Rupert Thomson - The Five Gates of Hell

Maroon suit, green skin. Hair as slick and black as liquorice.

‘… my name’s Maxie Carlo … I play, you sway …’

The three old ladies tittered, winked.

The organ had a built-in drum machine. Maxie Carlo twisted a couple of dials and a new rhythm began.

‘… good to see a bit of spirit here tonight … I stick to lemonade, myself …’

Halfway through his second drink Nathan thought he’d try calling Georgia again. He found a phone near the men’s room. He dialled Georgia’s apartment, but there was still no reply. On the way back to his table, he bought another drink. He sat down again. The music had stopped.

‘Nathan, what a pleasant surprise.’ The voice was rich and cool, and came from his right shoulder.

He looked round. It was Maxie Carlo. Black hairs bristled in his nostrils. A damp top lip. No neck.

‘I would never have expected to see you here,’ Maxie said. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine.’ Nathan could feel the blankness on his face.

‘I’m sorry, Nathan,’ Maxie said, ‘you don’t remember me, do you? I guess you were kind of preoccupied last night.’ Only his top row of teeth showed when he smiled. One of them was edged in gold, like a page from the Bible. ‘I met you in that bar on the promenade. You were with Neville.’

‘Neville?’

‘Oh dear.’ Maxie laughed. It didn’t make a sound. ‘Maybe you know him as Reid. That’s what he calls himself when he doesn’t call himself Neville. Except sometimes he calls himself Vince or Len. Or Eric. Once,’ and he ran the tip of his little finger round the curve of his nostril, ‘once he called himself Irv.’ That soundless laugh again. That gilded tooth.

Nathan didn’t say anything. He didn’t like this man leaning over him as if he owned him.

‘They’re anagrams,’ Maxie explained.

‘Anagrams?’

‘You know. Words you get out of another word.’ Maxie looked down at Nathan and affected great concern. ‘Dear, oh dear,’ he said. ‘I can see you’ve fallen for the whole thing.’

There was a slow turning in Nathan’s stomach, a sense of unease that was massive and inexplicable, like the movement of galaxies. He felt slightly sick.

‘Well,’ and Maxie took his hand off Nathan’s shoulder and held it out, palm up, ‘the organ calls.’ And with another soundless laugh he slid away between the tables as if he’d been greased.

One of the old women reached across and touched Nathan’s arm. ‘You know Mr Carlo, do you?’

‘Not really,’ Nathan said.

‘He’s very good, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, he is.’ Nathan looked towards the dance-floor. A man of about sixty stood in the spotlight, alone and blinking. He wore old brown chinos and a mustard-coloured cardigan.

‘Clive’s going to sing for us now,’ Maxie said, ‘aren’t you, Clive?’

Clive ducked his head.

‘What are you going to sing for us, Clive?’

Clive mumbled something.

‘Clive’s going to sing an old music-hall number for us.’ Maxie raised an eyebrow at the audience. ‘I can hardly wait.’

The drum machine started up, the organ came in. Clive shifted, crouched, found the position. Legs apart, eyes closed, one hand splayed, waist-level, in the air. He had the gestures down. The only trouble was, he couldn’t sing. It would’ve made a great comic act, Clive in his mustard cardigan, eyes closed, hand splayed, fucking terrible voice.

As Nathan walked back down the pier he heard a few whistles, some brittle applause. Clive must have finished his song. The ocean sighed and shifted under his feet. He’d only had three or four drinks, but his mouth felt loose and he was talking to himself.

He leaned on a railing. ‘It’s an anagram,’ he said. ‘An anagram.’ He laughed. ‘You know.’

He stared down at the tilting black sheets of water. ‘Once he was Irv,’ he said, and laughed again. When he stopped laughing he took a deep breath and called out, ‘George?’

He passed the gardens on the promenade. The strips of neat mown grass. The tight, bright symmetries of flowers. He walked on. There was a strange hollow rattling sound. A white car cruised by with a skeleton tied to its rear fender. The bones jumped and twitched on the road, as if possessed by fever. Then he was looking up at the façade of the Palace Hotel. He suddenly felt like talking to that man. Like being listened to. That man who acted like a priest. That man with all the names. He certainly didn’t want to go home. He saw a phone-booth on the corner of the street. He’d try Georgia one last time.

As he walked towards the phone-booth, the phone started ringing. He stopped, looked around. But there was nobody in sight. The phone was still ringing. He ducked into the booth and picked up the receiver. He didn’t say anything. He just listened.

‘You took your time.’

‘Who’s this?’ Nathan said.

‘One guess.’

Still holding the receiver, Nathan turned and looked up at the hotel. ‘Is that you?’

‘I saw you passing. Thought I’d give you a call.’

Nathan smiled. ‘Where are you?’

‘Where do you think?’

‘It’s funny, but I wanted to come and see you. It’s just I didn’t know how.’

‘You don’t remember?’

‘No.’

A laugh. ‘I’m not surprised. It’s the fourteenth floor. Apartment 1412. Got that?’

‘I’ve got it.’ Nathan hung up. He left the booth and walked towards the hotel, the ocean crackling behind him like a policeman’s radio, like the scene of a crime.

Jed couldn’t even swallow his own saliva. He had to keep a bowl beside the bed. He lay on his back all day, he saw the sun rise and fall in the window, he felt such anger that he hit the wall with his fist and burned the skin off his knuckles. He had to make that phone-call, and he had to make it soon, but he couldn’t do anything till he had his voice back.

At about midday somebody knocked on the door. Jed quickly wrapped the scarf around his neck. Silence stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of pyjamas and his suit jacket. He handed Jed one of his cards: ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?

Jed nodded. ‘It’s just a really bad cold.’ He couldn’t speak so he just mouthed the words. Not that it made any difference to Silence.

Silence produced another card: DO YOU NEED ANYTHING?

Jed shook his head. ‘I’ll be OK.’

One more card: YOU SURE?

Jed nodded. ‘I’m sure.’ Then he thought of something. ‘If you go out, could you get me some yoghurt?’

Silence looked puzzled. Maybe he hadn’t understood. Maybe the word was hard to read.

‘Yoghurt,’ Jed whispered. ‘Yog-hurt.’

After Silence had left the room, Jed lay back. He was curiously touched. Silence had prepared those three cards in advance. That was a lot of words for Silence. Maybe even a whole day’s worth.

He turned his thoughts back to Creed and, reaching into his jacket, took out his wallet. Inside the wallet was a newspaper article. He unfolded it and laid it flat on the pillow. And though he knew the article by heart he began to read it through once more:

RIDDLE OF MISSING STUDENT

A medical student was abducted from his Los Ilusiones apartment last night by several armed men.

Mr Francis Gorelli, 19, worked as an intern at the Moon Beach General Hospital, and was due to take examinations later in the year.

One of the armed men was about 25, white, and he was wearing a black suit and a black top hat. A dark car was seen leaving the area and police are still trying to trace the vehicle.

The family of the missing man refused to comment today. The abduction of Mr Gorelli is only the latest incident in a wave of violence that has been sweeping the notorious eastern suburbs of the city.