mediocrity, an instant of violence trapped on film, with little else to recommend it apart from a certain ghoulish appeal.
He was wrong. It somehow captured more than the moment, pointing to a deeper, more universal injustice: two well-dressed types gathered at the execution of a working man. Wakeley was frozen in the act of turning his head away and raising his arms protectively, an instinctive gesture, but one which seemed to imply he was washing his hands of the deed. Because of the angle, the gun wasn’t visible, but the muzzle flash was, shards of lightning exploding from Manfred Wallace’s fingers, a faceless figure clad all in black, unleashing a thunderbolt. There was something almost beatific about Labarde’s expression as he crumpled forward and to the right.
They said all this to Abel, but he stuck to his guns. He much preferred the shot of Hollis putting the boot into Manfred Wallace, a print of which he had also brought along with him by way of a gift—the only one in existence, framed in oak. Mary remarked that the look of hatred on Hollis’ face scared her, and Abel told her that that was the point. It was the one time he’d seen the real Hollis, he said, the beast within; and he wanted her to know what she was letting herself in for.
Abel had a healthy mistrust of what was happening to him. Picture editors and agents, many of whom had never even bothered to return his portfolio, were now calling him at all hours of the day and night. He knew he had gotten lucky, stumbling on success in his own backyard. Later in the evening, he announced, a little drunkenly, that even if his career took off it wouldn’t change him as a person.
‘Oh go on, please,’ said Lucy, ‘just a bit.’
Their laughter woke up Edward, who shouted down from his bedroom window for them to put a sock in it.
Finally the dawn light crept overhead, revealing a low, feathery mist on the paddock. Abel and Lucy made a half-hearted offer to help clear up, heading for their car almost in the same breath. Hollis and Mary left the table as it was and went inside to bed.
After they had made love, they lay on their backs side by side, their fingers intertwined, drifting off to sleep.
Unexpectedly, Mary turned to him and kissed him passionately.
‘Mmmmm,’ he groaned.
‘Tom, there’s something you should know,’ said Mary ominously.
‘What?’
‘I want you to know this now, so there’s no confusion. I don’t think it’s the right thing to say, in fact I’m sure it isn’t, but seeing as it’s the truth and it’s not going to go away…’ She paused. ‘Besides, I figure we’re too old to talk around this kind of thing.’
‘We’ll be too old for anything if you don’t come out with it soon.’
‘I want another child, Tom.’
Hollis absorbed the news.
‘I understand,’ he said, ‘I really do. But I’m not sure they’re that easy to swap.’
‘I’m serious,’ she said, trying not to laugh.
‘I know.’
‘That’s why I kissed you.’
‘You thought you could swing it with a kiss?’
‘I thought it might be the last time.’
Hollis leaned toward her. ‘Well, let’s put that idea to bed,’ he said.
Two hours later, and after one hour’s sleep, the phone rang.
Mary offered to go with him, but he said it would be better if he went alone.
Labarde lay in the hospital bed, his pale, drawn features set in repose.
Hollis pulled up a chair and just looked at him.
Labarde opened a tired eye. ‘You look terrible,’ he said.
Hollis smiled.
‘They say I lost a kidney.’
‘Good thing they come in pairs.’
It was Labarde’s turn to smile.
‘Was I right to let him fire?’ asked Hollis.
‘You were right.’
‘You used me, you played me right from the start.’
‘You’ll get over it, Deputy.’
‘Tom.’
‘What, now we’re friends?’
‘No. I resigned.’
Labarde opened both eyes this time. ‘Yeah?’
Hollis nodded.
