A Singular Man Part 29

"No. Stay right where you are."

"I don't mind being shot but not without trousers."

"You lousy sneak. You're thinking of beating it. I can tell. Who's going to pay all the doctors' bills."

"Control yourself Miss Martin."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"I don't mind what you say but don't say it with the gun."

"I've had nightmares nearly every night."

"Is it me. The father."

"It's going to be a satisfaction to see you drop in your tracks."

"I mean, maybe it's me, all right. Why haven't you told me sooner."

"Because I only saw die doctor yesterday that's why. You f.u.c.ker."

"That's unnecessary."

"So's your d.a.m.n burial vault. And the bullet proof car youVe ordered."

"Well. All right. I mean is it any wonder."

"It's you."

"O.K. All right. It's me."

"Yes. You."

Smith putting one hand on the edge of his desk. Have a little support when the first bullet lands. I can take a few low caliber bullets in non vital spots. Terrible to sense she can hit a bee at fifty yards. One has premonitions. Which always come true too soon. Just a few more days and there would have been the armoured vehicle. Thing is keep talking. Leave any time between words and that's where the bullets fit in.

"Miss Martin. I know you're distressed."

"Shut up."

"I can't."

"Shut up."

"Please you've got to let me keep talking. You might shoot."

"That's right. Get your hand off that desk."

"Couldn't you just hand me over my cod liver oil."

"No."

"Can I have the morning newspaper."

"I can tell you what's in the morning newspaper. There was another man beaten and knocked into the tracks and an innocent bystander was arrested but the real one got away. That's what's in the paper."

"Don't look at me."

"You did it once and you probably did it again. Only now you've learned to run. And here read this filth which came yesterday."

Miss Martin flinging a white card. Landing against Smith's ankle. Perhaps now is the time to jump her. Through all the war's strategy, map reading, signals to the front, this is the first time I've been held at gun point. Suppose it's better than being lonely. I wish folks' Christmas greetings would come from the heart. Take my time reading this invitation.

Al Moygrain Diltor CranzgotAT HOME12:01 A.M., 7 Eel StreetExplosive Gala g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gTo be followed by the mixed racial withserum available for allergies.R.S.V.P. Sports apparel please "Just a strongly flavoured invitation Miss Martin."

"You disappear every afternoon/'

"Miss Martin, please. I don't ask you where you go."

"Because I'm stuck alone in this gloomy dump and you don't care."

"I do care, very much. I don't want to see you unhappy."

"You see me underpaid, so how could you care if I'm happy."

"I'll review your salary. Anytime. Make a memo right now, if you put down the gun. The way I'm dressed, to fall mortally wounded. The papers would be full of it."

"I'm the one who should worry. You'll be dead."

"O dear."

"This gun is pointing at the biggest chamber of your heart."

"What sort of a raise do you want. Pension. Anything. Mention it."

"Just keep talking."

"I'd like to."

"Make it good."

"You mustn't get the idea I'm made of money, Miss Martin."

"You're buying an armoured car."

"As I've said, considering the present situation. It's reasonable enough. Now please. There are just the two of us here. Put the gun down. We'll go out of this wretched room, cross over to the bun and coffee shop. Sit over a nut ring, or doughnuts, whichever you prefer."

"O boy. I'll bet."

"It's true. I'm moving office again. Is that what you're thinking. That I was beating it."

"I'm going to have a baby."

"If it's me-"

"I'm going to shoot you. Right now."

"Jesus don't."

"I knew you'd rat."

"Hold it."

"You're a rat."

"Behind you Miss Martin. Is an apparition. I can see it. Hold fire. Just let me enjoy this vision before you shoot. Full of all the colors of the rainbow. And a mist, a light gentle rain. Like tiny tears that maybe an insect might cry. Just another ten seconds. Then shoot. After this, I want to go. Pray for me. I haven't got much religion but I believe. I'll just get down on my knees here for a moment."

"Why don't you die like a man."

"I will but please just look the other way. I would like this few seconds to be private. Don't want you to remember me as if I were begging. Please, don't watch me praying like this. As a final wish. Burn all the files. Sue my estate so you won't be without. Be blood for a blood test. Any reasonable judge will award enough for you and the little one. Now turn away. Cough before you shoot, I need an advance signal before I meet my maker. He lives on a hill for miles around with b.u.t.tercups sprinkled in the green. According to a recent remark in this apparition."

George Smith slowly bowing his unkempt head. Pink tails of his shirt lightly touching the greyish sycamore floor. Which I only notice now is from my second favourite tree. Not even time to put on a tie. It's going to be wild in Renown. Simply wild. Bonniface and Mr. Mystery will be there, one leading the other. A dog always looks good at a funeral. Wagging his tail, sorry to see me go. As I'm lowered into the crypt. I've got to lunge for her. At least get the charge reduced to manslaughter. He tried to kill me when I told him I was pregnant, your honor. So amusing I should still want everything to look good, even in court. I'm proud Miss Martin should want to shoot me like this. Shows she cares. I would turn rat. I have excuses. Can't go into them now, but always good things to have. What did I do with my bag of dough. Brace my toes, just find a little purchase for them. The Game Club at least has kept me in trim. I won't look bad laid out on the slab. Music now would help. Going over the top into the big circus on the other side. Shake hands in heaven. With the biggest wheeler dealer of them all. In Miss Martin's belly the tiniest heart is ticking. Later little legs will kick. George Junior. Miss Martin if only you could have looked upon it as a present. Which you give back to me. Instead of this firearms. Ready now. To hop into eternity flexing at least two joints. As I dive the bullet will into the back of my head. Goodbye, world, not all that nice knowing but you taught me a few lessons I won't forget in the next.

Smith sprang. Low level. Uncoiling from the crouch. Shirt tails flying. Sharp, brief, crack of the gun. Miss Martin falling backwards. Gun smoking, pointing at the ceiling. George Smith alive. And well on top.

"O.K. Miss Martin. It's all right. Just lie still. Just let's get rid of this gun."

Smith pinning her arms gently to the boards. Taking a deep sigh. Miss Martin's eyes closed. Little bubbles of tears rolling down her temple sides. Amazing how well she looks. So pink. And blossoming. White all these weeks. Attempted murder brought all her color back. weeks. Attempted murder brought all her color "I haven't hurt you, have I Miss Martin."

Little hard blue artery the side of her neck. Only thing that moves. Dear Miss Martin. If the bullet hit me I might be popped into a plain pine coffin. Unclaimed. Lifted on a barge. With hundreds of others. A number and body photographed on a slab. Don't want to go down that way dead. Like an amputated arm or leg. On an island in the river estuaries. With muskrats big as dogs.

"h.e.l.lo there, Miss Martin."

Her head turning. Breathing up dust. All your rect.i.tude. Milky b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Label on your coat that keeps you snug to carry the little life home each evening on the train ride across the flat lands and water. Then down your street. Look out across the beach. Liners burning brightly on the dark horizon. Headed out of turmoil. A cold way on a deep sea to an old world.

"Please. Let me help you up on the sofa."

On the horsehair Miss Martin lay quietly shivering. Smith emptying the bullets. Rolling them one by one out the air shaft window. Two of them firing at the bottom. Windows opening. They'll look up. Stick my head out and look upwards too.

Smith sticking legs into trousers. Wiping feet bottoms on Miss Martin's coat on the floor. Pulling on socks and shoes. Collecting up the edged and pointed instruments. All letter openers and nail files hereafter locked in the drawer.

Crossing to Miss Martin. Head down close to hers. Buy her a bottle of inexpensive perfume. Kiss her on the cheek. Incredible but I want more than anything to take off her clothes. Fill her up with love. Just ease it in. Like the deed already done. We could have walked cold and hungry into a little automat somewhere, bought coffee buns and goodies.

Smith gently closing his door. Picking up Miss Martin's telephone. Finger in the dial. A wail from the back room. Door opening. Miss Martin full of distress and cascading tears.

"Please Mr. Smith don't call the police. O dear G.o.d I swear I'll do anything if you don't call them. Don't have me arrested."

Smith phone in hand. Miss Martin, her hunched quivering shoulders in the doorway. High on the wall behind her a shattered gla.s.s and hole in Smith's prep school diploma. Standing in her stockinged feet. Looking down on her wet twisted handkerchief stretched between her hands.

"I'm sorry, Miss Martin."

"O no no. Let me go. Please let me go. I'll have my baby. I won't bother you. I swear."

"I'm sorry. Miss Martin."

"O Mr. Smith, please forget everything I said. I'll be a good girl. I'll die in prison. My baby. I'm just a working girl. Please. Please. I'll put on my shoes now. Where are they. There. And I'll go out the door and you'll never see me again."

She has nice little feet. All parts of her put together won't flash in beauty. But each is shaped with grace. So sweet cruelty. Love every one of her sad crying words. Fighting for the baby I gave her. h.e.l.lo spider.

"All right, Miss Martin. Go back to the couch. I still must make a phone call but it's not to the police. Shut the door."

Soon one is driven to take the blood blot test. It reads a red hand ready to grab at the coat collar. Remember some whispers from Her Majesty. Why don't you get out while you're ahead. But suddenly I'm not ahead. She said Cedric Clementine had invited her to the airport. Where he treated her like a queen. Rushing back and forth in his dark suit, keeping Mr. Mystery in a little tent with water, gruel and a sign do not disturb. Ah, a voice, clear and heartless.

"Excelsior, may I help you."

"Yes. Suite eighteen B. Please."

"Thank you sir."

"h.e.l.lo."

"Your Majesty, did I leave the bag of toadstools at your digs last night."

"This is not Her Majesty."

"Is this suite eighteen B."

"Her Majesty's secretary speaking. Who is this please."

"Get Her Majesty."

"Who may I say is speaking."

"You may say I am speaking."

"What name shall I give."

"I just don't feel like saying my name this morning. Please, do you mind. Her Majesty. Please."

"I'm sorry, but I must have a name."

"Are you trying to make life unbelievably painful. What's your name."

"I don't see how that matters."

"Is it Hilda."

"No."

"Olga."