Collusion

53

‘You can’t get away,’ the child said.

‘I know,’ the Traveller said.

He examined the door for a way to lock it, but there was none. He turned a circle, looking for another exit, but there was none. The quiet pressed hard against his temples, the dimly lit walls butting against his vision, the low rows of seats advancing towards him.

‘Jesus fucking bastard of a—’

The girl tugged at his hand. ‘You said a bad word.’

The Traveller pulled his hand away from hers. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Why did you do that?’

She sat down on one of the benches, arranged the doll in a standing pose on her lap. ‘Do what?’

‘Come to me,’ he said. ‘Why’d you do that?’

‘To say hello.’ She walked the doll back and forth along the bench.

Maybe he could just walk out and leave her here. Maybe he could slip out of the main doors, past the bloody snake on the pillar, and run. And maybe not. ‘Christ,’ he said.

‘Do you know Gerry?’

You asked me that already,’ he said. Standing here fretting was doing no good, so he sat down beside her. ‘I said yes, didn’t I?’

‘Do you really know him?’

He wrung his hands together, trying to force his mind into action. ‘No, I don’t. Why are you so bloody worried whether I know Gerry Fegan or not? Why would I know him, for Christ’s sake?’

The girl leaned close until her shoulder pressed against his arm. He inched away.

You’ve got friends like him,’ she whispered.

‘What?’ He turned to see her hard blue eyes.

‘Secret friends,’ she said.

He laughed, but it died in his throat.

Her gaze did not waver. ‘Lots and lots of them,’ she said.

‘What are you talking about?’ He stood, wiped his sweating palms on his jeans.

She brought a finger to her lips, shush, and gave him a conspiratorial smile.

‘What are you talking about, “friends”?’

She grinned, then, and giggled. ‘It’s a secret.’

‘Jesus,’ the Traveller said, making for the door. ‘Fuck this for a game of soldiers, I’m getting out. Don’t follow me.’

He was halfway to the door when she sang, ‘Gerry’s going to get you.’

The Traveller stopped, turned on his heel. He considered calling her a liar, but the certainty on her face caused a ripple of doubt in his mind.

A cool draught licked the back of his neck.

‘Can I help you with anything?’ a voice asked.

Slow, easy, he swivelled to see a middle-aged woman wearing a sweater and a minister’s collar closing the door behind her. She smiled the tepid, condescending smile of the clergy. He put his palm to the side of her head and shoved. She staggered shoulder-first into the wall, the shock on her face the last thing he saw before he wrenched the door open and bolted outside, her scream the last thing he heard before it all went to shit.