Michael Dibdin - Dark Specter
“… were killed this evening in a shooting incident on a cross-street of McDaniel in the Pittsburgh area of the city. Another man was taken to Grady Memorial Hospital with serious gunshot and knife wounds. He is said to be in stable but critical condition. Police are searching for two other individuals who were involved in the attack, which is not believed to have been racially motivated. And now with today’s weather, here’s Howie!”
“Thanks, Gus. Well, this warm snap we’ve been experiencing over the last couple of days looks like it’s going to be with us for at least-”
The girl pushed the mute button. She was no longer interested in the weather. McDaniel was the street where Dale had been going. She remembered him calling the transit company to check which number bus to catch.
She turned off the TV, walked over to where her clothes lay strewn across the floor and dug out the pack of cigarettes she’d bought last night while waiting for Dale to get back from meeting with that friend he hadn’t wanted to introduce her to. Maybe he’d been bullshitting her about that too, she thought as she lit up. She really didn’t know anything about him except his name.
She eyed the phone on the table next to her. But who could she call? The TV station? “Hi, there! I’m a long-time viewer but a first-time caller.” That hospital? The police? All that’d do was stir up a lot of trouble for her, and maybe for Dale too. You’re just tired, she thought. Tired and lonesome and dreaming awake. That would make a good title for a country song. She finished the cigarette with a smile on her lips. Everything would seem better in the morning. If Dale still hadn’t shown up, she’d decide what to do then.
14
I lay awake for hours, trying and failing to make sense of what I had heard. It was past two o’clock when I finally realized that I was not going to be able to get to sleep. I turned on the light to read some more. As I searched for my book, which had fallen to the floor, I caught sight of the videocassette I had taken with me on my hasty exit from Sam’s room that afternoon. I picked it up and read the label: Russell (Rick): Seattle. Russell was the guy that Mark had been giving Sam such a hard time about the evening before. Maybe the video might provide some clue to what was going on.
The hall was in darkness. The only sound was a soft persistent hushing of rain on the roof, punctuated by more percussive drips falling from the eaves. The fire had collapsed on itself, a dull mass of white ash, barely glowing. I switched on the television, turning the volume right down. The harsh glare of the screen seemed shockingly bright. I expected people to rush out of their rooms demanding to know what was going on, but all was quiet. I fed the video into the open maw of the VCR.
At first I thought I was watching some kind of amateur dramatic production-very amateur. The camera wobbled, the lighting was lousy, the sequencing crude and the acting a disaster. In fact the whole thing was so weak that I assumed it must be one of those “experimental” efforts where bad production values are part of the “artistic concept.” The action seemed to confirm this. It consisted entirely of a guy in his thirties breaking into a house and terrorizing people with a pistol. There was no attempt to contextualize what happened, still less establish character or motive.
The first person he encountered was a housewife in a nightgown and bathrobe. Holding the pistol to her head, he made her kneel down, then handcuffed her and stuck a patch of tape over her mouth. He then went into the bedroom next door, the handheld camera bouncing along behind him like a dog. It approached a crib and panned in to show a baby asleep, then went back to the gunman. He seemed to be saying something to the camera, protesting maybe. I didn’t dare turn up the volume in case someone heard.
Eventually he nodded, as though in agreement. He left the bedroom and went down to the basement, the camera following. In one of the rooms downstairs, two boys, one of them Chinese, were playing a video game. The gunman made them lie down, one on the bed, the other on the floor. Then he handcuffed and gagged them as he had the woman.
It was at this point that I heard a noise. It seemed to have come from Sam’s quarters. A crack of light showed under his door. I turned off the TV, extracted the video and stuffed it quickly inside my robe as the door opened, flooding the room with light.
“Phil?”
Sam stood in the open doorway, a dark silhouette.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I explained. “Thought I’d go raid the fridge.”
“The kitchen’s that way,” he said, pointing to the other side of the room.
“Right,” I said. “See you in the morning.”
He didn’t reply. I walked across the hall toward the kitchen, the videocassette jammed up against my ribs. Behind me, the door to Sam’s room closed. I altered course and headed back to my room.
I got back into bed and lay there, thinking over what I’d seen on the video. The idea that it was a crude attempt at drama no longer seemed credible. The only thing as lame as that was reality. Although I had no proof either way, I became increasingly convinced that I had been watching an actual break-in at an actual house. Judging by the label, it had taken place somewhere in the Seattle area. Russell had presumably been the gunman, while Rick had done the filming.
Then it occurred to me that this might be the way the group financed themselves. They didn’t go and work on the mainland, they broke into houses and stole whatever they could lay their hands on, then disappeared back to the island. But why bother making a video recording of the event? Unless this was Sam’s way of keeping his followers in line. If anyone challenged his authority, he could threaten to send the video to the police.
Awash with these disturbing speculations, I eventually fell asleep. Because of my broken night, I slept late the next morning. Breakfast was over by the time I emerged, and the home-schooling session was in progress at the dining table. There was a different teacher today, a hard-looking blond who seemed distinctly ill at ease in the role. The children looked sullen and bored, with none of the lively involvement they had displayed the day before. But when I went out to the kitchen, there was Andrea, washing dishes with one of the other women.
“Looks like I overslept,” I said lightly. “I guess the coffee’s all gone.”
Andrea immediately left the sink and went to the stove.
“I’ll make you some,” she said without looking at me. “Go to your room and I’ll bring it to you.”
For some reason, I felt embarrassed by her eager solicitude.
“That’s real nice of you, but don’t …”
She gave me a glance which made me falter. I had no idea what it meant, but I felt its intensity like a blow.
“Well, if you’re sure it’s no problem …”
I hovered there for a moment, but she paid no further attention to me, busying herself with the percolator and a can of coffee.
“I’ll be in my room, then,” I concluded awkwardly, and sidled out.
Shortly afterward there was a knock at my door. Andrea stood there with a mug of coffee. She looked strained.
“I need to talk to you,” she said in a low voice.
“Come on in.”
She shook her head.
“Not here. Meet me by the water tank.”
With that, she turned and walked quickly, almost running, back to the kitchen. I closed the door and sipped my coffee thoughtfully. For a moment it crossed my mind that she might be acting under orders from Sam. But surely in that case she would have been more straightforward? What was all the secrecy about, and why was she so nervous?
I put on a jacket and went outside. The overnight rain had stopped, but the sky was overcast. A pair of sea gulls skimmed overhead, crying plaintively. There was no one about except for two women hanging out laundry on a line. As I walked up the trail toward the water tank, I tried to imagine what Andrea could possibly have to say to me. The only thing I could think of was that she’d heard that I was leaving and wanted me to take a message to someone, or to do some errand for her on the mainland. But in that case why hadn’t she just told me when she brought me my coffee? Unless of course Sam had tabooed me after I made it clear that I wasn’t buying into his little scam. “Don’t scare the horses,” he’d told me. Judging by the high-tech goodies I’d seen in his rooms, Sam had an awful lot at stake, and the last thing any con man wants is someone putting the marks on their guard.
The water tank stood all alone on a rocky elevation at the edge of the developed section of land, right above the well which yielded the island’s limited supply of water. There was no plumbing, and all water had to be carried by hand. It would have been a relatively simple matter to run a pipe downhill to a communal tap near the hall, but evidently such a luxury took second place to Sam’s need for the latest electronic toys.
It was another fifteen minutes before Andrea finally appeared, and when she did I was disappointed to see that there were two women with her. Since she’d made it clear that she didn’t want to be seen talking to me, I took cover behind the shed which housed the electricity generator. Each of the women had a plastic bucket which they proceeded to fill from the tank, but it soon became apparent that this was only a pretext for the long, intense conversation that took place. Judging by the women’s lowered voices and furtive manner, they too were anxious not to be seen talking, let alone overheard.
Eventually the discussion broke up and the women set off back together, carrying the heavy buckets of water. For a moment I thought that Andrea had forgotten about our appointment. But when they were about halfway back to the hall, she set down her bucket and said something to her companions, pointing back to the water tank. The others also stopped, but Andrea shooed them away and started back. The other two continued on their way and soon disappeared below the ridge. I stepped out of hiding with the sheepish grin of someone caught playing a childish game, and walked up to Andrea.
“Hi there, honey!” I said in a parody pick-up voice. “Want to take in a movie or something?”
A brief smile broke through the strain on her face. For a moment I caught a glimpse of another Andrea, a stranger yet the same, like a photograph from an earlier, half-forgotten period of one’s life. There are said to be several hundred muscles involved in creating the human smile, but when everything’s said and done, muscles are only pulleys, strings attached to flesh. How is it that such simple mechanics can create an effect which seems to give you the person entire, with all their complex chiaroscuro, their desires and potential, doubts and shortfalls?
“There’s the new Nick Nolte and Susan Sarandon at the Bijou,” I continued, encouraged by her reaction. “Then we could go grab a burger somewhere. What time do you have to be home?”
But her smile had already died.
“It’s not safe here,” she said, glancing around quickly. “Something’s going on, I don’t know what. Terri and Gloria say that Mark has gathered all the men together.”
“So what?”
Andrea shook her head impatiently.
“You know that rock-pool by the ocean, the one where …”
She broke off, looking confused.
“Where you go swimming in the summer,” I prompted.
For some reason she blushed.
“Yes. Go there. I’ll come as soon as I can get away.”
The key to everything which followed was right under my nose, if I’d been able to see it. But I could see nothing but the controlled panic in Andrea’s pale brown eyes.
“I don’t know if I can make it,” I said. “I’m leaving today, maybe this morning.”
“You can’t leave.”
I stared at her. Her eyes moved a fraction, fixing on a point just beyond my shoulder. I turned and saw Sam walking toward us. Andrea stepped past me without another word and picked up the bucket of water. As she passed Sam, he caught her arm and said something to her to which she replied quickly. Sam released her as I approached.
“Andrea and I were just having a little chat,” I told him. “She says there might be some problem about me leaving today. Is that true?”
Sam glanced at Andrea, who had continued on her way down to the hall. Then he looked around at me.
“I just went into your room, Phil, and there was a videocassette on the chair by the bed. Do you know anything about that?”
“Oh, that,” I replied casually. “Yeah, I found it in one of the drawers while I was putting my clothes away. I guess it must belong to Mark.”
I wondered if he’d noticed that the tape had not been rewound.
“Anyway, what’s all this about me not being able to leave?” I asked.
Sam’s eyes slowly defocused.
“We’re having a little trouble with the boat,” he said. “Can’t seem to get the engine to start.”
“Any idea how long it’s going to be out of action? I’m kind of anxious to get going.”
Sam nodded vaguely.
“It’s hard to say. Rick’s taking a look at it right now.”
Another thought seemed to strike him.
“You any good with guns, Phil?”
“Guns? What kind of guns?”
“Any kind. You ever fire one?”
“Hardly. I grew up in Europe, Sam. It’s not really what you’d call a gun culture.”
He nodded in the same dreamy way, as though his real thoughts were elsewhere.
“Do you have guns here on the island?” I asked.
Sam gazed at me without speaking for some time. It seemed to cost him an effort to focus. I wondered if he was maybe slightly stoned.
“Sure,” he said at last.
“You do? Why?”
He smiled lazily.
“Because this isn’t Europe, Phil. This is real life, and in real life a man has to be able to defend himself and stand up for his beliefs.”
He looked at me slightly aggressively.
“Right, Phil?”
I shrugged.
“I guess. Except I usually don’t know what my beliefs are.”
Sam looked away at the dark border of woods which encircled the clearing.
“I used to be like that,” he said. “Then one day I found out. I have a feeling that you’re going to find out too. Maybe soon.”
I gestured impatiently.
“Well, it’s going to have to be real soon. Another couple of hours and I’m out of here, boat or no boat.”
He took a step past me, then turned back.
“Oh, just one other thing. Don’t believe everything Andrea tells you. She kind of overdid it with the dope back in the old days and her synapses are fried. She makes up stuff, doesn’t even know she’s doing it.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.”
On my way back to the hall, I discovered that Andrea was not the only one who made things up. Sam had told me that Rick was “taking a look” at the boat, but as I passed one of the prefab houses he and Mark emerged, along with a group of other men, all arguing loudly. I caught the names “Andy” and “Dale” before they saw me and fell silent. They stood staring at me in mute hostility as I walked past.
