Holy Terror (16 page)

‘For Christ's sake!' raged Conor. ‘What the hell did you have to do that for? He was wrong: you're not a barbarian! You're a goddamned animal!'

The gunman came right up to Conor and pointed his gun between his eyes, so close that Conor had to squint. The gunman's cheeks were sandblasted with acne and his close-cropped hair was thick with dandruff. He was breathing very hard.

‘This is your last chance. We want the fucking stuff, all of it, and we want it now.'

‘OK,' said Conor, trying to control himself. ‘Just don't hurt any more people, OK?'

‘Come on, then,' the gunman told him. ‘The quicker we get out of here the quicker we get out of here.' He turned to the elderly woman on her knees on the floor, sobbing as she tried to bind her husband's knee with gingham napkins. ‘Ma'am … will you do me a terrific favor and shut the fuck up?'

From years of experience, Conor could quickly sense when criminals were losing control. It
happened in crime after crime, especially in armed robbery. The most important thing to do was to try to keep them calm, and well below the critical point where fear and excitement would lead them to start shooting anybody and everybody, no matter whether they presented any real threat or not. ‘Red mist', they called it.

Conor came out from behind the table. But, as he did so, Sidney stood up, calmly brushing his pants with his hand. The gunman swung his gun round, pointed it at him and barked, ‘You stay right there, grandad. And don't even think about moving.'

‘I wouldn't dream of moving,' said Sidney. ‘Don't you know who I am?'

‘I'm not interested in who you are.'

‘I know. But I'm the one who can sort out all of your problems for you.'

‘What are you – what are you babbling about? What problems? What?'

Sidney's voice droned, settled, gathered its nectar and then went droning on. ‘You don't know what's wrong with you. Many people don't know. They need to be guided to find their inner capacities. I know you've difficulties but we can deal with those difficulties.'

‘What the hell's the matter with you? I'm not listening to this!'

‘But you're interested, aren't you? You're interested in dealing with your problems. You don't have to do anything. You don't have to talk or move or make any kind of effort. You don't even have to listen to me because your unconscious will go on listening to me and feed you all the information you
need. You're so tense but you don't need to be tense. It's much more comfortable for you to be relaxed. You don't have to go into a trance but it would make you feel much more able to cope

‘And

‘Much less stressed because you've been so stressed lately, haven't you, worrying about money

‘And

‘All those other things that irritate you, especially since your life doesn't seem to be going so well at the moment. But it's temporary, it's only a bad patch which you and I can sort out between us

‘And

‘Help you to find stability again, security, and comfort

‘And

‘Comfort

‘And

‘Sleep.'

The gunman was staring at Sidney as if he had been hit on the head by a falling brick. His eyes were unfocused, his breathing shallow.

His partner by the front door was panicking. ‘Jed! Jed! What's going on, man? We gotta get out of here!'

Sidney said, ‘You can't hear anybody, Jed, except for me.'

‘Jed! For Christ's sake! What's happening?'

Jed stayed where he was, still staring. ‘You are going far away now, Jed,' said Sidney. ‘You are going far, far away.'

At last, desperate, Jed's partner left the front door and came hurrying through the restaurant,
wrenching a huge nickel-plated Magnum out of his shoulder-holster. He was bigger than Jed, black-haired with a puglike nose and a large gold earring.

‘Jed? What's happening, man? Come on, Jed! Move!'

‘He can't,' said Conor.

‘What are you talking about, he can't? What the hell have you done to him? Jed! For Christ's sake, man, get it together!' He shook Jed's shoulders. Then he slapped his face, hard, but Jed didn't even flinch.

‘I want to know what the fuck's happening here,' his partner insisted. He pointed his gun at Conor and said, ‘You've got a price on your head, man, dead or alive, so don't think that I'm spoiled for choice.'

‘Jed,' said Sidney, in the same persistent, flower-pollinating tone of voice. ‘A wild bear has come into the restaurant, and he's threatening to kill you. He's standing right next to you. Can you see him?'

‘Yes,' Jed replied. ‘I can see him.'

‘I think it would be a wise move for you to protect yourself, don't you, Jed? Lift your gun and point it at the wild bear's head.'

‘Now, hold up a damned minute here,' Jed's partner protested. ‘What's this bear shit?'

Jed raised his right arm and pointed his gun straight at his partner's forehead. His partner looked horrified and mystified at the same time. ‘Jed, man, what are you doing? Jed, man, this is me. This is Yapko.' But Jed's gun arm didn't waver.

Jed's partner was still pointing his Magnum at Conor but his resolve was beginning to waver.

‘Mexican standoff,' said Conor. ‘If you shoot me,
Jed's going to shoot you. Why don't you put down the gun and admit when you're licked?'

There was a long-drawn-out moment of extreme tension. The sweat dripped off Yapko's upper lip and he nervously licked it. Eleanor tried to stand up, but Sidney laid a hand on her shoulder to prevent her. The crickets sang in the hot, glutinous garden.

‘He really thinks I'm a bear?' asked Yapko.

Sidney nodded. ‘He really thinks you're a bear. An angry, man-eating grizzly.'

‘Come on,' said Conor. ‘Let's end this thing peacefully, shall we?'

Yapko sniffed and lowered his head slightly and that was when Conor knew that everything had gone wrong. Yapko swung his gun around to point it at Jed, and at that instant Sidney said, ‘Fire!'

The two explosions were almost simultaneous. Jed's face was blasted apart in a horrifying blizzard of scarlet flesh, baring his teeth in a terrible grin. Yapko's head ballooned for a second, and then his scalp flapped open at the back – spurting out a short, sharp torrent of brains and blood and fragments of bone.

The men dropped into each other's arms like clowns and tumbled noisily onto the floor. A cloud of acrid smoke dawdled over them for a while, then gradually edged away.

Eleanor stood up, trembling. The manageress started to scream, a high-pitched scream that was more like a whistle.

Conor said, ‘Out – before the cops get here. Don't catch anybody's eye. Don't hesitate.' They walked quickly through the pandemonium and out of the restaurant's front door. They were already two blocks away and around the next comer before they heard sirens and the sliding of tires.

‘Stop—' said Eleanor. ‘I have to stop for a moment.' She was breathless and her face was ashy gray. ‘Angina … I'm not supposed to do anything too strenuous.'

‘Don't you have medication?'

‘Left it at home. Don't worry. I'll be all right. Just let me get my breath back.'

She leaned against a bookstore doorway with her hand over her heart. While they waited, Conor said to Sidney, ‘That was pretty quick thinking back there.'

‘I didn't have any choice, did I?'

‘I guess you didn't. But all the same.'

Sidney looked away. ‘Now you know why I gave up hypnotism. It always gets you into situations where you don't have choices.'

‘I'm OK now,' Eleanor volunteered. ‘Just so long as we don't have to go too fast.'

They made their way slowly back toward Sidney's house, Indian-file, following a network of alleys and back lots and unkempt pathways. It was stunningly hot, and they were all still shocked by what had happened at the Richmond Inn. None of them spoke. Conor had seen people shot before; but even he had never witnessed a double shooting, and at such close range. There was a fan-shaped spray of blood halfway up his left sleeve.

They emerged on Seguine Road by the side of a green-painted clapboard house. Conor said, ‘Wait,' and edged forward alongside the fence to check that the street was clear.

At first it appeared to be deserted, except for six or seven empty cars with heat rippling off their hoods, and a brindled dog asleep on somebody's front porch. But then, off to his right-hand side, deep beneath the shadow of a giant elm, Conor saw the silhouette of a black Ford Taurus. As far as he could make out, two men were sitting in it, one of them smoking.

‘Everything OK?' asked Sidney, anxiously.

Conor shook his head. ‘They're waiting for us. I'm sorry, but they obviously know where you live.'

‘You're trying to tell me we can't go back there?'

‘Not just yet, no.'

‘“Not just yet”?'

‘Not until I've managed to find Hypnos and Hetti. Not until I've managed to get this whole mess sorted out.'

‘But for Pete's sake, that could take days, couldn't it? Or weeks, even?'

‘I know, Sidney, and I'm truly sorry. If I'd had any idea that they were going to be able to track us down, I wouldn't have come here, believe me.'

‘But they don't want anything from
me
, surely!'

‘They'll want to know where I am; and they'll want to know who Eleanor is, and how much she knows.'

‘You don't seriously think that I'd tell them anything?'

‘I seriously think that you would. These are the kind of guys who wouldn't think twice about squeezing your head in a vise.'

‘Oh, Sidney,' said Eleanor. ‘I didn't mean to bring you so much trouble. It seems like I never bring you anything else.'

Sidney closed his eyes for a moment. He looked as if he were praying for God to keep him from losing his temper. Forgive us our tantrums, and lead us not into exasperation, amen. But then he opened his eyes again and said, ‘Never mind. Don't go blaming yourself, Bipsy. Maybe this was meant to be.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘Well, maybe I needed something like this to shake me up a bit. It's all very well lying in a hammock day after day listening to music. But what am I doing, really, except filling in time while I'm waiting to die?'

One of the men waiting in the Taurus tossed his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk and immediately lit another. He was obviously prepared for a very long wait. ‘First we have to get off Staten Island,' said
Conor. It's going to be too risky to try taking the ferry back. The best thing we can do is take a taxi into Jersey. We can change taxis at Perth Amboy and take another one to Elizabeth. Then we can get back into Manhattan through the Holland Tunnel.'

‘And where are we all going to stay?' asked Sidney.

‘With some friends of my girlfriend's, Sebastian Speed and Ric Vetter. They have a huge apartment on 47th Street.'

‘All right, then,' said Sidney. ‘I guess the sooner we get out of here, the better. I'll show you the best place to find a taxi.'

‘What about your cat?' Eleanor asked him.

‘Mesmer? He'll be OK. He'll go round to my neighbor when he's hungry. She'll take him in.'

‘Sidney – I didn't mean to turn your whole life upside-down.'

‘Well, better to be upside-down than six feet under.'

When Conor arrived on his doorstep with Eleanor and Sidney, Sebastian puckered his lips to show that he was less than delighted. He was having an early-evening cocktail party for some of his friends in the theater, and he was wearing a calf-length purple silk caftan and gold slave bands around his ankles.

The hallway was pungent with the smell of cannabis and there was high, hysterical laughter coming from the living room.

Conor said, ‘Sebastian, I need a favor. I know it's an imposition, but I have two more people here who need someplace to stay.'

Sebastian threw open the door. ‘Honestly, Conor,
you know you're terribly welcome, but this isn't the Chelsea.'

‘Listen, I'm sorry. But I couldn't think of anyplace else to go. Besides, come on, let me make some introductions here. This, since you obviously don't recognize her, is Eleanor Bronsky.'

There was a moment's pause while Sebastian drew in a long, hyperventilating breath. Then he screamed out, ‘Eleanor Bronsky! You're Eleanor
Bronskyl
My God, you're a legend! Conor, what a
coup de théâtrel
Eleanor Bronsky, at
my
cocktail party!'

Eleanor was tired and suffering from the heat, but she managed to shake Sebastian's hand and tell him, ‘I'm flattered.'

‘Oh, no! My God! Don't be! I'm the one who should be flattered! Ric will be over the moon!' He turned to Sidney and held out his hand. ‘This must be your husband, yes? What a lucky man!'

‘I'm afraid my husband's passed on. Emphysema. All those Cuban cigars.'

‘How awful! I'm sorry! How crass I am! But you only have to look at Fidel Castro to see what effect those cigars can have on you! And he's a doctor, too!'

‘This is Sidney Randall,' said Conor. ‘The greatest hypnotist in the history of – well, hypnotism.'

‘Well, it takes all sorts,' said Sebastian. He led them through to the living room, where twenty or thirty guests were gathered, some of them men and some of them men, even though they wore short skirts and high-heeled shoes and flapping false eyelashes. Calexico was playing on the CD, far-out Tex-Mex steel guitar music with marimba and
trumpets. Ric was standing in the far corner, wearing a floppy white see-through shirt, tight black pants and brown Enrol Flynn boots. He had his arm around a pale, white-haired creature with enormous brown eyes and a short white muslin dress, like a stick insect that had never seen the light of day.