Part 24 (1/2)

I didn't move. 'I'm taking the picture!' When Jerome turned round to ask me again he found himself looking straight into the eye of my gun. His face lost its composure and then regained it.

'This isn't the movies. You're not going to use that on me. You know you're not. Not without your puppetmaster pimp to tell you what to do. You couldn't even shoot it straight. Now be a sensible lady, and put it down.'

I had a gun. He didn't. So. 'Stand away from my picture, Jerome. Go and lock yourself in your studio and you won't get hurt.'

Jerome looked at me gently. 'My dear, what we have here is a reality gap. It's my picture. I painted the forgery, remember. My talents have allowed us to get this far. All you did was get undressed, lie back and open wide. Let's face it, that's par for the course in your line of work.'

'Nemya died.'

'Who's Nemya?'

'Nemya! Nemya, my little cat!'

'I'm very sorry that your cat died. Truly, I'll weep buckets for your kitty when the time comes to pay my respects, but if you will kindly put that nasty little toy away and p.i.s.s off so I can finish packing my picture do you hear me, my dear? My picture and catch a plane out of your squalid, lying, violent, sub-zero a.n.u.s of a country for which not so long ago I traded in my entire d.a.m.ned future-'

'I don't know what a reality gap is. But I know what a gun is. It's my picture. And another thing, my name is not ”My Dear”. My name is Margarita Latunsky.'

'Evidently, my words have failed to penetrate your make-up and hairdo, you encrusted tart-' He strode towards me, hand outstretched ready to grab- 'It's MY MY picture!' banged the gun. Jerome's head flipped back with enough force to lift him off his feet. Beautiful red blood splattered the ceiling. I heard it. Splatter. Jerome was still spinning, as though he'd slipped on a banana skin. picture!' banged the gun. Jerome's head flipped back with enough force to lift him off his feet. Beautiful red blood splattered the ceiling. I heard it. Splatter. Jerome was still spinning, as though he'd slipped on a banana skin.

'Margarita Latunsky,' insisted the silence, without raising its voice.

Jerome thumped to the floor, half his face missing. Killing is a sensation, like abortion or birth, that you can never accurately imagine. Odd. What next?

'My compliments, Miss Latunsky,' said Suhbataar, shutting the kitchen door softly behind him. 'Straight through his eye. Something else we have in common.'

Suhbataar?

'Where's Rudi?'

'Near by.' He smiled, and I saw dark gold. I hadn't seen his teeth until now.

'Where?'

'In the kitchen.' Suhbataar jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

It's going to be all right! Tears of relief welled up. We'll be in Switzerland by tomorrow night! 'Thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d, I I didn't know I Nemya's dead Mr Suhbataar, I hope you understand about Jerome...'

'I understand, Margarita. You did Rudi a favour, too. The English are a devious race. A nation of h.o.m.os.e.xuals, vegetarians, and third-rate spies. This one-' Suhbataar shunted Jerome's half-head over with the tip of his boot 'was planning to sell you, me, Rudi, even Mr Gregorski, all up the river.'

Rudi was safe! I ran to the kitchen, and pushed open the door. Rudi was slumped over the kitchen table, still in his cleaning-company overalls. Drunk at a time like this! I love him with every minute of my life, but this is not a good time to hit the vodka!

'Rudi, darling, wake up now-'

I shook his shoulders and his head tipped up and over at an impossible angle, just like Jerome's had. I saw his face. My jagged scream ended as abruptly as it had begun. It broke over the city. Yes, it has been falling for a long time. The rumble in my head will never die, until earth kisses my ears and eyes shut. Frothing tapeworms of blood were wriggling free from my lover's eyes and nostrils. White as suet, white as suet.

Suhbataar spoke from the living room in an unhurried tone. 'You will have to postpone your sojourn together in Switzerland...'

Gravelly vomit had completely caked up Rudi's mouth.

'...permanently. I'm sorry about your boudoir, your chalet and your children.'

Me, this... Rudi, and Suhbataar's voice, nothing else existed.

'Rudi!' Somebody else was speaking for me.

Suhbataar's voice shrugged. 'Regrettably, Rudi was planning to sell us up the very same river. Mr Gregorski couldn't let that happen. He has his reputation to protect. So he called me in, to test everyone's honesty. The results were less than satisfactory.'

'No. No.'

'Mr Gregorski's suspicions were aroused when your boyfriend ”lost” a wall of money he was laundering through a reputable Hong Kong law firm, and the only excuse he could come up with was that his contact there suddenly dropped dead of diabetes! Dishonesty coupled with a lack of invention is fatal for little crooks.'

Something crunched under my shoe. Bits of a syringe.

h.e.l.l is tiled. The fridge motor shuddered off.

Logic shrieked in. Maybe there was time. 'Ambulance!'

'An ambulance isn't going to help Rudi, Miss Latunsky. He's dead. Not just a little bit dead. He's extremely dead. It would seem that the embittered traitor-forger Jerome laced his celebratory heroin with rat poison.'

His dear eyes. Rudi slid, and slumped off the chair onto the floor. I heard his nose snap. I fled back into the living room, tripped over something and fell to my knees, trying to claw back to yesterday through the pattern in the carpet. It was all too horrible for tears. Something dug between my knuckes. The gun. The gun.

Suhbataar was b.u.t.toning up his long leather coat.

Jerome was lying on his back doused in his own blood, just a few paces away.

And Rudi in the kitchen, with a broken nose.

How had all this come about? Only one hour ago we were in the back of a van and I had wanted Rudi inside me.

I heard myself whimpering, like Nemya under the table.

'Don't take it so hard,' said Suhbataar, tucking the package containing the Delacroix under his arm. Why did his voice never alter? Always the same, dry, soft and gritty. 'Your gang's been on borrowed time for months. Rudi and Jerome were traitors. Mr Gregorski can't permit you to walk away. p.a.w.ns get sacrificed in endgames. Your Interpol friend Miss Makuch and her Capital Transfer Inspectorate are too close.'

'What?'

'Innocuous name for an anti-mafia squad, isn't it? That reminds me, I gave them an anonymous tip-off via a dead letter-box on Kirovsky Island. They'll be here in a few minutes. Calm down. Ex-spies are an embarra.s.sment these days, what with the IMF and trade delegations n.o.body's going to throw away the key on you for killing Jerome. The stolen pictures are irreplaceable, but n.o.body will believe you were the mastermind behind that. Fifteen years at most, out in ten. The prison reform lobby in Moscow is beginning to gain a little ground. Slowly.'

He walked towards the door.

'Put it down! That's my picture! That picture belongs to Rudi and me!'

Suhbataar turned, feigning surprise. 'I don't think Rudi is going to be dealing in stolen masterpieces for a while.'

'I want it!'

'With the greatest respect, Miss Latunsky, you don't count. You never have.'