

Kingdom Kum looked worried.

I shivered again and closed my eyes, fragments of memory spangling and flaring in my mind’s eye like a shaken kaleidoscope. I thrust the glass back at the boy, fighting down the sensation.

‘It’s okay, baby,’ soothed Kingdom. ‘Take it easy.’ He stroked the hair back off my forehead. ‘Thought I’d never catch you. I got the antidote into you just in time.’ He took a glass tube from his pocket and rattled it. ‘I liberated them from the clinic, remember?’

I shook my head and laughed. ‘You had me worried back there. I thought we were gonna lose you.’

‘I didn’t know you cared,’ I said. ‘Oh, that was very rude of me. Why am I being rude to you? You’re very, very pretty.’

‘I couldn’t tell you who I was working for, baby—’

I grinned stupidly. ‘No?’

‘No. Orders from the top. I was to keep you out of trouble. Gently encourage you to quit the field.’ Kingdom beamed suddenly, wonderfully. ‘But there ain’t no stopping the great Lucifer Box, is there?’

‘I expect not!’ I cried. Then: ‘Who’s Lucifer Box?’ My mind clouded again and I sipped at the water like a child.

‘You saw Mr Playfair–you remember that?’

I shook my head. Then nodded, eagerly. ‘Playfair, yes. Yes, I know someone of that name.’

‘And then where did you go?’

I frowned, trying desperately to remember. I knew I wanted to please the young man. He was extremely alluring. But nothing came. Nothing except the sweet sensation of the pulsing blood in my temples, the rush of adrenalin and a beautiful car that I was urging on and on and on…

‘I remember a Chevrolet.’ I looked over at the boy, and the soft line of his neck and jaw brought back other, even sweeter sensations. ‘And I remember you.’ I winked at him. ‘Fancy a fuck?’

The boy laughed, then looked down, eyelashes beating a slow tattoo.

I held out my hands before me. ‘It’s such a shame I’m so old, my dear boy. You’re a looker and then some. My God, in my day…’ I trailed off. ‘Funny, but somehow it doesn’t seem that long ago.
Young.
Vital. So alive!’

Kingdom leaned forward and took my hand. ‘It wasn’t so long ago, baby.’

I pushed him away. ‘No pity, please.’

‘No, man. You were on fire! You came to me and I wanted you,’ persisted Kingdom. ‘It was cool.’

I sniggered. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘I mean it! It doesn’t matter how old you are. I
like
you.’

I shrugged. What was the boy talking about? ‘Butterflies,’ I said suddenly. ‘I wish I was a butterfly. In a chrysalis.’ I gave a little sigh. ‘A Black Butterfly.’

The door clicked open to reveal a smiling man. He was dressed in an absurdly colourful shirt and colonial shorts. His milk-white knees were as knobbly as golf balls.

‘Oh!’ I cried. ‘It’s Mr Playfair, isn’t it? I was just telling my young friend here that I knew someone of that name.’

‘Hello, old love,’ said the newcomer, frowning. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘How long have I been here, Mr Playfair?’

He dropped into a chair and crossed his legs. ‘Just a day. Probably feels like a lifetime, eh?’

I clamped shut my eyes; my addled mind felt as if it was awash with soup. ‘I wish I could remember,’ I tutted, thumping the side of my head in frustration. ‘Why can’t I remember?’

Playfair exchanged a worried look with Kingdom Kum and then patted the bedclothes. ‘Listen, old love. You mustn’t think about all that. You’ve been in the wars, and according to Mr Kum here, you were ruddy lucky to escape unscathed. I think it’s time we got you home.’

I sat up, sharply. ‘What?’

‘Look, Box, old man, you’ve done more than enough. Terrific service to King and country. Queen and country too! It’s time to let it go, old love. Now…’ he opened his jacket and pulled out a rectangle of paper ‘…first class back to Blighty. What do you say?’

I stared at him, mouth agape, desperately trying to order my muddled thoughts. ‘Home?’ I said. ‘Yes. That would be lovely.’

‘Good!’ cried Playfair. ‘Excellent!’

I hardly noticed as he rose and went to the door.

Kingdom Kum crossed to the bed and sat down on it. ‘There’s no shame in calling it a day, baby.’

I shut my eyes and sank back on the pillow. ‘Very tired now. Wish I could remember, but…’

Playfair came back in, and I opened my eyes. Two young men of about eighteen were trotting dutifully behind him. Blond and fit, they were in some kind of uniform. Long khaki shorts and socks, broad-brimmed hats hanging on a string behind their backs.

‘Hello!’ I called gaily. ‘Who are you?’

‘This is Heathcoat,’ Playfair told me, slowly, as though addressing a child. ‘And this is Amory. They’re part of Lord Battenburg’s personal security team. But I don’t suppose you remember any of that?’

Then, all of a sudden, everything was clear. My faculties snapped back into place like an elastic band.

‘Oh my God!’ I yelled. ‘That’s it! That’s
it
!’

Playfair frowned. ‘That’s what?’

I stared at the newcomers. ‘They’re his bodyguard? Battenburg’s bodyguard?’

Playfair nodded. ‘Part of it. Sends just the right message, don’t you think? Twenty strapping young men from different nations. What could be better? I say, old love, you’re sounding more like your old self!’

I rubbed my hand over my face and tried to get out of bed but a wave of wooziness overwhelmed me.

‘Hey, baby,’ said Kingdom, reaching towards me. ‘Slow down.’

I pushed him angrily away. My mind was clearing all the time. ‘The New Scout Movement! Melissa ffawthawte!’ I shouted. ‘They’re the front for A.C.R.O.N.I.M.!’

Playfair chuckled. ‘Now steady on, old love.’

‘Don’t patronise me, Playfair,’ I snapped. ‘It’s coming back to me. It’s all coming back to me. You have to listen!’

‘You’re not well,’ said Playfair sternly.

Heathcoat and Amory gazed down at me, icy-blue eyes giving nothing away.

‘Playfair,’ I said, patiently, ‘
Allan.
My son is here in Jamaica. Attending the New Scout Movement’s Great Jamboree…’

‘Good. Excellent. Glad to see you’ve got the lad on the right track.’

‘Listen!’ I hissed. ‘Just listen!’ I put my hands to my temples, struggling to focus. ‘After…after I left you in the hotel, I went down to try and see him. Yes–that’s right. While I was there, I met a woman I’d last seen at a Scout camp back in England.’

‘Surely no surprise there?’

‘She had a tattoo, Playfair. On her breast! A Black Butterfly. I was knocked out—’

‘I’m not surprised,’ chuckled Playfair.

I glared at him. ‘Then I was tortured. And then there was a voice! The voice of Dr Fetch! The whole New Scout Movement is a cover for A.C.R.O.N.I.M. They’re back!’

‘A.C.R.O.N.I.M.?’ scoffed Playfair, shaking his head. ‘Get a ruddy grip, old love. Sooner we send you back home, the better.’

‘Why would I lie?’ I turned to Kingdom and grabbed at him. ‘
You
must believe me! Surely you believe me, Kingdom?’

But the boy just looked helplessly at me. I could see the doubt and confusion in his almond-shaped eyes.

Playfair sighed. ‘No one’s suggesting you’re lying, Box. You’re just a little confused. Not surprising after what you’ve been through, is it?’

‘You insufferable idiots!’ I roared. ‘You think you’ve got this whole situation controlled. Down pat! But there’s more to it. The Scouts—’

Playfair held out his hands, palms upward. ‘I understand. I really do. You can’t bear the idea of packing it all in. And
then somebody fed you that bloody awful narcotic and you’ve got things all upside down.’

‘Yes!’ I cried. ‘Someone did feed me the drug. A.C.R.O.N.I.M.!’

Playfair shot a pleading look at Kingdom Kum who just shrugged. ‘In your mind,’ he said, ‘you’ve made up this story, resurrecting the great enemy of your heyday.’

‘It’s all true, damn you!’ I glared up at the bland, imperturbable faces of the Scouts. ‘And what’s more,’ I spat out, ‘they know it.’

‘Now that’s enough,’ barked Playfair. ‘I’ve been more than indulgent with you out of respect for your position. But this really is the limit.’

I shot a last appealing look to Kingdom Kum as Playfair turned to Heathcoat and Amory. ‘Escort Mr Box to the airport, would you, boys? He has a plane to catch.’ He tossed over the airline ticket. ‘One way.’