He made a grab for the gun and it went off, an astonishingly loud and disorientating blast in the confined space.
Candy was suddenly lying on the floor next to me, still holding the weapon. Hopper had his hands to his head, shaking it, blinking.
‘That was close,’ he said. Although my ears were ringing I could hear him say, ‘Now give it to me.’
Candy was obviously bewildered, and so I took the gun from her.
‘Stay there,’ I ordered Hopper. He moved towards me so I shouted the same thing again.
‘Give me the gun, Flavian,’ he shouted back. ‘Otherwise I’ll kill you both.’
I held it in both hands, as I’d seen in films, and pointed at his head.
‘You haven’t got the guts,’ he said.
He was right. I couldn’t kill him. And so I lowered the gun and fired at his knee.
The sound was deafening, and the recoil hurt. Hopper’s leg was swept behind him and he pirouetted and fell awkwardly.
I stayed in the same position, the gun still trained on Hopper, and Candy stood up kissed me on the cheek. She walked over to where Hopper was alternately clutching at his leg and releasing it. She kicked him savagely in the side of the head.
‘No!’ I shouted, but she did it again and I had to pull her away.
‘You’ve got to leave him to me,’ she shouted back.
‘Come on, let’s get out of here. Somebody will’ve heard us.’
‘The place is soundproofed; nobody ever heard me screaming.’
‘They wouldn’t have left all the doors wide open like we have.’
Candy took the gun from my hand. When she put it to Hopper’s temple she demanded to know where the book was.
‘In his safe,’ I answered for him.
‘What else has he got in there?’
‘I don’t know. Money…’
‘What’s the combination?’ she asked him, but he was in too much pain to listen. She hit him with the gun and screamed the question in his ear: ‘Safe combination, now.’
‘36-24-36.’
‘How crass.’
I asked for the gun.
‘I was never intending to shoot him,’ she said grimly, and handed it over. ‘Go up and take everything from the safe. I’ll follow you.’
I was pleased to leave the cellar, and didn’t want to think about what would be happening down there. I ran up to the library and to the fat old safe sitting squat and heavy on the floor by Hopper’s desk. When I put down the gun my hands were shaking and it took me three attempts before I could open the door. I took out The Dark Return of Time and for only a moment considered leafing through it. Instead, I concentrated on pulling out bags of cash onto the floor. I told myself not to question what the hell I was doing; I didn’t have the leisure to debate the matter. Instead, I wondered how we would carry away all the money. There was a noise behind me and I turned to see one of Hopper’s other men standing in the doorway, looking confused.
Whatever he was saying, with my damaged hearing I couldn’t make it out. I picked up the gun and pointed it at him, and he put up his hands.
‘I need some bags,’ I yelled, and he nodded in the direction of a cupboard near the door.
‘Get them out for me, slowly.’ I guessed that I was shouting, but hoped that it made me sound more threatening. The man was very wary, but did as I told him. He brought out two large black hold-alls, and I watched over him as he filled them with the contents of the safe.
‘And the book,’ I said, and watched him place it on the top of one of the open bags.
‘I’ll just lay on the ground,’ he said. ‘And you can go. I won’t move.’
I took the hold-alls, one at a time, to the door, covering the man with the gun all the while. As I finished there came a horrible scream from downstairs. A minute passed before Candy appeared from the cellar.
‘Have you got everything,’ she asked. She had fresh blood on her shirt and she looked determined.
‘Everything, yes.’
‘Okay,’ she said grimly, picking up one of the bags. ‘Let’s go.’
I hadn’t considered that there would be anyone out in the street, but five or six concerned-looking people were standing around the car. With its bullet holes, missing windscreen, open doors and idling engine it had attracted attention. They all moved quickly away quickly as we exited the house, noticing the gun that I was carrying.
I wrenched open the back door and threw my bag inside. Candy threw hers in after it, and then the shooting started.
I instinctively pushed Candy inside after the bags, and I jumped in at the driver’s seat.
There was the repeated loud retort of a gun and the seemingly disassociated ‘crump’, ‘crump’, ‘crump’ of bullets penetrating the car. Without even trying to close the door, I put it into first gear and it leapt forward. I didn’t know who was firing, or where from, but as I reached the Lepin Agile crossroads I heard another retort and felt something hit the side of my head. For a second I lost control of the car and it screeched around on the brick setts in the road and bounced off a parked car. Somehow we had turned through almost 360 degrees and were still pointing in the right direction, but the engine had stalled. As I restarted the car there came the sound of more bullets entering the bodywork. The door slammed shut on its own as I drove past another car fast and wild down the narrow street.
I tore around Avenue Junot and negotiated the kink up rue Norvins without slowing. I had to think how to get out of Monmartre and head in a direction that I hoped was south, taking care not to drive too fast now that the immediate danger was over. When I was crossing the Avenue de Fontainbleu I saw a brightly-lit Shell petrol station and remembered what Candy had said earlier that evening about stealing a car. I pulled in alongside a pump as a woman had just finished filling up a small Fiat.
I picked the gun out of the foot-well of the passenger seat, got out of our wreck, and as she saw me the woman screamed.
‘Votre voiture,’ I shouted, and she handed me the keys.
It was only then that I saw that Candy was still slumped in the back seat of Hopper’s car.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked.
She grimaced, ‘Where are we?’
‘We needed a new car. Come on.’
She had to be helped out of the car and into the passenger seat of the Fiat. When I went to get the bags from the old car I noticed the blood where she had been laying.
As we drove off, pulling back on to the Avenue, I could hear distant sirens and so I turned left, then right and left again until we were finally on the Boulevard de Stalingrad. I tried to drive at a reasonable speed again, now heading north.
Candy said, though her teeth: ‘We should’ve at least tied up that man in the library. We should’ve shot him.’
‘I couldn’t. I can’t kill people like you can.’
‘I’ve never succeeded in killing anyone before. Was that Handley and the other men shooting at us outside the house?’ she asked.
‘I suppose so. I didn’t have time to look.’
‘Shooting Hopper would’ve been too quick. I slit both his wrists, up the veins, so he could watch himself bleed to death. There’s a lot of blood down in that cellar. But his men will get him medical help.’
‘You’ve a pretty poor record as a murderer.’
‘I have,’ she replied grimly. ‘We’ll probably die first.’
‘Were you shot? There was a lot of blood in the backseat of Hopper’s car.’
‘Yes. There’s quite a lot in this car now.’
The light was poor, but she appeared to be clutching Hopper’s book, and in the streetlights it seemed to be even more stained than before.
‘I’ll take you to a hospital.’
‘And get handed over to the police? No.’
‘If you pass out I’m getting you some help.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ she said, but I could see her grimacing again.
‘So where are we going?’
&nbs
p; At that moment I decided that we should go back to my apartment on the rue André Antoine, reasoning that it would be too obvious a place for anyone to look for us there. I knew that good counter-arguments could be made, but I didn’t want to have to think any more.
Negotiating the streets as they became more familiar gave an illusion and semblance of normality, but when I parked on the corner, where the rue André Antoine turns into rue Véron, everything felt wrong. I waited until I was sure there was nobody around and then tried to get Candy out of the car. The disembodied shouts of late-night revellers, and the distant sounds of vehicles, echoed down the streets towards us, but nobody came.
Candy was losing her strength. I had to pick her out of the passenger seat and half-carry her to the door. That was too much for her, though, and she had to be carried up the four floors to the apartment. It was like carrying a tired child who had been playing in a dressing-up box full of clothes far too big for her; she seemed to have become so insubstantial. Once inside, I laid her on the bed and she waved back up at me weakly, distantly. I said I’d return as soon as I could. I locked her into the apartment and went down to the car.
Driving gave me something else to think about. At the Boulevard de Clichy I turned left and then just drove. I had it in mind to leave the car on one of the roads around the park at the end of rue Manin, hoping that it might be a while before it was discovered. However, when I was only a few streets away the priorities changed and the road veered in another direction. I was overcome with frustration and tiredness, and just wanted the nightmare to stop. A car pulled out in front of me from between two buildings and I drove into the space it had vacated. I thought about setting light to the Fiat, but it was too dangerous. I didn’t have any matches anyway, and, above all else, I no longer cared.
Aa Metro station wasn’t very far, but I decided to start walking back the way that I had come. I wanted to formulate a plan by the time I returned to the apartment. On the way I considered calling for an ambulance for Candy and giving them my address, but as I came to a public telephone I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I simply walked on, and continued walking.
III
In the headlights of a passing car I looked down and saw for the first time that my clothes were drenched in Candy’s blood. Paranoia overcame me, and as I made my way back to the apartment I sought out the shadows that eluded the strategically-placed street lamps and the lights from shop windows. Even the night sky glowed above me, but there were still some areas of darkness that allowed me to pass, I hoped, unnoticed. For a while I followed a scrawny fox and, just as it did, I kept myself close to the walls as I walked, and hurried through any area that was too well-lit and open. Not that anyone cared; the occasional people I passed were mainly young and often drunk, in groups or alone, on their way to or from clubs. Their laughter was raucous, but only seemed too loud because there was so much space for the noise to fill. The emptiness of the streets meant that the infrequent cars seemed to be driving past at an excessive speed, but that suited me.
It was disconcerting not to be fighting through people on the city streets, or at least making allowances for others. My path was unhindered, but though I could move forwards with ease I deliberately walked at an even, measured pace. I didn’t want to be faced with more decisions.
I slowed my steps further, almost dawdling, but almost against my will I was back at the rue André Antoine. Unforgiving fluorescent lights came on in the hallway when I entered my building, and on the stairs they showed up the spots of blood that led a trail right up to my own front door. The sight of the blood, repeated step after step, cleared my mind. I knew what I had to do; what I should have done an hour before. I let myself into the apartment and went straight through to the bedroom, resolved to call for an ambulance.
I flicked on the bedroom light, but Candy was not on the bed. It was simply a mess of sheets smeared with blood. Sitting on a chair by the window was Handley, his gun pointing at me.
‘Where is she,’ I demanded.
He shrugged and said, ‘Dealt with. Like I’m about to deal with you. But first, tell me where the book is, and where I can find the money from the safe. Then I’ll make your death quick and painless.’
As he spoke I wondered what chance I would have if I ran for the door. I had nothing to lose, but I also realised that so long as he wanted something from me; he wasn’t going to shoot me.
‘I’ll tell you if you let me and Candy go free.’
‘It’s too late for Candy,’ he said, and put the gun to his own head for a moment. Quietly he said, ‘Bang’.
I should have taken my chance to run while the gun wasn’t aimed in my direction.
‘You’ll be interested to learn that Reginald Hopper is still alive,’ he said. ‘We got back just in time. He’s not happy; he’s in a lot of pain. He wants the book and the money returned. I’m not happy either; you made a fool out of me.’
‘The money’s in a car we stole, a Fiat. I parked it somewhere off the Boulevard de Clichy. I couldn’t tell you the street name. Thinking about it, I’m not sure I even remembered to lock it.’
He got up carefully, the direction of his gun never wavering.
‘I understand why you want the money, but what’s so special about the book?’ I asked.
‘I’m not going to waste my time on explanations. Not when I’m going to kill you? Where is it?’
‘Safe, where you won’t find it,’ I bluffed. ‘I realise that the book explains Hopper’s past. Is it his biography, or autobiography? I want to talk to him, not his staff.’
The man laughed.
‘As you are going to die I might as well tell you. I’ve seen inside the book and it’s about me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. You see, he was my boss, but I’m the one who came to Paris and needed to launder a lot of money from the sale of a bullion robbery. His businesses here were doing badly and I came to give him a hand; I helped to turn things around. I don’t work for him!’
‘Well, that’s how it looks to everyone else.’
‘Well, it’s convenient that way. Now, where’s the book?’
‘If you let me go...’ I started to say and then he hit me with the gun. I saw a flash and the pain made my head ring.
Handley pushed me down and stood over me, his foot raised above my chest.
‘Tell me where the book’s hidden, and you’ll feel no pain,’ he said. ‘Refuse to tell me, and I’ll break your ribs.’
‘Candy had it.’
‘Not when I got here, she didn’t.’ He considered this; ‘So is it still here, in this apartment?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Up!’ he commanded, and I did as I was told. ‘Start looking!’
I was sure that Handley was going to hit me again so I went to the chest of drawers and pulled open the first drawer, which he told me to empty on the ground. When they were all empty he wanted the chest itself moved away from the wall and turned over. He made me do the same with the bedside tables and then the free-standing cupboard. As I carried out his commands there came a banging on the floor from the neighbours below, but Handley ignored them and told me to continue.
‘Who wrote the book?’ I asked as he pushed me into the living room. At least I was still alive.
‘How would I know? Candy’s father told Hopper about it and Hopper told me, but I couldn’t find it after Smith died and Hopper was shot. I’d decided it was a wind-up, but then it turned up in Saint-Quentin.’
‘Did Candy put it in the sale?’
‘It was no coincidence that your father found out about it, or that Candy was at the sale.’
‘I still don’t understand.’
‘Stop talking and keep looking!’
I could not find the book. Handley was trying to keep calm, insisting that I turn everything upside down and inside out, and also that I keep the noise to a minimum. It was obvious that he didn’t know what to do. His anger increased and
in frustration he kicked at the aquarium. The glass cracked and collapsed, and water and fish cascaded out over the floor. Moments later there were people outside the door, hammering on it.
If it wasn’t the police, then I reasoned that at least the arrival of neighbours might diffuse the situation. Handley ordered me back into the bedroom and I told him he’d better leave. Instead, he pushed me down on the bed. I raised my head and was surprised to see among the sheets the very book he was after!
I didn’t have time to say anything. Handly picked up a pillow and used it to push my head down on top of the book. For a moment I saw Candy standing on the other side of the room, or was it Corrina? I called out to her but Handley fired the single shot that went through the pillow, my head, and The Dark Return of Time.
EPILOGUE
The odds of surviving a bullet through the head are very long, but people are known to recover. The effects can vary tremendously. As a result of the damage to his brain, Reginald Hopper was supposed to have suffered complete memory loss. My circumstances were somewhat different.
I spent a month on a high dependency unit in hospital and underwent a number of operations. Somehow I survived, with impairment to my eyesight being the biggest long-term problem. Many of my motor functions, including speech, were affected, but I recovered most of them, over time, with the help of physiotherapy.
As soon as I was able to communicate I became frustrated because the one faculty I had managed to maintain, with great clarity, was my memory. It seemed to take forever before I could explain to people what had happened to me. And then I was moved from Paris to London.
For several months I was under the care not only of doctors and physiotherapists, but also a psychiatrist. When I asked why, I was told that such an experience as I had survived would leave anyone with emotional problems. The psychiatrist listened to me talk about the events in Paris for hours at a time, yet it was infuriating that I was only able to explain the same matters to the police on one occasion. Over time it was firmly and carefully explained to me that none of the events that I remembered could have happened. I was told that I had simply disturbed an armed burglar in my apartment.
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