Gregory Roberts - The Mountain Shadow

‘By the way, why me?’ Oleg whispered. ‘Why not your friend Didier, or someone else?’

‘You really wanna know?’

‘Of course,’ he said, searching my eyes. ‘It could be good material.’

‘Because I’ve got friends who’d go with me, but they might get hurt, and I’d feel bad about that, but I won’t feel bad if you get hurt. You see that, right?’

‘I see that,’ he whispered, grinning happily. ‘And it’s a very good reason. If I was in the same spot, I’d buy your life, too.’

‘I’m not buying your life, Dostoevsky. I’m buying your time , in a fight. Are we clear?’

‘Clear,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m glad we had this talk.’

‘Well, here’s another talk. If you go near my girlfriend, I’ll cut you.’

‘You’ve got a girlfriend?’ he whispered, incredulously.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well… ’

‘If you make a Russian-writer move on her, I’ll cut you.’

‘I got the cutting part the first time,’ he whispered. ‘It’s not something you forget.’

He was grinning at me, and I couldn’t read it. He was either a pretty happy guy, wherever he was, or there was something he knew that I didn’t know.

‘What?’ I frowned.

‘You’ve really got a girlfriend?’ he asked.

‘Keep your Russian epic away from her.’

‘I got it, I got it,’ he grinned.

‘What are you grinning about?’

‘It’s just so much fun, to do some shit worth writing about with another writer. We should work on a short story together, after this. I’ve got some great ideas.’

‘Will you cut it out. We could get seriously fucked up here. This Irish guy’s crazy, and tungsten hard. Stay sharp.’

‘Okay, okay, take it easy. I’ve got twelve thousand bucks invested in this. Let’s fuck up the Irishman and his friends, and get drunk.’

He started sprinting toward factory 4A, alone. Russians.

I sprinted after him and caught him outside the entrance. We slipped around the side of the huge, curved hut to sneak a glimpse in a raised window.

Concannon was there with two men, playing cards on the bonnet of an immaculate red Pontiac Laurentian, partially obscured by a silver dust cover.

‘Are you good?’ I whispered.

‘Good for what?’ Oleg whispered back. ‘What’s the plan?’

‘We walk in through the door and I challenge the Irishman.’

‘Don’t you think we should sneak in?’

‘If I was a sneak-in guy, I would’ve brought a gun.’

‘You didn’t bring a gun ?’

I opened the door and walked into the empty factory. Oleg was a step behind me as we crossed the floor. We stopped a few steps from Concannon and his friends.

The Afghan’s hands were in his lap. The Indian’s hands were in his lap. I didn’t know if they had guns or not.

I knew where Concannon’s hands were. They were applauding.

‘You’re more fun than a drunk nun,’ he applauded. ‘I heard you were dead. I see it was just a vicious rumour.’

‘Let’s do this,’ I said. ‘Just you and me, alone.’

‘Is it a fight you want, boyo?’

He was still grinning. I’d learned how much you can come to dislike a happy grin.

‘I want you to stop all your shit, and stay away from me, and my friends. If you agree to that, I’ll sit down, and beat your ass at poker.’

‘And if I don’t?’

Cold stars filtered through wet light glittered in his eyes.

‘Then it’s you and me, right here, right now, and we’ll settle this, once and for all.’

He leaned back in his plastic chair, and smiled.

‘Put your gun on him, Govinda,’ he said quietly.

It was the Indian guy who had the gun. The Afghan stood up, his cards still in his hand.

‘Yes, boss,’ Govinda said.

‘Get up, Govinda, and stand beside his friend.’

‘Yes, boss.’

Govinda stood up, and moved away from the car.

‘Keep your gun on the Australian convict as you walk, lad,’ Concannon warned. ‘He’s a naughty one. If he moves an inch, shoot him.’

‘Yes, boss,’ Govinda said, smiling at me.

His eyes shone like opals in the half-light of the factory. When he reached Oleg, he shoved the gun into his stomach. Oleg was still smiling. It looked like I was the only guy in the place who wasn’t smiling.

‘I come in here, man to man, and you pull a gun?’ I said.

He was stung, because we both knew I was right. The fight was rising in him, fast.

‘Just a little insurance,’ he said, controlling his rage.

‘You do this the wrong way, Concannon, we won’t be the only ones who die.’

I said it for the benefit of the paid hands, the Afghan and Indian henchmen.

‘Govinda will certainly die,’ I said. ‘And the Afghan, too.’

I turned to the Afghan.

‘ Salaam aleikum ,’ I said.

He wouldn’t reply.

‘ Salaam aleikum ,’ I said, insisting on one of the kindest Islamic teachings, that a genuine greeting of peace should always be met with an equal or better greeting.

‘ Wa aleikum salaam ,’ he said, at last.

‘What’s your name?’

He opened his mouth to speak, but Concannon cut him off.

‘Don’t tell him that, you heathen half-wit. He’s just fuckin’ with your mind, don’t you see? He’s gone native, so he knows native talk. But it’s all just to fuck with your fragile heathen minds. Watch a master, while I fuck with his mind.’

He stood up and walked around the front of the car to stand close to me.

‘If he does anything at all,’ he said to Govinda, ‘shoot his friend. I’ll help you cut the body up meself, later on.’

‘Yes, boss.’

He stood opposite me, swaying from side to side slowly, his lips pressed into the shell of a smile.

‘I know what you want to know,’ he said, standing close to me.

‘I want you to stop. That’s all.’

‘Ha! No, you don’t. You want the answer to a very important question.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘A question,’ he sang at me. ‘A question, a question.’

‘Spit it out.’

‘Mind my words, Govinda!’ he commanded, looking at me. ‘If he makes a move on me, kill his friend. I’ll take care of this cunt.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘You only really want to know one thing,’ he said, leaning in close. ‘Did I fuck her, that sweet little American girlfriend of yours, before I left Ranjit with her that night, or didn’t I?’

Veins worked their clotted way upward from my clenched jaw through my eyes and into my forehead. I was sweating with the rage to hurt him. It was something else, something different, something I hadn’t brought through the door with me. When he put Lisa in the room, I was fighting for her.

‘You know, Concannon,’ I said, biting back to make him fight back. ‘If the Great Famine didn’t starve the English out of you, it’s because you’re really just an Englishman, with an Irish accent.’

He rushed at my throat, but I dodged away and backed off toward the car.

‘Why don’t we just do this?’ I said, loosening up. ‘My guess is, you’re all talk. Let’s find out, and get this over with. If you kick my ass, and you’re prepared to shake and be friends, I’ll be happy to admit you’re the better man. If I win, you stay the fuck away from me and mine. Sound fair to you, Govinda?’

‘Yes, boss,’ he answered automatically.

‘Shut up, you fool,’ Concannon snapped.

‘I think your gunman has his conscience on safety,’ I said. ‘Let’s do this without a gun, Concannon. Sound fair to you, Govinda?’

‘Shut up!’ Concannon shouted. ‘Shut up everybody!’