‘What do you think?’ I said to Grace.
She said, ‘I don’t like the way that thing is looking at me with its two slitty eyes.’
‘OK, but apart from that?’
‘I think he left all this in place because he wants us to see what he’s doing.’
‘Which is?’
‘What you told me: reconstituting Justine.’
‘And you believe he wants us to know about that?’
‘Istvan’s a funny guy. Maybe he’s afraid of what he’s got into and doesn’t want to lose touch with the straight world.’ She was clinging to my arm. ‘Do you think he’s done it? Reconstituted Justine Trimble?’
‘If he found that he could, he certainly would.’
‘Why do the two of you have the hots for this twenty-five-year-old dead woman?’
‘A dirty old man is the only kind of old man there is, Grace, and age brings out all kinds of strangeness.’
‘I don’t mind strange. Would you stay with me tonight?’
‘Sure, but let’s go to my place. I want to check my e-mail and set the video timer.’
‘What are you going to record?’
‘Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia.’
‘Has it got a happy ending?’
‘Not in the usual sense.’
‘I like happy endings.’
‘I have two machines. We can watch Dead Letter Office on the other one. That has a happy ending.’
We were heading for Oxford Circus when I saw Istvan Fallok coming towards us in Marshall Street with someone on his arm — a woman I assumed. She was wearing a blue anorak with the hood up, tight grey jeans, and black-and-white cowboy boots. ‘Cowboy boots,’ I said. ‘Black-and-white.’ Balaclava and dark glasses under the hood. And gloves. When they saw us they stopped.
‘Wotcher, Istvan?’ I said. ‘What do you hear from El Paso?’
‘I hear that the last stage left a while ago,’ he said. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, there are times when four’s a crowd.’
‘And two is one too many,’ said Grace. ‘But at least you could introduce us to your friend.’
‘Not just now,’ said Istvan. ‘We’ll see you around.’
‘Maybe in Technicolor next time,’ I said as he and his silent companion walked past us and away.
7 Grace Kowalski
8 January 2004. So that was Miss Justine (Dead Meat) Trimble? Irv says Istvan bundled her up like that because she was only black-and-white. Maybe he’ll unveil the full-colour version at a later date. OK. If that’s Istvan’s idea of a really good time I wish him joy of it. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against kinky. Kinky is OK in my book. Still, I suppose everyone draws the line somewhere. If I had a sister, would I want her to marry a necrophile? Consenting adults and all that. A prenuptial agreement with a posthumous clause. But then again.
Well, of course Irv is no better than Istvan really. He wants to get his hands on that dead meat too. Men are trouble enough when they’re young, but when they’re old! If I didn’t know that form and emptiness are the same thing I’d be worried.
8 Chauncey Lim
8 January 2004. Obviously I wasn’t going to hear from Istvan in the usual way so I made my preparations. I went to his place and I couldn’t see in because the blinds were closed. I’d rigged a bug with a tiny radio mike and a buttonhole vidcam. The letterbox wasn’t sealed so I stuck chewing gum on a non-vital part of the bug and put it in a little catapult meant for launching a toy helicopter. I stuck my hand through the letterbox, launched the bug, and hoped for the best. Then I went home to check the monitor.
The bug had stuck to the ceiling but not in a place that gave me much of a view. I got the top of a speaker or whatever and below that what I assumed was a female and very shapely leg ending in a black-and-white cowboy boot. I did better with the audio. I’ll call the voices I and J:
I: Try to keep still, OK?
J: Why should I keep still? I didn’t ask to come here, I’d rather be dead. What gives you the right to stick that thing in me?
I: I love you, that’s what gives me the right.
J: That’s what you think, you dried-up old piece of shit. Ow! That hurt.
I: If you’d hold still I could find the right place. Of course it’s going to hurt if I keep getting it wrong. Ah, there we go. How’s that?
J: Am I supposed to like it?
I: You’ve got a little colour now and you’re looking much better.
J: Get your hands off me, you creep. Stop taking my clothes off.
I: You’re getting colour from the top down, very nice. Ow! Why’d you hit me?
J: Just because you brought me back from the dead, don’t think you can put your hands all over me.
I: Would you rather be dead?
J: Oh, never mind — you might as well finish now that you’ve started. If you’ve got enough of what it takes.
I: I feel a little faint but it’s worth it to see you looking so good. Mmmmm!
J: Stop that! And what’s going to happen when you’re all used up?
I: We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.
J: What’s that thing on the ceiling? It wasn’t there before. Are you taking pictures of me?
(At this point Fallok removed the bug and stamped heavily on it.)
Her voice! Listening to them almost drove me mad.
The pictures in my mind as I imagined what was going on! The erection it gave me! I took time out to pleasure myself but I still couldn’t calm down, I was burning with passion, aching to possess this woman. My love had sprung up like a monstrous cactus the first time I saw her on video. Now Fallok is enjoying the fruits of my labour. I never should have told him how to go about it and I fully intend to take her away from him. Yes! To have her for myself, to feel her responding to the urgent life in me! One way or another I’ll do it. Ah, Justine!
9 Justine Trimble
8 January 2004. Crazy! Is this how Lazarus felt? And crazier from one minute to the next. I kept trying to push this old guy away but as the new life flowed into me I was getting horny. So I stopped pushing him away and pulled him on to me. If fucking was music he wouldn’t of been no more than a tin whistle but in my mind it was Gene Autry giving it to me real good and singing, ‘Whoopee ti-yi-yo, rockin’ to and fro, back in the saddle again …’
The old guy fainted when he finished and I must have used up too much juice because I could feel myself fading to black-and-white again which was a real comedown. When he opened his eyes the old guy — Istvan Fallok his name is — said, ‘How was it for you?’
‘Terrific,’ I said. ‘Only I think I’m fading back to where I was at the beginning.’
‘I noticed,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think I’ve got enough blood left to give you a top-up.’