Ken Bruen - Rilke on Black

I struggled to wake.

“Lisa... Lisa... oh shit... sorry, I’m half asleep Bonny... I meant Bonny, it’s that I’m still groggy here.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from her. I felt it like a razor then.

“That says it all.”

“Don’t worry about Dex... I’ll make sure he stays away.”

“It’s not Dex I’m afraid of.”

Then she hung up.

I told myself, “This is good... she’s safer away... till I get things sorted... it’s good... definitely I’m well pleased... things couldn’t be better.”

I was wrong.

Bonny was wrong.

All dreadfully so.

I went downstairs. Dex and Lisa were rolling a joint. I said, “We do it tomorrow.”

Dex answered, “Oh yippee, I’ve got my little bag with ‘swag’ printed on it all prepared.”

“The plan is the same, no variation. Now get the nick out of my house.”

The remainder of the evening is lost to me. I guess I fed Baldwin, and no doubt he fed me the usual poetic bullshit. It’s a given that I fed my neuroses. Fighting the urge to get drunk all over again. A quiet voice promising if I started, I might never stop. I wasn’t sure I’d want to.

Was it torment?

Dex had said you couldn’t truly understand torture till you heard William Shatner’s version of “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”

Maybe I hummed a few bars.

Next morning I asked Baldwin if his wife would pay.

“She’ll pay.”

“You’re very sure.”

“It’s my business... certainty.”

“I dunno Baldwin, she doesn’t say a whole lot. I gave her instructions, to have old unmarked bills. No consecutive serial numbers. All the usual stuff. She only ever says ‘yes’... nowt else... just that friggin’ ‘yes’.”

“She doesn’t talk to garbage. It’s why I married her.”

This said without even bothering to look at me. A tap on the head might have got his attention but I wasn’t up to it. As I turned to go he said, “Goliath... ponder this as an epilogue, if not a conclusion. My Rilke was fascinated with contained energy. Ah, if I had but the time or inclination to recite. ‘The Gazelle’, or ‘The Flamingos’.

“Living creatures confined by restriction.”

He shook the leg chain and gave a grim smile. One that never touched his eyes.

“There is much I should like to say, but as time goes by, I become more distrustful of myself — monster that I am, having never been so deeply, painfully and unceasingly concerned about any creature as about myself.”

I didn’t reply. The word was so crucial to him.

Lisa and Dex arrived early. We ran through the plan again. She was wearing a formal black two-piece suit and looked like a highly successful businesswoman.

Or, a dominatrix.

Dex and I wore sports jackets, slacks, open shirts. A Marks and Spencer’s mildly comfortable look. Not rich, but not hurtin’.

At noon, I made the call.

“Mrs Baldwin, you have the money?”

“Yes.”

“OK, it’s 12 now. At 1.30, you are to enter Marks and Spencer’s flagship shop at Marble Arch. You’ll have the money in one of their bags. Go to a changing room in the women’s department. Leave the money on the floor there. Walk out of the store and then right. Keep walking for exactly five minutes. Then you’ll be contacted. Any questions?”

A flood: “When do I get my husband back? How can I be sure he’s alright — have you hurt him?”

I considered my reply carefully and then I said “Yes”.

And hung up.

I turned to my merry band, said, “OK pranksters, let’s hit the bricks.”

At 1.30, Lisa and I had already purchased a dressing gown. It rested in the large bag. We were standing near to the escalator. Lisa moved suddenly.

“That’s her in the blonde hair, cheap leather coat.”

“Go,” I said and nodded to Dex.

The place was crowded as we’d anticipated. Lisa took a dress from the rail. Mrs Baldwin had selected a cardigan and she was carrying the distinctive green bag. They disappeared into the changing rooms. A few moments lapsed and Mrs Baldwin emerged carrying only the cardigan. Then Lisa, with her green bag, took the escalator to furnishings.

I went after her.

Dex was on the ground floor to follow Mrs Baldwin. We were on the street and going left in under five minutes. The green bag was now in a Selfridges hold-all.

At Bond Street tube station, I said to Lisa, “I’ll hang on to the money... then tonight... if it’s all clear... I’ll meet you at my place. About 7, like that.”

She gave me a long look, said, “You wouldn’t skip on us now, would you precious?”

“And leave me home in Clapham... an Englishman’s castle and all that shit.”

She touched my cheek with one finger.

“Now all dis near over baby, we go back to sweet loving like before.”

“I can hardly contain myself.”

“You all hurry home now. I be keeping it warm for mah daddy.”

I watched her go. I walked out of the station, hailed a cab.

I had the driver swing by Bonny’s cafe. What did I think... I’d see her at work... and then what? Shovel out a few wedges of cash... what?

I saw smoke from the top of Clapham Rise. Before I could think, the cabby said, “Torched the cafe last night. Had to bring in the fire engines from Streatham to fight the blaze. The owner was trapped in it.”

I choked down hard and as we actually passed, I locked my feet and tried to keep my eyes down. I could smell the smoke. I’ll fuckin’ always smell the smoke.

When we got to my street, I paid the cab, watched him drive off. Then I crossed to Dex’s house... broke a back window and climbed in. Went to the front window and dropped the money at my feet. Said aloud, “Now let’s see who shows up.”

Lisa showed within twenty minutes. A light skip in her walk.

“Looking good,” I thought.

Then ten minutes later, Dex. He stopped outside. A long look towards his house. I whispered, “Come on, come on in you twisted fuck.”

But he didn’t. Turned into my home. “Home is where the treachery is.” As I figured on giving them a little time, I had a wander through Dex’s home. Hotel rooms have more energy. It was: 1. Neat. 2. Antiseptic. 3. Vacant.

Anyone could have lived there or no one. I found a bottle of gin and poured some into a mug. This had a cat’s head on the side, underneath was the logo, “I love pussy.”

“Cute,” I said.

I had vaguely expected to find the browning automatic. Since it disappeared from under my fridge, I expected Dex had it. As was my quota now, I was absolutely wrong.

I checked the money, well I looked at it. Was it all there... probably. I counted a wad at random and it came to ten grand. These were an awful lot of wads. The money was old, near crumpled. I shouted aloud.

“I’m third of a millionaire. Wouldn’t my old dad be surprised.”

Hefting a thick wad, I lash-kicked it across the room. It hit the wall with a light thud and slithered to the floor. I said, “See Bonny, kicked a little your way... OK darling... OK sweetheart...”

A thought pondered into my head. This morning when I’d been running through my plan, Dex had been whistling quietly. One of those annoying things, you know you know it, but you’re fucked if you can put a name to it. As we’d left the house he’d given me a look of what I could now only identify as triumph.

Now I could name it. Elton John’s “Burn Down the Mission”.

And I was relieved I hadn’t found the gun. Oh yeah, I wanted to take him with my bare hands.

An hour passed. I left that money and went across the road. What I felt was “ready.” The house was quiet. I headed for the basement and heard low moans.

“Christ,” I thought, “they’re torturing the poor bastard.”