The serial killers club by Jeff Povey

Author:Jeff Povey [Jeff Povey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Policier
ISBN: 9780446616645
Published: 2007-06-01T10:53:58+00:00

Later, in the men’s room, I am relieved to relieve myself. The awkward darkening atmosphere of the Club is weighing down on me and giving me a migraine. Tony Curtis walks in, midbelch, and stands right next to me. He is surly, and I know his blood pressure is rocketing.

“Burt’s about as funny as a pulled sphincter muscle.”

I stick to my gambit of immediately agreeing with any viewpoint Tony has.

“Absolutely. He peaked the other night, you ask me.”

Tony lets rip with a hot and hard torrent of urine.

“Of course, you know why he’s not so funny tonight.”

Tony looks across at me, raises a querying eyebrow. I have said this on purpose, because I intend to stay alive despite everything.

“Whyssat?”

“Well, I don’t want to say anything . . .”

“Yeah, you do.” Tony crashes through life in a spectacularly blunt and tactless way. I really admire that about him.

“Well . . . and this is between me and you, okay? But I think we’ve got a rat in the Club.”

The washroom goes deadly quiet. Tony pauses an awful long while before he shakes himself, then zips up. He wipes his hands on the front of his shirt. He looks at me, runs a hand over his mouth and chin as he contemplates words that he himself originated. “A rat, huh?”

“Yeah. A rat.”

Tony looks around suspiciously. He is weighing me up, and I know he is connecting with me.

“You finished?” He motions to the urinal.

“Uh, yeah . . . yeah. . . .” I zip up. I turn and walk past Tony to the sinks. I start washing my hands, all the time feeling his eyes boring into the back of my head.

“And you think this rat is affecting Burt’s performance tonight?”

I look up, and in the washroom mirror I can see Tony looming over me, staring straight into my eyes. I blink, feel the beginnings of an anxiety attack. But I hold it all in as I nod, slowly and quite purposefully. “It has to be.”

“How come?”

I pause, blink again. “Burt is the rat.”

As soon as I’ve said it, I feel a slow release of tension. Five seconds after that, I want to hang myself. The repercussions of what I have just said may well signal the end of me. I have no proof, no FBI pictures, nothing. It’s my word against Burt’s.

Tony remains calm. He then takes two steps over to the cubicles, pushes open one of the doors. He looks at me, starts to belch.

“Step into my office a moment.”

I truly don’t believe I can move a muscle. The cubicle door seems to open into complete darkness, a never-ending night. Tony steps aside to make way for me.

I wish this were on tape and I could press rewind.

Somehow or other, I manage to get my legs to move. I am very stiff, though, labored, and the floor seems to be made of molasses. The cubicle door awaits me, the darkness calls to me, and I know there is no way back.

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