Peter Corris - Deal Me Out

When my heart rate had slowed to a hundred and my eyes were back in their sockets, I dragged myself over to look at Bill Mountain. His eyes were staring open and his jaw was locked in a dropping, askew position. In death, he looked depressed.

I rolled Deirdre Kelly’s eyelids back and everything appeared to be normal under them. Her pulse was strong and her tongue was free in her mouth. A concussion at most. Her outstretched foot touched the whipping post, and I tied her ankle to it with a piece of bloodstained rope just to be sure.

Opening the door and walking out of that room was like hiking down a country trail on a mild Spring day. The passageway smelled of tobacco and marijuana smoke but there was no blood underfoot or on the walls. The party was long over and the apartment was a shambles, except for the bar, which had been tidied and cleaned. All the bottles and glasses had been washed, corked and stacked away. I wandered into the bathroom and found my clothes there, bundled up. I climbed into the space capsule shower and ran the water to scalding hot; I lathered and rinsed until all the blood was off me and I was clean and pink. The cuts on my wrists weren’t bleeding but the one on my ankle was. I wadded up a paper napkin and put it over the cut under my sock.

It was way past the time I was supposed to call Grey, but I wasn’t worried about it. I felt sure the trusty answering machine would be on the job and I had things to do first. I dressed and went to the bar for some whisky. I didn’t notice the brand, but the scotch was the best I’d ever tasted. I had a short jolt, and then poured a long one and added some ice. I carried the drink with me, setting it down carefully and not marking surfaces as I searched the apartment. In the kitchen I found my gun; it was loaded and untampered with. I couldn’t find the cassettes or Mountain’s manuscript anywhere, and that left only one place to look.

As soon as I entered the black room I knew that something else had happened; there was a feeling of finality in the room such as a stage has at the end of a play when all the actors are out there taking their bows. Mountain lay exactly as I’d last seen him, but Kelly had stretched herself out at full length, leg, body and arm, and had reached the knife. Then she had rolled over onto her back; she probably hadn’t even bothered to sit up. The knife lay by her outstetched hand and her throat was cut to the spinal cord.

I was glad I’d put on my shoes because the carpet was a sticky mess over most of its surface. I picked my way across the driest patches, and searched the bed. There was a concealed panel in the headboard, behind the fastenings for the ropes and chains. I worked on it with my pocket knife, and eventually splintered and prised it open. Inside was a big manila envelope containing a couple of hundred pages of typescript; a smaller package held two sound tapes and one video cassette.

I took the envelope and package back to the kitchen and sat down by the telephone. Then I remembered my drink which I’d left outside the black room. I fetched it, came back, and dialled the contact number. I got the recorded message and I told the machine that I had Mountain, and read off Deirdre Kelly’s telephone number. Grey-and I was sure that it was Grey this time-called back immediately.

‘Where are you?’ he said.

‘First things first. Let me talk to the girl.’

After a long pause Erica’s voice came over the wire. ‘I was asleep,’ she said.

‘Lucky you. Are you all right?’

‘Yes. What’s going on? Have you found him?’

‘Just do as you’re told for a little while, and everything’ll be all right. Put Grey back on, I’ll see you soon.’

Grey came back on, and asked me where I was again. I finished my drink and laughed into the mouthpiece. ‘Shut up and listen. You take the girl to this address.’ I gave him Frank and Hilde’s address in Harbord. ‘You drop her there and go-drive away. You call me from the nearest phone you can find. If I’ve had a call from where you leave her and they tell me she’s okay, I’ll tell you where Mountain is.’

‘Not good enough, Hardy. You’re asking me to throw in my hand, and you might have nothing to show.’

‘This has gone beyond tricks and games, Grey. Did you know Mountain had taken the Audi back? No? Well, he did. I’ve got plenty to show, don’t worry. For example I’ve got a couple of tapes and a video cassette. You think I’d play funny buggers at this stage? I’m sick of this whole fucking business.’

‘Mountain’s there?’

‘In person.’

‘Subdued, I take it?’

‘I’m almost past caring, Grey, take it or leave it.’

Something in my voice must have carried conviction. Grey agreed to my terms, and I cut him off and rang Frank Parker. Frank sounded sleepy and happy, the way a man might who was in the right bed with the right woman.

‘Listen, Frank, I haven’t got much time. Pretty soon a car’ll pull up outside your joint, and a young woman’ll knock at your door. She’s Chinese, her name’s Erica Fong. As soon as she’s through the door ring this number. Got it?’

‘Who’s Chinese? What’s going on?’

‘No time. Have you got the bloody number?’ I repeated it, and he sounded awake and unhappy, but he said he’d do it. I put the phone down and resisted the impulse to pour another drink. The adrenalin had started to run, and I was feeling pumped up and full of energy, which made the waiting I had to do hard. I checked the gun again and looked at the scotch bottle, again. I looked at it for quite a while, then the phone rang and I grabbed it.

‘She’s here, Cliff. She’s okay. She wants to know about someone called Mountain. What…?’

‘Thanks, Frank. Get off the line!’ I slammed the phone down and hovered my hand over it like someone playing Snap. But I let it ring a couple of times before I picked it up; when I answered my mouth was suddenly dry, and I could hardly form the words.

‘She’s delivered,’ Grey said.

‘Right. Here’s the address.’ I gave him the street and number. ‘It’s a block of flash flats. Park in the street and don’t make a fuss.’ He repeated the address and rang off quickly. I opened the front door and turned off the lights in the apartment except those in the hallway and the black room. The switches had dimmers and I dropped the hall down to a deep gloom and waited just inside the room opposite the black room. I had the tapes in my pocket and my S amp;W. 38 in my hand.

When they came, it was the old reliable threesome of Grey, Peroni and Flabby. I heard a whispering out by the door and then soft footfalls on the hall carpet. They stood outside the black room; Peroni unshipped his gun and led the way in. Grey and Flabby followed and I heard them swear and bump into each other as they took in the sights. I went through the door with the gun ready and my heart rate up over the one hundred again.

‘Surprise,’ I said.

Peroni was the fastest, but not very fast; he turned around with his gun up at roughly the right elevation, but he saw that I had my gun pointing at his teeth before he could complete his move.

‘Put the gun down, Peroni or you’ll be just like them.’

He dropped the gun and it fell with a soggy plop to the blood-soaked floor. Flabby hardly noticed, he was too busy vomiting over by the whipping post.

‘That helps,’ I said. ‘How d’you like it, Mr Grey?’

Grey’s face was rigid with shock; he’d thrown his hands up to his face when he’d seen them, and the hands came down slowly now to hang uselessly at his sides.

‘Did you…? Did…?’

‘Uh huh. They did it all by themselves, just having a little harmless fun.’

‘Jesus,’ Peroni said. Flabby hung on the post and spat on the floor. Grey was struggling to recover his executive manner and finding it hard going. His adam’s apple wobbled in his neck and he’d lost his old-young look. Now he just looked old. He controlled the movement in his neck by raising his hand and holding his throat.