Open-handed

by Chris Binchy

  He felt his head clear. By this time tomorrow it would be over. It had to be done. There was no option. Without this he had no idea what path he would take.

  ‘How do you know I won’t just pocket the money and disappear?’ he said, meaning it as a joke but unable to smile.

  Breen laughed. ‘You take chances, Sylvester, but I don’t think you’re so thoroughly fucking stupid to risk everything you have… Everything,’ he said again, smiling gently, ‘for that kind of money.’

  ‘No,’ Sylvester said. ‘Probably not.’

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  ‘So if you can give that to Marek,’ Breen said, ‘he’ll make the lodgement and we’ll see you at around noon on Wednesday.’

  ‘All right,’ Sylvester said. ‘I’ll see you then.’

  ‘Good man. And for Christ’s sake be careful with that.’

  ‘I will.’

  Breen started the car. ‘I’d give you a lift but I’m headed up North.’

  Sylvester opened the door. ‘That’s okay. Dessie’s coming out for me.’

  ‘Good stuff. I’ll see you on Wednesday. Have a safe trip.’

  ‘And you,’ Sylvester said.

  When Breen’s car was out of sight, Sylvester rang Dessie. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m stuck in fucking traffic on the M50. Where else would I be?’

  ‘Okay. Well, can you get out here as quick as you can?’

  ‘Did you not hear me?’

  ‘Please, Dessie.’

  ‘There’s not a lot I can do about it. This is just going nowhere. It could be an hour before I get to you. The whole of the south-side is bollixed.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know why. You should just get yourself on a bus and you’ll be in town in half an hour.’

  ‘No,’ Sylvester said, bag tucked tight under his right arm. ‘I’ll be here. I’ll be waiting for you.’

  54

  She would leave that day. She would go home and get Jakub from her mother. Together they would go somewhere else. By the time she had him she would know where she was heading.

  It had come from nowhere, it seemed, but it must have been in him all along. Better that it happened before they had gone any further. He had done it so easily and with such fluency that it was hard to say, when he’d taken that step towards her, what he was planning to do next.

  On the road outside his estate she stopped a taxi and gave directions to her apartment. While they were driving she realized that her cash and credit card were in her wallet and her wallet was in her jacket and her jacket was on the couch in Victor’s place. She thought she had some money in the flat, maybe enough, but she couldn’t be sure. As they drove towards town she rang her work to see which manager was on and was told it was Karen. Her face burned as she spoke. She put her hand against it and checked her reflection in the rear-view mirror. But there was no blood, nothing broken, she thought. She redirected the taxi to Symposium.

  There were a million lies she could have told him. She’d always had an excuse ready for him if she’d met him by chance on the road. When he’d asked the question, she could have said she was at home sick in bed or that the boss had asked her to work in a friend’s place or that he wanted her to meet some business colleagues who were opening a new bar. There were a hundred things she could have told him. But still when the time had come there had been nothing she could think of to say, frozen by fear in front of him. And then she had thought it was better just to let him know. If they were going to continue together the truth would have to come out. Let them see if he could handle it. He couldn’t. There was no them. He’d hit her. That was all.

  The taxi arrived at Symposium and she asked the driver to wait. The place had just opened. Besim and a friend were standing just inside the door, talking to each other. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Is he in yet?’ she asked.

  ‘Who? White? No.’

  ‘Where’s Karen?’

  ‘She’s in the back,’ Besim said. ‘What happened to your face?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said. Besim put a hand on her shoulder and stopped her. ‘Don’t,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry.’ He took his hand down. ‘But that’s bad. That eye is going to close. What happened? Is it our friend?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and she was glad when she said it. ‘That’s exactly who it was.’

  ‘He hit you?’ Besim’s friend said. ‘He hit you?’

  ‘I have to find Karen,’ she said, and left the two of them talking to each other.

  She found her down in the basement office.

  ‘Hey,’ Karen said. ‘What are you doing here?’ Then she saw her face. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I have to leave tonight. I need to get paid. Can you sort it out?’

  ‘Of course.’ She took the roster off the wall and, with a calculator, worked out how much Agnieszka was owed. From the safe in the corner she got the money and counted it out, then folded it up and put it into a small brown envelope. ‘So you’re going?’ Karen said.

  ‘Yes. Can you tell Luke?’

  ‘What will I say?’

  ‘That I’m finished.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  Agnieszka smiled. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘I’ll sort it out,’ Karen said. ‘Can I do anything else for you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Agnieszka said.

  Back upstairs Besim came over to her as she was leaving. ‘Where is he now?’ he asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Our friend.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Agnieszka said. ‘In his house maybe. It doesn’t matter any more.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Away,’ she said.

  ‘That’s good,’ Besim said. ‘Home?’

  ‘Maybe, yeah.’

  ‘Do you want us to sort him out?’

  Agnieszka thought for a moment. ‘I don’t care what you do. I’m not here any more.’

  ‘We’ll look after it. I promise you that.’ He put an arm around her as if he was going to hug her, but lost heart and ended up patting her on the back. ‘You were a nice girl,’ he said. ‘You will be missed.’

  ‘Thanks. I don’t think anyone’s going to notice,’ she said.

  ‘They will.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘They’ll have forgotten that I was ever here in a few days. And that’s fine by me.’

  On the street outside she paid the taxi driver and counted the rest of her money. It wasn’t enough. She needed more.

  55

  There was a bottle of vodka he kept for those days that he couldn’t sleep. Sitting up in bed and taking it out of the freezer, one good belt, and lying back down. Did he use to drink this much at home? It was different here. This was how they did things. There was a reason why all the porters were the way they were. Which came first? The job, the messed-up lives, the drinking? When he finished up it would be different. He was strangely confident of that. A clean break could be made.

  But now he woke up and he knew what he had to do. It was the only way he would be able to get out of bed. He took the bottle and put two good slugs of it into a glass and knocked it back, cold and hard, like life itself. While he ironed his shirt and half watched the news on the television he had a couple more, only because it made him feel better.

  The walk in was comfortable. Every night was warm and close, and he didn’t know if this was unusual or if people here just talked about it all the time because there was nothing else for them to say. By the time he arrived he was sweating. He thought about having a shower but he had no towel and somebody had pissed all over the floor. He washed his face in the sink, then went upstairs, out across the lobby floor towards the porters’ desk. He saw Ray watching him as he came.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Hmm,’ Marcin said. ‘Don’t know about that.’

  ‘Come in here for a minute,’ Ray said. He stepped through the door into the hot, airless room, fu
ll of things, that was their station. He pulled Marcin in after him by the arm. ‘What are you fucking doing?’

  ‘What?’ Marcin said. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You’re pissed.’

  Marcin laughed. ‘I don’t know why you would think something like this. It’s just so, so stupid.’

  ‘They’ll fire you tonight if they see you. You know that? They won’t think twice. Is that what you want?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Marcin said. ‘I need a break.’

  ‘They’ll give you a break, all right.’

  ‘I’m okay,’ Marcin said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Take the Hoover. Go into the second function room and start in there. Don’t talk to customers or staff and keep away from the front desk. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Yes.’ Marcin went to leave.

  Ray grabbed his elbow. ‘Not another drop,’ he said.

  ‘Every one of you,’ Marcin said. ‘Every night.’

  ‘Yeah, but we don’t end up like this. And we certainly don’t start out like this. Stay out of the way for the next couple of hours. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks.’

  ‘You fucking eejit,’ Ray said, but he was laughing now.

  Marcin worked slowly, back and forth, across the floors. One function room after the next. It was mindless, but inside his head he sang as he worked and he got into a rhythm. He finished there and crossed as quickly as possible to the restaurant. That was a big job and by the time he was finished it was half eleven. He came out and saw that the whole reception area towards the lounge was empty. His head was beginning to pound now. He could see no sign of Ray so he plugged the Hoover in where he was and kept going. How had he come to work this evening? he wondered. Had he walked? Got a taxi? And where had he been earlier when he was drinking? It was a blank, but not something to worry about, he thought. Because he was here doing what he had been told to do. That much he knew.

  56

  Sylvester was lying on the bed in the room. This would be a quick one, he thought. Everything else – all the anxieties of the day – stayed where they should be, outside, beyond these walls, but he couldn’t deny that his body was feeling the strain. Stiff in the shoulders and neck. Maybe the girl would have learned massage and could do something for him. It was worth asking.

  He’d asked Dessie to set this up, and when it was all arranged, he’d nearly cancelled. With everything going on and the flight in the morning it had seemed like it might be too much. But lying here now, he knew it was what he needed. A distraction. A good end to a bad day. Turn the brain off and let his body have a turn. He was glad to be here.

  The knock on the door came. He stood to open it and there she was. He smiled and let her pass into the room, then closed the door and kissed her cheek. She stiffened and that surprised him. Too late now to be getting coy with him.

  ‘How are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Seeing you is the best thing that’s happened to me today,’ he said. ‘I swear to you, the day I’ve had. You’ve no idea.’ He flopped on to the bed and lay back, shirt collar open, hands behind his head. ‘I’ve been thinking about you all week.’ She smiled, tight and edgy, and sat down next to him. The light in the room was dim but he saw the shadow of something on her face. She turned from him as he sat up.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not nothing.’ He touched the side of her face and gently pulled it towards him. ‘That’s nasty. Are you all right? What happened?’ She looked at him and didn’t say anything. ‘What happened?’ he said again.

  ‘I got hit in the face by a ball,’ she said. ‘I was crossing a field near where I live and there were kids playing and that’s what happened.’

  ‘Jesus. It looks sore.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I,’ he said. ‘For you, I mean.’ They sat for a moment in silence. ‘We don’t have to do anything tonight,’ he said.

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ She stood up.

  ‘Seriously. It suits me anyway.’

  ‘I have to go home,’ she said. ‘I mean to Poland.’

  ‘Poland?’ he said.

  ‘Tomorrow. I’m not coming back here. I need to finish tonight and I need the money. So we can do whatever you want but I have to get paid.’

  ‘Relax,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and started to cry. She was still standing in front of him. He reached out and held her hand.

  ‘It’s okay.’ He tried to imagine her life beyond here – pimps or boyfriends or other clients – and couldn’t. She didn’t seem the druggy type. He realized then that he didn’t want to know anything else about her. ‘Somebody hit you,’ he said. ‘And you’re going away.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘You’re not in trouble, are you? I mean really in trouble? You don’t need help with the police or anything?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘But I have to go tomorrow.’

  He stood and walked over to the desk chair. His jacket was slung over the back and there was a plastic bag underneath. He picked it up and sat on the bed again. She sniffed a couple of times and stood above him with folded arms. He took out an envelope and from that produced a small wad of notes, then counted out her money, the full amount, on to the bed. Then paused and counted out the same amount again. ‘That’s a bit extra. I hope you’ll be all right,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a lot,’ she said. ‘Thank you very much. It’s more than you need to give me.’

  ‘I know that, but either I can afford it or it doesn’t matter so…’ He shrugged. ‘You may as well. You seem like a nice girl.’

  ‘And you’re a good man,’ she said. ‘I don’t know you but I promise I need this to get home. It’s for nothing else.’

  ‘I believe you,’ he said. She stood, uncertain, in front of him, then reached out her hand. He shook it, looking up at her uneven face.

  ‘Thank you again,’ she said.

  ‘That’s okay. Good luck with everything.’

  ‘All right. ’Bye.’

  And then she was gone. Sylvester lay back. By this time tomorrow he would know if he’d managed to get away with it. If he had, this would seem like the right thing to have done. He would be in another hotel in Prague tomorrow night and there would be cards with girls’ numbers on them put under the door of his room. He could make a call without leaving his bed and get one over and do what he wanted, knowing that everything was all right in the world. It was a happy thought. The stiffness in his neck didn’t seem as bad now. He was comfortable just lying there with his eyes closed.

  57

  Gareth was over. They were sitting on the couch, drinking and laughing at some stupid comedy, and that was exactly what Victor needed. The memory of what had happened earlier that day was already fading. It would still be there tomorrow but by then he would be better prepared to deal with it. A clearer assessment could be made.

  After Agnieszka had left he’d stayed sitting on the couch. He didn’t know where his housemates were but he was glad to be alone.

  He shouldn’t have hit her. He regretted it, and if he could find her and talk to her he would tell her that. It was wrong. He wouldn’t say anything else. There were explanations that he could give her – that he had been shocked and frightened and hurt. That his reaction had been something instinctive, uncalculated, visceral. He hadn’t hit her hard and it wasn’t meant to hurt. It was a response to a stimulus, a reflex action for which he couldn’t be blamed. The job was getting to him. It was too much to take in. But that was for later. He was sorry. That was all he would say to her if he had the chance, nothing else.

  There were questions, of course. How long had she been doing this and how often and with whom and where? As he thought about it, the things he wanted to know multiplied and subdivided and lost their shape in a mass of images of places and people until he had no sense of what the question
s really were.

  He had stayed in the living room for a couple of hours, standing up every so often, ringing her number, but her phone was turned off. He sent a text message that said, ‘I am sorry,’ knowing she couldn’t get it. Beyond that there was nothing else he could think of doing. Going after her, checking her house or her work, seemed like a bad idea. He had hit her. She was entitled to stay away from him for as long as she wanted. If she rang or came back, he would tell her everything and they could talk about it. If she didn’t, then he would have to accept it.

  But sitting there on his own was doing him no good. He’d thought about ringing home, but all the plans he’d made were too much a part of his conversations with them. At five o’clock he’d called Gareth to see if he was free.

  ‘Is Agnieszka working?’ Gareth asked him.

  ‘No. She’s busy. Something on.’

  ‘Well, what do you want to do?’

  ‘Do you want to come over and have a drink? Watch a DVD? Get a pizza, something like that?’

  ‘We could do that,’ Gareth said. ‘If you don’t want to go into town.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Victor said. ‘We had a fight, Agnieszka and I. So I don’t feel like doing anything much. But I’m bored.’

  ‘And you want drink and company.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s exactly what I want.’ Victor almost laughed.

  ‘I’ll be there in an hour. Do you need me to bring anything?’

  ‘No, I can get everything. Thanks, Gareth.’

  He’d gone to the village. Bought cans and vodka and took out three films. By the time he got back he was hoping she wouldn’t call him that evening. Give him a chance to do this. Have a drink. Relax. Tell himself that things could be all right without her, before considering whether or not that prospect was something he would have to deal with.

  58

  Dessie sat in the Merc in the underground car-park waiting for Sylvester and looking out across the dimly lit space. Slumped against the far wall a stray rubbish bag was being filleted slowly and surreptitiously by at least three rats. He had been there for more than an hour and it was coming up to midnight. There was a metallic taste in the back of his mouth that he thought might be the start of an infection. He would get no lie-in the following day, no chance to recuperate. In only a few hours he would be crossing town to get Sylvester to the airport for a midday flight to Prague. The following day he would be out there again at seven to collect the hero, returning in triumph.