A Day and a Night and a Day: A Novel by Glen Duncan

Author:Glen Duncan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9780061984211
Publisher: Ecco
Published: 2008-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

When he opens them she’s at the half-open door with her back to him and the gun hanging from her hand. Outside it’s completely dark, still raining.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She starts—then freezes. Firelight plays on the leather jacket’s fractured back, makes him think of shields hung in a medieval banquet hall. He can’t believe he fell asleep. He feels refreshed but the two injuries are filled with cellular gossip.

“Take your finger off the trigger and turn around slowly.” He speaks as if he’s the one with the weapon, it’s so obvious she’s terrified. “Don’t panic. Just turn around slowly. It’s okay.”

She lowers her shoulders and turns around. Her eyes are wide, her mouth slightly open.

“Take your finger out of the trigger guard. Just hold it by the barrel and put it on the floor. Pointing away. I don’t want it to go off, that’s all.”

“I’ve no touched your wallet,” she says. “Honest to God I’ve no touched your wallet.”

“I believe you. It’s okay.” He keeps still and continues in the tone of gentle authority. “That’s it, easy onto the floor. Pointing away. Good. Okay.”

She straightens, staring at the gun—now with a twinge of loss, he thinks. Whatever else it’s power and she’s relinquishing it. A gun in your hand even for a few seconds denudes the mystery of killing. You see a new no-nonsense version of history.

“I’m just going to sit up,” he says. “That’s all. So I can talk to you. Everything’s okay. Do you want to sit down?”

“I’ve no robbed you,” she says. “Check your wallet if you don’t believe me. I’ve no touched your money.”

“I told you I believe you. Why do you want the gun?”

She doesn’t answer; not strategically, but because her incredible actions are just catching up with her.

“If you’re not going to sit down then promise me you’ll leave the gun alone.”

She puts the gun hand in her jacket pocket. The other hand’s gone reflexively to clutch the shoulder bag shut. “Don’t tell anyone,” she says.

“I won’t.”

“No but I mean really.”

“I really won’t tell anyone.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Swear?”

“Look who would I tell? I’m not supposed to have a gun either.”

“I haven’t done anything, you know. I haven’t done anything wrong. You’ll no believe that.”

“I do believe it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not.”

The flow of this exchange surprises them into silence. But that forces a worse intimacy.

“What do you want it for?” he says. She looks at the floor. He waits, then asks, “Protection?”

He can feel disappointment coming off her. Familiar disappointment: her ideas never work out. This is another stalled point from which she can fall back into herself, where it would be better to stay if it weren’t for things from the world rousing her impulses. This is what happens: she acts, gets ahead of herself, fucks it up. She’s been getting things wrong as long as she can remember.

“Well whatever,” he says. “I’m guessing it wasn’t for a bank job.”

Tiniest move of the head to acknowledge he’s trying to be nice about it.

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