‘The extreme right isn’t what it used to be… They’d have been better off calling themselves the Asshole Whingers’ Social Club, you’d have a better idea what they’re like. Valentine, now, you’ve never seen her hanging about with fascists, or religious groups, or anything remotely political?’
‘Yeah, course I did, she ran this shooting gallery at a festival run by Friends of Palestine, should’ve told you.’
‘Well, maybe she’d spotted you and she kept it under wraps.’
‘It’s true I did lose sight of her now and then. But do you really think she ran away to dress up as Joan of Arc and make Hitler salutes? Why would she hide to do that? It’s not as if she was scared of making a fool of herself.’
‘Could be a problem for her father. No respectable novelist wants to see his daughter going round with swastikas tattooed on her forehead, it could make him look bad at dinner parties.’
The motorway’s not too busy. Industrial zone. Hangars with big advertising hoardings on top, and car parks in front, like a long commercial corridor. I’d forgotten that I like travelling by car, getting out of Paris and seeing the tarmac rolling past under the windscreen. Quite soon we’re driving through fields and forests.
We get to Bourges in no time. I recognize the cold and the winter light. The trees are still bare, the landscape is flat with its chequerboard of fields, brown and yellow, and a lowering sky; all the outlines are clear. The bleakness of rural France. I get flashbacks to my childhood again, walking along with a satchel on my back, waiting for the school bus, losing my gloves, riding my bike on waste ground.
We park in a square courtyard covered with graffiti. A gigantic clown’s head is painted over the door of a circus school. It’s five o’clock and already dark. I follow the Hyena into a concert venue, which is empty; none of the technicians takes any notice of us. We pass a staircase to the right of the stage, go along a corridor, and the Hyena turns to me, asks me if I’m ready, then whispers some advice. ‘Stay behind me. Whatever happens don’t smile, keep your eyes fixed above their heads, don’t say anything, don’t move, OK?’
I nod yes, not because I feel as ready as all that, but it’s not the moment to say I need a bit of preparation. I think to myself that she could have been briefing me during the three hours’ drive. She goes into the dressing room without knocking. A square room with no windows, yellow-painted walls, mirrors with light bulbs festooned round them, shower rooms to the side. The place is full of cigarette smoke, which doesn’t entirely mask the smell of young animals. I stay leaning against the door, hands in pockets, for a while, and despite my instructions, I find a smile creeping on to my lips, one way to disguise my unease.
There are a whole lot of them in here, all of the male sex, they must think we’re part of the staff from the venue, and don’t pay us any attention at first. I feel physically afraid being here. I tell myself to be reasonable as I sneak a look at them, they’re just kids. But they’re big kids, very tattooed, lots of piercings, half-naked and fit. They’re used to each other and they make a lot of noise. I concentrate on my breathing, trying to control it, starting from the principle that as long as my heartbeats stay at the same rate I won’t be sending out any signals that the animals facing me can interpret as fear. There are seven of them, I’ve hardly had time to count them before the Hyena, standing in the middle of the room, barks a shout. Out of place, but effective. As if she was a coach, calling her team to order under the showers. The more I shrink into myself, the more she seems to me to be expanding. Usually I think she looks thin and delicate, but now for the first time I realize that she’s strong, she has the shoulders of a swimmer. She’s exaggerating. But oddly it suits her. I expect her to start thumping her chest like Tarzan and yelling, ‘I’ll take on the lot of you.’ Instead of which, she looks round them, one by one, until they fall silent and before they have time to start ribbing her, she addresses a short dark boy. The best-looking in my opinion. It’s as if she has picked him out.
‘I need to talk to one of you. I’m conducting an investigation into Valentine’s disappearance.’
A tall jokey-looking blond guy, who looks like he’s the oldest, answers back. ‘And you’re what? A cop? You’ve got ID?’
He has bad teeth, which gives him a proletarian appearance the other boys don’t have. Not yet, or perhaps ever. They smell of soap underneath the stink of young males. The Hyena thrusts her hands in her pockets and smiles.
‘No, kiddo. The police will only come into it when the girl’s found cut up into little pieces. We just want a quiet chat.’
The little dark one she homed in on first treats her condescendingly, but does answer her, which immediately gives her legitimacy. ‘What makes you think we know this Valentine?’
He has delicate features. He might or might not be good-looking later on, but right now he’s stunning. In spite of the piercings and his menacing expression, he has something angelic about him. Whatever life is going to land on him, and however much he tries to hide it, it’s obvious that he doesn’t have a clue, which is why he’s so utterly charming. He wrinkles his nose when he wants to look like Joe Cool. I’m surprised by the silence she’s managed to create. She’s a tamer of heavyweights. There’s something about her, her way of planting herself in the middle of the room, looking them straight in the face, something in her smile and her calm behaviour, that is slightly worrying. It’s not exactly that she looks frightening, but her eyes are a little too bright, her good humour has this edge to it. I think again of Cro-Mag and the dozens of times he’s told me about their outings together. Yes, now that I’m leaning up against this door with my arms folded, watching her act, I begin to understand how fascinating it can be. And unhealthy. It’s the pleasure she takes in it that bothers me most. She has a gift for suggesting that things might get worse, and that she would be only too pleased if they did. She addresses the dark-haired boy with a certain gentleness, beneath which she doesn’t try to conceal a note of pure madness.
‘Because I’ve heard about you. A lot of things about you.’
Bursts of laughter, shouts, they all come back to life as if by an invisible signal, like a flock of birds suddenly flying up in the air in unison. They protest, call to each other, laugh, start shifting their feet. The Hyena doesn’t take her eyes off the dark youth, she takes a step towards him, changes her tone, becomes more menacing.
‘Afraid to leave your pals for five minutes, are you? Will you wet your pants if you let go their hand? I’ve got three questions for you. Think that’s too difficult?’
‘No. But I’ve got nothing to say. I don’t know her.’
‘Oh yes, you do. You know her all right. You know her very well, in fact. Do you think I’ve driven all this way from Paris without finding out a thing or two?’
She’s like a snake, her words hiss and coil. He looks round at his mates, but the atmosphere has changed. They’re still sort of laughing, but their hearts aren’t in it now. I don’t know how it happens, or why one of these great gangling lads doesn’t just take her by the collar and sling her out. The kid would be best advised simply to refuse to answer, but he’s too young to realize that. He gets up with an exaggerated swagger. He’s already acting towards her as he must when his headmaster calls him out at school, and in fact I bet he hasn’t often been kicked out of his lycée. He’s saving face in front of the others; he goes to the door and boldly declares, ‘Well, if you really want to have a private interview with me, madame, I won’t oblige you to go down on bended knee. Hey gang, if I’m not back in fifteen minutes, call the cops!’
She stands aside to let him go first, and eyes his ass as he walks; he hasn’t gone a hundred yards before she says, ‘Well, fuck me, kid, you gave in pretty quickly there. Do you always let someone unpick you from the gang as fast as that?’
He turns round, surprised at her tone. I think his instinct had told him there was something a bit louche about this woman, but he preferred to listen to his reason, telling himsel
f he had nothing to fear from some old hag who’s looking for a missing girl. She pushes him forward, just a pat on the back to get him going, saying, ‘Don’t worry, this won’t take long.’
We’re in the little courtyard outside the big hall. Away from prying eyes. It’s quite dark now. Behind the railings, some kids are already queuing up waiting to come in, I see one who can’t be more than fourteen drinking vodka, holding the bottle in both hands like a bear cub. He’ll enjoy the concert all right. The Hyena sits on a low wall, elbows on knees, and invites the boy to sit beside her, patting the wall with her hand. ‘You knew Valentine had disappeared?’
‘I did hear something about it. But I haven’t seen her for months. She hasn’t been in touch.’
‘So what did you think when you heard she hadn’t come home?’
‘Nothing. I felt sorry for her, in case something nasty might have happened to her. But well, nothing. Didn’t think anything, really. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but honestly, the last time I saw her was, oh, about four months ago.’
‘And what was that like, the last time you saw her?’
‘It was at a concert. She was tanked up. As usual. But after that, well, we went our different ways. She started going round with… well, I dunno really, some people from her family, Arabs… immigrants.’
‘I see. And that’s when you went your different ways.’
‘She got kind of grotty, I dunno what she was into altogether. I didn’t talk to her about it. She’s on her own, Valentine. I don’t know what you’ve heard about her, but she’s always been like, strange. In the end, we couldn’t take any more, we were fed up with the way she carried on. And she didn’t want to see us either. She dropped us, and we were relieved. Even before that, frankly. I don’t know why you want to ask me about her. She came to our gigs. But we didn’t see that much of her. We weren’t interested in her. Not as a friend, not as a girlfriend, nothing. Really, we just wanted her to piss off.’
‘But she came to your practice sessions, didn’t she?’
‘We didn’t ask her to, she just kept hanging round us all the time. Valentine, see, she’s pretty randy. I’d be surprised if she’s changed. Once a slut… but it’s got nothing to do with me, right?’
‘No, and then what?’
‘Then nothing. We couldn’t stop her following us round, but we’re not into that kind of girl, none of us, we’re not like that.’
The Hyena rubs her forehead as if suddenly overcome with fatigue, she gives a sigh as if she’s not getting anywhere, and then she says very softly: ‘I told you this would take five minutes. And I’d be happy for it to take five minutes. But what I’m hearing is a little boy giving me a load of bullshit. And that bugs me, your trying to cover up. That really bugs me. Because I don’t want you to miss your concert. Just tell me what really happened, I’m simply trying to understand the state of mind she was in when she disappeared… I’m not judging you. Just tell me what happened.’
‘Nothing. Nothing happened, I haven’t seen her for months, I keep telling you, you’re on the wrong track.’
He’s spoken rather too loudly, as if on the point of losing control. Wallop! Not an ordinary slap with the flat of the hand, a brutal blow, using the edge of her palm, and the death’s-head ring makes a long red scratch on his cheek. I didn’t see it coming. I don’t think he did either. He staggers, she grabs him by the scruff of the neck. If this was a film, it’d be like when someone turns into a werewolf, but too fast and a bit exaggerated. She’s become a different person, her voice has changed, the pupils of her eyes have changed, her whole face is transformed by a vicious, but still contained, anger. Her features are drawn. She’s not at all pretty now. She’s metamorphosed. And you can tell she’s got plenty in reserve. This is just for starters.
The boy puts his hand to his cheek. The mark has gone red. He’s more shocked than hurt, opens his mouth to protest indignantly, when he sees her face and doesn’t even try to hide his terror. He turns to me to be a witness. I’m petrified too. If I dared, I’d intervene, thinking, What will his parents do to us, when he goes running home to mummy to tell her about this? But I’m rooted to the spot, my legs won’t move, my mind is frozen.
The Hyena stands up, and from her fragile-looking body she summons phenomenal strength, grabs his collar, hoicks him upright, then throws him to the ground. For a microsecond, he flies through the air. Then she is kneeling astride his chest, he moves his arm to try to push her away, but it would better for him to be completely passive, the slightest resistance enrages her, and he gets three more slaps. She turns him over easily on to his stomach, his arm twisted behind him. She presses his face in the dust to stop him crying out. Lying on top of him, she speaks into his ear: ‘Listen, you little shit, I just told you; we’re not going to spend all night here. You’ve got your gig, I want to be back on the road, it would be simplest if you make it snappy. You keep me waiting another five minutes and you’re going to get fisted. You know how much it’ll hurt? Want to try it?’
This really doesn’t seem necessary to me. The kid probably doesn’t know anything, but even if he has something to say, surely we could have got it from him some other way. I ought to run off and get help. But I’m afraid of her and her reaction. She moves the kid’s knees apart with her leg, and gives him an impatient tap on the head.
‘Come on, pull ’em down, I’m going to rip you open. Just relax, you’ll love it.’
His lips in the dust, he tries to speak, she lets him lift his neck, his mouth is full of dirt, and his eyes are full of tears. He’s trembling with rage or fear.
‘She stuck to us for months, we didn’t want her around, she was just this fat lush, we wanted her to leave us alone. She was keen on me, one night she bombarded me with texts saying she had to see me. We were all a bit high, so I told her to come out to play, she sneaked away from home, she turned up half naked, like Paris Hilton or someone. We were in our van. And we all screwed her in this parking lot in town, but look, she was willing, she didn’t tell us to stop, she was knocking back beer after beer, and she’d do anything you wanted. Then we left her there. But we all pissed on her before we left, she didn’t even notice, she was lying on her back, not a stitch on. Next day, she turned up to a practice session, like we were just going say ‘Hi’ and carry on talking to her. As if. So we chucked her out. Then she vanished, she went off, tagged along with someone else maybe, I dunno what she did then. We didn’t ask. I swear that’s the truth.’
‘Oh, when you’re telling the truth, I can tell, don’t you worry. What’s all that about some cousins she was seeing?’
‘That was before the parking lot. She said she’d discovered this other side of her family, and they were these Algerians, but they were cool with her going to see them. I don’t know anything else about them, I didn’t talk much to her, I swear it, I don’t know anything else.’
‘Like I just said, when you don’t tell lies, I believe you. No need to be scared.’
As he’s been speaking, she’s gradually relaxed the pressure, letting him recover, he stays for a moment on his stomach, then sits up. Around us, nobody has heard a thing. At any rate, nobody has intervened. In the distance, behind us, we can hear the voices of people starting to arrive for the concert.
The kid stays sitting on the ground, staring up at her, trying to be defiant, but he just looks pitiful. Standing in front of him, the Hyena dusts off her knees carefully, before holding out her hand to help him up.
‘Sorry about the roughing up. But you were pretty slow off the mark. Don’t look like that, you’ll see worse. Better if I knock you about a bit and then don’t tell anyone. Because what if I was to go and inform the cops, or tell the parents? Any idea of the shit you’d be in then? It’d be a lot worse than a few quick clips round the ear outside the hall, wouldn’t it? Go on, off with you now…’
He takes a few paces backwards, she snaps her fingers and warns him: ‘Listen, we won’t breathe a word about this, but you
do the same, you hear me! We’ve just had a little chat, right? You go to the gents, you clean yourself up, and we’ll forget you tried to fob me off with lies. OK? Or the next time I get my hands on you, you little scumbag, it won’t be empty threats, I’ll slit you right open. Agreed?’
She’s called the last words to his back, as he runs away. She takes out a cigarette from her jean jacket, the packet is crushed and the cigarette bent in half. She acts as if she’s completely calm again, but her hands are still shaking and her face hasn’t completely recovered, her features still have a haggard look. The worst thing was the way she enjoyed it, visibly enjoyed it, when she was lying on top of him. She zips up her jacket, puts her hands in her pockets, and heads for the car park.
‘It won’t be difficult to make this generation toe the line. They’re made of papier mâché.’
She has asked me to drive on the way back. I start the car without a word. I feel sick. We’re stuck in the courtyard for a long time: in front of the entry gates, four kids are kicking a fifth who’s lying on the ground, and a crowd has gathered round them. We’d have to run over them to get the four-by-four out of there. I look up at the sky, full moon. I feel like crying. Police siren, sound of a van skidding roughly to a halt, any numbers of uniformed cops jump out waving their guns and super-charged, they shout even louder than the kids. At first I thought they were coming for us, and my blood drained into my feet, my heart stopped, I felt petrified, but no, they were there for the fight. They were even more violent than the kids who were drunk, they got all the youngsters to kneel down in the middle of the road, hands on heads. Someone from the concert venue recognizes the Hyena and comes over to her side of the car with a smile.
‘That you? See all that commotion? We’re trying to get the cops to cool down. Then we’ll have to see how to deal with the kids. Don’t you want to stay for the concert? It’’ll all calm down in a while…’
Apocalypse Baby Page 10
