CHAPTER 44

 

ONE YEAR LATER

 

The line ran for a hundred yards outside the book store, threading its way past the front of Rite-Aid and Burger King and a beauty parlor and an office supplies store and down the road and around the corner. The line went through the front door of the book store, up a flight of stairs and ended at a large desk which was piled high with hardback copies of a book. THE BESTSELLER. The cover was jet black with a gleaming stainless steel knife in the center, its tip bloody. Above the blade was the title and below it the name of the author. ADRIAN SLATER.

Slater was grinning as he signed a copy of his book with a flourish and passed it to the pretty brunette on the other side of the desk. “I hope you enjoy it,” he said. He was wearing a black Armani suit and a grey shirt and a gold Rolex glinted on his wrist.

“Oh I’m sure I will,” she gushed. “I saw you on The Tonight Show and Jay Leno made it sound so good. Are you doing a sequel?”

“I’m planning one as we speak,” said Slater.

One of the glossy PR girls that the publisher had sent to help organize the signing gently led the brunette away. The next buyer stepped up to the desk and Slater took a book off the pile at his elbow. “Who shall I make it out to,” he said for the hundredth time. He looked up and then did a double-take as he recognized the girl standing in front of him.

She smiled. “Kirsty,” she said. “And maybe you could write “with love” or something like that. Make it more personal.”

She was wearing her hair long and as he stared up at her she slowly tilted her head to the right and brushed her hair over her left ear, revealing a thick rope-like scar across her neck. There were scars on her hand, too, deep cuts that had healed badly.

“It’s a great book,” she said. “I read it as soon as it came out. I’d pre-ordered it on Amazon.”

“They provide a great service,” said Slater. He started to sign the book but his hand trembled and he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“There’s no need to be nervous, Adrian,” said Kirsty, dipping her head and allowing her hair to fall back to cover the scar.

A PR girl reached out to touch Kirsty’s arm but Kirsty shook her away. “I’m an old friend. Tell her Adrian. Tell her I’m an old friend.”

Adrian nodded at the PR girl. “I know her,” he said. “Just give us a minute.”

The PR girl flashed him a professional smile but he could see that she wasn’t happy. “Let’s get a coffee later,” Slater said to Kirsty.

“A coffee would be nice,” she said.

“Cool,” said Slater. He scrawled “For Kirsty, With Love” across a page and underneath it scrawled a lazy signature. He closed the book and handed it to her, but she didn’t take it.

“It’s everything you said it would be,” she said.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He offered her the book but she stood with her hands holding the strap of her shoulder bag.

“I didn’t say that I enjoyed it, Adrian. I said that it was everything that you said it would be. A true bestseller. Not quite the same as the version I saw back in LA, but a gripping read. And the plot twist where it turns out that the lecturer is the killer. Well, I never saw that coming. That was inspired.”

Slater said nothing. He swallowed and the back of his throat was so dry that he almost gagged. He put down the book and reached for a glass of water.

“Where is it in the bestseller lists? Number seven?”

Slater took a sip of water. “Six this morning.”

“On the way to number one,” she said. “After Leno you’ll be selling a million, I’m sure.”

“Hopefully,” said Slater. He put down the glass. “But nothing’s ever guaranteed.” He looked at his wristwatch. “I’m going to have to get on with signing,” he said. “There’s a hundred or so in the line and I have to be out of here by two.”

“I was surprised at the name. Adrian Slater. Is that a pen name?”

“No. That’s me.”

“So Eddie Wilson was what? A dry run? Was that what I was, Adrian? A dry run? Practice?”

“What do you want, Kirsty?” He took another sip of water and then put down the glass. His hand trembled as the glass touched the table and water slopped over the side.

Kirsty smiled. “What happened to your ePublishing idea?” she asked. “I thought you were going to bypass the publishers and sell it yourself.”

“It’s hard to turn down a seven-figure deal,” said Slater. “And let’s face it, there’s nothing to compare with the feel of a real book. The smell of it. At the end of the day an eReader is just a small computer, and where’s the romance in that?”

“That’s so funny. In LA I was the one who said that eBooks were an abomination and that paper was all that mattered. Funny how thing’s change. Like your name. Who knew that Eddie Wilson wasn’t your real name? And who knew that before you were Adrian Slater you were Adrian Henderson? How’s your foot, by the way?”

“It’s fine.”

She waved her scarred right hand in front of him. “I wasn’t so lucky. Well, I suppose I was in that I didn’t die. A truck driver took me to hospital but I passed out and by the time I could talk you’d long gone. I see from the book that you’ve still got the boat?”

Slater nodded.

“No trace of it in LA,” said Kirsty. “The cops looked. Or at least they said they did. I suppose you changed the name.”

“Thought it might be best.”

“You know that’s unlucky, don’t you? Changing the name of a boat.” Kirsty’s eyes had gone cold. Lifeless. Like glass. “How did you get the boat from the West Coast over to New York?”

“Sailed it,” said Slater. “All the way down to the Panama Canal and all the way back up again.”

“Single-handed?”

“Always. It gave me time to think.”

“No wonder the cops couldn’t find you,” she said. “Towards the end I think they stopped believing that I was attacked. One of the cops even asked me if I’d hurt myself. Can you believe that?”

“Cops are stupid,” said Slater. “The world over.”

“The ones in your book certainly are,” said Kirsty. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing with myself these days?”

Slater looked over at the two PR girls but they were deep in conversation with their backs to him. He looked back at Kirsty and forced a smile. “Okay, I’ll bite,” he said. “What are you doing with yourself these days, Kirsty?”

A middle-aged woman in a cheap cloth coat coughed pointedly behind Kirsty. Kirsty turned and glared at the woman. “I won’t be much longer,” she said. “Mr Slater and I are old friends. Up until the point where he tried to kill me.” She smiled frostily at the woman and then turned back to Slater. “I’ve written a book,” she said. “A novel.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And do you have a publisher?”

She smiled. It wasn’t a very nice smile, Slater realized. He picked up the book again and offered it to her, but she still refused to take it from him. “Aren’t you going to ask me what it’s about? My book?”

Slater sighed and looked at his watch again.

“Come on now, Adrian, you can spare me a minute or two, can’t you? After all we’ve been through.”

Slater put the book back on the table, linked the fingers of his hands and looked at her expectantly. “What’s your book about, Kirsty?”

“It's an everyday story of boy meets girl, boy screws girl, boy tries to kill girl, girl escapes, boy runs off to New York to kill another girl and write a best-seller.”

“It sounds… interesting.”

“It is.”

“Are you thinking about self-publishing ?”

She shook her head. “Oh no, it’s too good for that. One of the big six will take it, I’m sure. It’s going to fly off the shelves.”

“Well, I wish you all the luck in the world.”

“That’s nice of you, Adrian.” She tapped her lips with the first and second fingers of her right hand. “Silly me, I forgot to tell you about the twist.”

“The twist?”

“Well there’s got to be a twist, hasn’t there.” She slipped her hand inside her bag. “If there’s no twist, the reader feels cheated. There has to be a twist. And once I’ve got my twist, then the book will sell itself.” Her hand emerged from the bag holding a chrome snub-nosed revolver.

Slater pushed himself back in his seat, his palms face down on the table. “Kirsty, don’t do this.”

“It has to be done, Adrian. The writer in you knows that.” She smiled. “So here’s the twist. Girl kills boy. Then writes her own best-seller explaining why she did it and makes a million bucks.” She grinned. “And not a vampire or a werewolf in sight.”

Slater shook his head. “It’s just a story,” he said.

“Oh no, Adrian. It’s so much more than that.” She smiled again. It was the smile of someone who really didn’t care about anything.

“Kirsty, please…”

She shook her head sadly and pulled the trigger, shooting him just below the heart. She was still smiling as she pulled the trigger again. And again. And again.

 

 

THE END

 

 

 

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