The Devil's Playground (51 page)

He ground his foot down into the floor. It was not what

he’d meant to say. His abruptness surprised him, he’d once

been the opposite, so shy and reluctant to come to the point.

‘So that’s why you called me?’ She tried to make it a joke

but realized from his tone that it hadn’t worked.

‘No, not just that. I saw your friend Dominic last night.

He gave me the last of the CDs.’

She knew this was not the time to talk about personal

things. Not now. ‘Jake’s CD?’

‘Yes, and …’ His words hovered in the space between

them. He took a deep breath, felt his hands clench in his

pocket, heard the hum of distance in the wires. ‘And I miss

you, Suze. Shit, I know that sounds …’

She cut in, ‘Don’t say anything.’ There was a pause in

which neither of them spoke.

Then: ‘Suze, have you got an 8 mm projector?’

‘So, you just want me for my machines?’

He laughed. ‘Of course, what else did you think? No, I

have a reel of film that Jake gave to Beatrice to hide. Not

one of the 49. This is different. I think it’s why she was killed, why Jake was killed.’

‘Over one reel of film?’

‘Over what’s on it.’

She lit a cigarette. ‘I can borrow a projector from the

museum. Meet me at the flat in an hour.’

He heard her exhale smoke through the wires, saw her

lips pressing up against the plastic of the phone. ‘I’ll see you

then.’

Dominic had woken up with a bad hangover and a feeling

of having done something wrong. He looked around for Bill,

saw the dog standing by his water dish, just watching it, and

decided it was time to get out of bed. He brushed his teeth,

tearing away at the fast food and sugar skin he’d left on them

the night before and went through all the possible variations

of tonight’s auction closing.

The thought made him smile for the first time that morning

and he suddenly felt as if a whole mountain of shit

was gradually lifting from his back. He fed Bill, somewhat

concerned by the dog’s unenthusiastic eating and put on the

Birthday Party’s Junkyard, enjoying the noise and dissonance

of the music as it filled and splintered the room. He smoked

two cigarettes and drank three glasses of gin with the overwhelming feeling of anticipated relief that hits you when you

know the scariest rollercoaster ride of your life is almost

over.

‘It’s good to see you,’ she said and put her arms around his

neck, moving her body closer to his, feeling the warm rub

of his skin. She felt him move back at first, tense and coiled

like a barbed-wire fence, then easing, letting his body drape

into hers. They both stood back. Looked at each other, each

unwilling to say anything that might break the moment. He

put the bag down on her table.

‘You want some breakfast?’ she said, opening the curtains

on a rare slice of sunshine. ‘I’ve got bagels and croissants.’

‘No, I’m fine.’

‘Tell me about Dominic’ They sat on her sofa, one at

either end, facing each other, the hum of a Richard Buckner

CD pulsing in the background.

‘He’s been following me for days. I thought it was Wouter

but it was Dominic all along.’

She moved towards him. ‘Why? He’s a bit creepy but…’

‘This.’ He pointed to the bag that lay innocently on the

table. ‘It all has to do with this. Jake’s murder. The serial

killer. Everything.’

‘The Nazi snuff films?’

He shook his head. ‘He’s hidden them. No, this is Jake’s

last video.’

She sat there unable to say anything else. Dominic, behind

the films? It made sense, made more sense than she wanted

to admit. His preoccupation these past few weeks, his connections

and evangelical fervour. ‘He was doing it for the

Council,’ she said.

Jon shook his head. ‘No, he was doing it for Jake. For

himself too.’

What’s he going to do with them?’

‘Post them on the web for everyone to see.’

‘Christ!’ she said, lighting a cigarette, moving towards

him.

‘You disagree?’ He thought she’d be thrilled, that it would

be the apex of all that the Council believed in. He stared at

her crumpled form and realized how wrong he’d been. ‘I

thought that’s what the Council’s theories were all about?’

“I thought that too, until I realized that we were wrong or

perhaps just too simplistic, too idealistic. There have to be

other ways of disseminating this information. The bottom

line is how do you live? Can you live with all that hate filling

up inside you? Can you do something positive with it or does it just infect you and make you into the very thing you despise?’

Dominic spent the day hiding in the shade of corner tables

in small coffee shops around the District. He knew that

staying at home was not an option. Even if nothing happened, the anticipation of it doing so would have driven him crazy. Today of all days he wanted to remain sane.

He sat in an early show of a Belgian porn film. A couple

on a holiday island fall in love with the local donkey. The

man who owns the donkey and who, by day, rents him out

to small children for short rides, agrees to let the couple have

the animal, nights, for a larger fee than he charges the kids.

Dominic watched as the couple made love to the donkey

without ever touching each other. He got bored after twenty

minutes, the couple were still discovering the joys of their

newfound friend at night and the kids were still riding him

by day though a few of the children had complained that

Pablo, their favourite beach burro, was acting a little weird

these last few days. Moody, they said, and Dominic heard

the man in the seat behind him grunt feverishly, reaching an

orgasm. Dominic noticed how the man had come as soon

as the screen was filled up with children’s faces and he felt

suddenly disgusted, smelling the sour stench of spunk all

around him, its sticky purchase under his feet.

He left the cinema and started walking through the District,

trying to keep his face hidden, his movements banal, El Hombre Invisible like Bill Burroughs, and he fortified himself with the steely image of the gaunt writer wandering

through the streets of Tangiers, a ghost flitting through the

city.

At the corner of Zeedijk, he saw an amazing sight come

towards him. At first he thought she was a whore but no

whores were that good-looking, not even in Amsterdam, and

anyway he could see that she was holding a map in her left

hand. He stood there stunned as she came up to him and in

a slight, lilting German accent asked him the way to the

Old Church. ‘It’s my first day in Amsterdam and I don’t

understand this system at all.’

‘It’s a bitch to master,’ Dominic replied, trying not to look

at her breasts.

‘Is it far?’ Her eyes were like pools of cool water on a

blistering summer day.

‘No, about two minutes, just take the left…’

‘Please, could you show me the way?’ She tilted her head

towards him, put her hand on his arm. ‘I’m scared of being

lost again and this place frightens me. What if they think I’m

one of those women and start touching me? They already

look at me like that here.’

‘No problem, I was walking that way myself.’ Terribly

English and terribly proud of himself, Dominic took her

hand, surprised that she let it stay in his and walked with her

the long route to the Old Church, enthralled by the way she

spoke and the way she looked.

‘Please, if you could, I know you’ve been very kind already

but I need to go to this place. I was told it was by the

Old Church.’ She took a piece of paper from her cleavage.

Dominic saw the paper come up and a breast nearly follow

it, revealing a tease of darker skin before she adjusted

herself.

Dominic watched as she tried to read the paper. A whiff

of harsh chemicals flooded his nose and then, from behind,

a sudden shadow. He barely had time to feel the metal

making contact with the back of his head before the darkness

swallowed him whole.

Van Hijn arrived at Dominic’s flat, realizing immediately that

he was too late. The door hung open. Light spilled on to the

hallway carpet. He stepped inside, his gun at the ready this

time, but no one was there. Only the mess that was left when

the place had been searched. A quiet, contained fury evident

in the scatter of objects. He walked around the small flat

quickly, trying to ascertain what remained. Though the flat

had been turned over there was no apparent sign of struggle.

Nothing to suggest that Dominic had been in when they’d

arrived.

He tried booting up the computer but it was busted, the

hard drive lying in fragments at his feet. Then he heard

whimpering.

It was coming from the closet. He drew his gun. Reached

out and opened the door.

The dog lay wrapped in barbed wire at the bottom of the

closet. He was shivering and crying, small sobs coming from

his throat, blood pooling about him.

‘Jesus Christ.’ Van Hijn put the gun back in his pocket,

dropping to his knees and reaching out to the dog. He could

see one glassy eye turn up towards him and he wondered if

the dog would go crazy, unleash all its pain on him. But it

just moaned. The detective noticed a long, thin needle lying

next to the animal, spotted with blood. It looked like the one

he’d seen at Quirk’s. He flashed on Quirk’s smile, the folds

of the old man’s face, his buried accent, the secret room.

Jon’s pursuer disappearing into the basement. He’d been

meaning to pay the old piercer another visit. Looking around

the wrecked flat he realized it was all he had left.

Van Hijn grabbed one of the strands of wire and slowly

began unravelling it from the animal’s body. If the dog was

in the way they could have just killed him, he thought; this

was for pleasure, an added bonus. He spent the next few

minutes carefully unwrapping the animal, who seemed to

understand that the detective meant him no harm. The dog

whimpered and screamed every time the wire caught on his

flesh or took off a piece of fur. But he never lashed out.

Van Hijn realized he was crying. He wiped his eyes on his

sleeve and took off the last bit of wire. He went to the

kitchen, found a bowl, filled it with water and brought it to

the dog. He looked on as the dog slowly lifted its head, in

considerable pain, and began lapping up the liquid. With that

done, his chest heavy and choked, Van Hijn locked the door

behind him and headed for Quirk’s piercing parlour.

Dominic watched as Karl argued with Quirk, hoping it would

prolong the time before he started to work on him. He knew

it was coming though and wondered how he would stand up

to it. He hoped he would be the person he believed himself

to be.

It had all led to this.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. It had started as something

right. Something necessary. He had done what was

needed. He’d done everything so that the films would go

online. So that people would see once and for all. Sitting

there, strapped to the piercing chair, watching Karl, the girl

and Quirk, he made a promise to himself: not to tell them

where the reels were even if it meant his death. He thought

there was not much chance of him leaving this room either

way and strangely, he felt alive then. He heard every word

they spoke and noticed every part of the room, the small

table with the piercing instruments, the broken chair in the

corner and the black bag that was next to him on the floor.

I will not say a thing to them. I will not feel any pain, he

repeated to himself as he saw the piercer come towards him.

‘One last time. Where are the films?’

Dominic shook his head. The German turned towards

him. ‘I suggest you tell him,’ he said. ‘Quirk here has perfected

the art of piercing through the nerve, I don’t think it’s something you’ll appreciate.’ He laughed.

Dominic looked at him blankly. Quirk smiled. ‘Okay, I

prefer it this way too,’ he said and reached for his equipment.

He put the first needle into Dominic’s left thigh. It went

in cleanly, smoothly, like a breath of cold air on the skin.

Dominic looked down at the piercer’s bald head and his

withered hands manipulating the needle, finding the right

place, then pushing it in.

There was a moment when he didn’t feel anything, when

everything stopped, the room, the people, all stopped dead

as if they’d been freeze-framed. And then it hit him. Like a

punch, a kick to the balls, like nothing he’d ever experienced

before, and he squirmed and cried out and puked and pissed

himself as his whole body flared up in pain. He saw Bill

running through a field of brilliant green in migraine sunshine

and then he passed out.

Karl took out a small bottle of smelling salts.

‘Much quicker, you see,’ Quirk said, looking at Karl, quietly

proud of himself.