The Killing Spirit by Jay Hopler

Author:Jay Hopler [HOPLER, JAY]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC050000, LCO000000
ISBN: 9781468305531
Publisher: ABRAMS Books
Published: 2012-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

Quickly arriving home, I went through the apartment and looked for potential money-hiding places. From the Italian crime shows I’d seen on Nossi’s TV, I remembered two or three good spots to do this: behind a painting, under a floorboard, or in the hollow pipe of a brass bedpost. But I didn’t have any of these things in my place—they were back at the old house with Ana—and so I took the money and sat on the bed, trying to figure a solution. I did have one picture up, but it was just an unframed print of boats resting in the Adriatic.

The light blue money bag was next to me, and I held it with both hands, squeezing it again and again. Then I dumped it out across the blanket, letting everything come free. For a moment, seeing it all there, I genuinely thought about taking it for myself. I was surprised at the nice feeling it gave me. Freedom. Of course, even if I could convince myself, I knew that this one bag was not nearly enough to take me beyond the range of its consequences.

I gathered the bills into small piles and paused a couple of times to look at the currency itself, the strange green and purple etchings of Ruder Boškoviċ, his hair tied back in the old-style ponytail, the ruffles of his shirt helping to balance out a slight double chin. Scientific spatial models, spheres, equations rested above his left shoulder. I couldn’t remember what they were, what he’d done. I once knew the answer to this, I suppose, as a child, back when there was time and reason to know such things—long before I’d become a member of the Ministry.

I went to my desk and pulled out the large bottom drawer completely, setting it to the side. There was a good four inches of space between the floor and the rail that held the drawer in position. Before reconfiguring the currency into three-inch piles, I wiped the area out with a towel, then lined the money inside. There was something slightly gratifying about seeing it neatly tucked into this hiding spot, and as I replaced the drawer, I felt strange having so much cash concealed within my desk.

After that, I immersed myself in routine housework—washing the dishes, soaking my work shirts, darning some socks, even scrubbing the floor. I tried—without success—to reach my father by telephone to explain the lack of transportation, why I wasn’t coming. Of course there were other reasons, too, but they had surfaced afterward. Truly, the buses had stopped me.

I replayed the moment Mila insisted I join her and Leni for a drink at the hotel; the way we lost Leni in the crowd; the look on the desk clerk’s face as the two of us headed up to Mila’s room; and even Kruchnik handing me the light blue money bag with such showy self-assuredness. To be honest, I was embarrassed at how easily I’d been drawn into such a scheme. Yet, I wasn’t ready to disentangle myself from whatever it was, whatever it would be.

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