The Bullet Trick

'James Montgomery, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention now anything you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be given in evidence …'

I sank to the floor, put my head in my hands and shut my eyes.

Berlin

SYLVIE’S RED LIPS mouthed something that might have been I love you or Don’t do it or Do it quick. My consciousness shifted and I saw us both caught in a tableau. Sylvie afraid but determined, her pale skin shining as if it were drawing all the light in the warehouse towards her, and me in my ridiculous costume, right arm raising the gun level with my shoulder. Somewhere in the dark the stranger and Dix were watching, waiting for me to go through with the trick, and somewhere far off so was I; still sure the wax was in the chamber, but wondering what it was that I’d missed. I lowered the gun and took a step towards Sylvie. Scared as she’d looked, her fear had been nothing to the terror that suddenly shadowed her face.

'Come on, dear,' her voice shook with the effort of calm. 'Why don’t you show them our William Tell act?'

And I realised that the die was cast. I had been tempted with money and performance pride but something worse than humiliation would happen if I rejected the challenge now.

I slid from my position on the outside, back into myself, breathed deeply, raised my arm, slowly took aim, squeezed the trigger and fired. The glass shattered and the target flew backwards into the centre of an explosion of noise and red.

I sank to the floor, into the warmth of my own piss, putting my head in my hands, feeling a thousand shards of glass rain down on me, scattering across the floor like diamonds spilled by a careless hand.

I crouched there, hearing nothing but the repeat of the blast exploding over and over in my ears. After what seemed like a long time Dix touched my shoulder.

'Here,' his voice was gentle. 'Swallow, you’ll feel better.'

I kept my eyes on the ground unable to run towards the red blur at the edge of my vision and asked, 'Did I kill her?'

'Shhhh.'

Dix prised open my mouth and slipped a pill beneath my tongue. I swallowed then hunched back on the floor, letting darkness claim me. He was right, oblivion was better than the knowledge of what I’d done.

Consciousness brought the sharp tang of disinfectant. My first thought was that they weren’t making hospital beds any softer. But when I forced open my eyes I lay curled in a square of sunlight beneath the warehouse’s skylight. The shadows of pigeons roosting in the roof above crawled across me. One touched my face; I winced and raised a hand to bat it away though it was nothing.

I thought of Sylvie. The vision of her ruined body dropping to the floor flashed into my mind in bloody Technicolor. There was a sudden pain in my gut and I twisted into it, heaving deep dry sobs whose echoes were my only replies. Above me the birds launched into the air, their wings beating out a fractured rhythm; I thought of the sound a pistol makes and groaned.

I’m not sure how much time passed before I managed to raise my head, but I know it was a long interval between that first move and struggling to my feet. Someone had covered me with my raincoat. I pulled it on and stumbled like a three-day drunk to the spot where Sylvie had fallen. The warehouse was huge and empty, a transitory space where things were stored then moved on, where women were shot then disappeared and shattered conjurers stood and wondered what to do next.

Someone had done a good job. There was no sign left of my crime, except for a patch on the floorboards that was cleaner than the rest, where traces of blood and tooth would still be stored, if you knew how to look. I got down on my knees and traced my fingertips across it. The boards were rough and unpolished, their surface still vaguely damp.

My hand went into my pocket feeling for the gun, but instead of hard metal my fingers closed around a stiff paper package. I drew it out and looked at a large bundle of euros, more cash than I’d ever seen. I stared blankly at the money then put it back in my pocket, fastened my coat and stepped out into the open air, walking a long way until I felt straight enough to hail a cab. The door to Sylvie and Dix’s flat was open, the place abandoned. I’m not sure how long I stayed there, sitting on Dix’s chair, pulling at the gaffer-taped tear in its arm, wondering what had happened and what to do, waiting for the police to arrive. But some time after it had become clear that no one was going to come for me, I found myself on a flight home to Glasgow.

London

IT FELT GOOD to be back in London. A friend of Eilidh and John’s had a studio apartment he’d wanted to let in a hurry. Johnny had given me a reference that dispensed with the deposit and I’d managed to cobble together a month’s rent. After dumping my few things in the flat my next stop was Rich’s office.

I braced myself for Mrs Pierce’s disapproval but there was a young woman at the desk.

Slim and dark, with short black hair framing a pixie-like face.

She called Rich on the intercom and he buzzed me straight through.

'Bloody hell, I thought you were dead or in jail.'

'Neither.' I sat on the visitors’ chair. 'What happened to Mrs Pierce?'

'Retired, said she had no desire to work past sixty.' Rich looked disgusted. 'I don’t know what’s happening, William, used to be you got loyalty, now what do you get? Women who work for you for forty years then suddenly want to spend time with their grandchildren. I ask you.' He looked at me. 'Oh I get it, what you mean is, who’s the sweet young thing sitting out front?'

'My womanising days are over.'

Rich smiled like he’d heard it all before.

'That says a lot about why you’ve been off the map. I’ll tell you what my old dad, God rest his soul, told me. He said, Don’t go for the good-looking ones Richie, they’ll only give you grief. He was right. My mother was an ugly woman, God rest her, and Mrs Banks…

have you met my wife?'

I shook my head. 'No.'

'Well, Mrs Banks is what they used to call homely, but she’s a wonderful woman, William, a good mother, good cook and… well… Take my advice, find a woman who thinks she’s lucky to have you and she’ll treat you like a king.'

'I’ll give that serious thought. In the meantime I was wondering if you’ve got anything in my line.'

Rich blew through his lips.

'Nada. Summer season starts in a couple of weeks and I’ll more than likely manage to scrape something up for you then if you’re still looking but right now trade’s as dry as Mrs Pierce without her HRT.'

I raised my eyebrows and he said, 'Crude, I know, but that woman left me in the lurch.

Been threatening to go for years, then suddenly she’s off. Unbelievable.'

He took a cigar out of his desk and started to unwrap it.

'Is that the best you can do?'

Rich shrugged.

'I told you, it’s quiet. You know the drill. Work up something good and come and see me in time for the Summer Season casualties. Bound to be some lushed-up comedian hits the skids and needs replacing.'

I shook my head.

'Always the bridesmaid.'

'They also serve who only stand and wait, William.'

'Christ, if I ever end up as a waiter I’ll saw myself in half and disappear up my own jacksie.'

'If you learn how to do that get in touch but in the meantime…'

'Cheerio?'

'You always did catch on quick.' He picked up the phone. 'Rozena, Mr Wilson’s on his way out now. Don’t let him chat you up, he’s got no money and fewer prospects.' He put the phone down. 'My accountant’s daughter, I promised him she wouldn’t lose her virginity on the premises.'

I said, 'You’ve nothing to fear from me.'

'It’s not my virtue that I’m worried about, son.'

I closed the door just as his phlegmy laugh descended into coughs.

Rozena put an arm over the file she was reading but too slowly for her to hide that it was mine.