Jonathan Coe - The Dwarves of Death

Karla was looking at me in disbelief.

‘However,’ I continued, ‘in the light of what you’ve told me, I’ll make a deal with you: let me go and I promise I won’t tell the police anything about it.’

She reached into her holdall and took out the shotgun.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ she said. ‘You’re coming with me or I blow your brains out.’

I took a deep breath and nodded.

‘Fine.’

I’d never had anyone aim a gun at me before: as an aid to decision-making, I’d say it can’t be bettered. I stood transfixed by the sight of Karla pointing this thing at my chest. When she saw how frightened I was, she started to chuckle and push me downstairs.

‘What are you laughing at?’ I said.

She chuckled even more.

‘You and your bloody folk songs.’ She prodded me in the back with the rifle. ‘Sorry, pal. I’m no Mary O’Hara.’

She put the gun away in her bag before we got outside, and then grabbed me by the arm and propelled me out into the street. It was a black, cold night, and there was nobody around to see us. Our driver was waiting by the doorway, and the three of us walked, without speaking, down to his car which was parked on the Essex Road. Karla and I sat on the back seat. She took the shotgun out of her bag and laid it on her lap, and from the pocket of her jeans she took out a piece of paper which had the address of Thorn Bird Studios written on it.

‘This is where we’re going,’ she said to the driver. ‘Now step on it.’

He took the piece of paper and turned to her, looking puzzled.

‘Step on it?’

‘Not the paper, stupid. I mean hurry. Rápido !’

‘Ah.’

He started the car and drove off at a furious pace. I thought for a moment about what Karla had just said. A new, astonishing suspicion was creeping over me.

‘What did you say to him?’ I asked.

‘Rápido. It’s Spanish for “quick”.’

Her eyes were bright with anticipation, now, and she was tapping both her feet excitedly. It scared me to see how much she was looking forward to the task ahead of her: the fulfilment, I suppose, of a craving which had been burning inside her for years. She certainly didn’t look as though she felt like answering any more questions; but I had to ask, in a whisper: ‘Is he Spanish?’

‘That’s right. His name’s Pedro.’

She continued to fix me with this mocking, teasing, irrepressible smile. At any other time, and in any other woman, it would have been captivating. I beckoned her closer and whispered in her ear: ‘I know him.’

‘You do?’

‘He’s been seeing my flatmate. He’s an absolute bastard.’

‘Really?’ She pretended to look amazed. ‘And I only hired him because he seemed such a nice sort of bloke.’

All the indignation I felt about what he’d done to Tina started to boil over, suddenly. Back at the flat, it had been held in check by a level of panic and mystification which wouldn’t allow room for any other feelings. Now it welled up into a kind of hatred.

‘He’s been giving my flatmate hell,’ I whispered. ‘Doing terrible things to her. She even tried to kill herself.’

‘Too bad,’ said Karla flatly.

‘If I could just have five minutes alone with him…’

She looked at me, smiling again.

‘What would you do?’

This was a difficult question.

‘I’d… give him a really good talking to.’

She permitted herself a quiet but emphatic laugh, and then turned her gaze on Pedro.

‘Well, let’s see if we can do better than that,’ she said.

We drove along in silence for a few more minutes. Then Karla leant forward and tapped Pedro on the shoulder.

‘Nearly there?’ she asked.

‘Nearly. I think so.’

‘I suppose when we get there you’ll want to be paid, eh, Pedro?’

‘That’s right. When we get there.’

‘And how much was I going to pay you again? Five thousand, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right, five thousand pounds. Cash in the nail.’

She drew in her breath.

‘Five thousand pounds — that’s a lot of money, isn’t it?’

He giggled stupidly.

‘It is, señora. It’s a lot of money.’

‘What are you going to do with all that money?’

He giggled again.

‘I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be going back to Spain.’

‘Is there someone waiting for you out in Spain, eh, Pedro? Some little Spanish señorita ?’

He grinned and fondled his stubbly chin.

‘Maybe. Maybe there is someone, yes.’

‘But I bet that hasn’t stopped you from having a bit of fun while you were over here, eh, Pedro? We all like a bit of fun, don’t we?’

‘That’s right, señora,’ he said, laughing. ‘We all like a bit of fun.’

I interrupted them. ‘You turn left here. The studio’s only about fifty yards up the next road.’

‘OK. Stop the car here, Pedro. Stop the car.’

We were parked in the darkest and most deserted of back alleys. Pedro turned off all the lights.

‘So are you going to get her a present before you leave, Pedro? A present for your little bit of fun?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe I will.’

He was grinning again, and his teeth, reflected in the driver’s mirror, looked yellow and shiny in the darkness.

‘Does she know what you do for a living, this girl, Pedro? I bet you didn’t tell her what you really do.’

‘That’s right,’ he said, between more of those stupid giggles.

‘What did you tell her, then? What does she think you do?’

‘She thinks I drive cars. You know, for passengers.’

‘You’re an old dog, aren’t you, Pedro, eh?’ said Karla, provoking fits of laughter. ‘You’re a bit of an old rascal, aren’t you?’

‘That’s right. I am a bit, yes.’

‘Now — I’ve got this little problem, Pedro, which is that I can’t give you all the money right now. I’m going to have to give you something else, to be going on with.’

‘Something else?’

He turned, and she leant very close to his face.

‘Something else. Do you know what I mean?’

His long, slow smile spread itself again.

‘I think I do. I think maybe I do.’

‘You like British girls, don’t you, Pedro?’

‘Oh yes. I like them very much.’

‘This other British girl — I bet she’d do anything you asked her to, wouldn’t she?’

More giggles. ‘Well… she’d do a lot of things. And sometimes, you know, what’s wrong with a little…’

‘Gentle persuasion?’

‘That’s right.’

‘A bit of pressure?’

‘Yes.’

Karla raised the shotgun to the level of his head.

‘Pedro,’ she said. ‘You’re a waste of space.’

The noise of the shot was deafening, and — well, I’ve never seen anything like what happened then. His head exploded. Literally. It went everywhere. Bits of Pedro were splattered all over the windscreen, the dashboard, the seat covers, the roof. Blood shot in all directions and I got drenched in the stuff. In was in my hair, warm and sticky, and it was on my face and on my coat and on my hands. I was covered in Pedro. He was all over me. I must have been screaming or crying or some thing because suddenly Karla hit me in the face and shouted: ‘Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Now get out of the car!’

She pushed me out of the car and I fell into the street. Then she dragged me up off the floor and started pulling me along with her. I looked back at the car. The driver’s door was open — he must have grabbed the handle just as he realized what she was going to do to him — and what was left of Pedro was lying, half in and half out, slumped against the kerb. When Karla saw that I was looking back she struck me in the face again and pushed me on.