Will Self - The Butt

‘It’s simple, Brodzinski.’ All laughter was now gone from the Consul’s eyes; they bored into Tom. ‘While the immediate confines of the apartment are a private space — so long as you’re paying for it — the complex, as a whole, is a public space. As the, ah, butt, left your apartment — and before it entered that of Mr and Mrs Lincoln — its parabola took it, albeit briefly, into the exclusion zone that surrounds the Mimosa.

‘As I’m sure you can appreciate, this fact, in conjunction with the, ah, victim’s deteriorating condition, has distinctly severe consequences for your own, ah, situation.’

Tom, knowing it was a mistake, took another pull on his own Daquiri. Surely, at any second, the great wave of need-for-nicotine would engulf him? And, perhaps, despite all his resolutions, Tom should let it drag him away? Only the absurd irony that discarding a cigarette was to blame for his awful predicament prevented Tom from running from the house and down the road in search of a pack.

Luckily, this time the liquor worked, and Tom felt himself detaching and floating a little way off. He was able to ask, fairly calmly: ‘What consequences?’

‘Well’ — Adams, Tom now suspected, was actually enjoying himself — ‘It’s complex, and the case may even set a new precedent; but, suffice to say, it’s no longer possible to resolve the matter through direct negotiations with Mr Lincoln, or even his wife’s, ah, family. The DA has made it clear that he intends to take on the case, and he will almost certainly institute a prosecution for. .’

Without warning, Adams, who had seemed in full flood, trailed right off. The horsy face tipped forward, and the Consul fretted with the lace of one of his suede shoes.

‘What! What? Prosecution for what?’ Tom was gabbling.

Adams sighed. ‘For attempted murder, Mr Brodzinski, and, should the worst happen, naturally for murder itself.’

Tom stood up abruptly and walked to the back window of the room. The fly screening transformed the view without into a sepia image: an old photograph of a verdant, tropical hillside. Beyond it were the inapposite buildings of the colonial power, which were doubtless teeming with thin, feverish men wearing outsized solar topees.

The hillwomen beneath the house had begun to quietly chant ‘Bahn-bahn-bahn-boosh. Bahn-bahn-bahn-boosh. .’ over and over again.

Tom turned back to Adams. ‘I guess this means I won’t be going back home this Thursday.’

‘This Thursday, or any time soon, Mr Brodzinski. Lissen.’ Having dropped his latest bunker-buster, Adams was, once more, conciliatory. ‘I don’t for a second believe these charges will stand for long. There’ll be a plea bargain. There’s also the delicate matter of making restitution — the form of justice, ah, favoured by the Tayswengo — within any, ah, retributive parameters. The DA is part-Tugganarong, the Mayor two fifths Inssessitti. Both are facing re-election campaigns within the next six months; all of these factors must be taken into consideration.’

Suddenly, Tom crossed to Adams’s chair and, heedless of any dignity, fell to his knees. He even grasped the Consul’s bare forearm in both of his hands. ‘For Christ’s sake, Adams,’ he blurted out. ‘I know you’re a kind of a diplomat and you can’t screw with the locals, but you could at least advise me. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if I just slipped away? No one’s taken my passport; surely they can’t be posting a watch at Immigration. I mean, I’m no murderer, ferchrissakes, I flipped a goddamn lousy butt!’

Tom stopped. Adams disengaged his arm in a feminine way, as if he were rejecting the importuning of a lusty suitor. He stood. ‘Mr Brodzinski, they most certainly will have your details on the computer system at the airport. Even if you could effect, ah, departure from this country in some other way — and may I remind you, while the coastline is vast, the ocean distances to any other landfall are correspondingly so — you’re forgetting the papers you signed this morning.

‘We have no extradition treaty, but there is something called an Asset Transfer Convention, which both nations are signatories to.’

‘W-What does that mean?’

Tom was squatting on his scrawny legs, back at summer camp, querying the Mohawk tribe’s field game task.

‘It’s. . well, it’s unusual — perplexing even.’ Once again, the Consul was enthralled by the fathomless complexities of his adoptive country. ‘I can only imagine that it was an oversight on the part of the State Department, or that they didn’t understand exactly what the Convention would mean when applied to customary law, but, candidly, should you, ah, abscond, your chattels to the value of your presumptive bond would be liable to destruction — not confiscation, mind, destruction — by the plaintiffs’ agents.’

‘I–I don’t understand.’

‘The Lincolns could, should they so wish, destroy any of your assets up to the value of the bond, which is $2 million. And’, Adams snorted, ‘unbelievably, this has been known to happen.

‘A renegade Aval clan insisted that the Westphalian authorities blow up the house of a German tourist who had run into a herd of their auraca in the interior, then absconded. And they — fearing a diplomatic incident — obliged. I’m told the German ended up in the bauxite mines at Kellippi. He’s not very well.’

Adams stood and began to walk up and down. He stopped and looked over at Tom. ‘But this is all academic, Mr Brodzinski. Pull yourself together. You aren’t going to do anything to imperil either yourself or your wife and kids. You wife is, by all accounts a very lovely woman. .’

Was it Tom’s fevered imagination, or did Adams actually lick his thin lips at this point?

‘This morning, I suggested that you get yourself a good lawyer. Have you taken any steps in that direction? If necessary the consulate can recommend some practitioners here in Vance. .’ Adams’s voice sank, then disappeared.

Tom turned from the window. The Consul had picked up a wooden flipper lizard from the floor and was running a finger round the whorls incised on the back of the carving. Tom had a moment of compassion for this man, who, he suspected, might be trying to do the decent thing by him.

‘And once I’ve engaged a lawyer, what do I do then? Please advise me.’

‘You’ll need to present yourself at police headquarters. There, you’ll be arrested, formally charged and — if there’s a judge available — almost certainly immediately bailed. Have you any means of getting funds transferred to the state’s account? There are no bail bondsmen here, Mr Brodzinski.’

‘I think — I presume my bank manager will, um, oblige.’

The ‘presume’ and the ‘oblige’ sounded good, the kind of measured terminology that the Consul himself might use. Tom felt he was regaining his composure.

‘And the lawyer?’

At the exact moment Adams said the word ‘lawyer’, Tom, who hadn’t even been aware of his hand being in his pocket, felt the edge of the card Jethro Swai-Phillips had given him. A card that, out of contempt, he hadn’t bothered to put in his billfold, but merely shoved down into this sweaty, lint-filled darkness.

He pulled it out and, without any thought, handed it to the Consul, saying: ‘What about this guy, is he any good?’

Adams took the card, and glanced at it. ‘Swai-Phillips?’ he laughed shortly. ‘He’s one of the best, and, in point of, ah, fact, for your particular case he’s the very best. He has Gandaro and Aval blood; hill and desert. There’s a dash of Tugganarong in there as well, and, of course, his mother’s mother was Belgian. So, he covers the, ah, waterfront. If anyone can get you bail, he can.’