Monkey Business (22 page)

I paced around the tent in my blue sequined gown and sparkly shoes. First things first. Rupert's gun was in his shoulder holster and I took it, avoiding touching him and keeping an eye out for Gigantor. I checked the safety thing like Jack had taught me. Where to hide it? If I got back into Catwoman, I couldn't. So I stayed in the long dress, but put my boots back on, and pushed the gun down one of them. The benefits of having skinny legs.

I wondered where the spider was. Rupert probably would have died from its bite anyway. And it would be a horrible, slow death, so in a way I did him a favour. Yes, that's it. I didn't kill Rupert Berringer. I did him a favour.

Jack and I were goners, as good as dead when the others discovered what I'd done, especially Jansen. Rupert was probably the only one with a reason for keeping us alive. What to do? Charge out of the tent, shooting randomly? How long would I live if I did that – two seconds? Besides, I might shoot Jack by accident. I could slip out the back and wait in the jungle like Rambo. Wait for just the right moment to make my move. But there was no back door. Where was Joe?

I spent a minute doing deep breathing, eyes open and watchful for arachnid boy, focusing on being calm, avoiding looking at Rupert. I tiptoed out of the tent, trying to adopt a look of submission and shame.

Some of Rupert's men were pacing around, looking bored. A couple of them were sitting under trees, asleep by the look of it. Couldn't see Jansen. Unconscious in his tent? Dead, maybe. I hoped so. I shouldn't think like that.

Jack was still tied to the tree. When he saw me, he hung his head, so defeated and exhausted.

The men started to show interest as I strolled across the clearing. One of them walked up to me, speaking harshly, but I had no idea what he was saying.

‘Ssh. He's sleeping,' I whispered, my finger to my lips. I put my cheek against my hands to show sleeping and pointed to Rupert's tent.

‘Ah,' he said and backed away. He pointed his gun at me and indicated I should sit on a rock and wait.

‘Rupert said we could go,' I tried, but he poked me with the gun.

Jack and I looked at each other. His face was so battered and bruised. One eye was closed.

He said, ‘Are you all right?'

I nodded. ‘Are you?'

‘Yes.'

I said, ‘Have you seen Jansen again?'

He hesitated. ‘No. Why?'

I asked loudly, looking around, ‘Do any of you guys speak English?'

They all looked at me.

‘Rupert's monkey likes to masturbate.'

Blank expressions. Jack said, ‘What are you doing?'

I ignored him, speaking to the crowd, ‘Cheeta killed your boss.'

Nothing. I looked at Jack. He was staring at me.

‘Yes,' I said, still loudly, but with eyes now on Jack. ‘It's true. And I've got something of his under my dress.' I looked around again. Most of the blokes had gone back to ignoring me. A couple seemed amused. But mostly they were bored. Perhaps they often had to sit around while Rupert had afternoon sex with some hooker or hostage and then slept for a couple of hours.

‘I need to know what you've got,' said Jack. ‘But careful. There are words they'll understand.'

‘I've got his . . . nug.'

He blinked with his one good eye. ‘Has it still got the silencer?'

‘Yes.' I knew that because I remembered a silencer makes a gun longer, and Rupert's was much longer than my own at home.

‘Okay.' He took a deep breath. ‘I need to think.'

I waited. After a minute, Jack said in a conversational way, ‘Can you kill one of these guys?'

‘Sure.' Could I? Geez.

‘If you can't, we're dead. You know that, don't you?'

‘I know.' Talk about pressure.

The man next to me was now either suspicious or sick of the sound of my voice, because he pushed me and said something that I interpreted as, ‘Shut the fuck up, woman.'

Jack said, ‘Say you need the toilet.'

The man shouted at Jack.

‘Kill the guy who goes with you.'

The man stood, threatening.

‘Then shoot my ropes and throw me his gun.' He reminded me, ‘You're a good shot.'

The man approached Jack, screaming at him.

‘Then run as fast as you can, get away.'

The man swung his machine gun and smashed Jack across the stomach. Jack roared and I stood, shouting, ‘I need the toilet!'

The bashing guy moved towards me. I crossed my legs, bounced up and down, pointed to the bushes. ‘Toilet?'

As we walked, the guy shoving me along, I tried to remember my gun training with Jack. I'd only ever fired one in a shooting range, but I was good at it from the outset. A natural, Jack had said. So that's what I'll do now, I thought. Pretend I'm shooting a paper target. One that looks like a man. An awful man who wants to kill me.

When we got out of sight of the camp, I stopped, put my hand up and pointed to a bush, indicating that I didn't want him to follow. He seemed to think that was fine. He watched me and, as I went to lift my dress, I glared at him. ‘I'll tell Rupert you were perving.'

He got the message and turned his back.

I squatted behind a bush and peed (I really did need to go), slipped the gun from my boot and sucked in three deep breaths.
I'm a trained killer, I'm a trained killer.
I stood.

The man's machine gun was slung over his shoulder and he was lighting a cigarette. He was a paper target, that was all. A moving one.

I aimed at his head and held that position. But I waited too long. Doubt filtered through the bravado and froze me. I knew that I could no sooner shoot someone than fly to the moon. The man turned and saw me standing there, feet apart, arms straight and the gun aimed shakily at his face. The cigarette fell from his mouth as he snatched at his swinging machine gun, fumbling with it. The knowledge that I was two seconds away from death caused all thought, reason and doubt to leave me. With eyes shut tight I squeezed the trigger. But nothing happened. The safety was on! I squatted and tried to release it, but my hands were trembling violently now and I could barely hold the gun, let alone use it. Why hadn't the guy shot me? Why was there just silence out there?

I dared to peek. Joe! He was bent over the guy, who was unmoving on the ground with a spear in his back. I squeaked and ran to Joe.

He put a finger to his lips as he plucked the guy's machine gun from under him.

He whispered, ‘We don't have much time.'

‘Jack wanted me to shoot his ropes and throw the guy's gun to him.'

‘I'll do it.' He pointed to a tree. ‘Hide there. I'll come back for you.'

As I hid behind the tree, my heart hammering, I heard a burst of machine gun fire. Then shouting. Lots of shouting and guns. What was happening? I tried to see. Couldn't. Still holding Rupert's gun, I released the safety and crept towards the camp, staying low. When I got close, I peered through the green, saw men charging and shooting. Jack and Joe running, diving, firing. Berringer's men falling. And then Jack was behind a tree, not far from me. Behind him I saw a man raise his gun. I stood. Jack saw me. A scream stuck in my throat and I ran, both arms straight out, gun wobbling. Jack started running to me. The man shifted his aim. Jack or me. Or him. I fired. My arms jerked up. The man fell back. Jack's eyes were fixed on something behind me. He screamed, ‘No!', his hand raised,
stop!
I looked around; saw a man with his bow drawn. And then I was in Jack's arms, clutched against his chest. He twisted, roared, and dropped like a sack of potatoes at my feet.

Joe yelled, ‘Hold your fire! Hold your fire!' and raced across the clearing to us, hands empty, arms up in surrender. I looked in my hand for the gun, but it was gone.

Jack writhed on the ground, an arrow in his leg, and I crouched next to him. We were surrounded by warriors and more were coming. Joe was there with his hands on his head, a prisoner again. One man's voice rose above all others: Samson. He moved through the crowd, shoving men out of the way as he came to stand over us. His face was as contorted with anger as Jack's was with pain.

Jack pulled the arrow out of his leg. ‘Mother
fucker.
'

I knew it should have been in me.

A warrior held me at a distance with a gun at my head while Joe's and Jack's hands were tied behind them. We were marched in single file – Jack limping, head hanging – for about twenty minutes, and arrived at a narrow dirt road where two cars were parked. Samson's black Hummer and a white van. I saw Samson up ahead, getting into his Hummer. And Kitty! What was she doing there? She wasn't a prisoner; she was sitting in the passenger seat of Samson's car.

I didn't imagine Samson would be too thrilled about his British mate being wasted. We'd watched him barge into Berringer's tent and out again, face red, fury silencing him. I wondered if Jansen was alive and where he was.

In the back of the van, I was seated nearest the door with Joe next to me and Jack on his other side. I went to scramble over Joe so I could sit between them. The guys opposite made a fuss about it, poking me and shouting, and causing Jack and Joe to shout back until I yelled, ‘Cool it!'

I pointed to the space between Jack and Joe and said, ‘Okay?' They didn't seem to object so I sat there. One of the warriors was quiet in the corner, holding a rag to his shoulder. He was the one I'd shot. He gave me a dirty look. Fair enough. Everyone calmed down.

I leaned into Jack and looked up at him. He kissed my forehead and I thought that if we were still on the run in the jungle, I wouldn't mind eating grubs and raw snake so much.

I whispered, ‘Are you all right?' His pants were soaked in blood.

He smiled, but he was very pale. I put my hand on his forehead. Clammy.

‘Do you want me to take a look?' I indicated the leg wound.

‘No. Nothing you can do.' He looked down at me. ‘How are you?'

‘I'm fine.' I wriggled closer.

Jack said, ‘You were amazing back there.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes.'

Well. How about that? I sighed, content.

‘You were very brave,' said Jack, and Joe agreed. ‘But . . .'

‘But what?'

He shook his head. ‘You were so upset about that leech . . .'

‘I know.' I shrugged. ‘Ask me if I'd rather face death by firing squad or go swimming with leeches.' I shuddered. ‘That's a no brainer. And let's not talk about spiders.' They chuckled and I thought about Gigantor in Rupert's tent. Maybe it'd found its way into Mick Jansen's tent. I hoped so.

The men opposite were scowling. They probably wanted us to be shitting ourselves. And that would have been more appropriate, but I'd be buggered if I was going to give them the satisfaction.

I glanced up at Jack; he was looking at me strangely.

‘What?' I said.

‘In the tent —'

‘Rupert? No, he didn't touch me. Didn't get a chance.'

‘Then, how?'

I smiled. I knew I shouldn't be smiling, but I did anyway. Maybe something had switched in my brain. The switch a person needs to turn them into a cold-hearted killer. I told them what happened. I looked from Jack to Joe. They were staring at me.

‘The world's well rid of him,' said Joe.

‘He wanted to rule the world,' I said.

Joe scoffed.

‘But I can't understand how he planned on using Tupperware to do it.'

The boys glanced at each other over the top of my head.

Jack said, ‘You do realise my mission was to kill that bastard.'

‘Yeah, sorry to spoil your fun.'

‘No need to be sorry. Just don't tell anyone.'

‘Deal. But I do quite like having something over you. I could bribe you into doing all sorts of things for me.'

‘Name it.' We laughed.

I liked thinking about being home again, safe and sound, bribing Jack. I felt happy. Not thinking about what had just happened or what was about to happen. Just being in the moment with Jack and Joe, thinking about being home again.

We drove on in silence, our death convoy. I wondered if prisoners of war throughout history had spent time like this. Being content and at peace in the time before dying, laughing even. I bet they had. I rested my head on Jack's shoulder and he leaned more heavily against me. I could tell he wasn't feeling too well with the arrow wound.

‘Tell me,' I whispered, ‘what would you two be doing right now if I wasn't with you?' Jack and Joe looked at each other over the top of my head. I said, ‘You wouldn't be sitting in this van, would you?'

‘No,' said Jack.

‘I'm holding you back.'

‘No. If it weren't for you, Joe and I would be dead. We're a team, Erica.'

It was dark when we arrived at Samson's. As I stumbled out of the van I saw Kitty standing by the Hummer. She gave me a little wave. I gave her a pleading look. Please help?

In a group we walked to the back of the house where I'd climbed the fence the day before.
Just
the day before, but it felt like forever ago. The grounds were floodlit. Jack and Joe were shoved along, their hands tied at their backs, Jack stumbling and falling, fresh blood staining his pants. I tried to go to him, but I was pushed along. We walked past the section of fence I'd climbed and were led to the part where creatures other than patrolling men and dogs lurked.

‘Samson,' said Jack, his voice weak. ‘Let her go, please.'

I could hear voices, people talking and shouting, but I was much too busy watching the crocodiles, wondering why Samson had brought us to see them. I stared from Jack to Joe to Samson. Kitty looked worried.

Samson was pointing at the gate in the fence and shouting at one of his men. The man walked to the gate and wrestled with the padlock. And that's when I wet my pants. I felt it running down my legs and I could hear someone whimpering. It might have been me.