I Am God (23 page)

‘Get in the car. Don’t do anything stupid. It’ll be better for you, believe me.’

Through the open door, Russell saw the thick legs of a man sitting in the back seat. With a sigh he got in the car and sat down, while the big guy who had so politely invited him to get in took his place in the front.

Russell greeted the man who was sitting next to him in the tone of an Egyptian greeting a plague. ‘Hello, LaMarr.’

The usual sardonic smile played over the fat man’s lips. His well-cut suit couldn’t compensate for his graceless figure, nor did his dark glasses provide any kind of protection against his coarse-grained features.

‘Hello, photographer. You don’t seem yourself. Anything bothering you?’

As the car pulled away from the kerb, Russell turned to look through the rear window. If Vivien had seen what had happened, she hadn’t had time to intervene. She might be following them. But he hadn’t seen any other car move out from the kerb on the other side of Park Avenue.

He turned to LaMarr again. ‘What’s bothering me is that you’re still using the wrong deodorant. Sitting next to you would make anybody’s eyes water.’

‘Good joke. Give the man a great big hand.’

LaMarr was still smiling. He signalled to the man in the front, who leaned over and punched Russell in the face. For a moment, the noise of flesh on flesh was the only sound inside the car.

Russell felt a thousand hot little needles puncture his cheek. A yellow bulb danced in front of his eyes.

Nonchalantly, LaMarr put a hand on his shoulder. ‘As you can see, my boys have kind of a strange way of showing their appreciation of humour. Got any more jokes like that?’

Russell sank resignedly into his seat. In the meantime, the car had turned onto Madison and was now heading uptown. At the wheel was a guy with a bald head and the same build, Russell estimated, as the man who had just given him such tender loving care.

‘What do you want, LaMarr?’

‘I told you. Money. I’m not usually involved in collecting, but with you I want to make an exception. It’s not every day I get to rub shoulders with a celebrity, which is what you are. Not to mention the fact that you’re really pissing me off.’

With a nod of the head, he indicated the man who had just hit Russell.

‘It’d be a pleasure for me to sit in the front row and see you go a few rounds with Jimbo.’

‘There’s no point. Right now I don’t have your fifty thousand dollars.’

LaMarr shook his large head. His double chin wobbled slightly, shiny with sweat in the light from outside. ‘Wrong. You don’t seem any better at math than poker. It’s sixty thousand, remember?’

Russell was about to reply but held back. He preferred to avoid another encounter with Jimbo’s hand. His first
experience
of that hadn’t been one that left him feeling nostalgic.

‘Where are we going?’

‘You’ll see. Somewhere quiet, where we can have a
man-to-man
talk.’

Silence fell in the car. LaMarr didn’t seem inclined to give any further explanation. Russell didn’t need any. He knew perfectly well what was going to happen when they got to
their destination, wherever that destination was.

In a short time, carried on the stream of lights and
automobiles
, the car reached an area of Harlem that Russell knew well. There were a couple of places here that he visited when he wanted to hear great jazz, and another couple of places, much less well publicized, that he visited when he had a bit of money in his pocket and felt like shooting craps.

The car stopped in a dimly lit street, in front of a closed shutter. Jimbo got out, opened the padlock and pulled the handle up. Lit by the car’s headlights, the metal wall rose to reveal a large, bare space, an L-shaped warehouse with a line of concrete pillars in the middle.

The car glided in through the entrance and the shutter came down again behind them. The car turned left round the corner and stopped at a slanting angle. A few moments later, a couple of bare dirt-encrusted bulbs hanging from the ceiling came on, spreading a dim light.

Jimbo opened the door on Russell’s side. ‘Get out.’

He took Russell’s arm in his iron grip and made him walk around to the other side. Russell had the pleasure of seeing LaMarr struggling to get out through the door. He avoided making any comment that would simply have earned him more of Jimbo’s brand of applause.

To their left was a desk with a chair. In front of it, another chair, a wooden one with a straw bottom. Despite the precariousness of the situation, Russell found the setting quite traditional. Clearly, LaMarr was a nostalgic.

Jimbo pushed him towards the desk and pointed at the top of it. ‘Empty your pockets. All of them. Don’t force me to do it myself.’

With a sigh, Russell put everything he had in his pockets
on the desk. A wallet with the documents and letters, the five hundred dollars Zef had just given him, and a pack of cinnamon-flavoured chewing-gum.

The fat man walked to the chair behind the desk. He smoothed the collar of his jacket, took off his hat, sat down, and placed his fat forearms on the table. The rings on his fingers glittered as he moved. It struck Russell that he looked like a version of Jabba the Hutt.

‘All right, Mr Russell Wade. Let’s see what we have here.’

He pulled Russell’s things towards him. He opened the wallet, and threw it straight back down again as soon as he saw it was empty. Ignoring the envelopes, he picked up the banknotes and counted them.

‘Just look at that. Five hundred dollars.’

He leaned back in his chair, as if trying to recall something he remembered perfectly well.

‘So now you owe me sixty-five thousand.’

Russell didn’t think it wise to point out that only a little while earlier LaMarr had been demanding sixty thousand. In the meantime, his guardian angel had made him sit down on the chair in front of the desk and had taken up a standing position next to him. Seen from below, he looked even bigger and more threatening. The driver had got out of the car as soon as they had arrived and vanished through a door behind them, into what was probably a bathroom.

LaMarr ran his thick fingers through his short curly hair. ‘Now how do we go about paying the rest?’ He pretended to think.

It was clear to Russell that LaMarr was playing with him like a cat with a mouse, and savouring yet another
demonstration
of his own power.

‘I’m going to be generous. Seeing as how I’ve just
collected, I’ll let you off another five hundred.’

He nodded toward Jimbo. The punch in the stomach arrived with impressive speed and a force that knocked the air out of Russell’s lungs, maybe out of the entire atmosphere. He felt acid rising in his throat, and bent forward, retching. A thread of saliva dropped from his mouth onto the dusty floor. LaMarr looked at him with a self-satisfied expression, the way you look at a child who’s done his homework properly.

‘So now there’s sixty-four thousand left.’

‘Right now, I’d say that should be enough.’

These words of Vivien’s, firm and confident, came from somewhere behind Russell. Three heads turned simultaneously in that direction, only to see a young woman emerge from the shadows into the pool of light cast by the bulbs. As if some spell had been broken, Russell started breathing again.

The fat man turned incredulously to Jimbo. ‘Who’s this fucking whore?’

Vivien raised her hand and aimed her gun at LaMarr’s head. ‘This whore is armed, and if the two of you don’t go stand against the wall with your legs wide apart, she might decide to show you how offended she is by your insinuations.’

The rest happened before Russell had time to warn Vivien. The door to the bathroom burst open and the man who’d been in there ran out and flung his arms around her chest, immobilizing her. Vivien’s reaction was instant.

Instead of trying to wriggle free, Vivien pressed her body against his, raised her legs and brought the heels of her heavy boots down on the tips of her attacker’s shoes. Russell distinctly heard the sound of his toes cracking. A strangulated cry, and the arms surrounding Vivien loosened their grip as if by magic. The man collapsed to the floor and lay on his side, cursing, his legs pulled up to his chest.

Vivien aimed the gun at him and looked defiantly at the other two men. ‘OK. Now who else wants to try?’ She gestured to Jimbo. ‘Are you armed?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK. Take out your gun with two fingers, lay it on the ground, and kick it towards me. Nice and slowly. I’m a little edgy right now.’

Keeping her eyes on Jimbo, Vivien bent over the man on the floor, frisked him with her left hand and took a big revolver from his jacket. She straightened up. A moment later, the other man’s automatic came sliding across the floor to her feet. She slipped the revolver into her belt and bent down to collect the new trophy from the floor. Then she turned and Russell saw her use the barrel of the gun to indicate the man lying on the floor to Jimbo.

‘Good. Now move slowly and lie down next to him.’

When she was sure she had the two men under control, she approached the chair where Russell was sitting.

‘Are you armed?’ she asked LaMarr.

‘No.’

‘I hope for your sake I don’t find out you’re lying.’

‘I’m not armed.’

Given that he was looking down the barrel of a gun, he might be telling the truth.

‘Can you stand?’ Vivien asked Russell.

His legs didn’t seem to want to obey him, and his stomach was tight with cramps. But somehow he managed to get to his feet and walk to Vivien. She handed him a big dark pistol and nodded at the two men on the ground.

‘Keep an eye on these two. If they move, shoot.’

‘I’d be glad to.’

Russell had never used a firearm in his life but the punch
he’d had from Jimbo was a good incentive to start. And from that distance it was impossible to miss.

Vivien relaxed and turned to LaMarr, who had followed the scene with a certain apprehension from behind the desk.

‘What’s your name?’

The man hesitated, licking his dry lips before replying. ‘LaMarr.’

‘OK. This fucking whore is called Vivien Light and she’s a detective with the 13th Precinct. And she’s just been an eyewitness to a kidnapping. Which, as you know, is a federal offence. Now how much do you think it’s worth for me not to call the FBI and drop your name to them?’

LaMarr had realized where she was going with this. ‘I don’t know. How about sixty-four thousand dollars?’

Vivien leaned over and took from his fat, sweaty hand the dollars he was still clutching. ‘Let’s say sixty-four thousand five hundred and the deal’s done. And that’s the end of it. Do I make myself clear?’ She straightened up and put the money in the pocket of her jeans. ‘I’ll take your silence for consent. Let’s go, Russell. There’s nothing more to do here.’

Russell took the envelopes and the wallet from the desk and put them in his pocket. He took the pack of chewing-gum, looked at it for a moment and then put it down with
exaggerated
grace in front of LaMarr. ‘I’ll leave you this. In case you want to sweeten your breath.’ He smiled seraphically. ‘Use it wisely. It’s worth sixty-four thousand dollars.’

There was anger in the fat man’s eyes, and there was death. He joined Vivien, and they retreated in silence, shoulder to shoulder, keeping their eyes on the little group. They reached the shutter and Russell saw that Jimbo, when they had arrived, had not lowered it completely. That was how Vivien had managed to get in without making any noise.

This time she bent down and raised it.

Within a minute they were sitting in her car. Russell noticed that her hands were trembling with the drop in adrenaline. He wasn’t feeling much better. He consoled himself with the observation that not even someone trained in this kind of thing ever really got in the habit.

Russell tried to relax and find his voice again. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

The reply was a curt one. ‘Thanks my ass.’

He turned abruptly and saw that Vivien was smiling. She put her hand in her pocket, took out the five hundred dollars and gave it to him.

‘Part of this will go to pay the laundry. And I hope for your finances I haven’t ruined my jacket, rolling on the floor like that.’

Russell accepted this clear invitation to relieve the tension. ‘As soon as I can, I’ll buy you a whole shop full of jackets.’

‘Added to the dinner.’

Russell looked at her profile as she drove. She was young, strong and beautiful. A dangerous woman, seen from the wrong end of a gun barrel.

‘There’s something I have to say to you.’

‘What?’

Russell tightened his seat belt to stop the buzzer from sounding. ‘When I saw you coming around that corner …’

‘Yes?’

Russell closed his eyes and sank back in his seat. ‘It was like an apparition, like the Virgin Mary appearing to the faithful. From now on I’ll worship at your shrine.’

In the semi-darkness of his closed eyelids, he heard the sound of Vivien’s cool laughter. Then Russell felt things fading away and he, too, smiled.

The key turned in the lock, opened the door and disappeared again into Vivien’s pocket. She entered and switched on the light.

‘Come in, sit down.’

Russell entered, carrying a bag in each hand, and looked around. ‘It’s nice here.’

Vivien looked at him with a touch of self-satisfaction. ‘Do you want me to say what Carmen Montesa said when you made the same comment about her apartment?’

‘No, I mean it.’

He had expected to find an untidy apartment. Vivien struck him as a tough cookie, not at all the type you’d expect to be houseproud: not patient or meticulous enough. Instead of which the small apartment was a model of good taste in its furnishings, and full of an unusual
attention
to detail. There was something here he had never experienced before. Not the insane chaos of his own
apartment
, nor the antiseptic splendour of his parents’ house, but real love on the part of the occupant for the things she had around her.

He put the bags down, while continuing to examine the apartment. ‘Do you have a cleaning woman?’

Vivien was at the refrigerator, getting a bottle of mineral
water. ‘I assume you’re kidding,’ she replied, with her back to him.

‘What do you mean?’

‘There aren’t many people in the NYPD who could afford a cleaning woman. Cleaners in New York are as expensive as plastic surgeons, and their work needs going over, too, though usually a whole lot earlier.’

As she poured herself a glass of water, Vivien indicated the two-seater couch facing the television. ‘Sit down. Would you like a beer?’

‘A beer would be good.’

He walked to the counter and took the bottle that Vivien had opened and pushed towards him. It wasn’t until he felt the cold liquid going down his throat that he realized how thirsty he was. He would carry the after-effects of Jimbo’s punch with him for several days. He walked towards the comfortable-looking couch, and as he did so noticed a picture frame of unusual design on top of a cabinet. In it there was a photograph of a woman with a girl of about fifteen. It was obvious at first glance that they were mother and daughter, so alike did they look. They were both very beautiful.

‘Who are they?’

‘My sister and my niece,’ Vivien replied, in a tone that suggested she had said all she had to say on the matter.

It seemed clear to Russell that there was some unhappy episode connected with these two people and that she didn’t want to talk about it. Rather than ask any more questions, he sat down on the couch and moved his hand over the bright leather upholstery.

‘Comfortable. And pretty, too.’

‘My ex-boyfriend was an architect. He gave me a hand choosing the furniture and decorating the apartment.’

‘And where is he now?’

Vivien gave a self-deprecating half smile. ‘He’s a good architect – let’s say he went on to other projects.’

‘How about you?’

Vivien spread her arms. ‘My personal ad goes something like this:
Young
woman,
interesting
job,
single,
not
looking
for
anybody.’

Once again, Russell didn’t ask any more questions. All the same, he couldn’t help feeling pleased to hear that Vivien didn’t have anyone in her life right now.

She finished her glass of water and put it in the sink. ‘I think I’ll take a shower. Make yourself comfortable, watch television, finish your beer. You can have the bathroom after me, if you want to take a shower.’

Russell could feel the dust of centuries on him. The idea of warm water running over his body, washing away all trace of that day, made him quiver with pleasure. ‘OK. I’ll wait here.’

Vivien disappeared into the bedroom and came out a couple of minutes later wearing a bathrobe. She slipped into the bathroom and almost immediately Russell heard the water running. He couldn’t help imagining Vivien’s strong, agile body naked under the shower. The beer suddenly didn’t seem cold enough to reduce the heat he could feel rising inside him.

He got up and went to the window with its view of part of the Hudson. The evening was clear but there were no stars.

On the way back from Harlem, he and Vivien had exchanged their impressions of the events they had just been involved in. When she had seen him disappear inside the big sedan, Vivien had immediately realized that something was wrong. And when the car had headed out she had started to
follow it, discreetly, always keeping two other cars between them but managing not to lose sight of it. When she saw the car turn onto a dead-end street, she pulled up to the kerb and quickly got out, in time to see the sedan disappear through the entrance to the warehouse. She went closer and saw that the shutter hadn’t been pulled all the way down. There was enough of a gap between the shutter and the ground to let her enter without attracting attention. Following the direction of the voices, she cautiously peered around the corner. She saw LaMarr sitting at his desk and the gorilla standing next to Russell. From her vantage point on Park, she had lost visual contact a couple of times because of the passing cars, and had assumed the gorilla was also the driver, which was why she hadn’t suspected that there might be a third man.

Then Russell told her what had happened in the lobby when he’d arrived home. He didn’t mind her smiling over his disinherited state. In fact, he smiled, too. And then he told her about Zef’s kindness in lending him five hundred dollars.

‘What will you do now?’

‘Find a hotel.’

‘Is the money I gave you back all you have?’

‘Right now I’m afraid it is.’

‘If you want somewhere decent, that money’s only going to last you a couple of days, and that’s being optimistic. I don’t want to be in the same car as a guy who sleeps in the kind of place you can afford.’

Deep down, Russell could only agree with her
disconcertingly
clear summary of his situation. He was forced to come clean. ‘I don’t have any choice.’

Vivien made a vague gesture. ‘There’s a sofa bed in the living room of my apartment. I don’t think we’re going to get much sleep in the next few days. If you really want to follow
this story, it’s best you stay with me. I don’t want to be forced to look all over town to find you. If you can live with it, it’s yours.’

Russell did not hesitate. ‘It’ll be like staying at the Plaza.’

Vivien burst out laughing, and Russell wasn’t sure why. She hastened to explain. ‘Do you know what we call the cell at the precinct house where they put you when they arrested you?’

‘Don’t tell me. Let me guess. The Plaza, right?’

Vivien nodded.

Russell accepted the joke. ‘Seems I can’t help being indebted to you right now. Mind you, being in debt to other people is something I’ve always been good at.’

Now, thinking back on it, Russell found the memory of that conversation quite comforting.

It was as if a kind of bond had been formed between them in the car. A reaction of the heart, a brief refuge from the knowledge that they were pursuing a killer who had already killed a hundred people and was getting ready to do it again.

He left the window and opened one of the bags he had brought with him. In it were his laptop and his cameras, the only things he considered sacred. Before coming to Vivien’s apartment, they had swung by the precinct house to leave the captain the frame containing Mitch Sparrow’s hair, and then gone on to 29th Street, where Russell had packed his bag from the things abandoned in the storage closet of what was no longer his home.

He took out the laptop checked his mail. There wasn’t much, and all of it predictable. Time Warner Cable explaining why they were cutting off his service, an agency explaining why he would soon be getting a letter from its lawyer and Ivan Genasi, a very good photographer friend of his – and the only
person he didn’t owe money to – asking what had become of him. The other messages were all about missed payments or loans that hadn’t been repaid. Russell felt ill at ease. He had the feeling, as he read these emails, that he was violating the privacy of someone he didn’t know, so distant did he feel right now from the man who had inspired these messages.

He closed down his email and opened a new Word document. He thought about it for a moment, then decided to call the file
Vivien,
He started by noting down some of the thoughts that had occurred to him since this whole thing had started. In the absence of a notebook, he had been making mental notes every time something significant had emerged. Before too long, the words started to flow uninterruptedly, as if there was a direct connection between his thoughts and his fingers on the keyboard. He didn’t know, and didn’t really care, whether it was the story taking him over or him taking over the story. All that mattered was that sense of total possession he had while writing. By the time Vivien’s voice surprised him, he had already written two pages.

‘Your turn, if you want it.’

He turned and saw her. She had put on a light sweatsuit and flip-flops. She looked the picture of freshness and innocence. Russell had seen her react to an attack by a man three times her size and render him harmless. He had seen her hold other men at bay with a gun. He had seen her treat a slimeball like LaMarr as the dirt he was.

He had thought of her as a dangerous woman. And it was only now, when she looked completely defenceless, that he realized how dangerous. He turned and glanced at the picture frame on the cabinet, the photograph of the smiling woman and girl. Vivien’s natural place was with them, he thought. She was as beautiful as they were.

He turned his eyes away from the photograph and stared at her in such a way that she asked, ‘Hey, what’s going on?’

‘One day, when this is all over, you must allow me to photograph you.’

‘Me? You’re kidding, right?’ Vivien pointed to the
photograph
in the picture frame. ‘My sister’s the model of the family. I’m the police officer, the one who’s almost a man, remember? I wouldn’t even know what to do in front of a camera.’

What
you’re
doing
now
would
be
more
than
enough,
Russell thought.

He realized that, much as she might protest, she had been pleased by his request. And what he saw on her face was not only surprise but an unexpected shyness, which it was
possible
she hid at other times by holding a badge in front of her.

‘I mean it. Promise me.’

‘Don’t talk crap. And get out of my kitchen. I left clean towels for you in the bathroom.’

Russell saved what he had written and went to get clean clothes from his bag. He slipped into the bathroom, where he found a pile of towels placed on a cabinet next to the washbasin.

It was only a detail, a trifle. But it made him feel at home all the same.

He stepped into the shower and let the water and foam wash away all the fatigue. After the business with Ziggy and then the explosion, he had felt truly alone for the first time in his life, totally inadequate to the burden that had been placed on him.

When he came out of the bathroom, Vivien was sitting in front of the laptop. She had opened the document named for her and was reading what Russell had written.

‘What are you doing?’

Vivien continued reading, without even turning her head, as if it was quite natural for her to open someone else’s computer. ‘What I should be doing as a police officer. Investigating.’

Russell protested, without a great deal of conviction. ‘This is a flagrant violation of privacy and press freedom.’

‘If you don’t want me to stick my nose in, then don’t give my name to a file.’

When she finished reading, she stood up and, without
making
any comment, walked to the kitchen counter. Russell noticed there was a saucepan on the boil, and a frying pan of red sauce next to it. Vivien increased the volume of the
extractor
fan, then pointed to the water, which was starting to boil.

‘Penne all’arrabbiata. Or spaghetti, whichever you prefer.’

Russell looked surprised.

‘I’m Italian,’ she said. ‘I know how to make it. You can trust me.’

‘Of course I trust you. I just wonder how you managed to rustle together a sauce in such a short time.’

Vivien threw the pasta in the saucepan and put the lid over it, to keep the steam in. ‘Is this your first visit to earth? Aren’t there freezers and microwaves on your planet?’

‘On my planet we never eat at home.’

Russell approached Vivien, who was on the other side of the counter. He sat down on a stool and looked curiously at the frying pan.

‘Actually, I’ve always been fascinated by people who can cook. I once tried boiling some eggs and managed to burn them.’

Vivien was still concentrating on the pasta and the sauce, undistracted by Russell’s little joke. ‘I keep asking myself who you really are,’ she said.

Russell shrugged. ‘An ordinary guy. I don’t have any
particular
qualities. I’ve had to make do with particular defects.’

‘You do have one quality. I read what you wrote. It’s beautiful. Convincing. It reaches out to the reader.’

This time it was Russell’s turn to be pleased with the compliment and not let it show. ‘Really? It’s the first time I’ve done it.

‘Really. And if you want to know what I think, then I’d add one thing.’

‘What?’

‘If you hadn’t spent your life trying to be Robert Wade, you might have discovered that his brother could be just as interesting.’

Russell felt something stir inside him, something he couldn’t give a name.

All he knew was that there was one thing he wanted to do. And he did it.

He walked around to the other side of the counter, took Vivien’s face in his hands and gently kissed her on the lips. For a moment she returned the kiss but then immediately put a hand on his chest and pushed him back.

Russell noticed that her breath was coming faster.

‘Hey, calm down,’ she said. ‘This wasn’t what I intended when I invited you here.’

She turned, as if to erase what had just happened. For a few moments she occupied herself with the pasta, leaving Russell a view of her back and the smell of her hair. Then she murmured a few words, under her breath.