James Munro - The man who sold death

Her name was Tessa Harling, and Craig tried to remember what Diamond had told him about her. She'd started off as an actress and failed. Then she had married, and her husband had turned out to be a prime bastard, and the marriage had failed too. Now she lived on her alimony, and drifted around clubs like the Lucky Seven and drank Diamond's gin because he was gentle and undemanding. She spent her days alone, getting up late, Craig thought, coffee and aspirins for breakfast, and too many cigarettes, and sometimes perhaps a man she didn't want and found hard to get rid of because she was lonely. A born victim, like the girl in Lange's car.

And like Lange's girl she was pretty. Twenty-eight or thereabouts, tall, full-bodied, her hair cut short and dyed so black that it looked blue in the lamplight, and grave brown eyes that had seen very little to laugh at for a long, long time; yet her mouth was wide and apt for laughter, twitching up at the corners at Diamond's heavy-handed jokes. She wore a red dress with no back to it, and neat, expensive, patent-leather shoes. No wedding ring. Face, figure, and clothes combined to make her by far the best-looking girl in the club, but she didn't let it bother her. She had come there to drink, and laugh with Michael Diamond. Craig liked her for that, and tore himself away from his memories for a brief while, and tried to be pleasant. She seemed to expect him to dance with her, and from time to time he did so. When they danced, Diamond talked to the waitress.

There were three men at the next table. Two of them were young and big, and dressed to kill in dark Italian suits and Chelsea boots. The third was nearing thirty, with the build and aggression of a successful middleweight. He wanted to dance with Tessa. This seemed reasonable enough to Craig, since Tessa was attractive sexually and danced very well. But the middleweight had a mean mouth, and Diamond was a friend of hers and this man who called himself John Reynolds was attractive in a new and puzzling way she didn't understand. She preferred to stay where she was, soothed by Diamond's inexhaustible chatter and trying to prod his friend into an awareness of herself.

Craig scarcely heard either of them. He had drunk a lot of wine and then, even by club standards, a lot of whisky. He was dimly aware that a pretty girl in a red dress with no back to it liked to dance with him and that a tireless Irishman kept yammering on about two old tramps who lived in garbage cans. The club itself was no more than a brightly lit bar, a jukebox, and slot machines, and for Craig they existed not at all. In his mind he was in Tangier, drinking Pernod with Rutter. It was 1955, and they were fighting their war all over again. They had met on vacation, and they were going to dine with two Spanish girls, and while they waited they talked, nostalgic for the triumphs they had known, and the risks without which triumph was impossible. Cautiously, Craig had worked the talk around to gun-running, and Rutter had almost wept, so grateful was he for the chance to be a hero again. He never knew that Craig had hunted him out, as he had himself been hunted, followed him to Tangier, then bumped into him in a hotel bar by a remarkable accident. But it didn't really matter. How could it? Rutter had known all the risks and clamored for his share, and more than his share. For Rutter life had been a task so irksome that he preferred to get it over with, to attack it all the time. It had been good in that bar, cool and dim, with Arab music playing very softly on tape.

Tessa was saying, "Are you really an accountant?" "Yes," said Craig. "What do you do then?" "Account," he said.

Rutter. Baumer. Charlie Green. And perhaps Alice too. One way and another, he had quite a bit of accounting to do.

"Your life must be very dull sometimes," Tessa said. Craig smiled then.

"No," he said. "Not dull. Busy."

"Did you ever see the one about the two loonies?" asked Diamond.

"No," said Tessa. Then to Craig, "Come and dance again."

The middleweight came over and once more asked her to dance. She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm with these two gentlemen."

"Leave them," the middleweight said.

"One of them's had electric-shock treatment," Diamond said. "He gets pally with a tramp." He looked at the middleweight. "Tessa's with us," he said. "She doesn't want to dance with you. She wants to dance with John." He turned away again. "These days there's a hell of a lot of tramps about in the theater. Not that I'm objecting, mind you. I don't say I could understand it, but it was all very dramatic."

"My name's Eddy Lishman," said the middleweight.

Craig looked at him in disgust. While he stood there arguing, he couldn't think about Rutter.

Diamond said, "I don't care who you are. She doesn't want to dance."

But his hand was shaking as he picked up his glass. "No. It's all right," said Tessa.

She smiled at Craig and went to Lishman's arms. He danced with a cruel, aggressive skill, as if dancing were a prelude to rape.

Craig watched him glumly. Lishman would make Diamond fight for his girl, and Diamond would lose. It was too bad. He liked Diamond.

"Used to be a fighter," Diamond was saying. "Now he's in business. Betting shops mostly. Keeps a few girls too. Or so they say. He's a bad one, right enough. You'd better get off out of it, John."

"Me?" said Craig. "It's got nothing to do with me. What about your girl? You should get her out of here."

"She isn't my girl," said Diamond. "I wish she was- but I wouldn't dare take her away. Lishman knows where to find me."

"We'd better have another drink," Craig said.

He bought two more, and Lishman brought Tessa back to their table, and sat down with them. The two young men came over too, and Lishman bought everybody another drink. The talk turned at once to betting, and Craig audibly groaned. Lishman banged down his glass.

"I've bought you a drink, haven't I?" he asked.

"Yes," said Craig.

"And I haven't bothered you, have I?"

"No," said Craig.

"What's the matter then?"

"Gambling bores me," Craig said.

The girl Tessa put her hand on his sleeve in warning.

"Do you mean I'm boring you?" asked Lishman softly.

"Yes," said Craig.

The two young men looked at once to Lishman, and when he laughed they laughed too. Craig's madness was privileged; he was court jester.

Carefully Craig got to his feet and went to the washroom. He spent a long time running cold water over his face, and cursing his foolishness. If Lishman hadn't laughed, he'd have had to fight him. It would have been very gratifying to fight with Lishman. It would also have been stupid. After a while he went back into the club, drank a cup of black coffee at the bar, and took another back to the table.

"What's up with you now?" Lishman asked.

"I think I've had too much to drink," Craig said, and the middleweight roared his delight.

Craig said to Tessa, "I'd like to dance."

She hesitated, but Lishman graciously waved his assent.

Craig took her in his arms and she said at once, "You'd better go home. Now. Take Michael with you." "What about you?" Craig asked. "I'll go when I'm ready," she said. "Do you think he'll let you?"

She shrugged. "Michael doesn't know this-but he's bothered me before."

The hand that held his began to shake. "It doesn't do to turn him down too often. He's dangerous."

"He looks as if he thinks he is," Craig said.

"I mean it," said Tessa. "He's got a terrible temper. He nearly kills people if they cross him."

"Is that a fact?"

"Yes, it is," she said, and shook him with protective impatience. "He had a fight with a man called Harry Corner-anybody here will tell you. He put Harry in the hospital. And Harry's tough, believe me."

"How disgusting," said Craig.