Messenger of Death (20 page)

Machete was
sleeping. Looking at him, she couldn’t comprehend that this
unconscious, bearded man, his skin pale-gray like death, had been
trying to kill her lover the day before. She didn’t feel any hatred
toward him. With the professional compassion of a nurse, she fixed
the tubes leading to his veins, measured his blood pressure, and
left.

After finishing
with the left wing of her floor, she went to the right wing. It was
nearly 2 o’clock in the morning. On the way out of a patient’s
room, she noticed two men in white medical gowns coming off the
elevator. Both had neatly groomed beards, mustaches, and thick
hair. They turned left with the confident steps of doctors very
familiar with the hospital. One of them was rather broad-shouldered
and fat. He stopped at the corner while the other one kept going
toward the end of the corridor, where the police officer was
sleeping, his chin on his heaving chest.

At the next
moment, horror make her immobile—the slim doctor had Stanley’s
gait; she could recognize it from among millions of others. He
stopped short in front of the sleeping police officer, his right
arm hidden under the white medical gown, then carefully stepped
over the guard’s outstretched legs. The fat doctor kept his hand
under his white gown, as well; he was turning his head from side to
side, looking from one end of the hall to the other.

Camilla darted
around the corner to the nursing station. Aimlessly shuffling
papers on her desk, she listened with pounding heart to the
slightest noises, expecting a rattle of shots, a series of screams,
or the noise of a chase. Nothing of that sort happened. She walked
to the elevator, from which both wings could be observed. Nobody
was there: only the police officer who was dozing peacefully at the
entrance to Machete’s room.

An interminable
hour passed by. At 3 o’clock in the morning, a sickening yell from
the left wing startled her. She ran in the direction of the noise,
two other nurses following her. In Machete’s room, they found the
police officer, groaning and holding his head. Machete was lying on
his back, the handle of a dagger sticking out of his throat. He was
dead; his eyes were open, his sheets soaked in blood. The killer
had obviously known how to make his death quick and silent.

The commotion
woke up the whole hospital. The police arrived and began their
investigation. The detective who questioned Camilla didn’t find
anything suspicious in her behavior; other nurses were shaken no
less than she was.

When the shift
was over, Camilla was thoroughly exhausted. She left the hospital,
going out into the summer morning, holding her purse in trembling
hands. The sun had just begun to rise, lingering above the horizon
and throwing its blinding rays straight into her eyes. The city had
started this day like any other, with traffic on the roads and
anxious pedestrians on the sidewalks. Looking at the usual routine
of day-to-day life, she could hardly comprehend that what had
happened was real. She got into her car and steered it into the
busy streets, thinking about possible consequences. A blend of
excitement, guilt, and fear haunted her all the way home. At her
apartment, she took off her shoes at the doorstep and walked
quietly to the bedroom. She found Stanley, lying under the blankets
with eyes open, smiling, and apparently in a very good mood.

“Tired?” was
his first question.

“Oh, Stanley .
. . ,” Camilla sighed, taking off her clothes. “Gosh, I thought I
would die . . . I was so terrified . . . I’m still shaking.”

She lay beside
him and closed her eyes, feeling his embrace.

“Stanley,
darling, I can’t. It’s beyond me. I have to recuperate.”

“I know that
you like it in the morning,” Stanley reminded her.

“Not this
morning. Please, my dear. I can’t. I have to rest a bit. Tell me,
how’d yah do it?”

A proud smile
appeared on Stanley’s face.

“You tell me
first—what happened after Ogre and I left? Lots of fuss?”

“There was. The
police officer was screaming. We all rushed to the room. The biker
was dead. A knife was stuck in his throat, up to the handle. It was
so frightening. The poor police officer was disconsolate.”

Stanley laughed
heartily.

“What would
happen if they discovered my role in all this mess?” Camilla asked
sternly.

“Never, my
sweetheart,” Stanley assured her. “There were no witnesses, other
than you.” He caressed her hair.

“How did you do
that?” she asked. Stanley sat up on the side of the bed and began
to dress.

“We arrived in
an ambulance. I know someone who is an ambulance driver. As you
noticed, Ogre and I wore wigs, phony beards, and mustaches. A few
Devil’s Knights were on patrol around the hospital, but they didn’t
suspect us. Five other guys were waiting inside the ambulance, just
in case. We had guns. I thought we’d have to take the guard into
the washroom and tie him up there. I even took a roll of duct tape
to seal his mouth. But the pig was sleeping like a kid. When I
stepped over his legs, he moved a bit. I grasped my gun, but
happily, he didn’t wake up. Good for him. That saved his life. When
I sneaked behind the curtain, I saw Machete sleeping. I drove my
dagger into his throat. He jerked, but then died in the next
instant. We left down the staircase.”

“Weren’t you
scared?”

“C’mon,
Camilla.” Stanley was already dressed. He bent over and kissed her
eyes. “Take a rest.”

“I love you, in
spite of everything,” she said with her eyes closed.

“I love you,
too. I promise that you’ll never be involved in anything like this,
again. Sleep well.”

He kissed her
once more and left.

When her fear
subsided, Camilla had nearly regained her usual, happy state of
mind. But later, she started examining Stanley not only with the
care of a loving woman but also with the curiosity of a
psychologist. Behind his image of a strong and tough man, she often
saw glimpses of a hellhound with no human features. He claimed that
his actions had always been provoked by circumstances. It was one
thing, though, to have a reason, but another to act upon it it the
way he did. Stanley’s lack of fear and disregard for consequences
were beyond her comprehension. In some way, however, she admired
him even more than before. What he’d done was both terrifying and
mind-boggling. One must be worth something to do that.

For a week they
didn’t see each other. Stanley called her every day, soothing her
nerves with his confident manner of speaking, his charm, and his
careful selection of words—always to the point and convincing.

“I miss you so
much,” he said at the end of each conversation, “but I can’t come
to you. Too many things I’ve got to do these days.”

She listened to
his words with a mixture of delight and fright. The newspapers, the
radio, and the television were all talking about the biker’s war,
contract killings, staggering death tolls, and detonations of large
amounts of dynamite at the businesses and social buildings of rival
factions. She now had no doubt that Stanley was involved in, if not
initiating, many of these events.

“I’d love to
meet you tonight,” he said one evening. “Come to the Dummy Eagle
bar at eight. We’ll have a few beers and then go to my place. I
don’t want yours to be under X-ray.” That was what he called police
surveillance.

When she
arrived, he was already sitting at one of the tables with his usual
welcoming, relaxed smile. Ogre was beside him, his face to the
entrance, as well. Camilla couldn’t understand how they could be so
tranquil in the midst of such turmoil.

She threw an
anxious look around the crowded bar, a rather foolish attempt to
recognize gangsters that might be hunting Stanley.

“Sit down,
sweetie,” Stanley invited, moving a chair. “Relax. Any problems?
Investigations? Tell me, what’s happened since that night? I
couldn’t speak to you about that over the phone.”

“Nothing much,”
Camilla said. “They just spoke briefly to all nurses who worked
that shift. Since a police officer was guarding the room, there
wasn’t much they could ask others. Once, though, my heart stopped
when the detective talked to me. He didn’t ask much, but when he
looked at me. . . . At first I just took him for a kind family man
who had gotten his job on the police force by sheer chance.”

“What was it
about his look?” Ogre asked.

“I don’t know.
But I was as calm as a saint. I wanted to be an actress before I
decided to be a nurse, you know. My acting skills have helped me a
lot in my life.”

“Do you, by any
chance, remember the name of the detective?” Stanley asked.

“Serge Gorte.
Kind of a weird name, isn’t it?”

She noticed how
quickly Stanley and Ogre exchanged glances.

“Forget about
it,” Stanley advised, leaning back in a casual manner. “What do you
want to drink, my cute little actress?”

His face
suddenly became hard and tight, just as she remembered it had been
when she’d seen him for the first time, at the chairlift. He was
looking at Ogre, but Ogre was looking intently into the murmuring
crowd of beer drinkers.

“What is it,
Ogre?” Stanley asked. Camilla’s heart jumped in fear. These guys,
she thought, don’t have a minute to relax from the dangers of their
busy lives. Is this the nature of an adventurous life? If it was,
she wouldn’t be able to live it.

“The shithead
that I was supposed to meet when Machete came. You see him there at
the bar counter? He’s alone.”

“What are you
up to, guys?” Camilla asked. She looked back and saw the man at the
counter. He turned his head and their eyes met. Camilla gave him a
polite but meaningless smile. In the next moment, the man was
staring beyond her, at Stanley and Ogre, trying to retain the last
traces of his vanishing smile. She turned around, only to notice a
remarkable change: Ogre was now smiling, waving at the man in a
friendly manner; Stanley was not tense anymore, but had begun
fiddling with his glass of beer. He touched her hip under the
table.

“Here’s the key
for my Jeep, Camilla. When I give you the signal, go there and wait
with the engine running.”

“What are you
guys up to?” she repeated in whisper.

“Don’t be
scared,” Stanley commanded with a smile. “You’ve said that you’re a
good actress. This is your chance for a good show.

The man who sat
at the bar stood up and came over to their table. By his look, he
seemed a tough guy—middle height, broad shouldered, and apparently
very strong.

“Hi,” he said
to Ogre. “Haven’t seen you in ages.” There was tension in the man’s
eyes. He was trying hard to detect the danger, but couldn’t quite
come to any conclusion, misled by the appearance of friendly
faces.

“Sit down,
Shifter,” Ogre said, nodding at the remaining vacant chair. “Have a
beer with us. This is my friend Stanley. You wanted to meet
him—here is he.”

Stanley shook
hands with Shifter, who relaxed at once. He sat, accepted the
offered bottle of beer, and took a large swig as he stole a glance
at Camilla. Without understanding why, she took part in the game
and returned the glance with a smile, that peculiar smile that only
very coquettish women can master.

What am I
doing? she asked herself. Maybe they want to kill the poor man.
There’s nothing that they wouldn’t do. However, she felt no
strength or will to say “no” and disobey Stanley.

A few minutes
of meaningless small talk apparently convinced Shifter that he was
safe. He even tried to pull off a few jokes, but told them in too
primitive a way, typical of poorly educated people who lack
sophistication and wit. While listening to one of his stupid jokes,
Camilla felt Stanley’s gentle kick under the table. She smiled, as
if reacting to Shifter’s words.

“I’ve gotta get
home, guys,” she said, rising. “It’s getting late.”

“Where are you
going?” Shifter asked.

“I live close
to Serengeti Optical,” she lied. This distant store was the first
landmark that came to her mind.

“I actually
don’t live far from there. Could you give me a ride? I don’t have a
car today. The busses only run once an hour that late,” Shifter
said. She wanted to cry “stupid ass!” but looked at Stanley
instead. He smiled.

“Be careful
with her,” Stanley advised Shifter. “She could break a heart of
steel.”

Shifter
responded with a condescending smile.

“Leave it to
me,” he said with a confidence of Don Juan.

With an
incessantly pounding heart, Camilla led the way to Stanley’s
Jeep.

“I haven’t
asked your name, you beautiful filly, you,” Shifter said playfully
as he tried to catch her arm.

“You only need
a ride, don’t you?” Camilla asked, evading his advances, and
pressing the remote key button. The Jeep responded from a dark
corner of the parking lot.

She climbed
into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition with her
shaking hand. Shifter jumped into the passenger seat, and, smiling
in the dark, playfully commanded, “Let’s go.”

She didn’t
move.

“So, where
exactly do you live? I know my neighbourhood pretty well,” he
asked.

“It doesn’t
matter where I live,” Camilla cut him off.

“Let’s go,
sweetie. Move along! Don’t be afraid of me. You have a nice car,
baby. Have a rich lover?”

“I’m a working
girl,” she said. “I have my own money.”

“A working
girl!” Shifter laughed. “I like those.” He was looking at Camilla,
and she was looking at him. She saw what Shifter couldn’t see
behind his back: two familiar figures moving briskly across the
parking lot toward the car. Stanley jerked the door on the
passenger side open and stepped aside. Ogre grabbed Shifter by his
hair and pressed the barrel of a gun into his face.