Black Violet

by Alex Hyland

  I reached our hotel room, cursing Ella’s name as I opened the door.

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ I said.

  I halted in the doorway. The room was dark – the curtains drawn. In the shadows I could see Ella kneeling on the floor by the bed, her hands clasped behind her head. I felt the cold touch of metal against my cheek. I turned – a guy in his thirties was holding a silenced pistol on me. Shaved blond hair. Slavic-looking. His hands in surgical gloves.

  ‘Not a sound,’ he said. He dragged me inside the room and swung the door shut behind me. A second guy then emerged from the far corner of the room. Same pistol and gloves. He smiled at me – his face a gnarled scaffold of cheekbones and jaw.

  ‘Glad you could join us,’ he said. ‘On your knees.’

  I recognized his voice. French accent. It was the guy from the nightclub.

  5.

  The Slav kept his pistol firmly aimed at me as I clasped my hands behind my head and knelt down on the floor opposite Ella. She stared at me – a thick stream of blood flowing from her mouth.

  I kept my eyes on the French guy as the Slav started searching through my jacket pockets. These were the fuckers who’d killed Freddy, and were probably the ones who’d killed Jon too. I felt like going for their throats.

  The Slav found the book in my jacket and tossed it to French. French studied it a moment, nodding to himself as he stepped behind me. I rocked forward as he pushed the barrel of his gun against the back of my head.

  ‘The necklace,’ he said.

  ‘Fuck you,’ I replied.

  He smashed the butt of his gun against my skull. I toppled to one side with the pain.

  ‘The necklace,’ he repeated.

  I eyed the motherfucker.

  ‘I don’t have it,’ I said.

  ‘Take off your jacket,’ he said. ‘Slowly.’

  I lowered my hands and slipped my arms out of the sleeves. As I placed my hands back behind my head, he grabbed the jacket and started searching every fold in the material. He wasn’t going to find the necklace in my jacket, but he’d find it soon enough – I was wearing it around my neck. I’d put it on while I took a shower, in case Ella decided to take it and leave me behind. It lay just underneath the collar of my shirt. A few centimeters of cotton were all that were keeping me and Ella alive right now. I kept my hands behind my head – could feel the necklace’s clasp between my fingers. French produced a glinting crescent-shaped blade, ripped open the jacket lining and started pulling it inside out.

  I cooled my anger and tried to think. The book had meant something to these guys. They must have been looking for it too – had probably been watching Swan’s apartment all day and stumbled into us in the process. They’d been holding Ella for at least fifteen minutes – chances are, their other guys would be here any moment. I needed to hide the necklace – it would be our only bargaining chip. I glanced at Ella, then nodded subtly down toward the collar of my shirt. She stared at me for a moment, then understood. It was all about distraction.

  She shifted around on her knees. In a second both guys had their guns on her.

  ‘You don’t fucking move!’ said French.

  Ella went still. I undid the clasp – one end of the chain swung down beneath my shirt. I held the other end between two fingers, circled my fingertips against each other, and wound the necklace up into my right hand.

  Silence. French lowered his gun and finished searching my jacket. He threw it, stepped over to me and pointed the gun at the side of my head.

  ‘You move, you’re dead,’ he said.

  He carefully reached into the right front pocket of my jeans. He found some cash, threw it across the floor, then checked my other pockets. I eyed him venomously.

  ‘Are you the one who killed Jon?’ I said.

  He smiled to himself.

  ‘Are you?’ I said

  ‘Take off the shirt,’ he replied.

  ‘It’s not here…’

  He cocked his gun.

  ‘The shirt. Now!’

  I lowered my hands, the necklace tucked between the flesh of my thumb and the palm of my right hand. As I reached down to the lowest button of my shirt, I slipped the necklace into the front pocket of my jeans. I undid my shirt and took it off. French grabbed it. He ran every inch of the material through his fist, then threw it.

  ‘Shoes, socks,’ he said.

  I did what I was told. I took them off. He searched them, then threw them to one side.

  ‘Stand up,’ he said. ‘Jeans, take them off.’

  This had to be done faultlessly – one glimpse of the necklace and Ella and I were gone. I slowly got to my feet and undid my belt. As I slipped off my jeans, I lifted the necklace out of the pocket and back into my right palm. I was a mass of nerves. I’d never had to pickpocket myself before – it was the most intense fucking gig of my life. As I placed my hands back behind my head, French grabbed the jeans and crushed every inch of the denim between his hands.

  ‘Underwear,’ he said.

  I reached down, pulled off my boxers and threw them to one side. As I stood naked in front of Ella, French crushed my underwear through his hand. He pointed his gun at Ella.

  ‘You,’ he said. ‘Up!’

  Ella got to her feet.

  ‘Take it all off,’ he said.

  The Slav winked at her – she stared coldly back at him. She unzipped her dress and let it fall to her ankles. She was wearing a black bra and briefs. I gazed at her body and felt shaken for a second. Her back and stomach were covered in a mess of red scars like someone had whipped her repeatedly.

  The Slav raised an eyebrow at her. ‘You like it rough, huh?’ he said.

  He waved his gun for her to continue. If she was uncomfortable doing this, she didn’t want this fucker to know about it. She mechanically unclasped her bra and let it fall from her shoulders. Her breasts swung free – also scarred. She slipped off her heels, pulled down her briefs, then stood there naked. Broad shoulders like a swimmer. Sleek breasts. Delicate black pubic hair. Her beauty stained by the wounds that swept across her.

  As French searched Ella’s discarded clothes, the Slav leered at her – staring at her vagina like some creep in a strip joint.

  ‘That pussy of yours work?’ he said. ‘Or is it as fucked as the rest of you?’

  Ella stayed silent.

  French tossed her clothes to one side, then pointed his gun at us.

  ‘Both of you,’ he said. ‘Hands against the wall. Legs apart.’

  Fuck, they were going to cavity search us.

  ‘I don’t have it,’ I said. ‘I gave it to a friend of mine. If he doesn’t hear from me in the next hour, your necklace is going to wind up on the front page of every fucking newspaper in the country!’

  French glanced at the Slav, and they both smiled.

  ‘You’re a very bad liar,’ said French. ‘Hands against the wall.’

  As Ella and I headed for the far side wall, French’s phone rang.

  ‘Nobody move,’ he said.

  He answered the phone.

  ‘We have him, sir,’ he said. ‘We’re checking now. We have the book.’

  I listened carefully. Sir – it was probably the guy who’d called me last night. This was the fucker I wanted. There was more talk from the other end of the line.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said French. ‘Three minutes.’ He hung up.

  ‘Get dressed,’ he said. ‘We’re leaving.’

  He turned to the Slav. ‘They’re in the parking lot,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure the elevator is clear. You bring them out.’

  The Slav nodded, then gestured for us to get dressed.

  Ella’s bag had been emptied across the bed, her clothes strewn across the floor. She left the dress and climbed into her jeans and sweater. As I pulled on my clothes, I looked around for a place to hide the necklace.

  ‘Keep it,’ Ella whispered as she put her heels back on.

  I glanced at her – she didn’t look back at me.

/>   I hoped she knew what she was doing. I slipped the necklace back into the pocket of my jeans. French opened the room door, and checked that the hallway was clear. As French headed out, the Slav took off his jacket and casually draped it over his gun. He kept his eyes on me as he gestured toward Ella.

  ‘We’re going for a ride,’ he said. ‘One sound and I’ll kill your bitch where she stands.’ He glanced at Ella. ‘Same applies. We only need one of you.’

  He grabbed the book, tucked it into his shirt, then kept his gun on us as he backed toward the door. He quickly glanced down the corridor, then beckoned us out of the room. Ella and I headed out into the corridor – French waiting by the elevator at the far end. We started walking toward him, the Slav right behind us. I glanced nervously at Ella. The elevator went straight down to the parking lot – we’d be as good as dead the moment we set foot in it. For a second Ella eyed a door just ahead of us in the corridor marked ‘Laundry’ – she was then a sudden a blur of movement. She kicked her leg back, caught the Slav in his face with her heel. Her shoe came off, embedded deep in his eye. Bullets down the corridor from French. I ducked. Ella swung open the laundry room door – it gave us a moment of cover from French as he ran toward us.

  ‘The book!’ yelled Ella.

  I reached out. Bullets splintered the door around me – I ducked back behind it. The book was too far. Ella opened the room’s laundry chute. We wouldn’t both get down there in time, French was only a few feet away. I heard his pistol click empty – now was my chance.

  ‘Go!’ I yelled at Ella.

  I dived out into the corridor and reached for the Slav’s gun. French ran at me and kicked my hand – the gun skittered down the corridor. He kicked at my face. I dodged it, swung my fist and caught him full in the jaw. The fucker hardly moved. He smashed me against the corridor wall, whipped out the crescent blade and jabbed at me. He caught the lower side of my neck – a deep cut – blood pouring down my chest. Ella ran out from the laundry room, looking for the Slav’s gun. French swung the blade at her – I grabbed his arm and sank my knee into his stomach. As he buckled onto the floor, I stamped on his face – boot print suntan – he felt it this time, the motherfucker. He lost hold of the blade, leaped up and barged me back against the wall. I head-butted him – heard his nose crack – it dazed him for a second. Ella ran for the book, ducking as the elevator doors opened and two more guys with silenced weapons started shooting. She grabbed the book, dragged me into the laundry room, then dived headlong into the chute. As French ran for me, I leaned over the chute and threw myself down into the darkness.

  I fell headfirst – the metal booming as I clattered against the tight steel walls. I couldn’t see a thing. I hit a corner with my ribs and slowed for a second. Then free-falling, straight down. Light below me, noise, brightness. I hit an exit ramp and slid out across a tiled floor, a trail of blood in my wake. As Ella dragged me to my feet, a couple of terrified-looking laundry staff cowered to one side of the room. Ella pulled me through a door into a loading bay – white laundry sacks hanging from the ceiling. We tumbled through them, and out into the street at the rear of the hotel, alarms ringing behind us.

  I put my hand to my neck and tried to stop the bleeding. My shirt was soaked with blood. Even with my adrenaline pumping, I was starting to feel dizzy – was struggling to walk. Traffic everywhere, cars edging down the street. Ella tried to stop one – they all locked their doors. She hammered at their windows, but they looked too scared.

  We stumbled down the street and around a corner. A yellow cab was dropping off a fare. We jumped straight into the back.

  The driver stared in alarm at me. ‘Jesus!’ he said.

  ‘Drive!’ said Ella. ‘Just drive!’

  He pulled out into the thick traffic waiting at the lights. A few more cars pulled up behind us. The cab driver glanced at me in his rear view mirror.

  ‘Maybe you need another cab,’ he said.

  ‘Just get us out of here!’ said Ella.

  I held my hand to my neck, but I couldn’t stem the blood. My vision was going gray. The driver looked to see if he could make a U-turn, but cars were stacking up in the other direction too. We were stuck. Ella and I glanced out of the windows, looking for any side streets we could take. We caught sight of French running out into the road ahead of us. Two other guys ran out behind him – they started looking inside the cars waiting at the lights. Ella dragged me down onto the cab floor.

  ‘Don’t look back at us,’ she said to the driver.

  ‘I don’t want any part of this!’ he said.

  ‘Are the cab doors locked?’ she said. ‘Unlock them.’

  He released the locks. I reached for the door handle, but my body faded beneath me. I collapsed onto the cab floor. ‘Fuck.’

  Ella gazed down at me. No way was I going to make it out onto the street.

  ‘You have a phone?’ she said to the driver. ‘Hold it to your ear. The guys checking the cars ahead. Tell me where they are.’

  The driver nervously held a phone to his ear.

  ‘Relax,’ she said. ‘Just tell me what you see.’

  ‘They’re heading down the middle of the road,’ he said. ‘Four or five cars ahead.’

  I took a deep breath and glanced at the cab door.

  ‘They’re heading this way,’ said the driver.

  I reached into my pocket, took hold of Ella’s hand and gave her the necklace.

  ‘Go,’ I said to her. ‘There’s no point in you staying.’

  She kept hold of my hand and stared at me for a moment – warmth in her eyes for the first time. She kept her eyes on me, then took the necklace.

  ‘They’re checking the van ahead of us,’ said the driver. ‘Get the fuck out of my cab!’

  Ella grabbed the door handle, then glanced back at me.

  ‘Don’t wait,’ I told her.

  I felt myself drifting – my head swimming. Through the dizziness I could hear sirens in the distance. Raised voices on the street. The sirens were getting closer – they must have found the Slav’s body.

  ‘They’ve stopped,’ said the driver.

  Ella waited.

  ‘They’ve stopped, they’re heading back,’ he said. ‘They’re talking to someone in the back of a car.’

  ‘What car?’ said Ella.

  ‘A silver Mercedes pulling out of the hotel,’ he said. ‘The lights have changed, we’ll be moving in a second.’

  Ella let go of the door handle. She knelt down beside me as the cab began to creep forward. I blinked heavily – blood and sweat in my eyes. As the cab slowed to a halt again, I kept my eyes on the car roofs slowly edging past the cab window. The silver roof of the Mercedes appeared. It stopped in the traffic right beside us. I gazed up at it. The guy I wanted was in the back of that car. I needed to see his face – needed to know who I was up against. I edged toward the door and pulled myself up to the window. Ella grabbed my arm to stop me.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  But he was right there. I slowly raised my head and stared at the tinted rear windows of the Mercedes. I could just about make out a figure in the back seat. I couldn’t see his face – just his arm by the window. Dark suit. A delicate, porcelain white hand. But there was someone sitting next to him – a woman. Embroidered cream dress. Silk gloves. Her face hidden behind some kind of a white veil – like a bride or something. She slowly leaned forward in her seat, then turned and looked at me. Before I could duck down, the cab lurched forward and she disappeared from view. Behind the Mercedes, the doors of a black Lexus then swung open – French and the two other guys jumped out of it and ran for us. The cab slowed to a halt again behind a van waiting to turn at the lights.

  ‘Move!’ yelled Ella.

  The guys descended on the cab, grabbing at the door handles – the driver locked them. As French reached for his gun, the driver spun the wheel and hit the accelerator. We crunched against the rear corner of the van, mounted the sidewalk and sped out past the lights onto Market
Street. Pedestrians scattered around us. But no gun-shots – it was too open, too many people even for these fuckers. I hauled myself up and stared out of the rear window. French and his men were running after us, but we were moving now.

  We cleared Market and weaved into the backstreets. The cab’s engine whined as we accelerated away, but the sound was fading. Ella said something, but her voice disappeared as well. As she pressed her hand against my neck, I lay back in the cab seat, my arms limp at my sides.

  I felt myself falling into the darkness.

  I was gone.

  6.

  I could feel hands on me. People dragging me across a room full of shadows. Ella’s voice above me.

  ‘He’s Jon’s brother,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t care,’ replied a man with a southern accent.

  ‘He’s going to die,’ said Ella.

  ‘One less thief on the planet, big fucking deal.’

  ‘Get Tully.’

  ‘I don’t want this guy here, Ella.’

  ‘It’s not down to you,’ she said. ‘Get Tully!’

  Pain as I was dumped on a mattress. People shuffling around behind me. I felt my head being turned to one side so I could breathe.

  ‘Michael,’ whispered Ella. ‘Michael, open your eyes.’

  I forced my eyes open. Ella’s face was right in front of me, a white blur in the darkness.

  ‘I can’t take you to hospital,’ she said. ‘They’ll be looking for us there. A friend of mine’s going to fix your neck. He’s a medic, OK?’

  I nodded weakly – and my eyes started to close again.

  ‘You need to stay awake,’ she said.

  I tried to focus on her – could see a red stain seeping across the mattress beneath me.

  ‘Come on, Michael, stay awake,’ she said. ‘Talk to me.’

  She took hold of my hand.

  ‘Tell me about Jon,’ she said.

  I tried to catch some breath.