The Bullet Trick

'William.'

He shook his head as if lost for words.

'Yeah, I know Ray, sorry.'

'No,' his voice was hard, 'I’m sorry. You were making a good act.'

I sucked the last draw from my cigarette and looked for somewhere to stub it out. Ray’s computer lay askew amongst the mass of crushed paper on his desk, the keyboard spattered with Kolja’s blood. If there’d ever been an ashtray it was lost somewhere beneath the debris. I nipped the end of my fag with my fingers and put it in my pocket.

'Shit, Ray. I’m sorry about the mess.'

'Everyone’s sorry, William. You, me, Ulla.' He nodded at Sylvie slumped on the chair I’d lifted her into. 'Her too probably, when she wakes up.'

The indignity of the moment made my speech formal.

'Is my engagement terminated?'

Ray nodded.

'We depend on …’ He sought for an expression. 'Harmony… Ulla …'

'Ulla wants us out?' I hesitated, hoping he’d contradict me, but Ray nodded. I sighed.

'Yeah, I understand. Just pay me and I’ll collect my stuff and go.'

Ray looked sadder than ever. He reached into his pocket, drew out a bundle of notes and peeled a couple off the top. He passed them to me.

'Someone will bring you your things.'

I looked at the hundred euros in my hand.

'Ray, this isn’t what you owe me.'

'No, William.' The tide of red on Ray’s face seemed to be gaining ground. 'It’s not what I owe you. I spent money on advertising, travel, your new boxes, then …’ He spread his hands out taking in the mess of his office and I remembered how he’d described it as his sanctuary. '… You try to destroy my theatre. I have to persuade Ulla not to call the police.'

Sylvie stirred and I put my hand on her head. The theatre manager’s voice was rising; it held the shrillness of a man not used to shouting. 'It is you who owes me.' The door to the office opened a sliver and Ray spat something short and sharp at whoever was on the other side then turned back towards the room. 'Be grateful I gave you any money at all. Let your English friend give you your fare home. You won’t perform in Berlin again.'

'I put a lot of work into making the act perfect for Schall und Rauch.'

He shook his head and turned to leave.

'Someone will bring you your stuff.' He nodded towards Sylvie, averting his eyes as if it hurt him to look at her. 'Make sure you take her with you.'

'Ray,' I stepped away from the desk. 'I was relying on that money.'

'That is not my problem.' He looked me in the eye. 'Tidying this mess and finding someone who will take your place before tomorrow, calming my stage manager, keeping the police from my door, these are all my problems. You are simply one of my mistakes.'

At first I wasn’t sure which twin it was who appeared in the office with my props case, then I saw the omega symbol on his wrist and knew it was Erhard. He looked at Sylvie’s half-slumped form and said, 'Kolja is a bastard.'

'He’s a bastard with a job.' I lifted my props case. 'Can you give me a hand?'

Erhard glanced at Sylvie then at me.

'Sure.' He looked embarrassed. 'You should change.'

I laughed in spite of myself, but there was a bitter note to the laugh that made me stop.

'You could be right. Soon as I get home I’m going to give up hard drink and loose women and start studying moral philosophy.'

The acrobat nodded towards my case.

'Is there a fresh shirt in your bag?'

I glanced down and realised he hadn’t been referring to my lifestyle. The front of my shirt was soaked with blood, Kolja’s and mine, impossible to distinguish from each other, the same red merged on the no longer white cotton. I raised my hand to my face and felt the scab already crusting beneath my nose, becoming aware again of the pain where Kolja’s fist had connected.

'No. I’ve not had time to do any laundry.'

The domestic detail seemed absurd and I giggled a little.

'Here.' Erhard pulled off his T-shirt and passed it to me.

'You sure?'

The young athlete nodded and I started unbuttoning my shirt. Erhard took it from me then got a bottle of clear liquid from Ray’s desk drawer, poured some onto the stained cotton, and started dabbing the blood from my face. The alcohol stung. I winced and he placed his hand on my bare shoulder.

'It is necessary.'

I felt the heat of his naked chest close to mine. It was a strange sensation in the midst of a strange night. I took the ruined shirt from him and completed the operation myself then took a quick gulp from the bottle. The drink was some kind of schnapps. It was rough and strong and it made me feel better. I passed the bottle to Erhard and he screwed the lid back on without taking a pull.

I knelt beside Sylvie and whispered, 'Erhard’s going to help me get you into a cab.'

She mumbled something I couldn’t make out. I nodded to him and we hooked our hands gently under Sylvie’s arms and helped her slowly along the back corridors to the stage door. Once, she looked up at Erhard and smiled dreamily like she wasn’t sure where he had come from, but mostly she simply put one foot in front of the other, letting us support her, her head dipping gently under the weight of gravity. A bass beat reached us from somewhere deep within the theatre but we met no one during our slow progress to the exit. The stage doorman put down his newspaper and watched us with disapproving eyes.

We ignored him and Erhard helped Sylvie and me leave Schall und Rauch for the last time.

I stopped in sight of the main street.

'It’s probably best if I take her from here. Cabs might start worrying about their upholstery if they see it takes two of us to hold her up.'

'OK.' Erhard stroked a hand across his tattooed chest. 'Good luck.'

'Thanks, I’m going to need it.'

He nodded.

'Will you go back to England?'

'Probably.' I remembered the scout Rich had mentioned and tried to cheer myself up.

Or maybe I was just trying to save a little bit of my dignity.

'My agent said there’s TV interest back there. Something might come of it.'

Erhard rubbed his fingers together in the universal money gesture.

'So, soon all your problems will be over.'

I shook his hand and thanked him for his help; trying to push away the thought that the only time all your problems are ever over is when you reach your grave.

I slid Sylvie into one of the white Mercs idling at the cabstand, marvelling that she could still walk in her high red shoes. The driver gave us a reluctant look, but I told him the name of the hotel and he turned on the ignition and swung slowly out of the rank. Perhaps money was tight for him too.

Sylvie woke in the cab and gave me a sweet smile, like a child drowsy from an afternoon nap.

'Don’t worry, William, we’ll find somewhere better. I bet there are some fancy cabarets in London.'

'I liked it at Schall und Rauch.'

Sylvie rested her head against my shoulder.

'You liked that uptight bitch.'

'Yeah,' I looked out at the shop windows shining brightly into the night. 'Yeah, I liked her too.'

The hotel was in darkness but this time I had a key and let us in.

It was impossible to avoid my reflection in the hotel lift’s mirrored walls. Erhard’s T-shirt hugged my body, emphasising the gut that I’d been pretending didn’t exist. A Hitler moustache of caked gore clung stubbornly to my upper lip, there was a cut on the bridge of my nose where Kolja’s ring had caught me and my right eye was puffed half-closed.

The numbers above the elevator door climbed slowly towards four. Sylvie was awake now. She leaned against the opposite wall staring at her feet and I wondered if she was scared to see her reflection. I put my hand on her arm and she looked up at me.