“So if you were a member of some terrorist gang and you planted a couple of bombs in the City, it wouldn’t matter if you missed one target, you’d still be bound to blow up something worth destroying.”
“Arguably, yes.”
“So maybe you should all split up, some of you go to Land’s End, some to John o’Groats, some of you come up to Sheffield.”
He said it drily and he didn’t laugh, and yet he wasn’t taking himself absolutely seriously. But he seemed to be demanding some reaction from Masterson. In the event Masterson said, “What do you want?” There was a little desperation in his voice. “Is this a mugging? You want my wallet?”
Mick was non-committal. “OK, I’ll have your wallet,” he said, but he said it as though he was doing Masterson a favour.
Masterson handed over a smart grey pigskin wallet and Mick flicked through it, extracted a few twenty pound notes but left the credit cards in place.
“I wouldn’t normally take your money,” Mick said, “but this is such an expensive town. City.” And he handed back the wallet.
“If you want the car, you can have the car too,” said Masterson.
“Yeah, why not? It’s insured after all.”
“I’m not going to fight you,” said Masterson.
“You’re telling me,” Mick agreed. “Nan, I don’t want your car. I don’t think I could cope with London traffic. It scares the life out of me.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I don’t really know. I’m new here. What did I ought to see?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Go oh. Show me some sights. Take me on a tour of London.”
“This is rather stupid.”
“You think so?” said Mick. “OK then, pull over.”
Masterson pulled over and stopped the car. He looked greatly relieved as if the ordeal was over, as though this brief encounter with a madman might now be concluded. He would soon be at work, maybe even joking about it with his colleagues. His hand rested on the gear lever and he waited for Mick to say something, make some move, to get out and leave him alone.
But Mick didn’t get out. He reached over for Masterson’s left hand. In one brisk movement he took the little finger and jerked it back as far as it would go. There was a little resistance, then a soft, brittle snap and Masterson screamed with pain as the finger broke. He looked at his assailant in utter disbelief. This couldn’t be happening to him.
“Don’t accuse me of being stupid,” said Mick. “Now drive on. I want to see Big Ben.”
Wincing with pain, Masterson clicked the car into gear and they set off again into traffic.
“Is this rush hour then?”
“Yes.”
“Well, where’s all the traffic? I mean, this isn’t so bad, is it? I’ve seen worse traffic jams in Bramall Lane, that’s in Sheffield, where United play. And what about the pollution they’re always talking about? I mean, it can’t be all that bad, can it? Not if people like you drive around in open-top cars.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Masterson said.
“That’s the spirit,” said Mick. He was friendly now. “You must be a bit of a tough guy,” he said reassuringly. “A lot of men faint when you break their finger.”
Masterson did not receive the compliment with any grace. He watched the road, tried to be neutral, to do nothing that would rile Mick. They drove in silence for a while, Mkk watching the passing scene with interest. When they drove into Trafalgar Square Mick recognized it at once and sat up in his seat, alert and excited. He gawped up at Nelson’s Column, as beguiled as any tourist.
“Can’t they do anything about those pigeons?” he wondered aloud.
Then they went down Whitehall until the Houses of Parliament came into view, but this time Mick didn’t see anything he recognized.
Masterson said, “What now?”
“What?” said Mick. “Are we there?”
“That’s Big Ben over there.”
“Really?” said Mick in surprise. “No. Get away. Surely Big Ben ought to be bigger than that.”
“No, that’s how big Big Ben is.”
“Well, I have to say I’m a bit disappointed. I was expecting more. Maybe I was expecting too much. I thought it’d be a huge thing like a skyscraper.”
“Sorry,” said Masterson.
“No, it’s not your fault. OK, let’s try again. Where next? How about Kew Gardens?”
“That’s really a very long way from here.”
“Really? How far?”
“About an hour’s drive, I suppose.”
“That’s no good,” Mick said. “How about Hampton Court?”
“That’s even further.”
Mick shook his head, perturbed and concerned. “That’s inconvenient, isn’t it? You’d think they’d put all the famous places next to each other, wouldn’t you?”
Masterson looked at him dubiously. He still couldn’t tell whether Mick was really as naive and obtuse as he was acting. There was no hint of irony, no sense that he was making jokes, and yet Masterson didn’t think he was dealing with a stupid man.
“OK then,” Mick said. “You choose. Show me something that’s nearby. Some important sight.”
“Do we have to do this?” Masterson pleaded.
“Yes, we do.”
“Right then, how about St Paul’s?”
“Is that big? Is it impressive?”
“I think so.”
“You’re on then.”
“Look,” Masterson said, a curious blend of hopelessness and forced, unfelt, pacifying patience, “if all you want is a sightseeing tour of London, why don’t you get on one of the tourist buses?”
“And why don’t I break another one of your fingers, yeah?”
“No, no, you don’t have to do that.”
“Don’t get funny then.”
“I’m not being funny, but my finger’s killing me actually. The pain’s terrible. I think I ought to get to a hospital.”
“You’ll be all right. I’ve done it before. It hurts but it’s not serious. I mean, cricketers break their fingers and then go on to score centuries, so don’t get too dramatic about it, OK? And incidentally, I don’t just want a sightseeing tour of London from you. What I want is to punish you. And breaking your finger’s only part of it, right?”
“Why do you want to punish me?”
“I can’t really tell you that,” Mick said thoughtfully. “Not yet. But everybody’s done something they need punishing for, haven’t they? Everybody’s done something they’ve got away with that they shouldn’t have. I’ll bet you can think of something.”
Masterson shook his head but didn’t try to argue. He simply drove in the direction of St Paul’s.
“You’re married, Masterson, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Happily, of course.”
“Yes.”
“That’s great. I find that really touching, I do. In a world where nothing lasts, and nobody’s faithful, and people just shack up together and move out when things get a bit tricky, somebody who’s prepared to say till death us do part, well, I think you have to admire that. How long have you been together?”
“Not long.”
“Newlyweds. Sweet.”
“Look, you can do what you like to me, but leave Sally out of this, please.”
“I’m only talking about her. Sticks and stones. I wouldn’t hurt her, that’d be cowardly, wouldn’t it? But she is a looker. She is a great-looking woman. But I was wondering, does she always keep her bra and stockings on while she’s being shagged, or was that just today?”
A chilling, incapacitating anger crept over Masterson. All he could ask was, “What did you see?”
“I saw the lot, the pair of you, at it on the deck. It was worth watching. But I admit I was more interested in seeing her than in seeing you.”
“You sick fuck,” said Masterson. He slammed on the brakes and the car lurched to a halt on a double yellow line. “I’ve just about had enough of this.”