Invisible Murder

HE SHOT RIPPED a hole in his side, right under his ribs. He felt it first as an impact, then as a burning, wet sensation. He was still standing, hadn’t been dramatically hurled backward like in the action movies. He had, however, dropped the paint can.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

The voice was Frederik’s, but it was almost unrecognizable from the shock. Tommi was just laughing, a completely normal laugh, as if someone had said something really funny.

“Boom!” he said. “You’re dead.” And then the pistol clicked as he let yet another bullet slide forward into the chamber.

Sándor didn’t want to fall. That would most definitely hurt, and he had already experienced enough pain. But his legs didn’t ask for permission. They just crumpled beneath him, so he fell to his knees, and after that forward, and then onto his side. And, yes, it hurt.

There was yet another shot, but Sándor didn’t feel anything. While the bang was still ringing in his ears, he saw the asbestos-suited figure spin halfway round and topple over onto the floor. Ah, he got shot this time, not you, Sándor thought with a strange sensation of remoteness, as if it were some sort of public statement that didn’t pertain to him.

“Stop it,” Frederik yelled.

“Why? Dude, it’s a Muslim terrorist and a Gypsy. I’m doing the world a fucking service here.”

Someone hoisted up Sándor’s aching body. It was Frederik. The man put his arms around Sándor and supported him, almost affectionately, it felt like, but Sándor wished he would leave him alone. Then the man pushed something cold and metallic into Sándor’s good hand and closed his fingers around it.

The grip of a pistol.

He forced his eyelids open. Yes, it was pistol. A flat, little black one. Smaller than Tommi’s.

“Shoot him,” Frederik whispered. “He’s insane! Shoot him before he kills us all.…”

Why don’t you shoot him? But his irritable question didn’t make it any further than his mind. Frederik raised his hand, placed his index finger over Sándor’s index finger on the trigger, and squeezed.

The back of the Finn’s head exploded. Sándor just had time to see the singed black hole in the face mask, approximately where the man’s mouth was. Then Tommi fell over and hit the tile floor with a jellyfish-like slap.

Frederik let go of Sándor and stood up. He stepped over the crumpled asbestos-suit-clad figure and leaned over Tommi.

Why is he holding Tommi’s hand? Sándor wondered.

But that wasn’t what Frederik was doing. He tore the gloves off Tommi’s hands. Then he picked up Tommi’s pistol and positioned it in Tommi’s dead, floppy hand, wrapping the Finn’s fingers around the grip, pretty much the way he had done with Sándor’s uncooperative fingers.

He’s going to shoot me, Sándor thought. And then he’ll shoot Nina. And make sure the asbestos man is dead, too. And then he’ll walk out of here, safe in the knowledge that no one can point their finger at Mr. Clean and say: He did it.

The flat, little pistol was still in his hand. He only had to lift it. Lift it and aim.

He couldn’t.

Come on, phrala.

He heard the voice so clearly that for a crazy instant he was sure Tamás wasn’t dead after all. It sent a jolt through him, and his finger curled around the trigger. And he fired.

Bang. Howl.

Frederik was standing in front of him with his hands folded as if he were in church, blood gushing out between his fingers. His little finger was missing.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he moaned, the pitch of his voice growing higher and higher with each repetition. He staggered out the door and disappeared.

Sándor contemplated whether he had the energy to drag himself out of the building. He wasn’t sure. The asbestos-suited figure was lying still, a red stain on his chest, and Sándor couldn’t tell if there was any life behind the mask. The paint can was a few meters from him, on its side, and the sand was slowly trickling out around the edges of the lid where it wasn’t completely sealed. And the envelope with the money was also lying on the floor, so close that he could reach it if he stuck out his arm.

He stuck out his arm.