Torsen shook their hands again, and again felt how strong her grip was. "Maybe he was looking for work, ask at the main administration office," Ruda suggested.
Torsen smiled his thanks, and just as he opened the door, Grimaldi asked how Kellerman had been murdered. Torsen dragged on his raincoat. "Some kind of hammer, multiple blows to his head."
Grimaldi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ah well! Poor little sod had it coming to him."
Torsen said tersely that no one had to be subjected to such a horrifying death. He then smiled coldly at Ruda, and asked if she would accompany them when he was finished taking statements from the rest of the people he needed to speak to.
Ruda was tight-lipped, asking how long it would take — with the show due to open shortly she had very little time.
Torsen said he would be through as fast as he could, perhaps in two hours, if it was convenient. He did not wait for a reply.
When the officers left, Grimaldi leaned back, then lifted his feet up to rest on the bunk seat. "Maybe he left some dough to you in his will!"
"Yeah, the only thing he's left is a nasty smell and a string of debts. He can get someone else to ID him, I'm not going."
"But you were his wife..."
She swiped him with the towel. "You knew him, you identify him. It'll give you something to do."
"Ah, but I didn't know him as well as you, sweetheart, you can't get out of that."
Ruda sat down, pushing his feet aside. "I can't do it, Luis — don't make me, don't let them make me see him."
Grimaldi cocked his head to one side. "Why not, he's dead. You telling me it's affecting you? I thought you detested his guts."
"I do, I did, but I don't want to see him."
Grimaldi pinched her cheek. "You use his name, sweetheart! Serves you right!"
Ruda swung out at him, this time with the flat of her hand. She hit hard, and he gripped her wrist, shoving her roughly aside. "Give me one good reason why I should do anything for you."
"Fuck you!"
Ruda punched him, and Grimaldi swung back, landing a hard, open-handed slap on her face. She kicked him, he slapped her again, and this time she didn't fight back — her face twisted like a child's and he drew her to him. "Okay okay... I'll take you, I'll go with you!"
He began to smooth back her hair from her face, massage the throbbing scars at her temples. Her body felt strong as a man's in his arms. For her to be vulnerable like this was rare. He held her closer.
"Ruda, Ruda, why do we torment each other the way we do?"
"Just be with me, Luis, just stay with me, I don't want to go by myself," she whispered.
"Stay with you, huh? Until the next time you want something?"
As soon as he said it he wished he hadn't. Ruda backed away from him, her fists clenched. He threw up his hands in a gesture of impotence.
"We have to get divorced, Ruda, you know it. I can't live like this anymore, we're at each other's throats."
"I don't want to talk about that, not now."
"Because of that shit Kellerman? Jesus Christ, Ruda, who gives a fuck if he's alive or dead? What concerns me is us, we have to settle our future. I'm through Ruda, through standing around waiting to be at your beck and call."
"You can't have the act!"
Grimaldi clenched his hands. Like two fighters they faced each other.
"Fine, you want it, then we arrange a financial settlement. Simple as that, Ruda."
He saw the way her face changed, the way her dark eyes stared at and through him. Her voice was as dark as her eyes.
"Every penny I have earned has been put back into the act. You want out — then you go, take your stupid little whore. Take her and fuck off."
Grimaldi smirked. "Takes one to know one."
She went for him like a man, punching and kicking. Soon they were slugging each other. Crockery smashed, pictures crashed off the walls, and they fought until they both lay sprawled, panting, on the floor. She still punched him, blows that hurt like hell.
"Take your clothes and get out! Without me you'd have nothing, without me you'd be a drunken bum!"
She spat at him, and he staggered to his feet. He began to open the overhead lockers, throwing her belongings at her.
"You take yours, you take your belongings and get out, go sleep with the animals, sleep with your precious angel! Sleep with any twisted, fucked-up thing that'll have you."
Ruda kicked him so hard in the back of his legs that he slumped forward, hit his head on the side of the cupboard and fell backward. He lay half across the bunk, half on the floor and she was on top of him, spread-eagled across his body. For one second he thought she was going to bite him, she was snarling like a wild cat. He then rolled her and her head cracked against the floor. He bent his head closer to scream at her to stop. Suddenly he felt her body grow limp beneath him, and her arms wound around his neck as she drew him closer.
They looked into each other's faces, and moaned, in unison, chest to chest, breath to breath, their hearts thudding. The kiss was gentle, his lips softly brushing hers. She buried her head in the nape of his neck.
They lay together on the floor of the wrecked trailer — their clothes and crockery around them. They lay together with broken glass and shattered pictures of the Great Grimaldi and the fearless Ruda Kellerman.
When he spoke, his voice was filled with pain.
"Let me go, Ruda. Because this is where it always ends. I want you now, you can feel I want you, but it has to end."
Her voice was muffled, a low half-plea, begging him to take her, to have her. She eased her hands down his body, began to unhook his belt. He leaned up, gently turning his face, forcing her to look at him.
"Do you want me? Or is this... Ruda, look at me, look at me!"
His big hand cupped her chin, forced her to face him. Her eyes were expressionless, hard, dangerous eyes. She couldn't fake it. She had never been able to, she couldn't even do it now when she needed him. Slowly she let her hands drop to her sides. She moved as if to turn over, to let him ease down her trousers, since she could not take him naturally, normally. Small slivers of glass cut into her cheeks, the pain excited her, but she felt no juices, nothing to prepare her body for sex, for his erection. She gritted her teeth, waiting.
Grimaldi stood up, carefully avoiding the glass. He stepped over her, tightened his belt as his erection pressed against his pants. The hardness left by the time he walked into his room and quietly closed the door.
Ruda lay in the debris. It had always been this way. They had always fought each other, and that part had always excited her, but she had never felt any sexual desire beyond the fight; sex pained and hurt her too much, hurt her insides like sharpened razors. She felt a tiny drop of blood roll down her cheek and she licked it, tasted it as though it were a tear. She hadn't cried for a long time, too long even to remember.
Ruda went into her room, closing the door as quietly as Grimaldi had shut his. She showered, feeling the hot needles pummel her, then gently began to soap herself. Her fingers massaged her shoulders, her arms, her heavy breasts, and then she began to lather her belly, her strong hands feeling each crude, jagged scar. She massaged and eased the foam down, until she reached between her legs. She ran her hands over the ridges of the scars, her hideous, thick, hard, rough skin — always a dark plum red, like a birthmark. She rinsed the soap with cold water, grabbed a towel, her hair dripping. She hadn't heard him come in, but he was there, holding out the big white bath towel. Gently he wrapped her, as if she were a child, trapping her arms in the softness.
He held her close. Her eyes were frightened, childlike, as if the animal in her had gone into hiding; there was no longer any ferocity. He guided her toward the bed and sat her down.