Chapter 10
The car sped away down the street. I heard a thump on the back window as the man briefly caught up, and I looked in my mirrors. In the split second I had I took in a man of around my height, dark hair, designer beard, a diamond in his left ear, smart expensive-looking clothes, and a heavy ring on the hand he had raised in a fist. The girl squealed a little and clutched at the headrest behind me. I turned left, then right, then left, then put my foot down. In minutes we were far enough away to stop. I pulled over and cut the engine.
"Thank you so much." She leaned forward between the seats. I hadn't had the partition installed that company cabs had.
"No problem. That your boyfriend?"
"Yes."
I glanced at her in the rear-view mirror, taking in her appearance for the first time. She was dishevelled, blonde hair damp and tangled, a deep cut above one eye leaking down the side of her face, and a split lip.
"He do that to you?"
She burst into tears. Shit. As I did with Arthur when he was upset or hysterical, I waited it out, then passed her a tissue when she stopped.
"I'll take you to the hospital." I started the engine again.
"Oh, but—"
"You need that cut seeing to."
"I don't have any money. He controls my money."
"Don't worry about that. What's your name?"
"Cheryl."
"Travis." I began to drive to the hospital. "You live with that arsehole?"
"Yes. We're engaged." She held up her hand to show me a large diamond.
"You're not going back to him, are you?" I scowled, thinking of Iris, scared to leave Sport and worried she had nowhere to go.
"No." Cheryl shook her hand. "That was the last time. I thought he was going to kill me. He had me by the throat. My parents live in Gotham. I'll go there."
"It's not a nice place."
"It's better then here. It doesn't have him."
"Good point."
It took only minutes to reach the hospital, and like the good Samaritan I was, I parked and took her inside. At least two nurses looked at me like I was something stuck to their shoe, until Cheryl loudly said her fiancé had hurt her and I was the kindly taxi driver who'd brought her in. After about an hour's wait, someone came to get her.
"Can I have your number?" she asked.
"I don't have a phone."
"Oh. I just wanted to be able to get in touch. To thank you."
"There's no need."
She stared hard at me for a moment, then her eyes widened. "Wait a minute. Are you Travis Bickle? You look like him, except for the hair. He drove a taxi, too. It's you, isn't it?"
"Um—" My face warmed. "Yeah."
"I read about you in the paper, a few years ago. You helped that girl. I was sixteen then. You're really a hero, aren't you?"
"I wouldn't go that far."
She leaned closer to whisper in my ear, and recited an address. "I won't be going back there," she added. "But he'll be there."
"Miss?" The nurse prompted.
"Good luck, Cheryl. Take care of yourself." I left her with the nurse and went back to my car.
I picked up a fare outside the hospital and when I dropped them off, I still had Cheryl's address in my head. It was in Queens, and I was already virtually there. Should I? My jaw clicked as I imagined the life Cheryl might have been living. "That was the last time," she said, meaning he'd hit her before. "I thought he was going to kill me. He had me by the throat." How scared she must have been. That type of man probably kept her from her friends, too. With her parents in another city, no one to run to, she must have felt helpless; resigned to stay with him, knowing it would keep happening.
I began looking for the address. I knew the general area, and it didn't take long to find the house—a two storey building on its own, with a few trees in front and a BMW on the drive. Another rich entitled bastard that thought he could rule the world, and his woman. I parked a block away and walked back.
The house was in darkness, so either he'd gone to bed, happy and relaxed in the knowledge that he'd pulled Cheryl into line, or he was out looking for her. I slipped around the side of the house, out of sight of any neighbours. A quick check showed me no one was in sight. I pulled the gun out of the back of my pants and used it to smash a window, then reached in to unlock it, the way a burglar might. Then I went around the back to the door. Already, a light was on upstairs. I put the gun away and knocked.
Adrenaline pumped through me as another light came on. I waited, hands hanging loosely at my sides, until the bearded man came into view, wearing pyjama pants. He had a gun in his right hand. I would have to be careful.
"Who the hell are you?" he shouted through the glass. "You break my window?"
I grinned.
The guy scowled, and lowered the gun while he unlocked the door. He kept his hand low at his side when he opened it. "What the fuck do you want?"
I took the chance of him being off-guard, lunged in and latched onto his wrist. He was more muscular than me, but the element of surprise enabled me to unbalance him and twist the gun from his grip.
"Whoa! What the hell?" He took a step back. "What is this?"
"It's a message from Cheryl." I stepped into the house and kicked the door closed.
"Who are you? She been fucking around?"
"No. I never met her before tonight. I was driving the car she ran to."
"A taxi driver?" He frowned. "I know you, don't I?"
"Maybe."
"Look, put the gun down, man. I haven't done anything."
"Other than beat your girl? Put her in the hospital? Make her afraid for her life? That's nothing, is it?"
"What do you want? Money?"
"I don't want your money." I glanced around the room. It was a kitchen with a table and chairs to the left. "Pull out one of those chairs and sit down."
He did so, eyeing his gun in my hand. Was he wondering if he could fight me for it? Or simply watching warily, wondering if I was going to shoot him? I weighed up my options, checked the Beretta, which only had one bullet in it, then pulled out the Colt. His eyes widened.
"What the fuck are you doing? I'll call the cops."
I laughed, sounding somewhat like Arthur when he was upset. "This gun of yours has a single shot in it. There are six in mine. You have a choice. I'm going to give you the Beretta and you're going to put the bullet in your own head. You're a worthless piece of shit that doesn't deserve to see another day. If you turn it on me, you won't have the chance to pull the trigger. You'll take all six of these bullets, and I know where to put them to cause maximum pain without killing you. You'll bleed to death in agony. What's your choice?"
"You're insane!" he exclaimed. "You're that crazy guy that was in the paper for killing those men a few years ago."
"They were scum," I said through my teeth. "So are you. It's your decision what happens next."
"You're not serious." His voice shook a little and his gaze switched from one gun to the other. I lifted my own and flicked off the safety.
"I don't have all night."
"Wait a minute. We can talk about this. What do you want?"
I felt like a different person; like the man I'd been that night I killed Sport and those guys working for him. Like a super-hero, cleaning the city of the worst elements who lived in it. It was almost like I was playing a part in a movie.
"I've told you want I want, and I'm done talking." I fired, and the bullet hit him in the left shoulder. He was right-handed so disabling the other side wouldn't help.
He screamed and yelled, clutching himself with the other hand as blood ran down his chest. "You arsehole!"
"You know what the options are. I have five left. You can end it all now, or you can go through this for the next several hours."
His yelling turned to begging, then sobbing, and eventually, agreement. "All right. All right. Give me the fucking gun," he wheezed.
"Remember what I said. I am faster than you. Turn it even an inch in my direction, and the next one will be in the other shoulder. After that, your dick." I placed the Beretta on the table in front of him. "You know what to do."
I expected him to beg some more or try to shoot me despite what I'd said. I thought he'd drag it out much longer and force me to shoot him again. But he slowly picked up the gun with a shaking hand and stared at it, still moaning from the wound in his shoulder. Time stood still as he turned the gun, the barrel wobbling, and tucked it under his chin.
I thought about the scenario I'd set. Apparently, a burglar broke the window. The house-owner surprised the burglar and got shot in the shoulder. But then, he dies from a bullet out of his own gun. Did he shoot himself because he was in agony? Perhaps, if he had no means of calling for help. Or maybe he was already thinking of ending his life. It would baffle whoever found him, for sure. I couldn't help the grin, as my victim's finger began to tighten on his trigger. His eyes were wide and scared, nostrils flaring as he took his last few breaths.
I took a step back to avoid the splatter as he fired. The gun fell from his hand and slid across the floor. I found some paper towels, wiped my prints off the gun, then put his prints back on it before I dropped it on the floor. A quick run around the ground floor of the house found two telephones. I pulled the wires out of the wall with my hand covered by my shirt cuff, then I left, leaving the back door open. No lights were on in the neighbouring houses, and I didn't see anyone as I slipped out of the garden and made my way back to my car.
I was too wired to work anymore. I smoked a couple of cigarettes as I drove home, but then sat in the car for an hour and smoked some more before I went up to the apartment. I went over and over what I'd done in my head, and a couple of times I found myself laughing. I'd already spent too long in Arthur's company.
Arthur was asleep, his deep breathing steady and even. I took off my jacket and boots and put my gun under the pillow. Then I dropped onto the floor and began doing push-ups. I managed twenty before my arms started to shake. Considering it was so long since I'd done any exercise, that wasn't too bad. I rolled over and did sit-ups. Perhaps I should buy some hand weights. There wasn't much room to put more stuff in the room, but a couple of dumbbells, or some kettle bells would fit in a corner.
Eventually, I wore myself out enough to relax. I had a quick freshen up in the bathroom, stripped down to my underwear, and got into bed. It was dawn, and it was starting to get light outside. It was a miracle I hadn't disturbed Arthur, but he slept on, curled on his side. I slid close to him and rested my arm around his waist.
As soon as I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, all I could think about was what I did with Arthur the last time we lay here together. I remembered the feel of his dick in my hand; thick and wet. My own stiffened at the thought of his cool fingers stroking me, and the memory of his groans of pleasure. I shifted slightly, desperate to grind myself against him and get some friction.
I tried to think about something else. Cheryl came to mind. I thought about the life she had left behind and her scared face when she got in my car. I imagined her calling her parents from the hospital and finding a way to get back to Gotham to be with them. My erection began to go down and I managed to relax enough to sleep.
