The Jealousy Man and Other Stories

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come on, Judith. You’re a better actress than that.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Greco.’

But I did. That was her mantra as a fixer. Go directly to the root. When she was contacted with a commission, something which, for obvious reasons, almost always happened via a middleman, she always made it her business to find out who the real customer was and pay a visit to that person. It was always a risky business. She might lose the commission, or expose herself to danger, but she insisted on going directly to the root in order to fix a price and agree on the conditions. She always got a better price, she maintained, because she could do without all the middlemen taking their cut, and there were no misunderstandings about what was included in the service and what was not. And I supported her tactic of going directly to the root method because I wanted to know the reason for the commission, what the intended result of it was. My road to heaven was paved with the evil intentions of others, and I just wanted to make sure that the greater evil didn’t win out.

‘Maybe, maybe I want this, Judith Szabó. I like your tongue. You’ve come to negotiate. So make a start. What are you offering to spare his life, your psychologist?’

She shook her head. ‘He’s been out of my life a long time, Greco. But yes, of course, I expect you not to harm him.’

Greco put his head back and laughed his T and S laugh until his piggy eyes disappeared behind his round cheeks. ‘Come on, Judith, a negotiator has to lie better than that. You know what I wish?’

I shuddered as he reached out a hand to stroke her cheek.

‘I wish you’d have loved me enough to do what you’re doing for him.’

Judith stared at him, her mouth open. One hand continued towards her cheek. The other tightened its grip on the handle of the knife behind his back. I could see the tears welling up in her eyes, the way her body seemed to collapse inside; she was already moving her hands up to protect herself. She knew pretty well what was about to happen. That this had always been the likely outcome. And that now it was too late for regrets.

‘Hello...’ he said.

‘No!’ she shouted.

‘No!’ I shouted.

‘...I’m Greco,’ he said.

He swung the knife in a tight arc so swiftly it seemed to leave a trail of silver through the air.

Judith stared at him and at the knife. The blade was clean. But her throat had opened. Then came the blood. It splashed out, and she raised her hands as though to prevent it falling onto her coat, her present. But as she pressed her hands to her neck the pressure increased and blood sprayed from between her fingers in thin jets. Greco backed away but not quickly enough; blood splashed on the sleeve of his white suit jacket. Judith’s legs gave way and she fell to her knees. Already her eyes were glazed; oxygen was no longer reaching the brain. The hands fell lifelessly from the neck, already the volume of blood had diminished. For a second or two her body balanced on the knees, and then she collapsed forwards, her forehead hitting the stone floor with a soft thud.

I screamed into the phone.

Greco looked down. Not at Judith, but at the sleeve of his jacket as he tried to wipe away the blood. Then he walked over towards the phone, and I didn’t stop screaming until his Guy Fawkes face filled the whole screen. He looked at me without saying anything, with a sort of mild solemnity, like a mourner. Was that what he was? Or was he acting the sympathy in a parody of the undertaker’s professional solemnity?

‘Tick-tock,’ said Greco. ‘Tick-tock.’ Then he broke the connection.

I tapped in the police emergency number and pressed Call. But of course I was too late, I no longer had a signal.

I collapsed onto the floor.