Chapter TwentyFour

The buzzer was still buzzing. Karl lay dead on the floor.

‘Answer it.’ Wayne walked calmly around the couch and sat down beside Scout.

Bruce protested that it was bound to be Farrah, his wife. He said that Wayne could do with him what he wished but that he had no intention of inviting anyone else in so that Wayne could murder them.

Wayne shrugged. ‘So tell her to go away. But make it good. If she comes back with the cops, we all cross Jordan together.’

The buzzer rang again. Bruce tried to focus his thoughts. What excuse could he use to send Farrah away? It was difficult to concentrate; his mind was still ringing with the sound of the shot that had killed Karl. The insistent noise of the door buzzer seemed to magnify the memory, as if the shot was still being fired and Karl was still dying.

Bruce looked down at the body of his murdered friend.

‘Why?’ he asked Wayne. ‘We could have got him out.’

‘Why? Why?’ Wayne ’s emotional barometer swung once again from casual indifference to blind fury. ‘Because he called my best girl a weird, scrawny little bitch, Bruce. That’s fucking why. What the fuck would you have done? What would Mr Chop Chop have done?’

Mr Chop Chop? Who was Mr Chop Chop? Bruce remembered his other life, the one that was now definitely over. He remembered Mr Chop Chop. How could he forget him? Mr Chop Chop’s image was emblazoned on a million Tshirts and lunchboxes.

What would Mr Chop Chop have done?

‘Mr Chop Chop is a fictitious character that I invented. So he wouldn’t do anything, because he doesn’t exist, you insane bastard!’

It was not bravery that led Bruce to abuse Wayne, but fear and loathing. He was in a state of shock.

The door buzzer sounded again, this time even louder and longer. Wayne looked hard at Bruce. He did not like Bruce’s attitude; he felt patronized.

‘I know that Mr Chop Chop is a fictitious character, Bruce. That don’t mean he don’t exist, now, does it? You gonna tell me Mickey Mouse don’t exist? Huh? Fictitious characters got a life inside’a the fiction and what I’m asking you is, what, inside of his personal fiction, would Mr Chop Chop do to any fucker who fucked with his baby and called her names? Now you know as well as I do that Mr Chop Chop would chop chop that fucker good, which is what I did. Now stop working yourself up into ten types of asshole and answer the fucking buzzer.’

Again Bruce struggled to overcome his panic. He had to stay calm. Christ, how could he? He took the phone from the wall and, mastering his shaking voice, attempted to send his nearly exwife away.

He told her she was early. That he couldn’t see her. That he had a woman with him. ‘I’m partying here, Goddamnit. I just won an Oscar.’

If Canute thought he had problems, he never tried to turn back a Beverly Hills spouse intent on discussing alimony.

Bruce put down the phone, the life draining from his face. ‘She’s coming up. She has a key.’

Wayne shrugged, indifferent once again. He wasn’t much bothered either way. He got up and began to drag Karl’s corpse towards the door.

‘Well, I guess I’d better move ol’ Karl, then. You don’t want to be having no discussion about who gets the wedding presents and the CDs over a dead body.’

‘I’ll get her to leave,’ Bruce shouted. ‘Tell me you’ll let her go, tell me you won’t kill her.’

Wayne paused at the door. He was holding Karl’s corpse under the arms. The dead face of the exagent was staring straight up Wayne ’s nose.

‘Maybe. Long as she don’t call us no names. Now I’ll just take of shitforbrains here down into the kitchen, huh? Jes’ tidy him away, so to speak. Scout, you’re in charge.’ He departed, taking the corpse with him.

Scout looked up at Brooke. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you, Brooke.’ She was contrite. ‘I didn’t mean nothing, it’s just you pulled my hair.’

Brooke knew she had only minutes in which to attempt to complete the task she had begun when Wayne had last exited from the room. Scout’s attitude, at least, was encouraging. She seemed to care what Brooke thought of her, which was the best start Brooke could hope for. She knelt down beside Scout.

‘Scout, listen to me. This can’t go on. Sooner rather than later you’re going to get caught, and the more trouble you cause the worse it’s going to be.’

Scout’s stare found its familiar focus on the cushion in her lap underneath which she held her gun.

‘We know we’re in trouble, Brooke. Big trouble. But Wayne ’s got a plan.’

‘What plan can he possibly have?’

‘I dunno, Brooke, but he’s got one. “I got me a plan, hon,” he says, “and everything is gonna be just fine.” That’s what he said. He has a plan for our salvation.’

Brooke had no time to be gentle. ‘His plan is to get you both killed, that’s what his plan is, and that’s how it’s going to happen. The cops will come, Wayne ’ll fight and you’ll both be shot to ribbons. Us too.’

‘He’s got a plan.’

‘To get you killed.’

‘Well, if that’s his plan, then it’s OK with me. We’ll go out together, in a hail of blood, love and glory.’

Brooke’s mind raced. She had only minutes – maybe less – to connect. What could she say? Where was Scout vulnerable?

‘Love and glory,’ Scout repeated. ‘Me ‘n’ Wayne gonna get that tattooed on us one day. It’s our motto.’

Brooke plunged. ‘And you do love him, don’t you, Scout? You love him very much.’

She had connected. This was a subject about which Scout could talk for hours.

‘I love him more than my life, Brooke. If I could pull down a star from the sky and give it him I would. If I had a diamond the size of a TV I’d lay it at his feet. I got feelings bigger than the ocean, Brooke, deeper than the grave.’

It was now or never. ‘ Wayne needs help, Scout. If you love him, you won’t let him die. If you love him, you have to let us be your friends, Scout, let us be his friends.’

Brooke took Scout’s free hand. Scout stiffened a little but allowed herself to be held.

‘Will you help us to be his friends?’

‘If they take him, they’ll put him in the chair,’ Scout whispered. ‘They’ll melt his eyeballs. That’s what the chair does t’ya. I read it.’ A tear began to steal its way down her cheek.

‘But it doesn’t have to be that way,’ said Brooke, gently squeezing the small hand she held. ‘Maybe if we bring him in peacefully they’ll put him in a hospital. They’ll try to find out why he gets so angry. Bruce is a big man in this state, Scout. He can help.’

Bruce was transfixed. Could Brooke pull it off? There could be only moments left to do it in. She was close, very close. Ask her for the gun! He wanted to scream it. Every sinew of his body was taut like a dog on a straining leash. Just reach under the cushion and grab the gun.

Scout raised her head to look at Brooke, her eyes as big as fists. ‘You know what I think, Brooke?’

‘What’s that, Scout, honey?’

‘I think you think I’m dumb.’ She seemed to say it more in sorrow than anger, as if she desperately wished it was not so.

Brooke hurried to reassure her. ‘No! No, it’s not true. I don’t think you’re dumb, Scout. I like you, I think you’re smart and you’ve got to be smart now. You don’t want, to die and you don’t want us to die either. Above all, you don’t want Wayne to die. One day you’re gonna to lay diamonds at his feet. Give me the gun, Scout.’

Scout sighed. It was almost wistful, almost as if she was daydreaming. ‘You want me to give you my gun?’

‘It’s best for us all, Scout, including Wayne.’

Bruce realized he was holding his breath. He’d been holding it for quite some time. He tried to let it out slowly so as not to make a sound. If he intruded on the moment it could be disastrous. Scout was still daydreaming into Brooke’s face.

‘If I give it to you, will you be my friend?’