Divorcing Jack (19 page)

'Hello, Spaghetti Legs,' I said.

Patricia looked tired, her skin wan but for the dark rings under her eyes. Her lips were pale and chapped. She held a cigarette in her left hand, the butt clasped between her index and second finger, the fiery tip pointing into her palm as if she were trying to hide it.

I stood up, cautiously.

'Spaghetti Legs?' Coogan asked, incredulous.

'It's a pet name, okay?' I volunteered.

'Some pet.'

'You okay, Patricia?'

'Do you care?'

'Of course I care!'

'Spaghetti Legs?' He stood with a half-grin on his face, staring at Patricia. He left it for a moment then added, 'Can't say I noticed. I don't think we even had the light on.' Another moment, then: 'Did we, darling?'

'Away and fuck yourself.'

Patricia kept her eyes on me. Cool. Penetrating. Guilty.

And in that moment I knew how she must have felt when she found me with Margaret: the icy pain of betrayal solidifying in the pit of my stomach.

I started to cross to her but changed mid-step and planted the best punch I have ever thrown on Coogan's nose. He wheeled away with a yelp and I collapsed to the ground as Frankie cracked my head from behind with his pistol. I saw stars and flaming chariots and big frothy pints of beer and then was consumed by a spinning darkness.

When I dream, I often dream of my father and of making him sandwiches. In the last week of his life, shrunken by cancer, he asked me to make him a ham sandwich. Glazed by alcohol, I made him a whole plateful but he sent me and the food away, angry at the waste. It seems a trivial thing to dream about, time and again. I once explained the dream to Patricia after which she took to hugging her pillow every night out of a fear that I might consume it while trying to compensate in my dreams for the waste of bread and ham.

When I woke my mouth was dry and my head was sore. I was lying uncomfortably on top of an unmade double bed. Patricia lay beside me, watching me, propped up on one elbow. Her dressing gown hung open. I rubbed the back of my head, examined the flakes of dried blood on my hand.

Straight to the point. 'You slept with him, didn't you?'

She shrugged. 'You look like shite.'

'You're no oil painting yourself.'

'Thanks.'

'You did, didn't you?'

'There wasn't much sleeping involved.'

'Oh, that's lovely.'

'Shits in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.'

'Shits can't throw stones. Shits throw potatoes.' She shrugged again. 'All's fair in love and war.' I sat up. The room was windowless and smelt of sweat. Mine. I felt dizzy. 'Did you kill her?'

She looked hard at me, a deep gaze that penetrated my soul and seemed to suck away the dizziness. 'Of course I didn't bloody kill her, what do you think I am?'

I shook my head, 'I don't know.'

I stood up. My joints cracked.

She lay back on the bed, her eyes on the ceiling. 'It wasn't him either. Coogan.'

'What was that? Pillow talk?'

'Don't be stupid.'

'I can't believe you screwed someone who kidnapped you. Jesus, fuck.'

'It happened. I was at a pretty low ebb, Dan. He cheered me up.'

'What, by kidnapping you? Jesus. I don't believe I'm hearing this. I could understand if it was rape, for God's sake, but this?'

'What do you mean, you could understand if it was rape? You would have preferred it to be rape?'

'Yes! Jesus, I don't know.'

'It doesn't matter any more, Dan.'

'Of course it matters.'

'It matters as much as you sleeping with her.'

'It's a different thing entirely, Patricia! Jesus, okay, okay, it wasn't right, and God knows I've - she's paid for it. But screwing someone who kidnaps you. Jesus.'

'It happened to Patti Hearst.'

'You're not fucking Patti Hearst. You haven't got any fucking money for a start.'

'It never crossed your mind that I might be doing it for revenge? To get even?'

'Grilling my Sex Pistols record was even enough.'

'Not in my book.'

'What, are there rules laid down now or something? Screwing your kidnapper! Jesus.'

'Well, it worked, didn't it?'

'You're presuming a lot, aren't you? How the hell did you know I would end up here? That I would ever find out?'

‘I knew. He knew. He's very good at what he does. Apparently.'

'What's that, part of his charm then? This isn't the movies, Patricia. He's not Robin Hood. He's not some Disney loveable rogue, some Border Squirrel. He's just pushed a really good man off the balcony out there. He's just killed him. Don't you understand?'

'I understand. It's not nice. But it's part of what he does to survive.'

'It had nothing to do with survival. It was pure bloody murder for the sake of it.'

'It's what he does.'

'And you screwed him.'

'Okay! I screwed him!' She flared up out of the bed and swung for me, but I arched back away from the slap and she fell back on her side again on the bed. She buried her head in the pillows and began to cry. Big whooping groans shuddered through her body. I stood and watched her. Finally her breathing returned to normal and she turned a damp cheek towards me. 'It's over now,' she said quietly.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, it's over. With him. We aren't sleeping together any more. Not for a few days.'

'You mean you slept with him more than once?' She nodded.

She dabbed at her eyes with the crumpled top sheet. 'But it's over.'

And I started laughing, big comic-strip chortles which shook my body as much as her tears had rattled hers and which forced a puzzled half-smile onto her lips which faded and then returned with every moment my laughter continued.

'What is it, Dan?' She pleaded nervously.

'He dropped you, didn't he? Isn't that it? You screwed your kidnapper and fell for him and he's used you and dropped you.'

The smile slipped from her face. 'It's not funny.'

‘I think it's one of the funniest things I've ever heard, Patricia. The revenge that caved in on itself. You must feel pretty bloody dirty.'

She pulled herself up, folded her arms on her bended knees and rested her chin on them. She pushed a strand of hair from her forehead. She tutted. 'We're a couple of stupid bastards, aren't we, Dan?'

I sat beside her and put my hand on her head. Her hair was rough and dry but not as comical as mine. 'Always have been, Patricia, always will be.'

When the door opened and Coogan and Frankie came in I was sitting at the top of the bed with my arm around Patricia. She was nestled into the crook of my arm, her tear-stained cheek against my shirt.

'Och, isn't that lovely,' Coogan said.

He had a strip of pink Elastoplast across the bridge of his nose.

'I like the nose, Coogan. You could get a job as a stunt man on the remake of Pinocchio.'

He gave me a tight, thin smile. 'You're very funny. Star-key. We'll see how funny you are when the little woman goes flying in a few moments.'

Frankie had his gun out and was pointing it at us. I felt Patricia tense against me. She probably felt me tensing against her.

I tried hard to act cool and calm and collected. I said: 'Uh.'

Frankie motioned with his gun for us to get up. We got up and followed them into the lounge again.

'I'm glad to see you've kissed and made up,' Coogan said, 'although I wouldn't rate her much as a kisser.'

'It doesn't worry me, no-willy.'

He gave me a childish little grin. 'Sticks and stones will break my bones ... no, in fact, they'll break your bones, smartarse.'

Mad Dog was standing grinning by the door. He pushed himself off it with his shoulders and in passing by me grabbed Patricia suddenly out from under my arm. She gave a little scream and I went to go after her but Frankie pressed his pistol into my scalp and said: 'Stay.'

The balcony window was open again. Mad Dog led her across the room and helped her up onto the step. The fresh rush of Antrim air enveloped the room and she seemed to luxuriate in the breeze for a moment before turning frightened eyes towards me.

'So,' Coogan said, 'about this tape ...'

'What happens to us?'

Coogan shrugged. 'I'll let you go.'

'You think I believe that?'

'What difference does it make? You'll have to trust me.'

‘I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you. And I'd like to throw you, believe you me.'

'Oh, Starkey,' he groaned with mock exasperation, 'gimme a break, will ya? Look, I enjoy these little shows as much as you do. The only thing is no one I love is going to go over the edge. Just some little bit of skirt. Now tell me about the tape and take your chance or we'll let her fly and then find some other way of getting it out of you.'

'What do you think, Patricia?'

She looked coolly towards Coogan. 'I'll join your gang if you let him go. I'll work with you. I'll sleep with you. All of you.'

Coogan laughed. 'Oh, please, be serious.' He turned to me. 'Well?'

Patricia stood with her back to the void, her gown billowing in the wind.

'Okay, here we go, same as before. One . ..'

'It's in a shop,' I snapped.

'Where?'

'In Bangor. Outside Bangor. On the way out. A big shopping centre. There's stalls just inside the entrance, a minimarket place. There's a second-hand bookstall. It also sells tapes. I traded in the tape for some change for the phone. I didn't know what was on it. I still don't know what's bloody on it. That's all I know.'

Coogan smiled. 'And that's all I need. Now . . .'

'You let her ...'

His eyes narrowed and flashed towards me. 'Sucker,' he said.

The knock on the door couldn't have been better timed. The sharp rap came in the instant before Coogan's sucker slur was converted into the push from Mad Dog that would have sent Patricia looping out into the darkness. Everything but the billowing pink dressing gown seemed to go into slow motion in those seconds: Coogan's glow of triumph at another killing flickered like a dying candle flame; Mad Dog's eyes wide with shock at the sudden removal of his pleasure; Patricia's flushed cheeks, her mouth open to scream but silent; Frankie's resolute stare into my eyes faltered, darted to the door; my own stony heart suddenly pumping at the slight hope of reprieve.

Coogan arched his eyes at Frankie who pushed me sideways onto a settee. He signalled at Mad Dog who pulled Patricia in from the balcony to sit beside me. Frankie went and stood behind the door, his pistol still drawn. Coogan sat opposite us in an armchair. Mad Dog walked to the door.

'It can't be anything,' he said. 'Davie's down there, he would have let us know.'

'Get rid of whoever it is then. It's getting late.'

Mad Dog opened the door a fraction and said: 'What?'

A small voice, thick with Ireland, said: 'I'm collectin' for the black babies.'

'Not tonight, thanks,' Mad Dog said, closing the door. He turned and grinned at Coogan. 'Fuckin' penguins at this time of night. They never give up.'

Coogan stood up. Frankie sauntered over to him. 'Back out then?'

Coogan nodded.

The door went again.

Mad Dog pulled it open. 'Look

'Now, you're the only one on the whole floor hasn't given

'I said .. .'

'. .. A penny . ..'

'. . . Not tonight, sister

'Will you shut that door?' Coogan shouted, turning towards the balcony again.

'Sure come on in then, sister, if you put it like that.'

'What?' Coogan roared, twisting back.

Mad Dog backed into the room. Frankie turned towards the door and watched with mouth gaping as the nun walked calmly into the room, a small revolver pushed out in front of her.

'Jesus, things are getting heavy when they start arming the nuns,' Coogan said.

The nun pointed her gun at Frankie's own weapon, resting forgotten in the palm of his hand. 'Out the window,' she said.

Frankie looked quickly at Coogan, who shrugged, and then threw it behind him, out into the night air the way Patricia would have gone a minute before.

'You too,' she said, pointing at Mad Dog, who slowly withdrew his pistol from inside his jacket and sent it after Frankie's.

'What about you?'

Coogan opened his jacket. His white shirt gleamed, but there was no weapon. 'I don't believe in violence,' he said.

I stood up and walked over to him and kicked him very hard between the legs. With a screech he collapsed in on himself, shrinking onto the carpet.

'Neither do I,' I said.

I turned to the nun, still holding her weapon resolutely on Coogan's comrades without arms. 'Lee, this is ridiculous.'

She shrugged and smiled. 'I couldn't help myself.' Patricia rose beside me. 'Could you please tell me what's going on?'

'Do you think we could get out of here first?'

'I want to know who she is, Dan!'

'Patricia, for fuck's sake, look where we are. Can you wait just a little while until we get somewhere safe? Jesus wept.'

Mad Dog and Frankie lay face down on the floor while I walked Coogan to the balcony. He knew what was coming.

'You make me fly and you're a dead man, Starkey.'

'I can live with that.'

'I'm serious.'

'So am I.'

I helped him up onto the perimeter wall. The breeze was refreshing. Coogan shivered. I held him by the arm. He looked tentatively over the edge.

'You'll regret this.'

'Not as much as you.'

'You're not going to let him do this, are you?' He appealed to Lee. Her face remained impassive, but she angled the pistol towards him, offering him the alternative.

He turned to Patricia and began to say something and then thought better of it.

'So,' I said, 'about this tape . . .'

'What about it?' He snapped quickly, peering out over the edge again.

'Well, for a start, what's so bloody important about it?'

He snorted. 'You mean you never listened to it?'

'I didn't need to. I had no idea there was anything besides some crappy music on it. So?'

Coogan shook his head. 'I don't know.'