The three exchanged glances, then looked away. There was an etiquette, River supposed. Small talk not encouraged. He felt wary about getting close, his hair dirty, his face banged about – people who looked like they’d walked into trouble looked like they’d walk into more – but they didn’t much bother with him. It was Lech they focused on, all three backing away as Lech bent and peered through the car window. After a moment, River did the same.
Jim’s body was as he and Sid had left it: prone in the gap between front seats and back. A dark lump showing white at the hands and face; the latter stained perhaps, or just in shadow. River was trying to see this as a stranger might – a passing citizen, your friendly neighbourhood sex aficionado – but Jim seemed pretty dead however you looked at it.
The woman spoke softly. ‘We were wondering. Just … Should we call someone?’
‘Anonymously,’ one of the men offered. ‘We could just … leave. And call it in.’
Lech stepped back. ‘He’s corpsing,’ he said. ‘You’ve never seen it before?’
‘… “Corpsing”?’
‘Sometimes called deading. It’s what it sounds like.’ He’d adopted the patient tone you’d need when talking to an infant. ‘You lie still as you can, hardly breathing. Sometimes you fake a wound.’
‘I can see blood.’
‘There you go.’
‘But I mean, he actually looks dead.’
‘Yeah, he’s a good one.’ To River’s ear, Lech sounded expert.
‘How long does he stay like that?’
‘Long as it takes,’ said Lech.
‘I’m not sure,’ the first man said again. ‘I still think we should make a call.’
‘Yeah, that’ll go down well. Because either he’s dead, and you three have been staring at his body for however long it’s been. Or he isn’t, and all’ll happen is you’ve fucked up everyone’s evening.’
‘There’s no call for language.’
There was shuffling, some shared wordless worry.
Peering through the window again, Lech said, ‘Look, if you’re too vanilla, that’s fine. But we’ve come a long way, so if you don’t mind.’
They fell quiet, and clustered round the car. River was counting his heartbeats: eight nine ten. Faster than they ought to be. He wondered if anyone could hear, then thought: yeah, well. Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen, your heart beating faster? In the circumstances?
He heard a zipper being undone.
After another twenty seconds, one of the men said, ‘This is doing nothing for me.’
Lech, sounding gruff, said, ‘There’s activity in the corner over there. Maybe more your thing.’
Glances were shared.
The woman said, ‘I’m a bit of a traditionalist.’
Lech shrugged. ‘Takes all sorts.’
‘So I’ll just …’
She backed away, then turned and walked towards the group in the far corner.
‘Yeah, think I’ll join her,’ the first man said.
The second man moved away moments later, but stopped and looked back. ‘He’s pretty convincing. I’ll give him that.’
Then River and Lech were alone.
‘Nice work,’ River said at last.
‘I’m going to need to disinfect my head.’
‘Was that you, by the way? With the zip?’
‘Worked, didn’t it?’
‘Because I can give you a moment if you—’
‘Fuck off. Got the keys?’
River had the keys.
‘So get in and drive away.’
River got into the dead man’s car while Lech returned to the one they’d arrived in.
Some of those congregated in the far corner watched as they left, but most had other things on their mind.
THERE WERE CRIMES, THERE were high crimes, there were treasonous acts, and there was the downright unforgivable.
‘When I find out who stole my lighter,’ Lamb said, ‘there will be consequences.’
The early light of Chelsea had crept along the lane, crawled up the safe house’s walls and drainpipes, and was now checking out its uncurtained rooms, filtering through the takeaway smells and overnight odours. The only company it found was in the front room: a muted gathering. Louisa occupied a corner where she sat cross-legged, a half-arsed yoga position, the notion of which – half-arsed yoga – was projecting crazy images onto her tired brain, while Catherine, next to her, might have been kneeling: her long dress made it hard to tell. Whatever, her expression was calm and unruffled. There are times when recovering addicts achieve levels of serenity denied the rest of us, thought Louisa. The bastards. As for Roderick Ho, he’d been dispatched to find another lighter, or matches, or anything capable of producing flame, which would save Lamb the trouble of having to travel all the way into the kitchen to light a cigarette from the hob, and the rest of them the pain of having to hear about it.
In the circumstances, she thought, Reece Nesmith III was handling himself pretty well. Especially given the greeting Lamb had offered, its tone suggesting that Reece were the principal cause of inconvenience rather than its current object.
‘Well, if it isn’t the incredible shrunken man.’
