Crew couldn’t get a handle on it, tried:
‘You’re breaking and entering, unless I see a warrant.’
Brant swung his legs off the sofa, said:
‘Boofhead.’
Crew had no idea what this was, asked:
‘What?’
‘Aussie, mate, means a stupid person. Are you a stupid person?’
Crew moved over to the phone, said:
‘I’m calling the police, there are rules against this sort of thing.’
Brant said:
‘Touch the phone and I’ll break your arm.’
Crew stopped, looked at him, went:
Are you serious?’
‘Try me, shit-head.’
Cew considered running for the door, going for help, but Brant moved and kicked the door shut, said:
‘Pour us a couple of stiff ones, there’s a good lad, and we’ll have a wee chin-wag.’
It was the casual violence in Brant’s tone that was chilling, almost friendly, as if breaking your arm was a gesture of no consequence at all. Crew went to the drinks, poured two large Teachers, asked:
‘Ice?’
Thinking, What am I doing? and thought, Stalling, playing for time.
He put the drink in front of Brant and gulped down a swig of his own. Brant smiled at him with something like affection.
Crew tried again:
‘This is ridiculous. You can’t just barge in, threaten me, and think you’ll get away with it.’
Brant stood up, stretched, then took a hefty swig, said:
‘Ah, that hits the spot. You don’t know me, I take it, not my rep as they say. Well, it’s a bad one, I don’t play by the rules. They investigated me twice on suspicion of killing a suspect, as if I would. What I want you to know is, I know you’re the killer, but the problemo is, it’s going to be a bitch to prove it so I’m going to take you out of the picture.’
Crew realized his glass was empty, gasped:
‘What?’
‘I’m going to kill you, and here’s the part you’ll appreciate, it’s going to seem an accident. Hey, what do you think, make it seem like the manners guy got you, wouldn’t that be a gas.’
Crew tried to get a handle on this, said:
You’re mad, this is insane.’
Brant smiled, nodded, answered:
‘It is, isn’t it, right off the chart. But tell you what, that ugly hooker, don’t fret about her. I’ll drop by, put a bag over her head, and give her the odd poke for you. How does that sound? You happy enough with that?’
Then he was heading for the door, added:
‘I know it’s a bastard when you don’t know when I’m going to do the deed, but I’ve a fairly intense program. If I fit you in before the end of the month, would that work for you?’ Then he was gone.
Porter Nash shouted:
‘You did what?’
He and Brant were in Porter’s flat, Brant had arrived with six cans of special and a bottle of wine, saying:
‘The wine’s for you. You guys like that shit, am I right?’
Porter was about to sip the wine when Brant told him about Crew.
Brant opened his second can, said:
‘What, you deaf? I told him I’d kill him.’
Porter put the glass down, jumped to his feet, went:
You can’t be serious?’
Brant wondered why it was so many people were saying the same thing. Did they doubt his sincerity? He belched, asked:
‘Do you mean, did I seriously say that or do I seriously mean to kill him?’
Porter tried not to notice Brant’s boots on his couch, it would be such a gay thing to comment. So said:
‘Both, for heaven’s sake. You can’t threaten him like that.’
Brant was genuinely confused, asked:
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’re a bloody policeman for crying out loud.’
This made no sense to Brant, who said:
‘All the more reason.’
Porter wondered, not for the first time, if Brant was truly insane. He’d seen enough evidence of it, but this, this was pushing the envelope way past any perimeter. Then an even worse thought hit and he asked:
‘You wouldn’t, oh-my-god, you wouldn’t take him out, I mean, come on?’
Brant was opening his third can, getting a nice buzz going, adding to it was Porter’s tight-ass attitude. He hadn’t had much crack for a while, but this was more like it. Fucking with people. He wondered why mind-fucking had such a bad rep? He decided to push a little more, said:
‘If he got whacked, you think anyone would give a shit?’
Porter downed a glass of wine. It went against all his sensibilities to gulp wine, but this was rot-gut. And besides, dealing with Brant you needed some fortification, if only to try and navigate the landscape of the absurd. He shuddered as the wine hit his empty stomach, and Brant smiled. Porter said:
‘Anything happens to Crew, I’m going to have to look closely at you, you’re aware of that?’
Brant loved it. It was even better than he’d imagined, said:
‘You’re threatening your buddy, “your non-judgmental, even if you’re a fag” buddy?’
Porter tried another tack, said:
‘He’ll report you, what then?’
‘Who’d believe him? I mean you’re having some difficulty and I’ve told you straight.’
Porter threw his hands up in the air, it was like trying to talk to an alien, they were so obviously speaking different languages. Brant stood, said:
‘I gotta run, it’s been fun, but I’m knackered. You need to relax, you worry too much.’
At the door, Porter asked:
‘Tell me you won’t do it?’
Brant seemed to consider, then:
‘Well, it won’t be tonight. I’m too whacked. You need to be fresh for that line of work.’
After Brant had gone, Porter poured the rest of the wine down the sink, brushed his teeth to rid himself of the taste. He thought about Trevor, and he missed his company. His sugar levels had been through the roof recently and the last visit to the doctor, he’d been told to cut down on stress. And wouldn’t you know it, the other day he’d been flicking the pages of the newspaper and, sure enough, came across a case of a man with diabetes who’d had to have his leg amputated. Stress that.
He decided he needed to eat and set himself the task of peeling potatoes, cutting and washing vegetables, then lightly grilling a piece of fish he’d bought in Selfridges. Not too many cops shopped there, which was one of the reasons he went there regularly. In the kitchen he was struck by how everything he was doing was singular, all for one person, and that struck him as very, very sad. He continued with the task though he’d lost all energy for it. Went to his drinks cabinet and selected a nice dry white, cost a packet at the wine outlet. Used the corkscrew slowly and lovingly to extract the cork and let out a sigh as he heard the satisfying ‘plop.’ Went to a top shelf, got a heavy crystal glass, went to the sitting room, and laid the table with a linen cloth, then got the silver holder, lit the one red candle, stood back to admire his work. The fish was done and he carried it out, set the one place with care, put the cutlery just so, poured the wine, asked:
‘Is it as sir anticipated?’
