by Declan Burke
Ray
Ray said, 'Rossi? Doyle goes down, you go too. I shit you fucking not.'
Doyle, hearing her name, looking up and around, flinched back from Niko's gun. 'Jesus Christ,' she said. 'Niko?' Anna whining harder now, wriggling around beneath her.
Ray, keeping it low, said, 'What I'm thinking is, the guy's a cop, we hand him up to Johnny, let Johnny do him. That way we all walk.'
'You're not getting it,' Rossi said, jaw set hard.
'I get it, yeah. Guy's a scumbag, broke Karen's nose. But you're going to do time for him, Greek time? He's not worth it, man.'
'See,' Rossi said, 'that'd be a plan, yeah, if Niko was Johnny's guy, not the other way round.'
'He's a cop,' Ray said, 'working undercover, stinging Johnny.'
'Not perxactly,' Rossi said. 'Johnny and me, we had us a little chat.'
Sleeps said, 'Pyle, buddy?' Pyle backing off a step or two, a slow moonwalk aiming for the ravine. 'You leave now you'll miss the big finale.'
'What's Johnny saying?' Ray asked Rossi.
'He's saying he's Niko's guy.'
'Johnny's Niko's guy?'
'What he says. One of 'em, anyway. Says Niko's got guys, shit, all over. Paris, Milan, Vienna, you name it … He's got this set-up going with guys in Crete, down the south coast, they've been smugglers since King Tut was knee-high to his midget mother, the guy's trafficking in from Morocco, out through the islands.'
'And Johnny's just one of these guys.'
'Correct.'
Ray, thinking it through, said, 'So if Johnny was to go missing, then Niko'd need to fill a hole in 'Dam. Someone he can work with, already knows. Someone like, just for argument say, our old buddy Pyle who arranged for me to snatch Johnny.'
Niko glaring now at Pyle.
'Sounds logical, yeah,' Rossi said. 'Hey, maybe whack Niko too while he's in the mood.'
'Putting Niko away,' Ray said, 'that'd be worst case scenario, cause all sorts of confusion. I mean, it's an option, sure, Niko doesn't play ball. Guy doesn't even have to know it's on the slate until he says no.'
'So Johnny goes down,' Rossi said, 'and then Niko, he's maybe squiffy about internal promotion they call it, might or might not.'
'Pyle?' Ray said. 'If we're misrepresenting you, maybe slandering, you want to tell us where we got it wrong?'
Niko, still glowering at Pyle, said, 'Here's the deal. You give me Pyle, you get to run the island. Cut it up whatever way you want. I guarantee no one touches you.'
'Sounds tempting,' Rossi said. 'I mean, it's not Sicily, could do with a few street-signs, but it's an okay place.' He said, 'Only thing is, you're dying this horrible death from buckwheats for lamping Karen, what good's it us giving you Pyle?'
'No buckwheats,' Ray said. 'Okay? Everyone's walking away, that's agreed.'
'Who agreed?' Karen said.
'Jesus, Karen – what're you going to do, execute a fucking cop?'
Niko, slow, reached into his pocket and pulled his wallet. Then he dropped his gun onto the sand and brought up his badge.
'You don't have any crucifix in there?' Rossi said. 'Some garlic, maybe?'
'I guarantee,' Niko said, solemn, holding the badge high, 'no one touches you.'
'Except you already did,' Karen said, taking a step forward, bringing up the .32.
Ray, turning, lunging for her arm, knew from her tone he was already too late …
Sleeps
After, comparing notes, they worked out that Ray and Sleeps had the only guns packing ammo.
Pyle, explaining how he'd wanted Niko gone, sure, but wanting Sleeps and not Karen to take the rap, had unloaded her .32 in the Punto before handing it forward.
Mel, Rossi calling her the Klepto, the girl couldn't help herself, had long ago swiped the clip from CZ.
And Niko, blazing away first on the beach at Karen, then at Sleeps making his getaway, then firing blind up the ravine at Anna, had left himself empty. Which was why he'd dropped the gun and gone for the last resort, the badge, putting Sleeps in mind of Dudley Smith in LA Confidential, Bud White blowing Dudley away from behind ...
Ray was packing but he was too busy rugby-tackling Karen, taking her out a split-second after the .32 went click, the hammer coming down dry.
Which left Sleeps, already pointing at Niko's torso, the biggest target, bracing a stiff wrist ready for when the guy came up from grabbing his rod off the sand. Except Niko, knowing his gun was empty, went for Doyle instead, hooked an elbow around her throat and started dragging her backwards down the beach, a hostage.
'Everyone drops their guns,' he croaked, 'or I snap her fucking neck.'
Forgetting, in his panic, about the wolf.
Which wasn't an issue immediately, the wolf coming up in a flurry of sand and springing for Ray, who was now rolling off Karen. Snarling, the jaws wider than Ray's head and about to guillotine him with one snap, only for Ray to shove his broken arm in the way, the wolf crunching down on the rock-hard cast. That only pissed her off even more, but gave Karen time to grab her collar and point, sic the girl on Niko – or Niko and Doyle, Sleeps couldn't say for sure.
Niko, bluff called, panicked again and started stumbling backwards down the beach, dragging Doyle with him, Doyle turning red in the face, eyes bugging out, until she remembered what God gave her elbows for and sunk one deep into Niko's groin. His cheeks puffed out in an agonised squeal, and then he toppled forward as Doyle tore away from his arm and pitched forward onto the sand.
The wolf took off from the top of the low rise like a thoroughbred, arcing out over Doyle and landing fore-paws first on Niko's chest, punching him like a furry battering ram so the guy flew a good three or four feet before touching down. His shoulders hit the sand first, the impact jolting his head back so that his throat lay open for the split-second the wolf needed. She ripped out his throat like so much warm marshmallow, then howled a moon-shivering glee and burrowed her snout again in the ragged hole.
She got in there so deep, the blood fountaining slick and black in the moonlight, that Sleeps for a moment wanted to believe the girl had struck oil. Then he lowered the gun and turned away, went down on one knee and quietly puked onto the sand.
Doyle
Doyle came out of the bathroom towelling vigorously at her hair, saying, 'Jesus, that shit is tough to wash out.'
'Don't,' Sparks said. Sparks, greenish at the gills, had already puked twice helping Doyle get the thick, gloopy rings of blood out of her hair. She lit a cigarette and said, 'You ready to talk sense now?'
'What's to talk about?' Doyle sat on the other bed, head tilted to one side, still towelling. 'It's done.'
'He was a cop, Doyle.'
'A dirty cop. Filthy. According to Pyle, and these are just the ones he knows about, Niko had three guys knocked off getting set up here. This entirely separate to his facilitating a continent-wide dope op. Plus he was this close,' she held up a thumb and forefinger pressed together, 'to strangling me.'
'Yeah, but --'
'You'd rather it was me?'
Sparks tapping ash incessantly. 'So who was it pulled the trigger?'
'That's need-to-know, Sparks.'
'But it definitely wasn't Ray.'
'Ray was there, sure.' Doyle shrugged. 'We all were.'
'You're saying, no tales out of school.'
'Who knows we were there?' Doyle shrugged. 'Far as anyone knows, Niko was in Athens. Why would they even look for him here?'
'And you're sure he won't be found.'
'Someone knows where to look, has access to a submarine, they might get lucky.'
'So what happens now?'
'You go home, tell all the girls about this guy Ron you cradle-snatched.'
'What'll I tell Ted, he asks where you are?'
'Tell him I met a guy, a holiday romance, I'm thinking of staying away. Retiring.'
'So he can blame you for what happened Frank.'
'They pay for the privilege,' Doyle said, 'a sweet little redundancy pack
age, they can say whatever they want.'
'It won't be the same without you,' Sparks said, wistful.
'That was the main problem,' Doyle said. 'It was always the fucking same.'
Melody
Mel dug down to the bottom of the Louis Vuitton to the pink bra, unfolded it and took out Ray's passports. Found the Israel one just as a tappity-tap came at her door.
'Coming,' she called, sucking in her belly to tuck the passport into her pants, that being one of the last places, she hoped, Ray'd want to look.
But it was Sleeps at the door, squeezed into a suit, saying, 'Madge told me where to find you. I can come back if it's a bad time.'
Mel held the door open. 'All I can offer you is coffee,' she said.
'That's okay, coffee'd be good right now. Black.'
Mel got the kettle going and then came and sat opposite him, Sleeps twitching his knees to one side to allow her get between the twin beds. 'Where's Rossi?' she said.
'Probably halfway to Crete, doing the breast-stroke. The wolf wasn't too happy to see him.'
'But he's okay?'
'Still in one piece.'
The kettle boiled. Mel made a couple of coffees and brought them over, sat facing him again, their knees almost touching. 'So what happened?' she said.
'Nothing much.'
'Where's Niko?'
'He's uh, gone.'
'Gone?'
'Gone.'
'Should I ask where he's gone?'
'This is good coffee,' Sleeps said. 'Is it instant?'
'Yeah. But the good instant.'
'I can believe it.' Sleeps sipped some more coffee, said, 'Uh, Mel? I just want --'
'There's something you should know, Gary.'
'What's that?'
'You're a nice guy. I mean, you're nice.'
'So I'm finishing last, that it?'
'That's not what I'm getting at. It's more to do with, um …'
'You being in the family way?'
Mel stared. 'How'd you know?'
'I just guessed.'
'When?'
'It wasn't just one thing,' Sleeps said. 'It was gradual.'
'So why're you here?'
Sleeps shrugged. 'I got a proposal.'
'A proposal?'
'Not the marrying kind. The business kind.'
Mel, surprised to find herself a little disappointed, bought herself some time. 'Aren't they one and the same thing?'
'One step at a time, Mel. Okay?'
Karen
Rossi said, 'You never gave me a chance, girl. Even before I got out you believed I'd be the same as going in.'
Karen licked the ball of her thumb getting ready to count out sixty grand onto the toilet seat, the stash she'd ripped off when Rossi was inside, this being the deal Terry and Madge'd brokered, fair's fair. Karen perched on the edge of the bath. 'Believing it,' Karen said, 'because you were the exact same coming out twice before. A deadbeat waste of space.'
'Three's the charm.'
'Rossi, you took Anna's eye out with a fork. Charm that.'
'Okay, but she took my ear. Like it says in the Bible, an eye for, y'know, an ear.'
Karen put the money down and composed herself. 'Rossi,' she said, 'I pissed away ten years of my life on a miserable string of piss like you on the very dubious basis that you weren't at least my father, the bastard battered my mother to death, doing it slow --'
'Taking, yeah,' Rossi said, 'fourteen years to do it. I know. You think I don't know the difference between a woman and a hound?'
'It's the same principle,' Karen said. 'Cruel's cruel.'
'You're talking principles now? You rip off my stash, the Ducati, my fuckin .44, and you're lecturing me on ethics?'
'That was different.'
'See, Karen, it's always different when it's you. You don't see that?'
Karen, in the last week, had heard the same argument three ways, first from Madge, then Ray, now Rossi. And, okay, she had to admit she'd been pleasantly surprised Rossi'd stepped up for her with Niko, especially with an empty gun, no way Rossi was taking that kind of chance for anyone five years ago.
'You're saying you've changed,' she said, 'is that it?'
Rossi shrugged. 'Maybe not by as much as you need, but headed that way, sure. Smart enough,' he said, 'to ask for a second chance, you don't have any better offers coming in from Ray, the guy's running off with his pet cop.'
'A second chance?'
'A fourth chance, okay. Let's not get hung up on detail here, lose the romance.'
'You're tripping,' Karen said. 'Is that it? Show me your eyes.'
'I haven't had anything harder'n a beer in three days,' Rossi said. 'Ask Sleeps you don't believe me.' He said, 'This sober thing, I dunno, it's like a whole different kind of fucked up.'
Karen licked the ball of her thumb again, counted out the sixty gees. Picked up the bundle and handed it across.
'Not a chance,' she said. 'You kidding me? You were the last guy on earth, I'd rip off my own arm and beat you to death.'
Rossi tucked the bundle away, then shrugged. 'Can't be Mills and Boon every day, right? You take care, Dollface.'
He opened the door.
'Rossi?'
He paused, looked back. 'What?'
'This FARCO Terry's maybe thinking about backing. What's the deal there?'
Ray
'Just sit here hoping they won't come looking,' Pyle said, 'you're never gonna know when they'll come at you. Am I right?'
'You got balls,' Ray said. 'I'll give you that.'
'Me? I'll be the good guy, I'm worried about Niko. Hey, anyone seen him? He was due on the island, never showed.' He sucked some frappé through a straw, watched the ferry reverse in. 'I mean, who saw him here except us?'
'You think Johnny'll play ball?'
'I don't know, man. He does or he doesn't.'
'But you're not thinking of zipping him on the off-chance he mightn't.'
'I got a feeling, Ray, it's not Amsterdam, but the island life, I think Johnny'll adapt. You got the sun, good food, cute chicks … '
'It wasn't enough for you.'
Pyle stood up, shouldered his duffel bag. 'Johnny hasn't been where I been.' He shook his head, then said, 'Y'know, I get back here, I'll be needing a guy can handle himself.'
'Appreciate the offer, man. I'll think about it.'
'Do that.' He held out his fist. Ray touched knuckles.
He ordered another latte and watched Pyle board the ferry, the engines churning the sea to foam. A delicate rosé-fingered sky, the sun stirring.
The ferry was halfway out into the bay when Doyle came strolling into the square, shades on, hair shining. Ray stood and waved until she saw him beckoning her on.
She stopped, put a hand on her hip. Crook'd a finger at him.
Ray shrugged and stood up, called the waitress. 'You mind if I get that latte to go?' he said.
Madge
Terry in the wing-backed armchair, the potted palm behind, nodded along while Mel carved shapes out of the air with her hands, the girl in full spate.
'I mean, we couldn't just do Brokeback again. Besides,' she said, glancing across at Sleeps, 'the guys are straight.' Sleeps nodded. 'So it'd be like Brokeback meets Thelma and Louise,' she said, 'maybe a touch of Butch and Sundance.'
'Thunderbolt and Lightfoot,' Sleeps said.
'But sexy.'
'So it's a buddy-buddy movie,' Terry said, 'without the touchy-feely crap.'
'We could do it that way,' Mel said. 'I mean, I'm seeing Col Farrell and Brad, we get picked up by one of the majors, get ourselves a proper budget. And Col's done Alexander, Brad the guy in Troy, walks around in a skirt all day polishing his pecs. So yeah, homoerotic is do-able, for sure.'
'But it wouldn't have to be.'
'Nothing has to be, Terry. It's a movie.'
Madge in the other wing-backed armchair had a sip of Cristal. 'This budget you're talking about. How far would a million-five get you?'
'About
halfway up Brad's little toe. But, you had that kind of seed capital they call it, you'd open a lot of doors. Impress investors with your commitment, you're putting your own money on the line.'
'There's also,' Terry observed, 'the tax-breaks. Like, you put up the first million and a half, suck some people in, by the time it all gets washed out you've staked half a mill, maybe less. A million back before the first camera rolls.'
'You've done it?' Madge asked Terry.
'Not yet.'
'How come, if it's that easy?'
'I don't know,' Terry said. 'Maybe I've just been waiting for the right script to come along.'
'What's it called?' Madge asked Mel.
Mel cleared her throat and held up her hands like she was framing the title. 'Beautiful Losers,' she said.
'Nice,' Terry said. 'But you know what I like too? Crime Always --'
There came a knock at the door. Mel looked at Sleeps, who shrugged.
'Rossi and Karen,' Terry said, getting up, 'haggling the split.'
He opened the door. Two uniformed Greek cops stood there. One of them looked at the bellboy, standing to one side. The bellboy nodded.
'That's him,' he said, and tucked a twenty into his breast pocket.
