A Drink Before Dying

I swore loudly as I cut myself on the tin. So my day began with a sharp reminder of
the way things were for me now. I’d opened a can of what I thought were grapefruit segments
(middle, third shelf) which turned out to be baked beans. So I ate them
instead, with a quantity of my own blood, on toast, for breakfast. I ignored the sound
of the post landing on the doormat while I felt around in the bathroom cupboard for an
Elastoplast.
Instead I found my gun, nestling at the back of the shelf, and slipped it into the holster under my jacket. Strange how good it felt, though it was about as useful as
a pair of binoculars to me these days.
There was the sound of a key in the door, a pause, a breath of air and a
familiar perfume. Stella had arrived.
‘Morning, Ben.’
‘What’s good about it?’
‘Beans on toast and fresh coffee?’
‘I’d fancied grapefruit.’
‘Wrong tin, huh?’ she chuckled.
‘It’s not bloody funny. Make yourself useful and stick this plaster on for me.’
‘Sorry. That looks deep – it might need a stitch.’
‘Don’t fuss. Just tape the damn thing up.’
She did so in the kind of silence that was louder than words. I could feel my
ring on her finger. So she still hoped I’d change my mind. I heard her go into the
kitchen, load the dishwasher, thump around in the bedroom. She was changing my
sheets then putting the washing machine on. I poured more coffee and sat aimlessly
listening to her moving around with such ease.
I could imagine the sunlight catching her blonde hair with gold tints. Was
there any sun today? There seemed to be a wind, but no sound of rain.
‘You look terrible,’ she said, making me jump.
‘Rotten night again.’
‘Dreaming about it?’ I heard her pour herself coffee, the squeak of the chair as
she sat in it. I looked toward the one to the right of the fireplace.
‘Yes.’
‘There’s a letter from the court – the trial’s fixed for next month.’
‘How exciting.’
‘Right, if you’re in that kind of mood, I’ll get the shopping – unless you want to come?’
‘No thanks.’
She slammed the front door behind her, but she didn’t notice it bounce open
again. The sound of her high heels tapped down the path. I stood, moving carefully
toward the door to close it.
Then I smelt him, an odour of stale sweat, cigarettes and malice. ‘Harris,’ I
said, my heart thumping in sudden fear.
‘Not bad, Benny, old chap. How did you manage that, being, so they tell me,
blind?’
‘I can still smell a rat.’
‘Don’t be like that, now. We was mates, you and me.’
‘Not any more. I’m useless to you now. Leave me alone.’
‘Sorry, no can do. There’s the little matter of the trial coming up – we can’t have you telling all the world what you know can we now?’
‘I’ve said nothing to anyone about it.’
‘You’ve been called to give evidence at Rudy’s trial. I can’t risk that, not now.’
A cold shiver ran down my spine. I reached out to feel the wall at my back.
‘So the security guard died, then,’ I said, as the images of the getaway car, the thud of
flesh against metal, the staring eyes of the grey haired man as he slid off the bonnet,
the sickening crunch as the wheels ran over something soft and yielding, played
themselves over on a mind loop. Then the high speed chase and the head on collision
that had robbed me of my sight
‘Got it in one. So I’ve no choice, you see.’
‘I don’t, actually,’ I pointed out, playing for time. Though why I was
bothering to do so escaped me for the moment. I had often thought about ending it –
what kind of life could I offer Stella now?
Harris began to laugh. ‘That’s good, that is.’ He grabbed me by my roll neck
sweater, dragging me into the sitting room.
I banged elbows and knees on doorframes and furniture.
‘You, Benny, are going to take the easy way out, nice and tidy like, and no questions asked.
‘All right. What do I do?’
‘No fight? No pleading? You disappoint me, Benny.’
‘What’s there to live for, like this?’ I shrugged.
‘The lovely Stella?’
‘She’ll find someone else soon enough.’
‘No, she won’t, she’s about to meet with an unfortunate accident. We can’t
risk her …ah, there she is.’
‘It’s only me, Ben I forgot my bag,’ she broke off in mid-sentence.
My mind went into overdrive. Not Stella. He couldn’t. ‘Don’t come in,
Stella, run for it!’ I yelled.
‘Too late, Benny, I have the little bird safely in my hands.’
Never had I felt so frustrated by my blindness. Where was he? Stella was
breathing hard, she was somewhere to my left. I heard a squeak as someone sat in the
chair to the right of the fireplace.
Harris or Stella?
‘Stella?’ I asked, looking to my left, trying to gauge where she was.
‘I’m OK, Ben. Be careful, he’s got a gun.’ That was no surprise.
She was standing against the bookcase.
So Harris was sitting in the chair.
‘Get us a whisky, there’s a good girl.’ Harris was tapping his fingers on the
arm of the chair. I’d forgotten how he used to do that whenever he was excited. And
violence excited him. ‘Get one for Benny and yourself while you’re at it, a drink
before dying.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Good title that, pity I couldn’t write a story
to match it.’
Stella fetched the drinks. I was aware of her quick breathing as she passed me
the whisky glass, cool in my hand.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered, wondering if I dare try to say anything more to her.
‘Thanks is enough, Benny. Don’t you try nothing. Give him these pills to swallow with the whisky, there’s a good girl.’
I felt her hand against mine, shaking slightly so that the pills rattled in the
bottle. ‘You’ll need me to write a suicide note, make it look a proper job,’ I
suggested. I heard Stella put her glass down hard on the top of the bookcase.
‘Good thinking, fetch him a pen and paper, kid.’ Stella went to my desk.
As she opened the drawer, I knew she was behind and far left of Harris. I
reached for my gun, and aimed at the chair, throwing myself to the floor as soon as
I’d loosed the bullet. But I’d forgotten the coffee table and I hit my head against it, as
I fell. Dizzying lights swirled around as there was another gunshot. From my gun? Or
was it Harris? Something heavy fell to the floor.
‘Stella!’ I yelled. Turning my head, somehow I saw her, standing open
mouthed with her hand on the desk drawer, staring down at Harris on the floor. Then
the darkness closed in again.
‘Ben!’ Stella was sponging my forehead with something. For some reason I
had a god-awful headache. Then I remembered.
‘Harris?’ I asked straining to regain the vision I’d had earlier. But I could see
nothing.
‘Dead,’ she was crying. ‘How on earth did you do that?’
‘What?’
‘Kill him, shooting blind like that.’ I could feel her hands shaking as she
wiped blood from my head.
‘I heard the chair squeak, so I knew where he was.’
She began to laugh. ‘A drink before dying.’
‘He was right. That’s a damn good title. I think I could write the story. After
our honeymoon, that is.’ I sat up, and took her in my arms. Her lips were warm and
salt with tears.