The Devil's Playground (54 page)

cigarette slowly burning between his fingers. ‘Are you sure

the 49 reels are in there?’

Jon nodded. ‘That’s what Dominic said. Did you find the

Doctor?’

‘No. I found something else though.’ Van Hijn wiped the

rain from his eyes. ‘The room where they killed the girls. At

Quirk’s piercing parlour.’

‘The alarms are off.’ The rain was so loud that she had to

shout to get their attention. She was standing by the door,

looking at the still camera above her, its dead eye recording

nothing. “I think they’re in there already. Moshe never forgets

the alarm. Not once in all the time I’ve been here.’

Jon looked at the detective. Van Hijn pulled out his gun,

held it at his side. ‘I’ll go in first. You two follow me.’

Suze gave him the key. The detective took a deep breath,

steadied the shaking of his hand and unlocked the door. His

stomach winced and wailed.

‘The light’s on your left,’ Suze said.

Van Hijn crawled slowly through the dark until he reached

the switch. Behind him he heard Suze lock the door, the

storm muffled behind the thick glass. He pressed the button

and the light snapped on.

Suze screamed.

They were holding Moshe underneath the huge, dangling

Torah at the centre of the room. The woman had her hands

around his neck while the man was pointing a gun in his left

eye. Blood ran down from Moshe’s thin, white hair and

settled on his grey lips.

Van Hijn aimed his gun at Karl, keeping his eye on the

woman to his side. ‘Put the gun down,’ he said. ‘Put it down,

now. There’s nowhere to go from here. The police are on

their way. Put it down and no one gets hurt.’

The man laughed. ‘Why should no one get hurt?’ he said,

in English this time. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’ He poked the

barrel of the gun further into Moshe’s eye. ‘Drop your gun,

detective.’

Van Hijn stared at the man holding the gun, watching the

twitch on his face, his dilated pupils. He looked towards Jon

and Suze. They were staring at Moshe.

It was up to him.

If he gave up his gun, he knew that there was no way out

for any of them. These maniacs would surely think nothing

of shooting them here. And Moshe was so old, over a

hundred at least, had to be, Van Hijn rationalized, lucky to

have another year in him. He knew that he could kill both

of them before they could turn their guns towards him or

Jon and Suze. He knew that this was the right thing to do in

the circumstances. That it was the logical thing. That whatever

life the old man had left was nothing compared to the

rest of them. He looked back at Jon and Suze; their

expressions hadn’t changed. He cocked the gun. Saw Karl

move his head, attuned to the sound, cocking his now too.

‘Last fucking time,’ he shouted at the detective.

Van Hijn considered it once more. Then threw the gun

down on the floor. Kicked it over towards the man.

‘Good decision.’ Karl said, signalling to Greta to pick it

up. He lowered his own and grabbed Moshe’s shoulder,

threw him down on the floor.

‘Should have died sixty years ago with the rest of them,’

he added, taking the gun from Greta, inspecting it. Suddenly

his arm flicked open like a whip. The gun pointed

at Van Hijn. The room exploded with the noise of the

shot. Jon watched the detective go down. Falling to the floor screaming.

Karl stood motionless in a cloud of smoke. He pointed

the gun at Suze and Jon. ‘Don’t move towards him.’

They stood there, dead still, afraid to move a muscle, to

even breathe.

Jon saw Van Hijn on the floor, his hand around the hole

the bullet had made. The detective had been sick and was

breathing heavily and unevenly. He clutched his stomach,

and Jon could see that he was biting his lip. Small droplets

of blood leaking from his mouth.

‘Greta, check his pockets for a phone. You two.’ He

pointed the gun at them. ‘Come with me.’

Jon stepped forward and in front of Suze, a last stupid

measure of defence. The sight of the gun made him quickly

back away.

‘You work here, don’t you?’ Karl took out a pack of

cigarettes and offered Suze one.

Suze shook her head, saw the pack smeared red with

Dominic’s fingerprints.

‘I’ve seen you here.’

She

nodded, not knowing what else to say. Looking at

Jon, hoping he wouldn’t do anything stupid.

‘Room 435. Take us there.’

Suze nodded. Pointed towards the older part of the

synagogue.

‘No, you first,’ Karl said, then turned to Greta. ‘You stay

behind. Keep an eye on the policeman. I don’t think he

should be any more trouble but keep an eye on him anyway.’

‘You want me to finish it?’ she asked.

Karl smiled. ‘No. Let him suffer a while. I have other plans

for him.’

Greta stared at Karl, nodded stiffly. ‘No problem,’ she

replied.

Suze led the way, Jon shuffling behind her, gun at his back,

Karl breathing heavily at the rear. She unlocked the door

that led to the basement, the storehouse, the place of dead

ends, forgotten and unclassified history. She appreciated the

irony of Dominic hiding the films down here, where they

mingled easily with all the other artefacts. She’d never spent

much time in room 435. It was where Jake had buried himself

for days, sitting in that small, air-conditioned room, picking

films and spools randomly from the mess, all the time, she

now knew, searching for the Doctor’s face.

They arrived at the dark wooden door, the small plaque

that told them this was the right room. She could hear

Karl breathing in sharp, staccato gasps, excitement flowing

through his blood. She wished he’d have a heart attack and

die right there. Wished this was all…

The pistol hit her in the jaw and sent her flying against the

wall. It felt as though a car had crashed into her face. The

wall bounced her back and she saw Jon reaching out for her,

then the gun pointing at him. She fell hard on the floor,

swirling in blackness and nausea that drowned her.

‘She kept her end of the deal, what the fuck are you doing?’

Jon screamed. Staring into the barrel of the gun, the cold

and cracked smile of the man behind it.

‘Exactly. Who needs her now?’ Karl said, extracting a joint

from his upper pocket, keeping the gun steady. Jon watched

as he lit it, heard the frantic sputter and spark as it caught

and smelled the heavy, acrid fumes. He saw Karl’s eyes like

pinwheels expand and shine. Sweat started pouring down his

forehead as he took another drag. ‘Open the fucking door,’

he snarled.

Jon turned the handle. The door wasn’t locked. Inside, it

was dark and smelled of damp chemicals, mouldy films, old

books, history discarded and boxed up. The walls were lined

with filing cabinets, deep, high and black. Next to them were

piles of brown boxes, taped up and wedged wherever space

allowed. Karl pushed past him and into the room.

This was his chance. He could escape now. But he couldn’t

save Suze. She was lying on the floor, unconscious. He could

save himself but not both of them.

‘Finally,’ Karl said, then turned and pointed the gun at

Jon, motioning him to enter the room. Too late now. Too

late to do anything but obey.

He watched as Karl ripped open the first box he came

across. Saw a look of horror and frustration spread across

the German’s face. Then rushing to the next box, ripping

open the cardboard, shouting in German, then in English,

shouting fuck, Christ, damn and a hundred other imprecations

at God, ripping open more boxes, pulling out reels and

reels of film with his hands, loose and messed up, looking

like black octopuses in his grasp. He threw them against the

ground. Took a long drag off the joint that made it sizzle

wickedly in the quiet of the room.

‘Where the fuck are the films?’ He turned to Jon, his

complexion the colour of an elastic band stretched so tightly

that it becomes transparent for a brief moment before snapping.

‘Tell me where they are.’

Jon looked at him. ‘In here,’ he said, then added,

‘somewhere.’

‘Fucking Christ!’ Karl sputtered and pulled out another

handful of films. ‘Start going through them.’ He was screaming

now. ‘We’re not leaving until we find the right ones.’

‘But there’s thousands here.’

He pressed the gun into Jon’s face. Jon could taste the

oily metal and smell the gunpowder. He nodded, turned and

opened another of the crates. He looked inside. Maybe a

couple of hundred reels, quite a bit of loose film, some video

cassettes - and that was only one crate. There were another

forty or fifty in the room and he couldn’t help but smile at

Dominic’s guile. Hiding the films here, where they would

merge with all the others, a Herculean task to find them,

necessitating going through everything, hours and hours of

work, days and months, a whole lifetime if he’d scattered the

films in different boxes.

He watched as Karl frenziedly undid reels and held them

up to the light, trying to spot what was on them, then

throwing them back down in disgust. He knew that this

would be the only chance he had. That this was it and if he

fucked up, he’d get shot, killed. Dead.

But he didn’t have too many hopes either way. The man

would not find what he was looking for. Even if he did, he’d

kill them all. There was no doubt about it and that made

Jon’s decision easier. No, no more time for discussion, Jon

told himself, no more time for fear.

‘Here!’ he shouted. ‘I found them. They’re here!’

He had his face buried in one of the boxes at the far

corner of the room. He heard Karl make his way towards

him. He draped himself over the crate, so that the other man

couldn’t see where his hands were.

He felt in his jacket, yes there it was - so glad he’d

forgotten to empty his pockets that morning. He heard the

man nearing, smelled the heavy cocaine funk of his breath.

‘They’re here. All of them,’ he said as Karl approached,

turning quickly when he estimated the man was almost right

behind him and let loose with the mace, pressing down so

hard on the nozzle that his thumb would be bruised for days

to come.

At first there was nothing, just Karl’s quickly comprehending

face as he tried to step back, the joint dangling

stupidly from his lips. Then it all exploded. A fine white mist

that sent Jon reeling backwards. Karl’s face disappeared in

the fog. Jon could feel the spray claw into his eyes and choke

his chest but he continued spraying, hearing the man scream.

Orange flames began dancing around the joint, covering

Karl’s face with a kinetic Catherine wheel spark and flash as

he reeled backwards, holding his throat, the gun clattering to

the floor, heaving, wet sobs wrenching his chest.

Jon felt as though knives had been pushed slowly down

his throat, he felt like being sick, felt suffocated. His eyes

were being scratched from the inside by rats. He leapt forward,

landing on the writhing German, picked up the gun

and began to hit him with it. He breathed in the smoke and

fury. His eyes almost blinded. He smashed the gun into the

man’s jaw, heard it crack. Smashed it down again, hitting the

floor, sending pain reverberating through his hand. He threw

the gun down and used his fists. He was still punching, puke

dribbling down his mouth, his eyes red and streaming, when

Suze came into the room, picked up the gun and pulled

him off.

‘Enough!’ she shouted, horrified by his stare, his wild eyes.

His smile. ‘No more,’ she screamed and this time Jon heard.

‘It’s over.’

He got up, began to cough and puke, fell on the floor, sat

there watching Karl’s still body as Suze smiled, the gun in

her hand, by her side. ‘Over. All over,’ she said and there

wasn’t anything he could add to that.

‘Not tonight, Jon.’

‘We’ve got plenty of time,’ he said, booting up the

computer.

‘It’s New Year’s Eve,’ she replied. She didn’t really mind.

In fact, was as eager to watch Jake’s last CDR as Jon.

He turned from the humming machine. ‘Exactly,’ he said

and walked over towards the kitchen. ‘Kind of fitting, don’t

you think?’

He took the bottie of Maker’s Mark and a couple of glasses

off the worktop. ‘Once we’ve seen the film, we can start to

leave it behind.’ He poured two large shots, wondering if

such things could ever be left behind. He understood that

he was not the same person he’d been before Amsterdam

though if Suze or anyone else were to ask him to detail these

changes, he wouldn’t be able to. Yet there was something

different in the ordinary things, in just waking up, or sitting,

waiting for the sun to expire — something that he wanted to

hold on to. ‘I just thought it would be good to do it this

way,’ he added and handed her the drink.

Outside, the noise of the crowds was deafening. It had