The Considerate Killer (5 page)

How could he stop now? Aerosmith had begun again, an urgent wail telling him not to fall asleep, not to close his eyes.

He pressed her down on to the couch with his entire weight and pulled off his swimming trunks; removed the robin's-egg blue scraps while Bea arched her back and turned her face into the shadow, so the tendons on her slender neck were taut and exposed. A slight almost inaudible sound escaped her. She drew him down and pushed his face against her shoulder and neck while he penetrated her with slow and infinite caution.

A door was opened somewhere in the huge house. Vincent heard and didn't hear. His body had taken over. Could not be stopped.

Bea had closed her eyes, but Vincent saw it. Saw him. Vadim, who for a brief moment stood in the half-open door. Then he slid away again, disappearing in the very instant that Vincent himself came in a long and painful shudder.

It was afternoon
and really too hot to be in the sun when Vincent, Victor and Vadim sailed out from the beach in Vadim's little flat-bottomed speedboat the next day. The wind had freshened once they were clear of the cove, and the boat leaped and slapped against the waves like an animal squirming beneath them.

Vincent had never been a keen sailor, and after his complete and utter failure to master a surfboard that morning, he would have preferred to stay in the house with Bea. They had not talked about what had happened in the night. They had merely gotten up, searching awkwardly for their clothing, neither looking at the other. Later, there had been an almost equally awkward breakfast, and then the disastrous surf lesson on the beach in claustrophobically tight wet suits.

Victor had gone shopping at the market in the morning and had returned with chili, rice, garlic, mung beans, and coconut milk. He prepared lunch, which he served on the porch. He didn't like restaurant food, he said. It was too expensive and not good enough. Victor was in fact an excellent cook. They drank a couple of beers with the food, and Vincent finally managed to catch Bea's gaze and hold it until they both blushed and had to look down.

Afterward Diana had invited Bea along for a bit of sightseeing in the little resort town, which clearly bothered Vadim. He had been looking forward to seeing her pull on her wet suit again, he complained. Diana just laughed and teasingly tweaked the elastic on his white swim trunks.

“You'll have to manage without us,” she said. “We need to buy glass beads and cockleshells. Bracelets. You know—girl things.”

“Dear God,” groaned Vadim dramatically and pulled her hard toward him. “You're killing me, girl. Stay here.”

Diana kissed him and pulled free, and she and Bea went into the house to change. Shortly afterward, the front door clicked, and they could see the girls walking side by side along the beach toward town, Diana with a cigarette in one slender hand. Their long hair fluttered in the wind.

“Then let's go diving,” said Vadim definitively. “Hunting. Like real men do.”

The diving equipment was stowed in a couple of boxes in the bottom of the boat. No oxygen or anything like that. That was too complicated, said Vadim. What they needed was some weights, a mask, flippers, and a harpoon. With a bit of luck they'd be able to spear their dinner down in the deep.

Vincent doubted that. He was a decent swimmer as a result of the many afternoons by the river at home, but he did not like to dive. He didn't like the water's pressure against his body and eardrums. It made him feel trapped.

Vadim steered the boat along the coast until they reached the shelter of the steep, forested slope. High above their heads dark green treetops leaned out across the water, and a couple of monkeys rustled among the branches, appearing and disappearing with an insulted cackling. The water was turquoise under the boat.

“How deep do you think it is?” asked Vadim.

He chucked the anchor overboard, and with a faint whir the chain began to disappear into the deep.

Vincent leaned over the railing and looked down. Despite the deepening blue under the fragmented surface he could clearly see the sandy bottom, with small tufts of coral and vegetation. A black-and-white sea snake swam past in perfect S-curves and disappeared in the deeper shadows underneath the cliff.

“Five meters, maybe a little more?” he volunteered.

Vadim began to rummage around in the diving gear in the boxes.

“It's almost nine meters deep,” he said and smiled. “I've gone diving here a couple of times. It's a cool place. Lots of fish both close to the cliff and a little further out.”

He pointed to a dark blue shadow which revealed the presence of a sandbank with yet more coral. Then he threw diving goggles and flippers into Victor's arms.

The big man smiled broadly and pulled a Coke out of the ice chest.

“I'll stay up here and watch the boat. That suits me.”

“Wimps won't get any fish tonight,” said Vadim and slapped his shoulder casually. “Why the hell won't you dive? It's against nature for a Filipino.”

Victor shrugged. He was from Angeles, a few hundred kilometers north of Manila and far from the coast.

“I grew up in a rice paddy,” he said with not even a tiny sign of apology, and as if that was a sufficient explanation. Then he moved to sit next to outboard of the little powerboat. His weight made the boat tip dangerously.

“Then it'll be you and me, Vincent,” said Vadim and handed Vincent his equipment. Diving goggles, flippers and a belt with lead weights.

“Is this really necessary?” Victor had picked up one of the lead belts and weighed it in his hand.

Vadim looked at him with irritation.

“Yes, unless you have huge balls of steel. Who's the expert here, you or me? I wasn't aware you had done a lot of diving courses in that rice paddy if yours.”

“No, but . . .”

“It gives you better balance in the water. And Vincent will descend faster. He'll need the extra time, he doesn't have as much experience as me.”

A warm wind swept across the boat and ruffled the surface of the water faintly. Vincent had started to sweat a lot. The T-shirt he had pulled on to shield his already sunburned shoulders was almost soaked through with sweat.

“I can't dive nine meters,” he said then. “I can barely hold my breath for nine seconds. If I can get down there at all, I won't have time to get up again.”

“Don't worry.” Vadim put an arm around Vincent's shoulder and smiled encouragingly. “I'll be down there, and I've done it lots of times. You don't even smoke. You'll be fine. Just two quick dives down to the bottom here and then we'll snorkel the reefs afterward. Catch a little dinner.”

Vincent hesitated.

He didn't know much about diving, but nine meters couldn't be entirely without danger. He seemed to have heard that you didn't get the bends when you dived without oxygen, but a fast ascent from so great a depth could cause other problems. Blackouts. Or in his case, running out of time and air. God, he really hated diving.

“Come on. Do it for me.” Vadim slapped him teasingly across the neck. “Have I ever asked you for anything before?”

There was a smile in his voice but deeper down Vincent thought he could hear something else, a kind of . . . desperation. The same desperation he heard in his mother's voice when she begged him to visit more often.
Come on, do it for me, for us. Show that you love me. And your father. And Mimi, who misses you. I'll make
kare-kare
. You never get that in Manila.

He shook his head lightly and looked at Vadim, who was putting on the big, clumsy flippers with practiced moves. He himself sat stiffly and without moving, his bare feet immersed in the shallow water at the bottom of the motorboat.

“Can't we just snorkel?” he asked, but could immediately tell that Vadim thought he had said the wrong thing. His friend's eyes were narrow and focused on what he was doing, but the jaw muscles worked in his sun-browned face.

“You'll love it,” he said. “It's the wildest high when you get down there. Better than drugs. Better than sex.”

For a second he looked directly at Vincent and called forth an unwelcome flashback from the night before. The sensation in his body as he came, and saw Vadim standing like a shadow in the doorway.

Vincent lowered his gaze. Had the odd thought that this was the price that had to be paid because he had slept with Bea while Vadim had gone to bed alone. He had to prove his loyalty, just like those times when Vadim remained sitting in Cabana Club until five o'clock in the morning and Vincent had to stay there with him and match him drink for drink, though it made his innards heave.

“You're my only true friend,” Vadim would say, drunk and crooked, with love pouring from his entire body. “A friend isn't there for the money, but because you'd do anything . . .” Here he would narrow his eyes and sniff. “Because you'd do
anything
for each other, right?”

“Okay,” he muttered. “Let's do it then.”

“Do you know how to equalize the pressure?” Vadim looked at him. His gaze was concentrated and inward looking.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. Do it often. Don't wait until you feel the pressure.”

Vadim sat on the edge of the boat with his back to the water. He pulled off one of his gold rings and held it out. The wide one that he wore on his thumb.

“An inheritance from my grandfather,” he said. “His wedding ring. He used to wear it on his ring finger. American. He was as big as Victor.”

Victor nodded approvingly and opened cola number two.

“Big men wear big jewelry.”

“Yes, and that's what we are diving for,” said Vadim.

He pulled his mask over his face, and it was impossible to read his expression when he held his hand out and let go of the ring right above the anchor line.

Vincent stared at him.

“Are you crazy?” he said. “It'll be impossible to find down there.”

Vadim nodded.

“Yes, if we don't hurry. Sand moves quickly on the bottom. Hurry up and put on those weights or you'll have no chance to make it. Come on.”

Vincent buckled the lead belt across his hips and fumbled with the plastic lock on the dog collar–like chain that was supposed to improve his balance in the water. It felt impossibly heavy.

Vadim nodded briefly, swung himself over the edge and slowly lowered himself into the water. His long, lean biceps rippled under his dark, sun-chafed skin. He inhaled deeply a couple of times, rolled forward and dove under the surface with powerful strokes. Then he began to pull himself downward on the anchor line. Vincent could see him as a vertical line in the water, heading straight for the bottom, his white swim trunks bright in the gradually darkening blue.

Vincent threw a quick look at Victor. His friend's face was stone calm. His sunglasses were pushed up on his forehead, and he had his hand on the boat's tiller.

“Don't look at me,” he said, spreading his arms. “You and he are the ones who do the stupid stuff. I just come along. And . . . he's probably got it under control.”

“You'll keep an eye on us, right?”

“Yes,” said Victor. “But there's not much I can do if something goes wrong. Stay here. He'll come up again when he needs air.”

How long had it been? Thirty seconds, a minute?

He could see Vadim swimming along the bottom. Calm, lazy movements of the flippers. He was so far down that he looked like a child.

Vincent tipped himself over the boat's railing, and the water closed around him with a fierceness that instinctively made him fight his way upward. Or try to. The lead belt was too heavy, and even though he worked with both arms and legs, he sank slowly but surely toward the bottom. He reminded himself that this was in fact the idea and turned so he could work with it rather than against it. Direction down. Stiff kicks. Sunlight from the real world above him formed luminous columns in the clear water.

He could already feel that he needed to breathe. His initial hopeless struggle to reach the surface had used his oxygen. He thought about taking just one deep breath, and about the fact that he couldn't. There was a pressure in his chest, and knowing he couldn't take that one breath only made it worse.

Think of something else. Find that fucking ring and reach the surface again.

He observed with a certain relief that his long fall was over. The bottom was right beneath him now. He could stretch out his hands and touch the sand around the small, sharp anchor and the line that went up to the boat high above them.

He turned over and caught sight of Vadim a little further away. He lay calmly, almost apathetically, above the sandy bottom and let his fingers run across it, making long, soft lines which were erased almost the second he drew them.

Vincent rolled over on his stomach and began to do the same. Every time he moved there was the sound of thunder in his ears. A couple of sizeable fish floated lazily past him. Blue-finned jacks and scorpion fish with empty, staring, flat eyes and mouths that opened and closed with hypnotic slowness.

How long could Vadim hold his breath? Two or three minutes, maybe more. He himself felt a massive pressure against his head and chest, but the initial panic had subsided.

He let his fingers glide through the sand. Felt warm water and small, fine grains under his fingertips and then, he could hardly believe it, something smooth and round that glimmered dully and got away from him when he first tried to grab it. Could he be that lucky on his first dive?

He let his hand run across the place again, but in his eagerness he stirred up a cloud of sand which swirled slowly in the warm water and for a moment made it impossible for him to orient himself. He felt . . . high. New fish glided by him, smaller this time, a school of golden, streamlined creatures that circled around him. The pressure in his chest grew and grew, but the sand was settling and had left the bottom a bit darker, so the bright ring could now be made out with the naked eye.