Neal got up early and collected his few belongings. He put the copy of the Pickle in his briefcase and locked it. He poured himself a cold bath, washed up quickly, then heated water to shave. He heard Allie get up. She came down the stairs and brushed past him in the kitchen without a word. She put up water on the stove for her own bath, staring out the window while it heated.
“Good morning,” Neal said.
She didn’t answer.
“You’re not talking to me?”
“How does it feel?”
Then she carried the bucket outside, poured it into the tub, shucked her clothes, and stepped in. For once, the cold air didn’t seem to bother her, and she took her time bathing.
When she came back in, Neal was sitting at the table, reading some old paperback. Allie went into the kitchen, pulled eggs and bread out of the pantry, and began to make breakfast. When it was ready, she tossed Neal’s plate of eggs and toast in front of him, and said, “So we’re leaving today.”
“That’s right.”
“Don’t I get a say? I thought I was a partner.”
“A junior partner.”
“A fifty-fifty partner.”
He looked up from his plate. “Knock it off.”
You’re not getting off this easy, Neal, she thought. I didn’t trade one Colin for another. You’re not going to treat me like this.
“No, Neal,” she said, “you knock it off! I want to know what’s next. What happens when we get back to the States?”
“You get sixteen thousand dollars.”
“I mean what happens between you and me?”
Oh, Allie, not now, he thought. Just give me a few more days to work things out. Just trust me.
“Let’s just take it slow, okay?”
“Slow? Haven’t we been taking it slow?”
“So let’s keep taking it slow.”
“Maybe I’ll just take my money and split.”
He looked up from his plate and met her eyes. “You can if you want to, Alice. You have to know that.”
She ate a few bites of toast, then got right to the heart of things.
“Why won’t you make love to me?”
“Jesus, Alice” was the best he could manage at the moment.
“Why?”
“I don’t-”
“You don’t think I’m attractive.”
“I think you’re very attractive.”
“Then what is it?”
He took his time. “How do I explain this…”
Then she got the idea, the wrong idea, but she got hold of it and it hurt her. “It’s because of my father, isn’t it? That’s why!”
“Alice, that’s not it!”
“I shouldn’t have told you!”
“No, I’m glad you did.”
Her face contorted in pain. She tried for the mocking laugh she used to have, but it didn’t work, and she screamed at him, “I thought you loved me!”
“I-”
“But you can’t love a junkie whore who fucked her own father!” He started to explain, to try and tell her… But she was already headed out the door.
Let her go, he thought. Let her blow off steam. She can’t go far. Let her be alone for a while.
Colin was lost. All these dirt roads look alike, he thought, and there are no signs. He was consulting Simon’s directions again when he saw a little dog running toward him, barking.
“Jim!”
Colin heard the voice before be saw the old man. The dog stopped in his tracks, sat down, and began to wag his tail.
That’s better, Colin thought.
Until he saw the shotgun.
“Who would you be?” the old man asked him.
“Good morning,” Colin said in his best toff accent, flashing his most charming smile. “I’m afraid I’m lost.”
The old man didn’t smile back. He’s looking at the cuts and bruises on my face, Colin realized.
“Went off the road with the motorbike,” he explained, adding a self-deprecatory chuckle. “Stupid.”
Still no smile from the old coot, and the dog’s tail had stopped wagging.
“I never liked those things,” the old one said, “Now, who would you be?”
I’d be the Aga bloody Khan if I had the money, you ancient hairy bastard. “I’m a friend of Simon’s.”
“You don’t look like a friend of Simon’s.”
Colin knew how to handle the yeoman class.
“Nevertheless,” he intoned, and let the awkward silence do the rest.
“Simon’s out of country,” the shepherd said.
That’s all right, actually,” Colin said. “I’ve come to see Neal and Alice. Would you know if they’re in?”
“I would.”
“And could you tell me where the cottage is?”
“I could.”
Colin let the precise, polite grimace of impatience cross his face. “And…”
The shepherd turned around to point downhill and took his bloody time about it-quite enough time for Colin to grab the wrench from his toolbag.
Leave her alone, for a while, Neal thought again a few minutes after Allie had left.
Like you let the Halperin kid alone. Poor, stupid little Jason Halperin, from Cincinnati, who you took from that gentle queen on Twenty-third Street. You took him to the Hilton and it was late. You were both hungry and room service was closed. And Jason Halperin was so docile, relieved almost, to be caught, and you figured you could leave him alone for ten minutes while you went across the street to grab a couple of sandwiches. He was engrossed in some stupid movie on television, and you told him that you were locking the door from the outside, which is impossible, and you’d be right back. And you didn’t bother to cuff him, because why put the kid through any more shit, right? And service was so slow, it was a bit more like twenty minutes before you came back with the roast-beef sandwiches and the Cokes and the Twinkies, and there was fourteen-year-old Jason Halperin hanging from the clothes rod in the closet. Because you had left him alone and there were things he couldn’t face alone and you should have known that.
The yapping of Hardin’s dog woke him from the reverie and he took it as a signal. No, don’t leave her alone for a while. Go find her-now.
Neal rushed out the door. The butt of the shotgun hit him square across the upper ribs and he dropped to his knees, sucking for air. He could barely raise his head to see Colin standing there, and Allie standing frozen beside him.
“‘avin’ a little spat, were we?” Colin asked. “Let’s all go back inside and talk it over.”
He ushered Allie inside with the barrel of the gun and sat her down on one of the kitchen chairs. Then he went back out and nudged the shotgun under Neal’s chin. “Trouble gettin’ up, rugger? Want some ’elp?”
Neal struggled to his feet, went in, and crumpled into the other chair. His ribs were burning and it was hard to breathe.
“First things first,” Colin said. “I’ll take the book now…”
“In the bedroom,” Neal said. His eyes began to focus. He recognized the gun as Hardin’s.
“Yeah, ’at’s right, Neal. I thought the other cottage was your little love nest at first. Alice luv, get the book, will you, dear? Before I blow Neal’s ’ead off?”
She went upstairs.
“Neal, Neal, Neal,” Colin said sadly. “You ‘ad to make this difficult.”
“Take the book. Leave Alice.”
“No, I don’t think so. Ah, ’ere’s your beloved. Alice, open the case.”
“Both dials to fifty-three,” Neal said.
She opened the case and set it on the table. Colin leaned over to gaze at the book. “Better late than never, hey, rugger?”
He was getting comfortable now. He held the shotgun against his hip in the crook of one arm. His finger was on the trigger and he had the barrel pointed at Allie. “Neal lad, give us the name of the buyer,”
“I’ll trade you the name for Alice.”
“Well that’s quite generous of you, considerin’ I ‘ave the book, Alice, and this shotgun, and you ‘ave fuck all.”
“I have the name.”
Colin lowered the barrel, dropping it down to Allie’s knees. “It would be a shame, Neal, but I’d do it.”
His finger tightened ever so slightly on the trigger. Allie turned dead white, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.
“Dr. John Ferguson, Eleven St. John’s Wood.”
The barrel swung to Neal’s face. “Truth?”
Neal nodded.
“If I find it isn’t, Neal, I’ll take a knife to ’er pretty face, and…” He winced and shook his head.
“It’s the truth.”
“I believe you.” He stepped back and leveled the gun back at Neal’s face. “Well, lad, I’ve never shot anyone before-”
“Don’t hurt him and I’ll go with you,” Allie said.
“You’ll go with me anyway, Alice.”
“I’ll do anything you want. For as long as you want. Just don’t hurt him.”
Colin didn’t take his eyes from Neal. He had made the mistake of underestimating him before. “How can I believe you, Alice?”
“I don’t know! I swear!”
“I’ve got an idea.” He fished out a set of works from his left pocket and dropped it on the table. He followed with a small glassine envelope. “Cook it up and shoot it, there’s a good girl.”
Allie grabbed it. He had brought it all. She had just lit the match under the spoon when Neal said, “Alice, don’t.”
Colin tightened his finger on the trigger. “Shut up.”
A gun makes you see the world in a whole different way. All Neal wanted came in one single, fervent prayer: Don’t let it go off. Please don’t let it go off.
Allie tied the rubber hose around her arm and pulled tight. She chose a vein and lowered the needle to it. She was crying. “Promise me, Colin, you won’t hurt him now.”
“A deal’s a deal.”
Neal was trying to fight through the fear. If he lost her now, he lost her forever. She’d never fight her way back again. Not through the dope, and the selling herself. Not through what Colin was planning for her. Not through the ghosts that haunted her.
You’ve blown it, he thought. Blown it. You haven’t done anything you started out to do.
And you haven’t told her about her father.
“He’s not your father,” Neal said. He felt dizzy. He saw Colin’s jaw tighten. Saw the barrel of the shotgun.
“What?” Allie asked. She froze with the syringe a millimeter from her arm.
“Shut up!” Colin yelled. Another ounce of pressure on the trigger and it would go off.
Neal felt as if he were swimming through fear, fighting to the surface. “John Chase is not your father. What he did to you was horrible, but he’s not your father. Remember that.”
“Who are you?”
Neal spat out the words as fast as he could, before the shotgun’s roar could drown him out.
“They sent me to bring you back. Your mother wants you back, and John Chase is not your father.”
“What are you fookin’ on about?”
“All this time…” she said, staring at Neal.
“Shoot it or I shoot ’im. Now!”
She looked at Neal for a moment more, then touched the needle to her arm.
“Allie, don’t!”
She pushed the plunger. It was a strong mix and took only a couple of seconds to hit. Her knees buckled but she caught herself on the table, then shook her head once. Twice. Peace flowed over her, into her.
Neal sank back in his chair.
“Right,” said Colin. “Well, ’ere we go.”
He grabbed the briefcase and shoved Allie toward the door.
“Cheers, rugger.”
Allie’s attack was feeble, heroin slow, but her raking nails hurt anyway and threw off his aim as he knocked her aside and turned to face Neal, who had sprung from the chair.
The blast caught Neal square in the chest and set him down in a bloody heap on the floor.
Colin hit Allie in the stomach with the butt of the gun, then crouched over Neal and felt his neck for a pulse. He didn’t find one. He grabbed Allie by the elbow and shoved her outside toward his motorbike.
Neal had felt the first wicked shot of pain, and then a great sleepy, bloody weight pressing down on his eyes and his chest, and then blessed oblivion.