‘Is this safe?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Does this feel safe?’
‘Jack, don’t.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep my word. Is this safe?’
‘Of course.’
She let him undress her and caress her swollen body. God, she thought – this is how people die.
‘Is this beautiful to you?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘You glisten.’
He cradled her stomach in his hands and kissed her back and then he turned her and kissed her stomach, not once but slowly, as if he was following the points on a star map that only he could see.
Maria unbuttoned his shirt.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you’re very beautiful.’ He had a tanned chest covered with tight curled golden hairs. He was already releasing his sarong. She began to kiss him, to kiss his chest, to nuzzle her face among the soft apple- sweet hairs, discovering as she did so a hunger for the scents and textures of male skin.
‘Get the condom,’ she heard herself say.
‘You sure?’
‘Mmm.’
‘I’ve got it.’
‘I’m crazy,’ she said.
It was the second night she had stayed up late with members of the Catchprice family.
45
‘Why would you ruin your life?’ Benny said, smiling, holding the sawn-off shot gun an inch or two above his expensively tailored knees.
Sarkis took down his velvet jacket from the wire coat hanger with arms that trembled and twitched so much he could not fully control them. His legs were not as unreliable, but they hurt more and the pains in the legs were deeper, hotter, more specific – the left ankle would turn out to be gashed like a knife wound.
He looked at the ugly jagged cut across the barrels of the gun. ‘I don’t care about my life,’ he said.
He had thought of all the things he would do to this juvenile delinquent for all the time he was held captive on that humiliating board. He had thought it through the terror of the dark, through the drum-beat of his headache. In just eight hours he had turned into someone no decent person could understand. He was the Vietnamese man who had gone crazy with the meat cleaver. He was the Turk who had thrown petrol over the children in the day care centre. He did not care what he did or what happened to him because of it. He looked at the sawn-off end of the gun. It was cut so badly that there was a sliver of metal bent over like a fish hook.
The pale and pretty Benny took a plastic shopping bag and laid it across his knees so he could rest the oil- slick gun there for a moment. He had pale blue cat’s eyes, as full of odd lights as an opal.
‘You’re my F&I man,’ he said.
‘I’m going to kill you,’ Sarkis said, rubbing his wrists and opening and closing his hands which were still very white and puffy, like things left too long in water. They did not have the strength to squeeze an orange.
‘You’re my F&I man.’
Benny held the shot gun up with the right hand and pulled something out from under the couch with his left. He threw it out towards Sarkis so that it fell half on the wooden planks and half in the iridescent water beneath them – a bright blue collapsible umbrella. ‘You’ll need your suit dry in the morning.’
Sarkis stooped and picked up the umbrella. It was cheap and flimsy and was useless as a weapon.
‘You’re going to jail, you silly prick.’
‘I’m going to jail – you’re going to kill me – make up your mind,’ Benny smiled. If he was afraid or nervous about the consequences of what he had done, the only thing that showed it was his lack of colour, his pale, clammy glow. ‘You’ve got a job,’ he said. ‘You think about that for a moment, Sam. You’re off the street. You’re going to be an F&I man. Do you understand that? Your life has just changed completely.’
Sarkis bit his pale forefinger to make it feel something. ‘You’re going to have to carry that gun a long time, junior.’
‘Oh come on, give it up. It’s
‘It’s not over,’ said Sarkis. ‘You don’t understand me. You don’t have the brains to know who I am.’
‘Hey …’
‘You do this to me, it can’t just be “over”. You think this is “over,” you’re retarded.’
‘Hey,’ the boy said and did something with the gun which made it click-clack. ‘My stupid teachers told me I was stupid. My stupid father thinks I’m stupid. But I’ll tell you two things you can rely on. Number one: I’m going to run this business. Number two: you’re going to be my F&I man.’ Maybe he saw what he had done. His voice rose, it changed its tone, although you could not say it was anything as strong as pleading. ‘You’ll be able to drive a car,’ Benny said, ‘eat at restaurants, order any fucking thing you want.’
Sarkis tried to spit but his mouth was dry and all that came out were a few white bits. ‘I’m going to kill you,’ he said. ‘I won’t need a gun.’
‘You’re going to kill two hundred thou a year?’ Benny stood, and smiled. ‘Jesus, Sam, if I’d known you were going to get this upset …’
‘You’d what?’ he said.
Benny frowned. ‘You don’t get it, do you? I’m going to transform your life.’ He looked very young and not very bright. There was perspiration on his upper lip and forehead.
Sarkis groaned.
Benny’s brow contracted further: ‘I could have chosen anyone …’
Sarkis did not bother to remind him it was Mrs Catchprice who had chosen him. The gun was so close. The thought he could grab it and twist it away was very tempting, but also stupid.
‘All you need to remember,’ Benny was saying, ‘you just learned – I’m the boss, and you never contradict me on the job.’
‘How can you be the boss?’ Sarkis said. ‘How old are you? Sixteen? I bet you don’t even have a driving licence.’
Benny held the gun out with his right hand while he moved a step towards the wall. Sarkis thought, he’s an actor: if he fires that now he’ll break his wrist. With his left hand (smiling all the time) Benny unscrewed the wide- necked jar where a fat brown king snake lay coiled on itself in a sea of tea-coloured liquid. He took a black plastic cap from an aerosol can and dipped it into the liquid which he then raised to his red, perfect lips, and drank.
‘That’s my licence,’ Benny said, ‘I live and breathe it. Comprendo?’
Sarkis comprendoed nothing. He watched Benny smirk and wipe his lips and walk towards the cellar door, backwards, across the planks, never once seeming to look down. When he was at the door he transferred the gun to both hands and held it hard against his shoulder.
‘Say you’re my F&I man,’ he said.
Sarkis looked at his eyes and saw his brows contract and knew: he’s going to murder me.
‘Say it,’ Benny’s chin trembled.
‘I’m your F&I man.’
‘We start fresh tomorrow. O.K. You understand me? Eight-thirty.’
‘I’ll be here,’ Sarkis said. ‘I promise.’
Benny unlocked the bolts on the rusty metal door and swung it open. Sarkis felt the cool, clear chill of the normal world. He limped up the steps towards the rain, but all the time he felt the dull heat of the gun across his shoulder blades and not until he was finally through the labyrinth of the Spare Parts Department, in the dark lane- way leading to the workshop, did he realize he was too badly hurt to run. He limped slowly home through the orange-lighted rain, ashamed.
