Robyn exhales in a long gasp, holding her shoulders and rocking. — Why did Chet…?
— He was planning to go to the police. He was working up the bottle, the courage, he elaborates in response to her confusion, — gathering the evidence: Dearing’s a cop, remember?
— So Chet’s still my friend…
— In a sense, Lennox concedes, and recounts an old phrase his father often used, — but you’re always better with a cunning enemy than a stupid friend, before permitting the cop in him to take over: — However, he was inadvertently assisting them and he’ll have to live with those consequences.
Robyn’s hands go back over her face. Then her voice wheezes through her fingers: — What have I done, Ray?
— You’ve been a victim of a particularly fucking evil scam, he says, as another holy recitation in Spanish comes out from under the stained towel.
— But why… why
— You’ve a young daughter. Your lifestyle makes you vulnerable. Exposes her, and you.
— I ain’t a bad person, she pleads, — I jus—
Lennox waves her down. — I can’t criticise your lifestyle, because it’s pretty much the same as my own. The crucial difference is that I don’t have a kid to look after. Get it together, while there’s still something left.
— You… you’re FBI?
— No. I’m from Edinburgh, on holiday. Planning a wedding, like I told you.
Robyn’s baffled face again finds its focus by narrowing on Starry, now peering through her towel, like a burka. — You set the whole thing up. You! She looks at Lennox. — She hates me! Hates me cause I’ve got Tianna!
— My son was sixteen when he was shot dead, Starry groans.
— It was some gang thing! He deserved it! Angel was no good! Robyn screams, then tears across the room, her bunched fists flying at Starry. It’s only when she goes to pick up a large tiger-striped glass vase that Lennox feels moved to restrain her. — LEMME GO, I WANNA KILL THAT FUCKIN EVIL BITCH!
It’s not easy to hold on to her; fury has given Robyn a power supernatural to her slight frame. Eventually the fight leaves her and she dissolves in his arms, allowing herself to be led back across the room and on to the couch. — She’ll get it, no worries. He crouches down and takes her hand in his. Guilt pours from him.
For some reason he recalls the time when, in twelve-year-old rage, he’d inexplicably barged into his sister Jackie’s bedroom, unintentionally interrupting her as she performed fellatio on a boyfriend. There had been a family row afterwards. Not about his intrusion or her indiscretion, but later when she’d found her old doll Marjorie in the attic, the one that was both their favourites. COCKSUCKING SLUT was scribbled on its plastic face in big biro letters.
He regards Robyn’s pitted countenance, desecrated by mascara and tears. — Now we should go and get Tianna before the police come by.
Robyn is about to nod in agreement when she sees the door swing open behind Lennox. — They’re right here already, a voice tells them.
Lennox turns to face Lance Dearing who dangles a spare key. — Lover’s trust, he smiles. The second thing that Lennox registers is that there is something different about Dearing: bifocal lenses slice his eyes into an impenetrable dark section and a cloudy lower part. The third thing is that Dearing is pointing a handgun at him.
— Who the fuck are you, Ray? And don’t gimme that wedding-planner shit. You sure got ol Tiger real good. Found him pretty bust up on that restroom floor: blood, shit and teeth everywhere. His head nods in wary admiration. — So who the fuck are you!
— Does it matter now? It’s over, Lance.
— For you and me both.
— Lance baby, lemme go, honey, let’s just take off, Starry begs.
For some reason Lennox looks Dearing up and down, suddenly contemptuous of his black, stonewashed denim shirt, tucked into off-white canvas trousers, with those showroom white sneakers. — You’re no gaunny shoot me. You’ve never shot anybody, he says calmly, thinking of Bill Riordan, the retired New York cop. But this was the South. Was Florida the real South? Was it a hunting state? Fishing, surely.
Dearing scowls and something dulls in his eyes, behind the lower halves of the bifocals. — And how in hell’s name would
In despair, Lennox realises that he has no way of knowing. He thinks about his father. About Britney. Wonders, in an instant, if he’ll see them over the other side: if death really is like that.
— Lance, Starry implores.
— MY LITTLE GIRL, YOU FUCKIN MONSTER! Robyn roars, rising.
Dearing points the gun at her. — Sit on your dumb ass, you crazy bitch, or I’ll make a fuckin orphan outta her!
Robyn shrivels up and falls back into the couch, her arms wrapped around herself, a trail of snot dripping from nose to chest.
— It’s over, Lennox repeats, looking to the disc sticking out of the DVD player under the TV set. — Johnnie’s in custody. Try calling him if you don’t believe me. Or rather you might try Chet. He’s turned himself in, and you too, obviously. I thought you’d have been busted at the hotel. Doesnae matter, the local cops will have circulated the list to the FBI. He points at the sheets of papers on the couch. Your name isn’t on it, but they’ve got a copy of you starring in your own show. Johnnie was careless. Carried those DVDs everywhere: a veritable Blockbuster on legs. It’s finished, Lance.
Dearing’s jaw quivers a little.
Starry still wretchedly entreating: — Let me go, Lance, please! Let’s get the fuck outta here!
Lance Dearing ignores her and looks down at the papers, then at the DVD. His eyes pop and a white incandescence seems to light him from within. — Never figured it would turn out this way. Jus wanted to do a good job, is all. Had some fun that got a lil’ outta hand.
— It wasn’t fun, Lennox says.
— Perhaps not, Dearing wearily concedes. — I guess we can all fall from grace.
— The best thing you can do now is—
Lennox is jolted into silence as Lance Dearing raises the gun and pulls the trigger.
22 Clean-Up
ATHUNDEROUS BOOM, AND for a second Lennox thinks he’s been shot. Then he sees Dearing leap backwards, hurtling through the doorway and partially into the hall, blood pouring from his chin. Lennox advances quickly, grabbing the throw from the couch and dropping it over Lance Dearing’s face, though not before he witnesses that the exit wound has come out of his cheekbone, shattering part of his top jaw. Teeth spill out across the floor like pearls from a broken necklace.
Robyn sees little, shielded by the door opening from the hall into the lounge. All that’s visible to her are Lance Dearing’s legs, writhing slowly on the floor. Lennox takes her by the hand, hauling her from the couch. She’s in shock, almost as incapacitated as the spreadeagled Dearing; he knows his own shutdown is in the post. He pulls the disc from the DVD player and picks up the list.
He glances back at Starry. The bridge of her nose is swollen and her eyes are starting to blacken. Lennox can barely look at her; his own diminishment evidenced in her wreckage. In panic she thrashes at the fur shackle that fastens her to the radiator. — Don’t leave me!
Lennox ignores her; she can stay till the police arrive and try to explain everything to them. He holds Robyn’s head up, forcing her not to look at Dearing or the bloodstains on the wall or the stuff running down the door frame as he steps over the bespattered beast cop. — Now we’ll go and see Tianna, right? he says as they cross the threshold. She’s bewildered and feral, zoological-looking against cinder-block wall and cold metal
