‘You and I should have a talk,’ said Max to Constantine. ‘We’ve got a lot to catch up on, wouldn’t you say?’
‘He’s tired,’ said Annie quickly, her eyes pleading with Max. Don’t kill him.
‘Let them talk,’ said Alberto, taking Annie’s arm. ‘It will do Papa good. All this mess? We’ll clear it away later. No worries.’
No worries?
Annie stood up and let Alberto lead her from the room. She glanced back, and there was Max standing with a gun in his hand looking down at Constantine. She was terrified for both of them. Max could kill Constantine, who was helpless now, not the man he was, couldn’t Max see that? And if he did… oh Christ, if he did then Alberto would never let Max out of here alive.
115
‘Remember the old days, Nico?’ Constantine was smiling, his eyes vacant. He’d just killed one man and maimed another, and he was no more concerned than if he had squashed a gnat. ‘Sit, sit!’ said Constantine, patting the edge of the bed.
Mental or not, this is one dangerous old cunt, thought Max.
Max pulled up a chair instead, giving himself some distance, and kept the gun in his hand for insurance. If Constantine could hide a bloody great Magnum pistol and a knife under his pillows, then he could have other weapons hidden, too.
‘Remember all those times we had together?’ said Constantine, heaving a fond sigh. ‘When we were young foot soldiers, getting agita off our women for being so wild? What times we had, Nico. Chasing the coin, having sit-downs with the other people when there were turf disputes, we were on top of the world.’
‘I’m not Nico, I’m Max,’ he told him. ‘Remember? Max Carter.’
Constantine looked puzzled. ‘But… I don’t understand. You were dead. That woman, that other one…’
‘Annie.’
‘I helped her find her daughter when you’d been hit. Abroad somewhere, in Europe.’
‘You did.’ Max thought about this: yes, he did owe Constantine a debt of gratitude. And he hated that. He thought of this old cunt trying to seduce his wife, trying to get her drunk, tormenting her with sex shows.
‘I never see her these days,’ said Constantine. ‘Annie, I mean. Maria comes and visits me. You know what I wish?’ Constantine lay back on the pillows and for a moment he looked ancient, ready for the tomb.
‘No. What do you wish?’ asked Max.
‘I wish I could die now,’ said Constantine, closing his eyes wearily. ‘This life? It ain’t all that, my friend. You get old and you ache and you forget things. Nothing tastes good. You don’t even want a fuck. It’s pathetic.’
Max stared at the face of the man who had once been so powerful, so fearful. Now, he was nothing but a shell. There was nothing for Max to do except what he’d come for. To kill Constantine, to finish him once and for all. To have revenge on the guy who’d stepped into his shoes with Annie and made her deceive him for so long.
Now was his chance. He had the gun in his hand, it would be a simple matter to pull the trigger and finish it at last; end the old godfather’s sad remnant of a life.
The eyes opened, still blue, but no longer sharp. They were milky; faded with age. The head turned on the scrawny neck and Constantine looked straight at Max.
‘You understand what I’m saying, don’t you, Nico?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Max, not bothering to correct him this time. ‘I do.’
‘That’s what I would like,’ said Constantine.
‘You could have done it,’ said Max. ‘You had the gun, the knife. So did you really want it that much?’
Constantine shrugged. ‘Maybe I could. Nothing’s right any more, Nico. You’re the only friend I have left in the world, you’ll look after Maria for me, I know that. You swear that, don’t you? I’ve been waiting for you to come and now you have, it’s time. If I know you’ll do that, then I’m ready and there’s nothing else left for me.’
Max cleared his throat. Stupid to feel choked up, but he did. ‘Yeah. I swear.’
‘OK.’ Constantine raised a tired smile. ‘Then, I tell you what. Put the gun on the bed and go and look at that tapestry over there. It’s a good one. French, you know. The best. Cost a fucking fortune like everything else in this damned cold hole of a place. When they come in, you can tell them I snatched the gun off you.’
Max stood up. Carefully, he placed the gun on the bed near Constantine’s right hand.
And now I’ll turn my back and the crazy old cunt will shoot me, thinking I’m some old enemy.
Ah, fuck it. Max turned away from the bed and took two steps away to look at the tapestry, all sewn in faded rose-pinks, greens and golds. Nymphs and cherubs, angels and demons, all writhing together in pink fleshy chaos.
He’s going to shoot me.
Max could feel the skin between his shoulder blades crawling as he waited for the hammer-blow of the gunshot. He wouldn’t hear it – you never heard the shot that killed you. And thank God for that.
Thirty seconds after he turned his back on Constantine, the shot rang out, deafeningly.
Max flinched at the noise, and spun back toward the bed.
The gun lay in Constantine’s open hand. There was a head wound and blood – not much. Actually Constantine looked quite peaceful, lying there. Max stood and listened to the commotion start outside, to running footsteps coming closer. He sat down in the chair again, feeling neither satisfaction nor pleasure.
It was just done, that was all.
Constantine – finally, at long, long last – was dead.
116
‘So what happened? Really?’ asked Annie as they sat in the dining hall an hour later.
Max looked at her. They were alone in the room and it was cold, no fire burning in the hearth. Upstairs, Alberto was coming to terms with losing his father. The others were cleaning up. Mrs McAllister had gone to her room, shattered by the night’s events. Down in the kitchen, she hadn’t heard the gunshots. Alberto had assured her that the trouble was over, told her to go to bed, there was nothing to worry about.
‘Really?’ Max looked at Annie. ‘I’ll tell you. He snatched the gun off me and shot himself. It was a happy release, for God’s sake. The poor old sod was fucked, anyway.’
‘You didn’t encourage him to do it?’ Annie’s eyes were narrowed with suspicion.
‘No. It’s done. Let it rest. How’s your throat?’
Annie shrugged. There was a thin angry red line on her neck, but what little bleeding there had been was stopped, crusted over.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘It’s just so bloody sad, what’s happened here tonight.’
‘It had to happen,’ said Max. ‘He thought I was Nico, and he seemed to be waiting for Nico to appear. When he did, he could rest.’
The door opened and Alberto came in. He looked strained and pale, but composed. He crossed to where they sat and slumped into a chair and put his head in his hands.
‘Jesus, what a night,’ he groaned.
‘I’m sorry, Alberto,’ said Annie. ‘Really.’
Alberto looked up at her. ‘Why be sorry, Stepmom? We lost him quite a while ago, didn’t we. That wasn’t my father up there, rambling on like some sad old fart. Fucking incontinent and not holding his fudge. Eating baby food. Not recognizing people. Even me, you know that? Last week, he asked who I was. No… it’s better, what happened tonight. And Max? You mustn’t blame yourself for it. It was kinder, really, that it ended that way.’
‘So now what?’ asked Max.
‘Now?’ Alberto heaved a sigh. ‘Now I make the arrangements for the funeral. Bury David Sangster once and for all. Constantine Barolli is already long dead. And you know what? I think it would have been better, really, for him if he had truly died when that bomb went off in Montauk, instead of the poor sap who died in his place. That would have been a better end for a great man, don’t you think?’