The House Guest - Mark Edwards Page 0,50

that pretends not to exist.’

‘They must have a leader,’ I said. ‘Someone who founded the whole thing. Do you know who it is? Are there any rumours?’

‘Elvis,’ she said, deadpan, then exploded with laughter. ‘Sorry, man. I can’t help fucking with you. No, nobody knows who he or she is. There aren’t even any vaguely credible rumours. But whoever they are, I bet you one thing: it’s the kind of person you’d pass on the street without noticing.’

There was a silence. The dog had fallen quiet and all I could hear was the hum of Wanda’s computers.

‘So what can we do?’ I asked.

‘We’re going to find them,’ she replied. ‘Like I said, we all have networks. I have one too. I have dozens of people helping me all over the country. Citizen journalists. Young people who are as determined to expose the truth as I am. Have faith.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Do you have any protection?’ she asked. ‘A gun?’

‘Back in Cali,’ Callum replied. ‘They wouldn’t let me bring it on the plane.’

Wanda turned to me. ‘What about you? You ever used a gun?’

A gun? I shook my head. ‘I’m English.’

She laughed and slapped her thighs. ‘Follow me.’

She led us back along the hallway and down some steps into a basement. We reached another door, this one made of solid metal. Wanda produced her bunch of keys again and unlocked it. She pushed it open and flicked on a light.

‘What the hell?’ I said, as Callum made a delighted noise.

We stepped into the room, which was more of a vault. Or an armoury. There were racks of guns lining three walls. Handguns. Semi-automatics. Rifles and shotguns. In contrast to the rest of the cabin, everything was illuminated by bright fluorescent lights.

‘I have to be ready,’ Wanda said. ‘For when they come.’

I stood by as she and Callum talked about weapons. ‘What do you want?’ Wanda said. ‘I like the Sig Sauer P226, or the Glock 17. Or maybe something small like this? A Taurus Judge? Very easily concealed. Or the Glock 36?’

In the end, Callum went for the Glock 17, plus a box of ammunition.

‘How about you?’ she asked me.

‘I’m good, thanks.’ I really didn’t want to start carrying a gun around. I had no idea how to use one and no time to learn.

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

We went back up the stairs and Wanda said she would call her driver – part of her network of helpers, apparently – and ask him to drive us back to Brooklyn.

‘Can I use your bathroom while we wait?’ Callum said.

‘Uh-huh. Third door on the left.’

He walked down the hallway and opened a door.

‘No, third—’

A blur of black fur shot out of the room, straight past Callum, and came bounding towards me, a torrent of barks ringing out. I threw myself back against the wall as Wanda shouted, ‘Julius, no!’

The dog skidded to a halt in front of me. It was a Rottweiler. It bared its teeth and growled. I remembered Wanda saying it would kill anyone who went near her and pressed myself further against the wall, wishing I could sink into it.

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’m a friend. Friend.’

Julius took a step closer, lips drawn back, a trail of slobber hanging from his jaw. I turned to Wanda, expecting her to help, but she was smiling.

The dog sniffed me, then dropped to the ground and rolled on to his back.

‘He wants you to tickle his belly,’ she said, as Callum came back towards us, laughing.

‘Did I forget to tell you?’ Wanda said with a grin, as I crouched and stroked Julius’s tummy. ‘He’s a pussycat really.’

Chapter 22

It was Wednesday morning. Outside, the city was beginning to wake up, the sun rising on what would be another blisteringly hot day. Ruth, who had woken up at five and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep, sat in the bath and examined her bruises. They had faded to yellow and grey. Walking around was less painful and she had stopped limping.

She looked better. But inside, she felt as if she’d swallowed darkness.

Eighteen months ago, when she had begun shooting The Immaculate, one of the older actors had taken her aside and given her a torrent of unsolicited advice, all delivered in the plummy, arrogant tones of someone who thought he had life all figured out and couldn’t wait to share his wisdom.

‘Be careful,’ he had said. ‘When you are handed the fruits of success, other people will hope you choke on them.’

She’d blinked at him.

‘I’m sure