DONNA AND THE FATMAN (Crime Thriller Fiction) (24 page)
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Authors: Helen Zahavi
‘Dip the lights,’ he said softly, ‘and open the boot.’
He climbed outside, pulling the girl behind him, the fags still clutched in her thumb-tied hands. The air was damp on his face, moist with spores and country things. Oscar went round to the back and unlocked the petrol cap. He flicked on a torch and peered inside. Henry shook his head.
‘Not now, okay? You can do that after.’
He held her by the arm and lifted up the boot.
‘Got a job for you, first.’
The boy shone his torch inside.
‘With the spade, you mean?’
‘I want a nice little hole.’
‘I fucking hate digging.’
‘You swearing, son?’
Oscar hefted the spade. He flung the girl a poisonous glance.
‘I reckon
she
should.’
‘You retarded, Oswald?’
‘I’m only suggesting.’
The boy shrugged his shoulders, slouched morosely off. There was the briefest intermission, then the sound of reluctant shovelling in loose, unfrozen earth. Henry drew her close, bent towards her ear.
‘And then there were two . . . ’
H
He pulled open his tie and loosened the belt, listening to Oscar grunting in the dark. Switching hands, still holding her tight, he eased off the jacket, let it fall to the ground. Shame about the suit, he thought, but a bloke had to do what a bloke had to do. He watched her eyes as they locked on the holster, saw panic ripple through her face. I’m me, he thought, and I’m fucking great. He heard the young guy breaking sweat, and felt the slutbitch start to quiver, and judged himself a happy man.
‘Don’t worry, sugar . . . ’
Unzipping his trousers.
‘Be over soon.’
He felt her trying to push him away. Still tied at the thumbs, like a supplicant.
‘It’s okay,’ he soothed, ‘I’m not gonna hurt you.’
And he smacked her face with the back of his hand. Sounds loud in the forest, when a man like him slaps a girl like her.
‘Got to pay for it, sweetheart. It’s time to collect.’
The warmth in the groin. The chill in the air. The seductive scrape of a metal spade. Oh joy, he thought. Oh decadence.
And what of her, the heart and soul, the beating core, the reason they were there? What hope was in her battered head, what thoughts conspired to flood her brain, what sweet illusions of another life? You could have split her skull and poked inside, but there’s nothing there. There’s just a vacant space, just an emptiness, because she’s waiting for oblivion. She shivered in the frozen air. Not long, she realized. Be over soon. Oh mother come and help me now.
He pushed her back against the car. Untied her thumbs.
‘Over the bonnet, if you wouldn’t mind.’
The relentless scrape of a metal spade. She was shaking, now, she was trembling bad. She shoved a ciggy in her mouth. He plucked it out and tossed it away.
‘Come on, gorgeous. You know it makes sense.’
‘Just one . . . ’ she whispered.
‘We’re wasting time.’
‘Just let me . . . ’
‘No.’
‘Just one last fag.’
‘You begging?’
‘No, I—’
‘You begging?’
‘Yes.’
He turned his head. The boy had stopped digging and was quietly watching.
‘Should we let her, son?’
‘Just a puff, boss, shall we? I mean we don’t want to spoil her.’
Henry nodded.
‘Mustn’t do that.’
So he let her fumble with the ciggies. Watched her move about a yard away. She had purple shadows beneath her eyes. Half-dead anyway, he told himself.
‘You got to answer, sugar, for all your crimes.’
‘I know I do.’
She slid a fag between her lips and struck a match. Sucked the filth inside her lungs. Not long now, she told herself. Be over soon.
‘But first we have to answer for Joey, see?’
She took a breath of forest air. All finished, she realized. God save me now. One final drag on the nicotine, and she tossed the flame into the petrol tank. There was an endless moment of infinite horror, and the sudden bliss of nothingness.
Then rest in peace. Then fuck them all. Then Donna bitch in paradise.
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