Anne Billson - Suckers

After a while, I remembered I'd run out of cigarettes, so helped myself to one from Duncan's packet, and smoked it very slowly and deliberately. Half-way through, I noticed someone sitting in the armchair opposite. I hadn't heard her come in, but that wasn't so surprising because she always moved quietly. She was staring at Duncan without appearing to see him.

'He never even took my photo,' I said. It was that, more than anything, which made me want to cry.

A few minutes later, I asked. 'What are you going to do now?' The room was chilly, and when she looked at me, it became even chillier. There was nothing in those eyes, nothing at all. Not even a spark.

She said something in a language I didn't recognize, in a voice that seemed to come from a long way off. She watched without expression as I ground my cigarette into the ashtray, got to my feet and took two paces forward and, holding the gun steady with both hands, shot her in the chest, round about the place where her heart should have been.

She didn't flinch as the bullet went in. She didn't even look surprised. She sat perfectly still, and I thought perhaps she was dead after all, until she moved her head to look down at her left breast. I couldn't see the hole I'd made, because the room was too dark, and of course she was dressed in black, but she prodded with the fingers of her right hand, the white one, and then her finger and thumb worked their way inside and dug around for a bit. There was a small wet noise, and her finger and thumb re-emerged, no longer white but red. She held up the bullet and regarded it with something that wasn't interest, not exactly.

'It's silver,' I explained.

She stared at me for more than a minute. 'You stupid child,' she said at last. 'Silver bullets are for werewolves.'

'Yes I know that, but he said… he said…'

There was a hiss of escaping air, or it might have been a sigh. 'Who said?'

I suddenly felt very small. I said, 'Grauman.'

Something flitted across her face and was gone. 'Ah,' she said. 'I see.' Then she closed her eyes. The minutes ticked away. She sat there unmoving, her shape blending into the shadows. I watched, even though there was nothing to see, and eventually I asked if she was going to kill me.

'There's no point,' she said.

She said nothing more, and neither did she move, not even when the limo arrived to take me to the airport.

We swung into Ladbroke Grove. I could see something blocking the street, further down, by the tube station. A bonfire, with a small crowd milling around it. Then I realized the flames were coming from a burning car. People were poking at it with sticks.

I got the impression there was someone still inside.

'Jesus,' I said.

'Not to worry,' said the driver. 'We'll go down here.' He was a thin, pale youth whose grey uniform made him look more like an overgrown schoolboy than a chauffeur. He turned right into Blenheim Crescent, and immediately had to brake. There were people all over the street in front of us, running and shouting. He slowed down, but didn't stop, edging ahead with his hand jammed down on the horn. Nearly everyone got out of the way. Those that didn't appeared not to care, one way or the other.

The front of the delicatessen had been kicked in. I saw a bevy of well-dressed women helping themselves to croissants and pains au chocolat . 'Well, they seem to be having fun,' my driver observed cheerfully. There were other people having fun too: someone was standing in the doorway of the wine merchant's, handing out what looked like bottles of claret to passers-by. There was a fine wisp of smoke curling out from the wrecked window of the electronics store, and an orderly parade of men and women emerging with camcorders, fax machines, and cordless curling tongs. A little further on, an old lady hobbled out of the hardware shop, bent almost double beneath a huge sack of compost.

Ruth's gallery was intact. Perhaps this had something to do with the detachment of cool-looking dudes in berets and army surplus who were lolling about on the pavement outside, each clutching a can of lager in one hand and an automatic weapon in the other. Several of them were puffing away on spliffs the size of torpedoes. Then I spotted Ruth. She was standing in the doorway, talking intently to Dino, who didn't appear to be paying her any attention because he was shouting into a walkie-talkie.

'Stop here, just for a minute,' I said.

The driver pulled up at the kerb, but kept the engine running. 'Don't be too long,' he warned. 'Traffic's getting worse by the second.' I got out and immediately found myself looking down the barrels of half a dozen machine-guns.

'Yo, mo, fo,' said one of the men in berets.

'Yo ho ho,' I said.

Ruth saw me and bounded forward. She was still wearing her samurai headband, but she'd swapped the flak jacket and drawstring trousers for strategically ripped olive-green overalls. 'Dora! Hi, glad you could make it. It's OK, guys, she's one of us.'

'The fuck she is,' I heard someone say as Ruth threaded her arm through mine and drew me to one side. 'Where've you been? I've been phoning you all day. Did you find out anything?'

'Oh yes, I found out lots. I found out about Rotnacht .'

'You did? And?'

'Rotnacht is scheduled to begin' — I looked at my watch, which appeared to be working properly again — 'in approximately three hours and forty minutes.'

Ruth put her hands on her hips and let out a long, deep sigh. 'Well, that's really helpful, Dora. Couldn't you have told us sooner?'

'Well, what did you think was going on here, exactly?' I raved my arm towards the toy-shop, where a crumpled Ford Fiesta was sitting amid a window arrangement of shattered glass and inflatable dinosaurs. Small, pre-school children were picking their way through the wreckage with their arms full of Barbie dolls and pastel-coloured furry animals.

'This? Oh, I thought this was run-of-the-mill civil disobedience,' said Ruth.

'Well, it's going to get worse,' I said. 'They're going to start killing people at midnight.'

'Really?' She seemed thrilled. 'I'd better summon the troops for a briefing.'

'Yo, what's up?' asked Dino, coming up behind us.

'Rotnacht ,' said Ruth. 'It's tonight.'

All the colour drained out of Dino's face. 'Tonight?'

Ruth nodded excitedly. 'Going to stick around for the party, Dora?'

'Nah,' I said, moving back towards the car. 'I'm out of here.'

'Where's she going?' Dino asked suspiciously.

I gave him a big, sweet grin as I slid into the back of the car. 'La Place de la Concorde ,' I said, and slammed the door shut.

The radio crackled ceaselessly as we drove. 'Edgar Allan Poe to H. P. Lovecraft,' said the driver. 'Come in, H. P. Lovecraft.'

'H. P. Lovecraft to Edgar Allan Poe,' said the voice from the radio. 'H. P. Lovecraft to Edgar Allan Poe. What's your position?'

'Approaching Harrow Road,' said the driver. 'Update on the situation, please.'

'Marylebone Road is no go. Repeat. Marylebone Road is no go.'

'What do you suggest?'

'Stay out of the West End. Repeat. The West End is a war zone . Your best bet is the North Circular. Repeat. The North Circular is your best bet.' The speaker sounded curiously jovial.

'Camden? Finsbury Park?' asked the driver.

'Dodgy. Very dodgy. Repeat. The North Circular is your best bet. Over and out.'

The driver grinned over his shoulder at me. 'Don't worry, lady. We're taking the scenic route, but we'll get you there.'

'I'm not worried,' I said, and I wasn't. I had one silver bullet left, and it wasn't for me.

We headed north. There were people out on the streets here, but the action was elsewhere, and they weren't hanging around. There was a lot of traffic, but my driver didn't let it put him off his stride. He wasn't sticking to the rules; he drove up on pavements, barged through red lights, and demolished a couple of sign-posts and a flower-stall. There were other sticky patches, but our car came off better than most of the others we encountered en route .