Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

I tried to keep my voice level. “The toilet is at the end of the corridor.”

He turned and grinned at me. “I know.”

I held the door open. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to lock up in here now.”

“Not yet. I haven’t finished looking.”

I could feel myself shaking. “This is my private collection. It’s not for public viewing.”

“I’m not surprised.” He laughed. “You dirty old bugger, Donald! You’ve kept these quiet, haven’t you?”

I moved towards him. “Will you please get out of here?”

“Hey, hey, hey, no need to be hostile. The door was open, I saw the pretty pictures, and came in to look. That’s what art’s for, isn’t it?” He peered at the print next to him. “Is that swan shafting her, or what?”

“Get out.”

“Donald, don’t be so pushy. I’m not hurting anything. I’m interested, really I am. I’ve never seen antique porn before.”

“This is not pornography!”

“Well, it’s not Enid Blyton, is it? Is there a Readers’ Wives section as well?” He strolled around the room. “God, look at the size of that fat bitch! You should have told me you were into this sort of stuff. I could have got you the real McCoy. None of this soft porn shit. I mean, there’s not one penetration shot in the lot of them. And those dykes look like they’ve fallen asleep.”

“I told you to get out!”

He looked at me. His smile was unpleasant. “I heard you. But I like it here. I feel more at home.” To prove his point he pulled over the chair I had fallen asleep on earlier and sat down on it. “Don’t let me keep you, though, Donald. You go if you want to.”

There was nothing I could do. The more I let him see how much his presence there bothered me, the longer he would stay. “If you insist on being childish, I suppose I can’t stop you.”

“That’s right, you can’t.” He looked around. “So this stuff turns you on, does it?”

“Not in the way you seem to imagine. I find it aesthetically stimulating, if that’s what you mean.”

“Bullshit, Donald. If you’re only interested in their “aesthetic value”, how come they’re all about people having it off? Or is that just a coincidence.”

“I don’t deny that they’re erotic. But first and foremost, they’re erotic art, although I don’t suppose that distinction means anything to you.”

“So you’re trying to tell me it’s only the art you’re interested in, and not the erotic?” He laughed.

“I would hardly expect someone like you to understand what I mean.”

“Now, now, don’t get snotty. If you get your rocks off over blue paintings, that’s up to you. Far be it from me to call you a dirty old man.” He stretched out his legs. “Anyway, down to business. You and me have got some settling up to do, haven’t we?”

“Settling up?”

“That’s right. For services rendered.” He leaned forward. “I want paying. Then I’ll leave you to enjoy your “art” in private.”

I laughed. It did not sound too unconvincing. “I’m sorry, Zeppo, I’m not with you. I was under the impression that our arrangement was for payment on completion.”

“It’s as complete as it’s going to be.”

“Do I take it that you intend to give up?”

“Give up? Donald, what the fuck are you talking about? There’s nothing to give up. It’s over, and you owe me.”

“Owe you? What do I owe you for? As I recall, the agreement was for you to seduce Anna. You haven’t. Then we agreed that you would do the same to Marty. Again, you haven’t. So I’m afraid I don’t really see how I owe you anything.”

My refusal was motivated as much as anything by a desire to hit back at him. I felt a spiteful pleasure as his complacency began to crack. “Don’t stick the blame for Marty on to me! That was all your idea!”

“Based on your information that he was homosexual. Which was apparently wrong.”

He took a deep breath. “Look, I’ve been fucked around enough. If you think I’m going to let you welsh on the deal, forget it.”

“How am I welshing? I hired you to do a specific job, which you haven’t done. And now you want paying for it?” I knew I was provoking him, but I did not care. I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Zeppo, but as I see it you’re the one who’s “welshing”. I’ll gladly pay you when you’ve done what you said you would.”

He threw up his hands. “Oh, for Christ’s sake! Tell me what else I could have done! Come on, tell me!”

“I’ve no idea. That’s why I hired you.”

“Jesus Christ, Donald, don’t you listen? Look read my lips forget it! I’ve tried everything I could. There’s not enough time left for anything else. They’re only interested in each other! That’s it! Finito!”

“And you’re prepared to accept that?”

“Yes!”

“In that case I fail to see why I should pay you a penny.”

The chair toppled over as Zeppo jumped to his feet. “Fuck this!” His voice was low, his face hard. “So I’ve not slept with that frigid bitch. I don’t care. I want what you owe me. Now.”

With a shock, I realised he was close to attacking me. And with that threat of violence, the thought that had been at the back of my mind began to push its way forward. I shied away from it, reluctant to confront it too soon, even while I accepted its general direction.

“I must say, I expected more of you, Zeppo,” I goaded, conscious now that I was walking a very fine line. “After all your boasting, I certainly didn’t think you’d let yourself be put off so easily.”

He was glaring at me. “You’re really starting to piss me off, Donald.”

“The feeling’s mutual. Although I’m more disappointed than anything else. I didn’t think you were the type to let someone like Marty beat you. Obviously, I came to the wrong man.”

“Don’t push it.”

I sighed. “Well, if you’re prepared to admit that an American academic, who is half your size and indisputably unattractive, is a better man, perhaps we should part company after all. If you can’t even cope with competition like that you’re no use to me anyway. I’ll pay you a settlement fee. Let’s say ten per cent for trying, shall we?”

“Let’s say all of it, or I smash every picture in here and then start on your fucking face!”

“It’s a pity you can’t show such aggression where it’s needed. Perhaps Marty wouldn’t be waiting to laugh at you with Anna if you had.”

“I’m warning you, Donald!”

“Go ahead and warn me! It still doesn’t alter the fact that you let a worm like Marty get the better of you. Wrecking my paintings and beating me up won’t change that!”

Zeppo took a step towards me, then stopped. His fists were balled. “I want my money. Now.”

“Earn it.”

“Now, or I’ll break your fucking neck!”

I sneered. “Are you sure you’re man enough?”

I miscalculated. Before I could say anything else he had grabbed me by the shirt and flung me against the wall. I felt a frame break beneath my back, and something sharp dug into my flesh. Part of me fretted over the damage, trying to guess which picture it was, then Zeppo punched me in the stomach. I doubled up, struggling for breath, and as he seized hold of me and yanked me off the wall, in a rush the thought I had been suppressing surged forward and formed itself into speech.

“It’s not my neck you should break, is it?” I gasped.

I was slammed back against the wall. But his rage had been pierced. Zeppo blinked. “What?”

I could feel his breath on my face, sweet with whisky. “You heard.” My voice was hoarse and choking. “If you’re going to kill someone, at least make it someone worthwhile.”