Peter Corris - The Washington Club

‘I mean she’ll either leave the country soon or she’ll disappear. No trial, either way. I thought I had her pretty well spooked and ready to run but you queered that.’

My mind was racing. How many laps would those blokes swim? How long could that pair bash a little black ball at the wall? No way to tell. Katz didn’t look too worried about a time factor. He sat on the bench opposite me and gave his gun hand a rest. Rattray kept his at the ready.

‘In case you’re thinking we might get interrupted, forget it. The club runs to a few shower rooms and we made sure this one would stay free.’

He meant it and the words were like knuckles in the eyes and a knee to the balls, but I couldn’t let him see that. ‘You’ve got my respect, Wilson. Tell me what it’s all about then. Maybe I still know a few things you don’t know. We can talk.’

Katz shrugged. ‘Not much to talk about or to tell, way I look at it. I know you’re playing for time but I’ll humour you. Julius couldn’t see the potential of his operation. He was only half-smart, if that. I started to diversify and steal everything out from under him. I fixed it so when he died the whole thing would go into bankruptcy because all the honey was in another hive. This is a great place for creative bankruptcy, let me tell you. The legal system in this country’s fucked.’

Katz laughed, genuinely amused.

‘So?’ I said.

‘So he died.’

‘Why did you have to frame Claudia?’

‘Why not? Good smokescreen. High-hatting bitch. I thought she’d keep Julius distracted for longer than she did but he was such an asshole he found a way to screw it up with her. When she asked Van Kep to protect her she played right into my hands, so to speak.’

I was sitting with my back to the open locker with the bag beside me, the Rosen journal on top of it. My back hurt from where I had reached up for a smash and I reached back to rub it. I jolted the bag and the journal in its package fell to the floor. I bent forward to pick it up.

‘Leave it! You wouldn’t read Yiddish, would you? Why’re you scratching yourself?’

I shook my head and kept rubbing my back. My hand could feel something at the foot of the locker. ‘No,’ I said, rubbing some more. ‘I can’t read anything but English and I’m rubbing, not scratching. I’ve got a crook back, another reason why Todd beat me.’

Katz cleared his throat. ‘I don’t quite know what to think about you, Hardy. You’ve made things harder in some ways, easier in others. I told Henderson to fire a few shots at Claudia to scare her, instead he goes feral and tries to kill you and he shoots Sackville. Mind you, I’m glad you took him out. So’s Noel, for that matter.’

My fingers were identifying the object behind me. It was a pistol. Was it loaded? Was it real? I had to keep Katz talking and Rattray angry.

‘I’m not sure I believe you about Henderson, but what does it matter?’ I glanced across at Rattray. ‘You have to be careful who you use in this kind of work. Most of the available bodies aren’t very bright or reliable. What’s this notebook got to do with anything?’

Katz smirked. ‘Oh, that’s my card in the hole. That’s what’ll send little Claudia into a tailspin if I have to play it. Want to know what Julius found out about Klaus and Julia, Claudia’s Mom and Pop?’

‘You’re going to tell me.’

‘Bet your ass I am. They were brother and sister, that’s what. Kind of a mix-up getting the little kids out of Germany. False names and all that. It all sorted out OK in the end and Klaus and Julia suited each other just fine.’

‘Did they know?’

Katz laughed. ‘They did when Julius told them. He really put it to them.’

‘He told you this?’

‘Sure. He wanted the daughter. Fuck knows why. She looks frigid to me. You might know better.’

I thought about Claudia and her parents and the things they’d been through together and the hidden things. I couldn’t even imagine what a couple like the Rosens would have experienced when a truth like that was laid out for them. Horror? Shame? I didn’t know, and I didn’t know how Claudia would react. Suddenly, it became important to me, more important than anything else, that, she shouldn’t ever find out. That gave me resolve-I wouldn’t call it courage. I sneered and looked Katz in the eye.

‘I might know a few things about your wife, too.’

His fingers tightened on the pistol. ‘What’re you talking about?’

I had my hand firmly on the gun now-a revolver, no safety. I hawked and spat on the floor near Katz’s feet. Both men reacted. I lifted the revolver a fraction. It felt real and loaded.

‘You’re not in such a strong position as you think, Wilson. There’s Van Kep and Noel to think about, and Todd here.’

‘The fuck I’m not. A faggot and a junkie pimp, how long can they last?’

He was talking, enjoying the sound of his voice, but also expanding time. I knew why- not many people can kill with ease. I let my eyes wander around the room and my voice shake a little. ‘What about Todd?’

‘Todd’s solid. You’re right to look around. This is the last fucking room you’re going to see.’

‘You won’t shoot me here.’

‘No?’

I looked to my left and saw Rattray fitting a silencer to his pistol. He fumbled. It was the only chance I was ever going to get. I leaned away, brought the revolver around my body and fired three times at Rattray. I got him in the stomach with the first shot and in the chest with the second. The third might have missed but I didn’t care. He got off one popping round before he went down but it went nowhere near me. I jumped forward and to the right as Katz shouted and fired. The bullet pinged off the metal locker and shattered tiles. I fired wildly. The shots and ricochets echoed and shrieked in the confined space. Tile fragments hit both of us in the face and Katz fell, dropping his gun.

I was breathing heavily, crouched, only two metres from him as he writhed on the floor, scrabbling for his gun. Blood was dripping from his cheek but it was running from his forehead into his eyes and he was effectively blind. He couldn’t locate the gun and he crawled away towards the wall, holding up his hands like a beggar. He wore a blue blazer and cream silk shirt. The pockets of the shirt had his initials on them, white-embossed. His Washington Club tie was loosened at the neck and askew. I seemed to relive the whole thing as he crawled away and reached the wall, propped himself up against it, tried to wipe the blood from his eyes.

Fleischman, the Rosens, Claudia, murderous Haitch Henderson, nasty Noel, perverted Van Kep, macho Rattray. And Cy, my dear, dear friend.

He wiped blood away, saw me. ‘Hardy, like you said, we can talk. I’ve got more money than you ever heard of.’

He was three metres away now. I straightened up and moved a little closer. Not too close.

‘I wouldn’t have done anything to Claudia, I promise you. Nothing! Nothing, Hardy! Please, please.’

I didn’t hear what he was saying, not really. I heard the earlier words. The legal system in this country’s fucked. And the laugh.

I was exhausted, physically, mentally and morally spent. I raised the gun, sighted carefully, and shot him just below the pocket, on the left side, through the heart.

The noise of the shots was still bouncing off the tiled walls as I shoved Klaus Rosen’s journal inside my tennis racquet cover and zipped it shut. As the reverberations died I heard shouts in the corridor, then fists banging on the door. I pulled it open and stood there with blood dripping from my face and a pistol in my hand. A swimmer, a squash player and Mrs Kent stood gaping at me.