Rupert Thomson - The Five Gates of Hell

They began to edge down the left side of the pier, Nathan in front, Jed just behind. DANGEROUS STRUCTURE was right. All the paint had flaked off or worn away, and most of what lay beneath had either rusted or rotted through. If you stood still you could feel the metal pillars totter, you could hear them wince and groan. It was no illusion after all. Nathan had to test every footstep before he took it or he could be plunging fifty feet into the ocean with his hands tied. Nor were the safety railings to be trusted. In some places they had buckled or bent. In others it looked as if someone had hurled themselves towards the ocean with such force that they had burst clean through; each gap had the ominous allure of a successful suicide atttempt. The West Pier was up for sale, he remembered. The asking price: $1. The catch was, whoever bought it had to spend a million restoring it to its original condition.

Nathan looked east, towards the City Pier. The casino was still open. Lights reached out across the water. If he slitted his eyes, the pier looked as if it was balancing on half a dozen golden springs. He wondered if Maxie Carlo was playing tonight. He stopped, cocked his head. Listened for the organ’s drone, the clip-clop of the drum machine. Instead, he thought he heard coins pulsing into a metal slot. A jackpot, by the sound of it. Somebody, at least, was winning tonight. Jed shoved him in the back and he moved on.

Halfway along the pier they passed close to a children’s funfair. They were about a hundred yards out now, and a warm breeze blew off the land, threading its way through the abandoned machinery, shifting anything that had come loose. The last curve of the helterskelter had snapped off; it hung at a curious angle, bent backwards, like a badly broken limb. The roundabout turned slowly, all by itself, as if ghosts were riding it.

At last they reached the end of the pier. An area of wooden slats with metal railings on three sides. On the fourth side, the side nearest the land, there was a weatherboard wall, once white, with a flight of steps rising to a balcony. This would be the back wall of the old ballroom. Nathan looked at Jed. Jed’s pants were too big in the waist. He had to hold them up with one hand.

‘Sure you don’t want the belt back?’ Nathan said.

Jed glared. ‘I told you to shut up.’

Nathan shrugged. He looked over the railings. There was a platform of studded metal below, and a winch that leaned out over the water. This was where you would’ve waited for your speedboat ride in the old days. Beyond that, just ocean. He turned back again, leaned cautiously against the railings, his numb fingers touching metal. Jed was standing with one hand in his pocket now. The other dangled next to his thigh, rose from time to time to scratch his neck, his ribs, the side of his face. Ten minutes went by. A clock struck something. One, probably. And as the last note warped in the air and faded, Nathan heard a faint clatter. Jed heard it too, and stiffened. Nathan eased forwards, away from the railings.

‘I thought you said it was just you and me.’

The voice had come from above. They both looked up.

A skeleton was standing on the balcony. It was Creed. He was wearing the suit of bones.

‘You must be out of your mind.’

Jed still hadn’t spoken.

‘To come back here?’ Creed slowly turned his head from side to side. ‘Out of your mind.’

He began to descend. The steps, though rotten, held. His eyes never left Jed’s face, not once. The bones clicked as he moved, like dice in a gambler’s hand. One throw. Death if you lose. Nathan glanced at Jed. Jed’s head moved in fractions of an inch, keeping Creed in his sights. He was shivering.

At the foot of the steps Creed stopped. He turned his eyes on Nathan. ‘This is a surprise.’ He didn’t seem surprised. But then nothing got to Creed’s face, not unless he wanted it to.

Nathan spoke up. ‘He thinks I’m working for you. He tied me up.’ And he turned his back, showed Creed his hands.

Creed just laughed.

Jed cut across the laughter. ‘Did you bring the money?’

Creed opened his briefcase and showed the inside to Jed. The money was stacked in neat, sarcastic piles.

Jed sneered. ‘You really think you can pay for what you did?’ He drew his gun.

Suddenly a hand reached through a gap in the slats and locked round Jed’s ankle. Jed tripped, fell. Creed stepped backwards, closing the briefcase, smiling. Then a man leapt over the railings, something black and springy in his hand. Jed twisted on the ground and fired at Creed. The sound of the shot was loud, contained, as if the night had walls. Then the wind snatched the sound away. Creed’s smile had shrunk, but he was still standing. The man struck Jed on the neck. A grunt and Jed’s head hit the wood. The hand holding Jed’s ankle vanished. A second man climbed through a gap in the slats. He was wearing a leather jacket and army boots. Nathan recognised him straight away. The Skull.

‘Hey, Angelo,’ the Skull said. ‘He dead?’

Angelo crouched over Jed’s body. ‘No. He’s just stunned.’

‘Good.’ The Skull reached into the bag that was slung over his shoulder. He took out a syringe. He tested it for air, then he rolled Jed’s sleeve and injected him in the arm. ‘That’ll keep him quiet.’ He looked up at Creed. ‘You all right?’

Creed was smiling, in a kind of trance. ‘I saw the bullet go by,’ he said. ‘It didn’t have my name on it.’

‘No bullet’s got your name on it,’ Angelo said. ‘He should’ve known that.’ Bending down he prised the gun out of Jed’s fingers and tossed it over the railings. A clang of metal on metal. A splash.

‘Smelt it too,’ Creed said, ‘just for a second. Like when you’re driving along the highway and there’s a dead animal.’ He was still smiling. ‘Someone else’s death, not mine.’ He stepped forwards, the bones on his suit clicking, loaded dice. His eyes passed from the Skull to Angelo and back again. ‘My bodyguards,’ he said. ‘My executioners.’

Angelo stood in front of Nathan. ‘Who are you?’ But there was nothing in his dark eyes, not even curiosity, and his voice was cold as lilies.

Creed answered for him. ‘He’s coming on the boat with us. He ought to see this.’

So there was a boat. Nathan looked down at Jed, his buckled limbs, his drugged blood. You should’ve listened. Now look at you.

‘We better get going,’ the Skull said.

‘Yeah,’ and Angelo scanned the air above his head, ‘maybe someone heard the shot.’

Nathan watched as they hauled Jed’s body down to the metal platform, then he turned to Creed. ‘See what?’

Creed didn’t answer. He just pushed Nathan down the stairs ahead of him. When Nathan reached the platform he saw another metal staircase, four flights down into the ocean. A white motor launch rocked on the black water.

The Skull and Angelo went first with Jed. They were none too careful. Blood ran from a gash on Jed’s left hand where it had caught on a nail. They laid him in the back of the boat, the place where you’d sit with a crate of beer and wait for the reel to spin, that whine and roar as your line payed out. Angelo climbed the ladder to the top deck and started the engines. The water churned into cream at the stern. Nathan sat down, his feet just touching Jed’s shoulder. Angelo opened the throttle and the note of the engine lifted an octave. Nathan looked round. Down here, under the pier, it was like a forest of metal. The boat slipped between two rows of pillars, evenly spaced, studded with barnacles and limpets, and wrapped in scarves of seaweed at the base. Then suddenly they were clear. In the open, the uncluttered darkness. The Skull stood next to Angel on the top deck, his forehead sloping. Angelo spun the wheel one-handed, his black curls swirling in the breeze. They were heading out to sea.