He Died with His Eyes Open (15 page)

'No!'

He folded up his chair, a ridiculous spectacle in that stupid robe, and gazed at me blearily through his tears. He shook uncontrollably and looked like something nasty that had been shot in the face. 'He gave it so easy the first times,' he said. 'There was nothing to it.'

'And then after that there was more to it, and you lost your temper and then you roughed him up, and then it went too far and everyone had a go and you killed him.'

'No, it wasn't like that!' he sobbed. 'I didn't kill him, I didn't, I didn't. I didn't get anything out of him the last time. And I was on my own with him and I didn't touch him—I reckoned I'd about got all I was going to out of him.'

'Maybe he was sober that time,' I said bleakly. 'So you tuned him up the second time round, is that it?'

'Well, he sort of fell over, yes.'

'You sort of pushed him around that time until he sort of fell over, you mean.'

'All right, then, yes. But it was really easy before, the first time.'

'Yes, it was easy the first time because he was the kind of man who would give anybody anything if he had it. Your mother told me that.'

'My mothers just a whore!' he shouted through his tears.

'Well, true
or
false,' I said, 'you're the last person to make judgements about people. I believe you not only killed your stepfather, Eric—but look what you did to him. Look at this photo again.'       -

'I didn't!'

'How hard did you hit him, Eric? To start with, when he told you he couldn't give you the money?'

'Just a slap! I don't know! Just a couple of slaps!'

'Because you were desperate for your moonfeed, and you were skint, and you hated and despised him anyway.'

'Yes, all right, but I didn't kill him!'

'Well, I'm not sure, Eric.'

'Sure of what?'

'Sure whether my proper course wouldn't be to search the place and then maybe book you on a hard drugs charge, also grievous bodily harm for a start, and take you across to the Factory so you can repeat what you've just told me over there.'

'What, the Factory?' he moaned. 'Poland Street? Christ, I might as well top myself and have done with it!'

'Oh, it's not as bad as that,' I said, 'though of course you might get a bit of slap and tickle if you didn't cooperate. Whereas I'm not going to touch you, so you've got this last chance to tell me what really happened.'

'Look, I didn't kill him, I've told you twenty times. I swear it. If only he hadn't sent me up—'

'And you hadn't been on moonjuice—'

'No, it was because he sent me up. That's why I slapped him.'

'Well, I've heard he had a sharp tongue,' I said, 'and in your case it was well justified. Also I've turned up your record, Eric; you seem to have, been in trouble with the law since you were in shorts.'

'I'm disturbed, I tell you. What I need's a psychiatrist.'

'Oh, Lord Longford'll find you one of those quickly enough, don't worry. But you maintain that you weren't sufficiently disturbed to kill your stepfather, just slap him around. Not even on moonjuice, Eric? Or deprived of moonjuice?'

'No, Christ! I didn't! I couldn't!'

'Its frightfully weak, Eric. Frightfully weak. You know, you could go down for this, son.'

'I could never have done all those injuries to him! Don't you see?' he screamed. 'I wouldn't have had the
strength!'

'But nobody's saying you were alone,' I reminded him. I got out my notebook. 'Let's start by having all their names.'

'I couldn't! They'd kill me if I squealed on them!'

'I think the best thing in that case, Eric, would be if I took you into custody for your own protection.'

'No! I'd go mad in there! I nearly did last time!'

I put the notebook away, got up and said: 'All right. I'm keeping you on ice, Eric. Now being on ice means what it says. You stay in your fridge here. If I come round to find you any time and you're not here, God help you. If you move out of this pad or, more likely, if you're evicted, you ring this number and let me know where I can find you.' I wrote it down for him. 'It's ridiculously simple. Do you understand?'

'Yeah.'

'I'm very, very serious, Eric. You make one attempt to bolt, just one, and you go straight inside.' I went to the door, had a thought, and turned. 'A piece of advice, Eric. I wouldn't tell any of your mates I've been round; they sound heavy. I wouldn't say anything about this little talk we've had to anyone. Now don't you think that's good advice?'

He nodded.

'Well, take it, then.'

But I knew he wouldn't.

21

It was called the 84 Club because that was its street number in Crispian Road, on the south side of London Bridge. Derelict or bankrupt warehouses fronted the river; the area was scheduled to be bulldozed one day for new development, and then it would become posh. But I wondered if that would ever happen.

The 84 was the fifth club I'd tried. I'd been working along the south bank going eastwards, starting at the Elephant. I hadn't been lucky with the others, and I'd no reason to think that this one would be any different. Still, it had to be checked. The place was got up as a horror museum, with décor done on the cheap. Plastic cobwebs were sprayed around where no spider would ever have had the idea, devils and monsters glowed with twenty-five-watt bulbs inside them, long white bones dangled from the ceiling, etcetera. The only thing that wasn't simulated was the damp. The company was mixed in there—black and white, like the whisky. It was a powerful blend, and I wondered if the villainous management knew how to handle it. I had an idea it did.

I stood at the entrance, watching. The floor was packed solid; I smelled the hard liquor and sweat, sex, and one or two other things, such as grass.

The heavy inside his box said: 'C'n I help you, Jack?'

'I'm just looking.'

'I know that, Jack,' he said, 'an I'm gointer try you with this one again, c'n I help you?'

'Maybe. I'm looking for a bird called Babsie.'

'I don't care if you're looking for a razor blade up your arsehole, Jack, it's members only here.'

'It's a pity the Tourist Board can't hear the way you clack on,' I said. 'You'd get a lot of coaches here, I should think. Fine old English manners like yours have almost died out in the land.'

'Look,' he said furiously, when the penny had dropped, 'do you want me to come out an round an give you some manners right in the mush?'

'Yes, why not?' I said. 'If you've got a spare face at home.'

He jumped over his counter in one movement. 'Okay, just one more remark like that.'

I produced a fiver, but when he moved to take it I caught him by his little finger. 'If you move I'll break it,' I said. 'And that's really painful.'

'Look, are you a sadist or something? Or just some nut looking for trouble? Anyway you'll find plenty of it here.'

'No, I'm just fed up with the way you come on,' I said. 'I want to be a temporary member, that's all, and without a lot of yack.'

'Well, why didn't you say so? C'n I ave my finger back, then?'

'Here you are.' I gave him the fiver, too. He had his mouth open to ask for more, but I said: 'That'll cover me for the entrance and a bottle.'

'That's what you fucking think!' he shouted. 'A fiver?'

'Well, if that doesn't cover it, I'll have to see your governor about your liquor licence, and I'd better tell you straight away that I'm a Labour MP.'

'Christ, Jack,' he said, backing off, 'I didn't know they went in for unarmed combat over at Westminster.'

'There are a lot of things you don't know,' I said. 'For instance, my name's not Jack.'

I got a ticket from him and pushed my way through to the bar. The bartender may have seen what had happened at the door because he served me quickly.

'What'll it be?' he yelled above the Joan Armatrading.

'Ring-a-ding.'

He uncapped a bottle of Bell's, got a glass and some ice and slapped the lot on the counter; as an afterthought he slid a bottle after them which said Malvern Water on the label, though I had just seen the contents start life in his tap.

'You alone?'

'That's right.'

'You happy like that?'

'For the time being.'

'Otherwise I could've fixed you up.'

'I'll let you know.' I poured a drink and watched the rave-up with my back against the bar. About a hundred couples were sprinting around to the roar of the music. Next to me I became aware of a paunchy, short man whose belt was having trouble holding him in. He might have been forty to forty-five but looked older because of the bags under his eyes, which could have been sewn into his face up at the Ville. The whites were red like the rest of him till you got to his suit, which was black, and he wore a blue tie with a double Windsor knot.

'You lookin for a bird?' he said.

'I'm always looking for them.'

'Me too. I work here, see? Only I'm off duty tonight.'

'Then you know em all,' I said. 'But there's only one I really reckon; she works the clubs up and down round here.'

'Who's that, then?'

'Babsie.'

'Oh, her,' he said. 'Yeah, she's ere somewheres, I seen her tonight.' He gave me a look that classified me. 'You really go for her?'

'I've only looked so far. Why?'

'Nothing.' He thought deeply, frowning in order to concentrate. He was drinking vodka and tonic, and was far from sober. 'Tell you what,' he said finally, 'you got any loot on you?'

'I could go a score.'

'All right—suppose I match that, find Babsie, row in my old boiler, and make it a four? How's that grab you?'

'Sounds okay.'

'Right, I'll go an see if I c'n find Babsie right away.'

I pushed him five and said: 'Thanks, mate, you're doing me a favour.'

He stuffed the note in his pocket and said: 'I'll get into action.' He had a bit of trouble doing that, but finally shot off across the floor, cannoning into several rockers. 'By the way,' he yelled back at me, 'the name's Tom!'

'Okay, Tom.'

'Don't get your knackers caught in yer knickers!'

He zoomed away, did a quarter-ball snooker shot off a big girl in jeans and swerved through a service door. I waited. After a while a woman's voice said in my ear: 'You're not drinking your Scotch.'

I turned to face her. 'No, that's right. Have some.' I banged on the counter for another glass, got it and made her a drink.

'Well, cheers,' she said, 'I'm Babsie.' She looked at me carefully. 'But I don't seem to know you at all.'

'I hope that's going to change.'

'Oh, you do, do you?' She had magnetism. Now that I'd met her, I realized what Staniland had meant. If you were open to her, something coarse and creamy in her flashed out of her and hooked you. I felt rather open.

'You do the clubs down here a lot?' she asked.

'Quite a bit.'

'Funny I don't seem to know you, then. I know most of the regulars.'

'I'm not a regular.'

'Where did you see me, then?'

'Over at the Hard Rock.'

'Then that was a while ago.'

'I could easily fancy you,' I said. 'Very easily.'

'If I'd had a quid for every man who'd told me that,' she said, 'I'd be a rich lady.'

I realized now what Staniland had been through with her. She was tall and blonde with good legs, an even better bottom and big tits, but not grotesque. It wasn't just her face with the bright pointed teeth and the lazy eyelids; it was the flat disinterest with which she looked at men, as if she didn't give a tinker's damn either way.

'You want to rock?' she said.

'Why not?'

She knew how to do it. We danced three or four feet-apart. Sometimes I took her by the waist and swung her on the music; she swung easily, never missing a beat, like heavy, oiled machinery. Unlike with machinery, though, electricity snapped at me every time we touched; I noticed that she was insulated against it herself, though. The rest of the floor receded, and the dancers with it. At one point a rocker in black leather came up with an arm out all ready for her.

'Not now, Dave.'

'Oh, come on, Babs.' He looked through me as if I weren't there.

'Get lost, I said. '

I watched him come down in size with interest.

'I'll be seein' you,' he said with veiled menace.

'Try someone else,' she said. 'I'm full up.'

Behind him, one of his mates laughed; all at once I imagined myself as Staniland in the Agincourt, wondering what to do about it when Fenton did the same thing.

'Let's dance,' she said to me. The rocker turned his back on us and went slowly off to the bar with his mates. We started dancing again.

'You're good,' she said, through the music.

I didn't answer. I thought, Well I've been looking for her, now I've found her. I saw why Margo Staniland, or any other woman, had stopped meaning anything to Staniland once Barbara came on the scene.

In the end we had had enough rock.

Tom and his boiler were waiting when we got back to the bar. While the four of us were drinking together, he moved over and whispered in Barbara's ear.

'Nothing doing,' she said. He recoiled and mused for a bit. He was really drunk now. Then he went back and whispered to her some more. The woman with him didn't like it. She had dyed black hair and a wedding ring crammed over a fat finger. The ring was going through the kind of test that showed up the weakness of anything you did in a registry office when half-pissed.

'Look, fuck off, Tom,' Barbara said, 'I don't want to know.' She said it brutally, and I watched him deflate like the rocker had, as if she had sliced into him with something sharp—it must have taken practice. Finally the woman with him pulled him away; but before he left he picked up his empty glass and smashed it on the floor.

'Come on, will you?' the woman said, pulling at him, 'you wanter get killed, you cunt?'

'Bastard!' he shouted at Barbara. 'Bitch!'

'You've got quite a way with men, haven't you?' I said when they had gone. .

'What was that again?' she said icily.

'What did he want with you?'

She yawned. 'Oh, him? He just likes a four-decker, can't get it up otherwise. Who needs that?'