Bad Intentions

CHAPTER 31

Axel turned up that Friday at six o’clock in a silver Nissan Micra.

‘What is that?’ Reilly said. He gawped at the small vehicle.

Axel patted the roof of the car. ‘It’s a rental car,’ he said. ‘The police have picked up my Mercedes and taken it to forensics.’

‘Why?’

‘It needs to be examined as part of their investigation,’ Axel explained. ‘We’ve got to make do with this.’

Reilly looked at the car dubiously. He was holding a bag. Inside it was a warm sweater. Wrapped in the sweater were the Koran and the Enfield revolver with six bullets in its chambers. At his feet stood a small travel kennel. The kitten peered nervously out through the bars.

‘Are you sure that’s a real car?’ Reilly said. ‘And not a Christmas decoration?’

‘Have you got the letter?’ Axel asked. ‘Give it to me. I want to have a look at the bloody thing.’

Reilly pulled the envelope from his back pocket.

Axel tore out the sheet and held it up to the light.

‘No self-respecting man would use this kind of stationery,’ he said. ‘This is a woman’s writing paper.’

He folded the sheet, put it in his pocket and opened the boot. Reilly placed his bag next to Axel’s backpack and a cardboard box of groceries.

He left the kennel with the kitten on the back seat.

After a few kilometres the kitten started to drool.

‘He’s travel-sick,’ Reilly explained.

‘Is he going to throw up?’ Axel frowned.

‘If he does, he’ll only throw up inside the cage,’ Reilly said, ‘and I’ve lined it with newspaper.’

Axel braked and turned into a Shell petrol station. ‘I forgot something,’ he said. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

He disappeared into the shop and returned with a carrier bag. Reilly heard him open the boot and rummage around. Then he was back behind the wheel.

‘I’ve bought some great food,’ he said. ‘Free-range pork.’

‘What kind of pork is that?’ Reilly asked.

‘From pigs that have been reared out in the open. They’ve never been confined in crates with other pigs.’

Reilly wondered if Axel might be having a laugh at his expense.

‘You want me to believe it tastes better than any other pork?’

‘Of course. A free pig is a happy pig, and a happy pig is a tasty pig.’

‘Now I get it,’ Reilly said. ‘A happy pig is a more expensive pig. And we can’t tell the difference anyway.’

‘I can,’ Axel said. ‘Pigs in crates can’t even turn around. They spend their whole lives standing up, crammed together, biting each other.’

‘I can’t imagine who might have sent that letter,’ Reilly said.

It was nearly nine in the evening when they pulled up at the grass bank in front of the cabin. They made two trips with the luggage, which they dumped on the floor, and then they lit the paraffin lamps. Reilly disappeared into his usual bedroom. He placed his bag next to his bed and made a disturbing discovery. The zip was not completely closed. Hadn’t he shut it properly? He unzipped the bag and looked inside. At the top lay a carrier bag from Shell containing paprika-flavoured crisps.

‘Did you open my bag?’ he called out.

Axel called back. ‘Is that a problem? My backpack was full.’

Reilly rummaged around in his bag. He made sure that the revolver was still there, inside the sweater. This new situation unsettled him. Perhaps he had already lost control? He shoved the bag under his bed, stood up and chewed his thumbnail.

‘Are you coming?’ Axel shouted. ‘We need to start cooking the pork.’ He looked in to see Reilly standing by the bed.

‘What’s up? You look weird.’

Reilly let the kitten out of the cage. It padded around and explored every corner of the room. Axel went out into the kitchen. He opened the package of pork fillet and held the large, pink lump of meat in his hands.

‘Here’s the free-range piggy,’ he said, ‘and look how happy he is.’

He took a knife from a drawer and placed it on a chopping board. It was a heavy-duty knife with a rubber handle, a long slim blade and a blood groove. A knife like that handles well. Reilly shuddered. It has superb grip. That knife can cut straight to the bone. He started to sweat. He was not sure he was in control. His body yearned for the feeling of well-being that the drugs normally induced. Perhaps he ought to get high?

‘Peel the potatoes,’ Axel ordered him. He shoved a bag in Reilly’s direction.

Reilly kept an eye on the kitten, which was still wandering around the cabin.

‘We need to keep the doors closed,’ he remembered. ‘If the kitten gets out, he won’t be able to find his way back.’

‘But he was born here,’ Axel reminded him. ‘And he needs to pee and much more besides. Go and find an old crate in the shed and make some sort of litter box for him. Get some sand from the shore.’

He cut the meat into suitably sized steaks, lit the gas stove and melted butter in the frying pan. He set the table and opened a bottle of red wine.

Later, over dinner, Axel looked at him for a long time.

‘How long have we known each other?’ he asked.

Reilly did the mental arithmetic.

‘We first met when we were six years old and now we’re twenty-five. That’s nineteen years.’

He stuck his fork into the free-range pork.

‘Friendships like that don’t grow on trees,’ Axel said. ‘Nineteen years. That’s a lifetime.’

Reilly nodded.

‘It takes a long time to build a friendship,’ Axel went on. ‘Think about all the people you meet during your life. At different stages. At nursery and at school, when you’re travelling or studying, at work. At parties, in the street and in shops. How many of them become friends for life?’

Reilly waited for Axel to continue.

‘Hardly any of them,’ Axel said. ‘Friendship is worth much more than love. Friendship is a commitment. Don’t you agree?’

‘Yes,’ Reilly said.

‘I think Jon reneged on his obligations,’ Axel said.

‘We’ll never know,’ Reilly said.

‘The letter,’ Axel said.

‘The business with the letter is totally bizarre,’ Reilly said, ‘but we can’t blame Jon because we can’t be certain.’

They looked at each other across the table.

‘It’s noble of you to think well of Jon, but being naive is dangerous.’ Suddenly he smiled a warm and broad smile. ‘A toast to humanity,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘A toast to God and His mysterious ways. And a toast to women who spread their legs for us. At least if we ask them nicely.’

After dinner they walked down to Dead Water.

From the shore they studied the surface of the lake, and they were mesmerised by its black sheen for a long time.

‘Dare we go out there?’ Axel said.

‘In the boat, you mean?’

‘No, on foot.’

Reilly snorted.

‘Everyone can walk on water,’ Axel claimed. ‘It’s merely a matter of weight distribution.’

Reilly picked a rush and started chewing it. He moved a couple of steps to the side. He did not like Axel being too close; you never knew what was on his mind. But Axel copied his movements.

‘Don’t let them get you,’ he said. ‘Don’t let them put you in a cell. It’ll kill you.’

Reilly stared at the point where Jon had let himself fall into the water. ‘I’m going to die sooner or later,’ he said. ‘It’s just a matter of time. I thought we agreed on that.’

‘Listen to me,’ Axel said. ‘This is serious. You will go mad. You won’t be able to take drugs either, not regularly, anyway. You’ll be sitting on your bunk, your teeth chattering, and no one will care about you. The prison service doesn’t waste resources on someone like you. They can’t be bothered to rehabilitate a scabby old drug addict. No one will visit you either. Who would come, Reilly? Do you think Nader will turn up and read aloud to you from the Koran?’

Reilly started walking back towards the cabin. He wanted to be with the kitten. He needed to get high. He wanted to curl up in a chair in front of the fire. Axel’s words were starting to get to him.

‘Putting someone in a prison cell is a form of assault,’ Axel said.

Reilly carried on walking.

‘And no one will want you when you get out, either,’ Axel shouted after him. ‘No one will give you a job or a place to live. Do you think that’s what you deserve?’

Reilly ran the last bit of the way and tore open the door.

‘That’s exactly what I deserve,’ he said. ‘And so do you.’

The fire had died down. Only a few red embers remained.

Axel rose from his chair and started clearing up. He was signalling that the evening had come to an end, like someone shutting a café.

Time, gentlemen.

Time for bed.

Reilly stood up. He was a little unsteady. The high which had lifted him for the last hour was leaving his body. It slithered away like a snake and took its sweet poison. He carried bottles and glasses out into the kitchen. He quickly checked the cutlery drawer to see if the carving knife with the rubber handle was back in its place. It was missing.

Axel entered with two sleeping bags.

‘Blue or green?’ he wanted to know.

‘Blue,’ Reilly replied.

The sleeping bag was rolled up tightly inside a nylon bag. Reilly went to his bedroom and tossed it on the bed, where it bounced and rolled back and forth on the foam mattress.

Axel leaned lazily against the doorframe.

‘Do you remember what we used to call Jon when we were kids?’ Reilly asked.

Axel did. ‘We called him Toten Transport. That was what it said on his dad’s truck. It was the name of the company he worked for. Jon had a cap with their logo. Sometimes we just called him Toten. Why do you ask about that now?’

‘Don’t know,’ Reilly mumbled.

‘You think too much,’ Axel said.

Reilly fetched the kitten.

‘I’ll make breakfast tomorrow,’ Axel said. ‘Is that kitten going in the sleeping bag with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Before I go to bed there’s something important that I want to say to you,’ Axel said. ‘I understand people.’

‘Right.’

‘I see straight through them and I know their motives. And their intentions. I’m always one step ahead. If you get my drift.’

‘Stop bothering me.’

‘Pleasant dreams,’ Axel said.

Reilly closed the door. Axel washed up after dinner, he thought, and I dried. I don’t recall drying the carving knife. What the hell has he done with it? He dug the revolver out of the bag and crept inside his sleeping bag, still fully dressed. Now that the door was closed he was surrounded by dense, cool darkness. The kitten curled up against the wall. Reilly lay very still with the revolver in his hand. He focused all his energy on listening, and the sounds amplified: something was being pushed or pulled across the living room floor. Sharp cracks he could not identify. And there was the sound of heavy breathing, but perhaps that was coming from him. Mustn’t fall asleep, he told himself, mustn’t doze off; suddenly he’ll be looming over me with the knife and it’ll go right in between my ribs. Afterwards he’ll throw me in Dead Water and I’ll end up under the mud like a rotting log. Then the secret will be safe. That’s what he wants. That’s why he dragged me up here. I’ve known it all the time, but I’m ready for him.

He placed his hand on the kitten. Its vertebrae felt like tiny bumps under its fur. No one knows I’m here, he remembered. No one would know where to look. He was sure he could hear footsteps in the living room. He was also convinced he could hear noises coming from the room that lay furthest away and which used to be Jon’s. As if Jon had been sleeping in there all along and was now waking up, and the whole thing had been a nightmare. Of course he hadn’t drowned himself. It all seemed incomprehensible to Reilly. Jon sank to the bottom, he thought, and we just watched. We rowed away. We went to bed. We lied to Ingerid. We’re second-class citizens.

Suddenly his door opened. Light from the living room poured in. Axel was standing in the doorway. Reilly clutched the revolver inside his sleeping bag.

‘I was just wondering,’ Axel said. ‘If someone were to give you a million. Would you bite the head off a viper?’

‘A live viper?’

‘Very much alive.’

‘Of course not. Why do you ask? Have you completely lost the plot?’

‘Just wanted to know if you had balls. You don’t,’ he declared.

Then he left. Floorboards creaked as he walked away. Reilly noticed that Axel hadn’t shut the door completely so he carefully shifted the kitten and wriggled out of the sleeping bag to close it. Axel had planted an image in his head, and it was unbearable. He had a taste of rot in his mouth and a feeling of nausea in his throat and stomach, as though a headless snake was squirming down there. He crept back inside the sleeping bag. He deliberately did not zip it up but lay there alert, waiting. It was getting stormy outside, the wind went through the wooden cabin with a violent, compelling force. The door opened a second time. Axel entered.

‘I forgot something,’ he said. ‘That bloody tooth of mine has started to hurt again. You don’t happen to have some paracetamol?’

Reilly hoisted himself up on one elbow.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Or some Pinex? Ibuprofen? Paralgin?’

Reilly shook his head. He did not understand where Axel was going with this. He’s summoning up his courage, he thought. The third time he’ll strike. He’ll wait until dawn, and then he’ll come. But I can wait, I can stay awake, and I have six bullets in the chambers.

When Axel had left for the second time, Reilly leaned over the edge of the bed and retrieved his bag. He took out the Koran, which was at the bottom, found a box of matches in the drawer of the bedside table and lit the paraffin lamp. He began to read. After a while he started to calm down. The text settled him. His life acquired a sense of direction. The kitten lay snuggled against the wall, purring. The wind took hold, nature surrendered and the door was opened for the third time. Reilly dropped the Koran and fumbled for the revolver.

‘What about the tip of your little finger,’ Axel asked. ‘Would you sacrifice the tip of your little finger for a million?’

Reilly groaned. ‘You’ve got to stop bothering me.’

‘You still don’t have the balls,’ Axel said. ‘And you’re not greedy either. How are you going to manage?’

‘Are you worried about me?’ Reilly asked.

Axel was now halfway across the threshold. Reilly could not see his right hand. Perhaps he was holding the knife. Any moment now he might leap across the room. It would only take him a few seconds.

‘Don’t stay up reading for too long,’ Axel said gruffly. ‘The light is bad. You’ll damage your eyes. My mum told me so.’

‘What else did your mum tell you?’ Reilly asked.

‘To always think the worst of people. Here you are, my best friend, reading the Koran. With your kitten asleep by your side. An image like that is just too good to be true. What do you say, Reilly? Is it true?’

‘Go to bed,’ Reilly growled.

‘Why do you still have all your clothes on when you’re in your sleeping bag?’ Axel wanted to know.

‘Because it’s chilly in here.’

‘Don’t forget your evening prayers. Allah is great, or whatever you say?’

‘Are you scared of the dark?’ Reilly asked. ‘Since you keep running back to my room?’

Axel made no reply. Instead he calmly retired. Reilly heard his footsteps crossing the floor. He heard a door slamming. And a murmur from the woods rose out of the silence at Dead Water.