Rilke on Black by Ken Bruen

Author:Ken Bruen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Head of Zeus Ltd

Lisa was gone. To change her clothes or something, her attitude preferably. I rang Bonny, arranged to meet her at the Crown. Anything to get out of the flaming house. I felt I’d been kidnapped. In many ways I had.

I went upstairs to check Lisa’s cosmetics. Sitting among them, a bottle of Poison. I’d unscrewed the top and was sniffin’ it when for some reason I glanced at the window. A panda car … then the knock at the door … I bolted down, my heart fucked.

Two uniforms.

“Good evening, Sir, might we step in a moment.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Really Sir, best if we came inside.”

In they came.

“We’ve had a complaint about noise.”

“Just a few friends around. Won’t happen again.”

“You the owner, Sir?”

“Yes … I …”

One of the uniforms looked towards the basement …

“That lead somewhere, Sir?”

Before I could reply, if I could, the other let out a cry, “Merle Haggard … you a Country fan?”

He threw an appreciative eye over my collection. I said, “Feel free to borrow whatever you fancy.”

He selected an armful.

“If I might just …”

“Of course.”

Then he said to the other, “No need to trouble this gentleman further George … is there. Country music has got to be loud.”

As they got to the door, he too looked at the basement.

“Bit of a hooten-Annie down there … the old square dancing.”

“Something like that … yes.”

“Mebbe I’ll drop round, cut the rug with you. I don’t advise you to drink that, it’s poison …”

I looked down, in my left hand was Lisa’s open perfume bottle, the name clearly legible. I said in a weak voice, “Next time I’ll have Lone Star … OK?”

I shut the door, my knees went, I slid to the floor.

A while later, Dex came banging and I let him in.

“Jeez Nick, what happened to you, you’re pale as Michael Jackson.”

“The old Bill were here.”

“Yes, I know. I called them.”

“What?”

“Dual purpose really. Throw them off the scent and sharpen up our act here. We’re getting sloppy … need to get lean and mean. How’d it go, get the old juices flowing … give you back yer edge?”

I couldn’t answer.

I went to the fridge. Bingo, there was a can of Coca-Cola. Back to the living room, I front lobbed it and shouted, “Catch.”

He near fell over, but he got it. Before he could right himself, I kicked his legs from under him and planted a foot on his chest. I opened the Coke, it exploded from the can and I poured it into his face.

“Tell me Dex … does it taste like the real thing?”

“What?”

“Not a replicant, is it?”

“Ah …”

“Where is it?”

“I sold it to a drunk paddy.”

I bounced the can off his forehead.

“Go away,” I said, “before I get very fucking mean.”

My hands shook as I dressed but I realised I hadn’t done any dope all day. Behaved like one, sure. I felt the vague promise of a treacherous hope.

The pub was humming. Bonny was at the counter. A middle-aged guy was pulling chat on her. No

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