Thirteen
'What she lacked in obvious beauty, she made up for both in talent and enthusiasm,' announced Ramon, describing his conquest of the previous night, a credit controller called Cheryl. 'And I've got to tell you, my man, that even the great Ramon's libido has been temporarily tamed. I am, how you say, fair shagged out.' He grinned and took a toke on his joint, sucking in the smoke and holding it there for a good ten seconds before blowing out a thin stream towards the ceiling.
We were sitting in my bedroom cum living area, Ramon in the old armchair by my bed, me reclined on a couple of beanbags opposite him, a Peroni in my hand. An old Santana album (Ramon's choice) was playing on the iPod, and I was feeling relaxed for the first time in twenty-four hours. I was supposed to be cooking dinner for us both, but somehow I didn't think this was going to be happening any time soon.
'How about you, my man?' he said. 'There were a lot of women in that place last night. Did you attract one with your lethal combination of wit and good looks?'
'Incredible though it might seem, no.' I took a slug from the beer, surprised that I wasn't even tempted to tell him about what had happened to me. I guess at that moment I just wanted to forget about it.
'Ach Roberto,' he said, pointing the joint at me accusingly. 'A good-looking guy like you and you're wasting your youth. One day you're going to sit back and wonder where the time went. Let me tell you something, my man. No one ever regretted that they didn't spend enough time in the office.'
'I don't work in an office.'
'I know you don't. But you've still got to loosen up, my man. Here, have a puff on this little number. It's prime weed. Not any of that skunk shit.' He leaned forward with the joint.
Normally I'd have said no. I rarely smoked dope. It tended to make me both sleepy and incredibly horny at the same time, which was always a pointless combination, especially so when all I had for company was another man, but tonight I felt like throwing caution to the wind. I took it off him and inhaled deeply, enjoying the feeling of smoke in my lungs. I'd given up the cigarettes years back but, like most smokers, I still missed them.
'Everything's all right with you, isn't it, Roberto?' he asked, looking at me seriously.
I smiled. 'Sure, I'm good. It's quite a compliment to be told I'm wasting my youth when I'm thirty-four.'
'Yeah, but the man telling you that's forty-two.'
We both laughed, and I took another toke, beginning to get that lightheaded feeling.
'I want you to be happy, man, you know? You've had a few hard times, but you've got to remember that life's short, and it's there to be enjoyed. That's my philosophy and it's always worked.' He sat back in his seat, making himself comfortable, and fiddled with his bandanna (red tonight).
His philosophy had worked, too. Ramon might not have had a lot financially, but he was one of the happiest men I knew. He had his dope, his dancing, his conquests, and one way or another he always perked me up, however black my mood was.
I drained my beer and pointed to his. 'Another one?'
'Do bears defecate in forested terrain?'
'Apparently so,' I said, and got up, handing him the joint.
As I pulled two more Peronis from the fridge, I had a sudden rush of guilt. Here I was enjoying myself, drinking and smoking dope without a second thought for Jenny. I looked at my watch. It had just turned half eight. I knew I ought to phone Tina and chivvy her into action, but I told myself that I'd do it later. If I hassled her too much she'd end up ignoring my calls.
'You know what I could do with?' I said, coming back into the room with the beers. 'A holiday. I've just realized I haven't been anywhere apart from France since before Chloe was born, and that was over four years ago.' I put Ramon's bottle on the bedside table beside his chair, and collapsed back into the beanbags. 'I'm thinking somewhere like Costa Rica. Have you ever been there?' I remembered that he'd always claimed to have been a bit of a world traveller.
Ramon didn't answer.
He didn't even move.
I tensed, experiencing a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. 'Ramon?' My voice cracked as I spoke his name.
He was slumped forward a little in his seat, like he'd fallen asleep, and the joint was no longer in his hand.
I put down my drink and got to my feet, moving too fast and getting a headrush as I walked over to him. 'Ramon? You all right, mate?'
I crouched down. Still no movement. The hollow feeling was spreading to every part of me. I lifted his head, not wanting to do it but knowing that I had to.
'Oh Jesus. Oh, Jesus Christ.'
There was a deep red hole where his left eye had been. It was pumping blood, a thick stripe of which ran slowly down his face and on to his neck, pooling in the fold there.
Straight away I knew he was dead. There was no question about it. His head hung heavy and useless in my hands, but it was still almost impossible to believe because I'd only been gone a few moments – thirty seconds at most – and when I'd left him he'd been laughing and talking and toking. Unable to quite comprehend what I was seeing, even though the blood was now running freely down his face, I felt desperately for a pulse that wasn't there.
A terrified panic ripped through me. 'Ramon! Ramon! Wake up! Stay with me!' I gave his face a gentle slap. 'Please,' I whispered. 'Stay with me. Don't go.'
And then I heard movement.
I froze.
'Who's Chloe?' said a voice behind me in a harsh Northern Irish accent.
Fourteen
My mouth went dry. My stomach tightened so much it was painful. More than anything else in the world, I didn't want to turn round.
But I couldn't keep staring at Ramon's blank, dead face either. Its utter lifelessness was tearing me apart.
Slowly, very slowly, I turned my head. Is this it? I kept asking myself. The end of my life? A lonely, bloody death in a cramped little flat miles away from the people I loved. I didn't want to die. God, I didn't want to die.
He stood between me and the bedroom door, blocking any possibility of escape – the grotesque-looking Irishman with the saucer eyes and the malignant smile permanently etched on the rack-tight skin of his face. He had one of his hands behind his back, while in the other he held the photo I kept by my bed of Yvonne, Chloe and me, taken in the garden a few weeks after we'd arrived in France, shortly before Chloe's second birthday, in the days when we were still full of optimism. Before everything went wrong.
It hadn't taken him long to find out where I lived, then.
'I asked you a question, Mr Fallon,' he said, his voice quiet and calm. 'Who's Chloe?'
He brought the hand round from behind his back, and I saw he was holding the stiletto he'd tried to cut my throat with the previous night, except this time it was stained with Ramon's blood. He tapped the tip of the blade against the photo. 'Is it her?' He turned the frame round so I could see it properly, rubbing the blade along the image of Chloe's innocent, smiling face.
'She's my daughter,' I said, my voice barely a croak.
'You don't want her to end up like your friend, do you?'
'No.'
'Good. Then you'll do exactly what I say.' He dropped the photo on to the carpet, and took a step towards me.
'You didn't have to kill him,' I whispered. 'He was nothing to do with this.'
'I know, but I enjoyed it.' He paused, taking pleasure in my fear, the pale saucer eyes lighting up with a childlike glee. 'Fear's a strange instinct, isn't it? It's supposedly there for self-preservation, yet right now it's preventing you from doing the one thing that will most obviously preserve your life – running.'
I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. He was right.
'Fear can make you weak and useless, but if you know how to control and channel it, it can be used to your advantage. I have that ability. I've always had it. But your problem right now is that you don't. Instead, your fear's going to make you do exactly as you're told.' He took another step forward so he was standing above me. I became aware of the scent of expensive aftershave. 'And what you're going to do now is drink this.' He produced a hipflask from the pocket of the raincoat he was wearing and threw it in my lap. 'Go on, drink.'