The Bullet Trick (36 page)

'Sure?'

'Christ, Sylvie, I’m in this mess because you decided to give that fucking pumped-up freak a blowjob.'

'You’re in this mess because you decided to smash him on the nose. If you’d kept your fists out of things all we would have had was a bit of embarrassment.'

I stopped at the door to my room and slid the keycard into the lock. The tiny light above the handle stayed a stubborn red.

'He’s Ulla’s boyfriend.'

'So then it was between her and him, or maybe her and me. It had fuck-all to do with you.'

I turned the card around, swiped it again and shoved. The door stayed firmly locked.

'He used you.'

'Maybe I wanted to be used. Face facts, William, you can’t get it up so you don’t want anyone else getting any.'

I took her by the arm.

'You’d be the last girl I’d want to fuck. I’d be afraid my dick would go septic and fall off.' I felt my fingers digging into her flesh. She reached up and kissed me. Her breath was sharp, her lips salty. I thought of where her mouth had been and pushed her away. 'If I’d wanted to taste that big poof’s muck I would’ve blown him myself.'

'Fuck you, William.'

'No, fuck you, you mad bitch.'

Sylvie turned away. I watched her walk slowly back down the corridor towards the lift then tried the card again. The lock glowed green. I pushed open the door, hesitated, then went in.

It was the stench that hit me first. I half gagged, trying to place it, then suddenly I knew. It was my smell magnified a hundredfold. A dim slice of light shone in from the corridor. It wasn’t much to see by, but it was enough to reveal the few possessions I’d brought to Berlin strewn around the shadows. My clothes had been dragged from the wardrobe, the duvet and pillows pulled from the bed. And somewhere, smashed amongst the debris, was a bottle of expensive aftershave that no longer smelt suave. I picked up the paperback novel I’d been reading. Its pages had been ripped from their cover. It was a shame. Now I’d never know how things worked out.

I pressed the light switch; there was a dull click but the room remained in gloom. It was a fitting end to the evening. I’d been beaten up, lost my job, alienated the girl I fancied, forfeited my money and fallen out with the only friend I’d made in the city. Robbery and a dead light bulb dovetailed perfectly. Way down the corridor I heard the lift doors breathe open then chime shut.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck.'

I snibbed the lock in the slim hope that Sylvie would decide to come back, then closed the door softly behind me and checked my watch. It was 3 a.m. All across the city people were snug in bed. Loved ones spooned together, rosy-cheeked children sucking their thumbs as they slumbered. I moved towards the window to let in whatever light the street offered, or maybe to watch Sylvie walking away. My foot hit against the whisky bottle lying on the floor and I bent over to pick it up, reminding myself that friends needn’t always be flesh and blood. Perhaps something snagged the edge of my vision because I turned in the direction of the bathroom door just as it started to open.

Montgomery looked older, as if retirement wasn’t suiting him. My waters shifted and I balled my fists, taking a step backwards. Montgomery shook his head sadly.

'You’re a bloody mess.'

His voice was soft, concerned. My own voice sounded gruff, but more confident than I felt.

'A bit like this room then.'

'Yeah,' He smiled a melancholy smile. 'Sorry about that, I thought I could save us both a bit of bother.'

I sat down on the bed. 'Maybe I’m getting thick in my old age, but I’m still in the dark.' I looked at the unlit room and amazed myself by laughing. 'Obviously I’m in the dark. What are you doing here?'

Montgomery took a bulb out of his pocket and screwed it into the bedside lamp. A soft light showed up the full mess of the room.

'Better?'

I looked around at my scattered belongings. The ex-policeman had done more than search. His assault on my possessions had been furious. The duvet and pillows had been sliced open, coating the floor in a mess of foam and feathers. My jackets were shredded. The jaws of my suitcase gaped wide, its red lining slit and lolling, reminding me of the damage I’d inflicted on Kolja’s face and making me wonder if I was about to taste my own medicine. I took a pack of cards from my pocket and started shuffling, giving my hands something to do.

'Not really, no, in fact I’m two seconds away from phoning your Berlin colleagues.'

'You’re a disappointment, William. For a moment there, when you were straight about recognising me, I thought you were going to be a good boy.' Montgomery stood in front of me and I realised it had been a mistake to sit down. 'Where is it?'

'I’ve got perfect recall remember? Part of the job.' I squared the shuffle. 'It’s an advantage in my game. For instance, I’ve memorised this entire deck in the time we’ve been talking.' I offered him the pack. 'Pick a card and I’ll tell you the rest of the sequence. Then you can tell me what it is you’re after.'

Montgomery knocked the cards from my hand; they scattered over my lap and onto the floor, like a cheap metaphor for my life.

'I asked you a question. Where is it?'

'Where’s what?'

'What are you after? Money?' Montgomery’s voice had lost its coolness. It was still low enough to stay within the bounds of the small room, but its tone was jagged. A spray of spittle landed on my face. 'You know damn well what.'

I hadn’t got round to replacing my drowned mobile yet. I looked towards the toppled bedside table where the hotel phone should be. It was missing, ripped out of the wall, and probably tumbled amongst the rubble of my belongings. Somewhere down the corridor I thought that I heard the lift doors ping open. If I made a rush for it I might be able to get help. I shifted from Montgomery’s shadow and started to get to my feet.

'You’re barking up the wrong tree, pal. Whatever it is you’ve mislaid, it’s nothing to do with me.'

Montgomery smiled, stepped to one side as if he were about to go, then turned suddenly, shoving me square on the chest. I sprawled back onto the bed and the policeman flung himself half astride me, his knee between my legs, hand at my throat, gently pressing the cutting edge of a knife below my Adam’s apple. I felt my flesh shift beneath the blade, not quite ready to yield my blood, but thinking about it. We seemed to lie there for a long time, though the red numbers on the radio alarm glowing from beneath a pile of my shirts stayed at 3.06.

'You are fucking trying my patience, Wilson.'

Montgomery’s breath was warm against my face. My own was stuck deep in my chest, somewhere near my heart. I found it, exhaled slowly and tried to think of something soothing to say, something that might get him to take the knife away.

'You’ve searched the room, there’s nothing of yours here.'

'Not here maybe.' The knife pressed down harder. I could see the blood climbing up Montgomery’s face, but when he spoke the voice behind the whisper was calm. 'Are you a fan of the movies?'

I wondered what soundtrack played in his head while he acted the master villain. This was my cue to bound free, while he described the elaborate tortures in store. It worked in films, but I had Montgomery’s full weight pinning me down, a blade at my throat and there was no unseen orchestra edging its way towards a climax. I swallowed, not liking the way my throat moved against the blade.

'Isn’t everyone?'

'Quite right, they’re a popular pastime. Did you see that film…’ He paused as if searching his memory. 'What was it called now? It was by that young American guy, ugly git, total genius…
Reservoir Dogs
, that’s it.' Montgomery smiled at me. 'You seen it? Fucking marvellous. They cut a guy’s ear off.'

I stared into his eyes and spoke with as much command as I could muster.

'You won’t cut my ear off.'

The knife regained its pressure and Montgomery leaned in towards me.

'Oh I will, and a lot more besides if I don’t get what’s mine.' He caught me between the legs, cradling my shrinking balls in his hand. 'Not much there but I dare say you’d prefer to hold on to the small portion God granted you.'

We lay there panting, his hand on my vitals, our faces strained, looking like an ugly scene from a very specialist porno movie. There was a slight movement on the right of my peripheral vision. I concentrated my gaze on Montgomery’s and tried to avoid looking towards the not-quite-shut door as it slid slowly open.

Sylvie hadn’t put her shoes back on; she edged silently across the carpet, her gaze on the bed, like a cat stalking a pigeon. I remembered I’d never yet seen a cat get to the kill. Maybe the thought made my eyes shift towards her after all or maybe the policeman simply felt the atmosphere change, because suddenly Montgomery gasped as if he had felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced towards her. Sylvie kicked the door shut and levelled my gun somewhere near the centre of our huddle.

'Having fun, William?'

For a second I wondered whose side she was on, but then I felt Montgomery’s body tense.

'Not really my idea of a good Saturday night.'

'Hear that you old pervert?' Sylvie moved forward until the gun was squarely aimed at Monty’s torso, still staying far enough away to make it difficult for him to grab her. 'Be a dear and let go of his dick.'

Monty gave the blade another press and I thought he was going to call her bluff. But then Sylvie said, 'Now please.' And maybe he sensed a strain of madness in her voice, because he raised his hands slowly in the air and threw the weapon beyond reach towards the far side of the room. 'Good boy, now kiss him goodbye and get to your feet.'

Monty said, 'You must be joking.'

'Just get off him.'

The policeman eased himself upright. His voice had regained its gentleness.

'It’s not a real gun.'

I stood up holding a hand to my scratched throat, though it was a small wound in a night of pain. 'I’m afraid it is. Real bullets too.'

'We can check if you like.' Sylvie’s voice was light, conversational even. She kept her eyes on Montgomery. 'No? Don’t fancy that idea? Then reach slowly into your pocket and throw your mobile on the bed. Any funny business and I shoot.'

Her dialogue was pure movie gangster, but maybe that appealed to Montgomery because he did as she said.

'William, phone the police.' I looked blankly at her and she said, 'The number’s 110.'

Montgomery started to talk quickly.

'This has nothing to do with you, darling.'

'Don’t worry, I have a feeling William wants to talk to the police as little as you do, but as long as they’re on their way we know you’ll make yourself scarce. When they get here we’ll say it was a simple break-in, unless you want to stick around and tell them different.'

Montgomery looked at Sylvie with a respect that was laced with frustration. I picked up his phone and dialled.

'I understand you want to protect your boyfriend, but he’s not the plaster saint he makes himself out to be.'

He started to lower his hands.

'Any further and I’ll shoot you in the stomach.'

The other end of the line picked up and I started to give the address of the hotel. Sylvie kept the gun level. I tried to think of the German word for emergency, failed and said, 'Schnell bitte.'