20

Jack drank a grappa to kill the stale taste of tobacco in his mouth and the pain in his arm, then made himself a peanut-butter sandwich and a sweet, milky hot chocolate so that his guts did not ache with neglect. There had at least been enough left in the till at Susko Books for a couple of supplies from a twenty-four-hour convenience store on the way home. Lois was back from her drain party and tucked into her gourmet dinner. She curled up next to Jack on the couch just as the dawn seeped in around the curtain edges, the glow a thin and pale nightlight. He slept for a few hours, then woke to silence, the day cold but not unkind, no calls and no visitors. He ate again and settled in on the couch with the rest of the grappa. Read three Richard Stark novels in a row — The Man with the Getaway Face, The Mourner and The Rare Coin Score — then fell asleep late in the afternoon, dreaming of million-dollar heists and getting away with the beautiful girl. The evening eked drowsily away. When he woke again on the Monday, she was ringing him on the phone.

The place was an igloo and Lois refused to answer the mobile, only accelerating the motor of her purring as though she had hit the tense part of a chase dream and was getting up for nobody. Still half asleep, Jack reached over and groped at the coffee table until he found it. He opened his eyes briefly to focus on the keypad, then answered and put the phone to his ear, closing them again. ‘Yeah?’

‘Jack, it’s Claudia.’

The name stunned him a little, like a flicked-on light.

‘Hello?’ she said.

‘Yeah, yeah …’ Jack dragged himself up onto the couch cushions, flinching as his arm clenched with pain. Lois miaowed her annoyance. ‘What time is it?’

‘Seven-thirty.’

He whispered shit, not quite ready for the world yet.

‘Jack?’ A pause. ‘I … I need to see you.’

Her voice had wavered and he caught it. ‘I know he tried to shoot your old man, Claudia.’

She sniffed. ‘Have you found him?’

‘Bounty hunters don’t work for free.’ Jack was annoyed with her and thinking of Kippax’s five grand: the two things together were warming him up.

‘I … He …’ She began to cry softly.

‘What?’

She took a deep breath and blew it out quickly, like a diver on the edge of a springboard. Composed herself. ‘So you’re not going to help me?’

‘Jesus Christ.’ His arm throbbed again. Jack was empty, flat on the bottom line, his only hope that Faye would let him move in and give him some time to pay what he owed her, and maybe then he could get the hell away from these people. ‘You understand that Beaumont used you to get to your old man, don’t you?’

‘No!’ she said in hot response. Then again, ‘No,’ but the vehemence in her voice faded. Then one more little no came down the line, more a breath, soft and padded with disbelief.

‘You sure about that?’ said Jack.

She did not seem to hear him. ‘Where are you?’

‘At home.’

‘Can I come over?’

The hope in her voice made his heart kick: he let it hang and enjoyed her need of him for a moment longer. But it was not enough. Not anymore.

‘Jack?’

‘I’ve got to open up the shop, Claudia. Make a living instead of fucking it up. I’m already late.’

‘Please, Jack. I —’

‘Cut me a break, huh?’ He could not keep the emotion out of his voice and regretted it as soon as he said it.

Silence down the line. Just the two of them, together, over a wire. An intimacy of sorts.

‘So why’d he do it?’ said Jack. ‘Why try and kill Ziggy?’

‘I … I’m not sure.’

‘Temporary goddamn insanity?’

There was a pause. Her voice came back harder. ‘It was revenge. His father was ruined in a business deal, years ago. Ended up dead on the street.’

‘Yeah, I heard that too. And your daddy did it.’

‘Yes.’

Jack shook his head. The whole thing was really starting to irritate him. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the clang of a bell not ringing true. ‘And now, just as he’s about to marry you, he decides he doesn’t need a father-in-law?’

‘I’d talked him out of it,’ she admitted. ‘Before. He said he wouldn’t. He promised —’

‘Jesus, Claudia. I mean, what the fuck? You were never that stupid before.’

‘I was with you.’ Like a rifle crack.

‘Yeah, nice one,’ he said. ‘But at least I wasn’t trying to kill your father. Let alone fucking tell you that I wanted to kill your father. Hey honey, why don’t we get married, even though I wanna put a bullet in your old man’s brain, you’re okay with that, aren’t you? What was going in your brain? You didn’t think that maybe there was a fucking leak in the guy’s reactor?’

‘Fuck you.’

‘And you want me to find the son of a bitch?’

‘Stop it!’

Jack did. Listened. Heard faint, fast breaths. She was hurting. He eased off, let it go, waited for whatever she would say next.

‘I’ll find him myself.’

‘Go for it.’ Jack moved his arm and grimaced. She was getting off the line and now he did not want her to. ‘You still think he’s in love with you?’

The phone threw a dial tone in his ear. Had she hung up on him? Or heard what he said? Fuck it. He was too tired to think. And annoyed. And starting to get angry: because he was still worried about her, because he had to fight the desire to care, despite all that had happened between them. That was still happening between them.

Jack dropped the mobile to the floor and slid back down the couch. He dragged the woollen blanket back up to his chin. Lois continued to purr underneath. He was not going to sleep, too late for that now, but neither was he in a hurry to get back to the world outside, waiting for him like some punk dude in pointy shoes shuffling under a lamppost, with a deal that could only ever go one way — the direction it had gone all this last week and more. Straight down goddamn Wrong Street. He closed his eyes and wondered what the hell he was going to do now.

Not long after, the cops knocked on his door, wanting to know the exact same thing.