Ken Bruen - Rilke on Black

I had half the Scotch gone and couldn’t feel it. What I could feel was the sensation of locking the chain on Baldwin. He had a small skinny ankle and I doubt I ever saw anything as vulnerable. One more image to add to the shit heap. I didn’t catch what Dex was saying.

“I didn’t catch that Dex, run it by me again.”

“I asked if I could have a drink too. That purdey is vile shit, must be good for you.”

I handed him the bottle. He took out his hankie. Being Dex, it was more yer red bandanna, from his country personality no doubt. Slowly he made a big production of wiping, holding up to the light and closely inspecting the neck of the bottle, said, “No offence buddy.”

“Keep it yer nasty fuck, just keep putting it in my face.”

“Lighten up, amigo, we’re all under a lotta pressure. Lose it here and you’re in a world of hurt... ‘Predator’... I’m just joshing you, nothing meant.”

I snapped the bottle off him.

“Get yer own fuckin’ drink and get the fuck outa my way.”

He danced nimbly to the side. I headed back to the dungeon. Baldwin was naked on the cot, like a wizened golliwog. I stormed to Lisa, “What on earth are you doing... are you planning to mount him or something?”

“Baby... baby, cool it... I had to get his underpants.”

“What... what kind of shit are you and Dex taking... and can I plu-eez have some soon?”

“Sh-ss-ish darlin’, it’s to send to his wife... unless you want me to sent an actual part of him... do you... do you want to slice him... is that it? Like to carve some dark meat?”

“Course I don’t want it... hey back off alright. Gimme some fuckin’ room. I just want to know what’s happening BEFOREHAND. Enough with the surprises, alright?”

“Whatever you say, baby... yo’ the man.”

“Hey, could you stop with that baby shit. I can’t tell you how fuckin’ irritating it is.”

She didn’t like it and I could give a flying fuck. I was on the verge of walloping the be-japers out of her... and Dex.

She held up the underpants. I could see the brand. Calvin Klein. Another guy who’d had a kick in the head.

She said, “We’ve a call to make.”

Upstairs, Dex was stretched on the sofa. He’d changed his outfit. Unbelievably for him he was wearing a garishcoloured kimono but worse, he’d brought the cowboy boots. Very elaborate black jobs with the high stitching, I could see his bare legs, white and absolutely hairless. Like sick alabaster, like a corpse. I felt a chill. The boots were plonked on the arm of the sofa. Apparently engrossed in a copy of Ebony, he didn’t look up. I slapped them off.

“Get ’em off the furniture.”

“Testy,” he sighed.

Lisa produced a large padded envelope and put the underpants inside. Dex gave a huge chuckle, said, “You’re going to have to stop writing to Tom Jones.”

She ignored him, wrote an address. Then she moved to the phone.

“You know what you’re going to say?” I asked.

Dumb right but I was puke nervous.

“No Nick, I’m going to chat about the weather.”

Like I said, dumb.

She sighed for quiet. Dex mimicked pulling a zip across his mouth. He looked like an evil child.

Lisa was talking.

“Mrs Baldwin... Mrs Ronald Baldwin, so sorry to trouble you at this latish hour but glad I caught you home... We took your hubby tonight... no this is not a poor idea of a joke... yes, I am aware of the time. Time for you to listen up... kidnapped... yes... ugly work but fitting... you hang up and his balls are in the next post... put you right off your grapefruit segments... That’s better... Don’t swear at me you white bitch... you get him back for one and a half million. I perfectly serious... so sell the family jewellery... I could give a fuck, sell yisself... Be home at eight tomorrow evening... you’ll have proof... as they say ‘The cheque’s in the mail’... a little Calvin Klein reminder... no, he’s not hurt, not yet. Y’all have a good night now... Bye now, tootle pip.”

I’d never seen Lisa sweat, not even in the wildest lovemaking... she was sweating now, and speeding. She gasped, “Christ, wot a rush. Better than sex. What’s with the look Nicky... you could hear? She sassed me, tried to be uppity.”

“Nice going Lisa... especially the bit where you called her a white bitch. How hard it’s gonna be to figure your tint.”

“So wot... as long as she pays.”

“It’s careless is what it is.”

Dex watched back and forth, like Wimbledon. Hard to say who was winning. Lisa shrugged and went upstairs. He raised an eyebrow. I wanted to go to pieces as fatigue washed over me. Dex said, “Night John-boy.”

I had some brilliant wipe-out remark in preparation but sleep got me first.

“ One too many mornings, and a thousand miles behind ...”

Which is about where I felt when I woke. First thing I noticed were Dex’s boots. Standing alone and evenly lined up, like a tiny forlorn salute.

I thought he was watching me as his eyes were open. But it wasn’t me. A look of nothingness... not blankness, just nothing. A face that had never retained the mark of a single experience or emotion. The eyes frozen.

I’d tried to figure what lay behind the multi personas. As I realised Lisa was right, I felt the chill along my back. I didn’t want to be the first thing those eyes looked on as the face began its routine of movement, adapting to whatever personality the mind seized. Slipping past him I went to the kitchen. Made me an elephant coffee. I didn’t want a hit of caffeine. It was blitzkrieg.

When it makes you want to throw up, you’ve got the combo. I knew there’d be a lot more unpalatable things these next few days. The coffee didn’t make me feel better. Hell-no, it just woke me enough.

I was heading for the basement when I remembered the flaming mask. I pulled it on and checked in the mirror. I looked like a terrorist with a hangover. Aloud I said, “Horse’s arse.”

Baldwin was sitting on the cot, supping from a can of purdey. He watched me approach. I knew he was in his sixties and he certainly looked it. If a black person can have a black pallor, he’d achieved it. Naked except for a blanket... and the chain... he looked pathetic. I know now what woesome means. Till you saw his eyes. Jumping with intelligence, you knew this one was a sharp cookie. He said, “Dr Livingstone, I presume.”

Then he rattled his chain and added, “By the rattling of my chains, something foul this way comes.”

The BBC must have loved his accent.

Neutral.

Clear.

Concise.

Polished.

Modulated.

All the friggin’ things mine wasn’t. I was south of the river, always would be. An accent like his could convey effortless intimidation. In my corner I had size on my side and it was time to flex it.

Baldwin was about five foot, five inches and looked shorter. A black gnome with bright eyes, looked on me. I hunkered down beside him and began, “You know what this is... what’s going down here.”

“It’s downright stupid, I know that.”

I gave him a slap to the side of the head. The eyes burned.

“Whoa... little guy, lose the attitude... OK. Let’s get that squared away from the off. See my size... and you just learned I’m a mean fuck. You do what you’re told, button yer lip... we get paid... you’re outa here. Simple.”

“How much will you demand?”

“One and a half million.”

He gave a huge laugh so I slapped him again. A degree harder.

“What’s the joke?”

“You haven’t a prayer.”

“You best pray, fella. The rest of the team, they make me look like the good guy.”

I raised my hand and he ducked.

“See, you’re getting the picture already.”