Rupert Thomson - The Five Gates of Hell

Nathan checked his watch. Almost twelve-thirty. When he looked up again, Georgia was sitting next to him. She was dressed for business. All in black except for a denim jacket and an amber necklace.

‘That guy you’re with,’ she said, ‘he’s really ugly.’

Nathan smiled. ‘I know.’

‘You been waiting long?’

‘About two hours.’

‘That’s not bad for me. I’m practically early.’ She sounded breathless, as if she’d been whirled round and round and bits of her were coming loose.

It was still the funeral, he thought. That was what a funeral did. It climbed down into your bones and hid. And every now and then it jumped back out again, took hold of you, and shook you till you rattled.

Jed slid back into his seat. ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘new blood.’

‘Who’s this?’ Georgia asked.

‘We used to know each other,’ Nathan said. ‘Years ago.’

‘Old friends,’ Jed said.

Nathan turned to Georgia. ‘Did you get it?’

She lit a cigarette. ‘In the end. I had to go out to Sweetwater. Great name for nowhere, that. Hasn’t even got any water at all, let alone sweet. Who names these places? Jesus.’ She blew smoke across the room and shook her head. Then she seemed to realise it was over with, she’d got where she was going to. She slumped back in the seat, let her head slip sideways till it was resting against Nathan’s shoulder. ‘Sorry I was so long.’

He smiled. ‘Like you said, you’re practically early.’

‘Sweetwater,’ Jed said. ‘That’s a real dump.’

‘You know it?’ Georgia asked him.

‘Used to live there. Every time a plane went over, you had to shout. If you had a bath, you got waves in it.’

Georgia looked at him. ‘What did you say your name was?’

‘They call him Spaghetti,’ Nathan said.

‘They used to call me that,’ Jed said, ‘but it’s not my real name.’

‘What’s your real name?’ Georgia said. ‘Lasagne?’

Jed’s smile was a thin flexing of the lips. You’re on the border, it said. Don’t step over it.

‘His real name’s Jed,’ Nathan said.

Georgia was frowning. ‘That’s not very Italian.’

‘Who said anything about Italian?’ Jed said.

‘So why Spaghetti?’ But her interest was fading, she was looking round. ‘I think it’s time for the bathroom.’

In two minutes she was back again.

‘So what are we doing?’ Nathan said.

‘Let’s go back to the house,’ she said. ‘There’s a pool. There’s videos.’ She took hold of Nathan’s arm. ‘We won’t have it for ever.’

‘What about Harriet?’ he said. ‘And Yvonne.’

‘They’ll be asleep, dummy.’

‘It’s a long way.’

‘We’ll get a taxi.’

‘We don’t need a taxi,’ Jed said. ‘I’ve got a car.’

Nathan turned to him. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘No, I don’t mind,’ Jed said. ‘I kind of like driving.’

They left the bar. Nathan waited on the sidewalk while Georgia bought a couple of six-packs from the all-night liquor store next door. He watched her gesturing under the harsh fluorescent lights. She was making the old man behind the counter laugh. He looked round. Jed was ten yards away, chin tipped in the air, fingers at his throat. Nathan could hear the scratching. Could almost see the dry skin floating to the ground. He walked over to the gutter. It was choked with debris from the day before: flowers, fireworks, skulls. ‘They’ll be asleep,’ he muttered, ‘dummy.’ He must be drunk, he thought, to be talking to himself like this.

Then Jed was standing next to him. ‘This house we’re going to,’ he said, ‘whose is it?’

‘It’s ours,’ Nathan said. ‘We’re selling it. It’s going on the market sometime next week.’

‘You got any spare room?’

Nathan looked up. ‘Why?’

‘Well, like I said. I only just got back. I haven’t found a place yet.’

Nathan nudged a skull with the toe of his shoe. ‘Shouldn’t be a problem.’

The door of the liquor store swung shut on muscular spring hinges. They looked up. Georgia was walking towards them with the beer. They crossed the street to Jed’s car. It was an old Chrysler with steel radials. Mud had dried in streaks behind the wheel arches. Jed must have been driving across country.

‘It’s beat up,’ Jed said, ‘but it goes.’

It looked like it went. The sprawling hood hinted at a powerful engine. The radiator grille had caught flies in its fierce, bared teeth. The numberplate said CREAM 8.

‘Nice plate,’ Georgia said.

‘Some people don’t get it,’ Jed said. ‘They think I’m in the dairy business. A milkman or something.’

Laughing, they climbed into the car. They sat in the front, all three of them, with Nathan in the middle. Jed turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled.

He seemed to know the city well. He took shortcuts all the way across town, streets that Nathan had never even heard of. He drove methodically, seldom raising his speed above thirty-five. Nathan smiled. He could feel Georgia shifting next to him, and knew it was only a matter of time. Sure enough, as they crossed the bridge, she leaned forward.

‘You drive very slow,’ she said.

‘It’s habit,’ Jed said.

She didn’t understand. ‘What do you mean?’

Nathan turned to her, smiling. ‘He used to drive hearses.’

There were no further questions.

When they reached Mahogany Drive, Jed didn’t want to leave his car on the street. He asked if there was anywhere more private. Nathan showed him the small courtyard behind the house.

‘It’ll be safe there,’ he said.

Jed gave him a smile that he couldn’t read.

They settled in the lounge. It had always been their favourite room. The french windows opening on to the terrace, the pool glittering beyond. Georgia cut some lines. Jed sat in Dad’s red chair and watched TV. He found the cartoon channel, said it was just the right speed. Georgia thought so too.

‘How did you two meet?’ she asked.

‘Mutual friend,’ Jed said. ‘When we were about twelve.’

‘You seen anything of Tip?’ Nathan asked.

‘I haven’t seen anything of anyone,’ Jed said. ‘I told you, I’ve been away.’ He smiled. ‘I’m not even back yet, not officially.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Nobody knows I’m here.’

‘You on the run or something?’ And Nathan couldn’t help laughing.

Jed took the question seriously. He pulled his sleeve up. ‘You see this tattoo?’ he said.

Nathan leaned forwards. He saw a series of blue numbers on the inside of Jed’s wrist. ‘What’s that?’ he said. ‘Your phone number?’

‘That’s a good one,’ Jed said. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard that one.’ And his top teeth glistened and his mouth turned down at the corners. While the smile lasted, he looked exactly like his car. Nathan pictured dead flies spattered on his teeth.

‘So what is it?’ he asked.

‘It’s a date,’ Jed said.

‘The date of what?’

Jed leaned back in Dad’s red chair. He made them wait. ‘The date I killed someone,’ he said.

‘Yeah?’ Nathan didn’t believe it. But then he thought back, all the way back to the shark run, the SUICIDE/YOU FIRST T-shirt, that sense of contamination, and then later, Central Avenue, his vision of the jacket lined with needles, and suddenly he did believe it.

‘Anyone we know?’ Georgia asked.

Jed ignored her. ‘You remember I told you I did a job for a guy called Creed?’

Nathan nodded.

‘Well, that was the job.’ Jed reached for another beer. A snap, a hiss. ‘All that stuff with the Womb Boys, that was just practice for the real thing. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was.’ He stared at the can and then put it down. ‘I had to do things working for Creed, anyone who got close to him, they had to do things, that’s what Creed was like. I had to do things and then,’ and he looked up and suddenly his eyes looked too pale, almost blind, ‘and then,’ he said, ‘I had to leave.’ He took his hat off, turned it in his hands.