5Someone at the Door
062005
Backpacker's Hostel – Cardiff, Wales
She grabs for the phone and calls up Ellie, and before she even identifies herself she's managed to get out: "The twat's cheating on me."
"Janie?"
"The fucking son of a itch is having a fucking affair, Ellie!"
"Christ, I'm sorry. Did he tell you?"
"No. No, but I know."
Janie presses the phone between her ear and her shoulder and goes into the bedroom, starts puling Martin's clothes out of the drawers. Ellie's struggling for words. They barely come. "But... how?"
Janie tears a suitcase from the closet and tosses it atop the clothes. "He's not exactly hiding I, El. He's taking all these secretive phone calls and he comes home late and he never smells like him, you know, and, I Mean, Christ, Ellie! All he's missing is the fucking lipstick-" and here she slams his clothes into the suitcase "-on the fucking collar!"
And, as Ellie seeks out Martin's defense, the doorbell rings.
He's here, Janie thinks.
"What color do you think the lipstick'll be, this time? Hm? Red? Purple? Chartreuse?"
"Janie, I-"
But she hangs up. She storms to the door and looks out the peephole and, sure enough, there he is, and it's red she sees. He's trying to hide it, trying to wipe it off and keep it out of sight, but he's also staring at it dumbly as if he can't believe it's really there, and Janie rips open the door and sees that not only is it there but, oh no, that's not lipstick, that's blood.
"I shot him, Janie. I... there weren't any... Chris, Janie! I shot him!" And Janie can't really respond, so she just stands in the doorway, and he pushes past her and into the kitchen. "Turn on the faucet, will ya?"
"But I-"
"My hands are covered in blood, babe. Turn on the faucet."
"Who did you shoot?"
"I'll tell you all about it, babe, if you'll just turn on the faucet."
"Martin!" Tears are welling up, now. "Who the fuck did you shoot?"
"Oh, Janie..." And he reaches for her, but his hands are covered in blood, and she steps away and then the floodgates open and the tears come rolling down, and Martin's heart breaks. "Oh, Janie. Janie, no. No, come on. We can get through this. It's just... We gotta keep our cool, alright, Janie? We gotta keep some composure here. Now, will ya turn on the faucet?"
"Did you kill a man, Martin? Did you kill somebody?"
"Is it stainless steel?"
"You shot them?"
"Cause I'm getting blood on it. If it's not stainless steel..."
"Who, Martin, who?"
And he turns to the faucet and her tears roll down and he stops and he says to her, "Have you been doing dishes, Janie?"
"I needed something to do," she sniffs.
"Well, I don't want to get them dirty... You never do dishes, Janie."
"I usually don't ear alone, either."
"Oh, shit! I missed dinner!"
He slaps his forehead and he smears the blood and he curses again and heads off to the bathroom and Janie follows him crying and she says, "Who'd you shoot, Martin?"
And he's wiping off the blood with soap and water and there's blood on his forehead, his hair, the faucet handles, his jacket, coat, tie. He dries off his hands and says, "Janie, the mob's after us. We've got to get out of here."
"The mob? You shot fucking Don Italiano?"
"No! No, Janie, no! I didn't go after a family or anything, it's just... We're in hard times right now. I got some money a while back. I mean, like... Janie. Look at your hand. Look at it! What is that? That's an expensive engagement ring, that's what that is."
And it is.
"You think some Average Joe down at a fisherman's wharf can afford that? Janie, look around. We've got a bedroom and a kitchen and a New York view. I... I'm sorry. Look. I'm so sorry. I've been running drugs, alright. Dealing, transporting, whatever they need. Haven't touched him, I'm still clean, just passed some around. But, I mean... A guy can only do so many favors, you know? The money they gave me was only worth so much."
Blood still on his forehead and still on his jacket, "Camptown Races" fills the room. Janie's tears calm as confusion takes over.
He freezes and his gun falls to the floor.
And then Martin's reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone.
"It's Ellie," he says, reading the Caller ID. "We're okay."
"Are they going to kill us?"
"No, no. We've got this. Five bullets left, too, and more in the car."
And then he reaches down and picks up the gun again, hands it to Janie, and flips open his phone. "Camptown Races" stops. He's cool, now. Cool and calm. "Hello?"
And Janie looks at the gun and tears fill her eyes and Martin's speaking yeah's and uh huh's and then she looks up and the color's gone from his face and he looks as if his whole world just came crumbling down.
"How long have you known?" he asks.
"What?"
"Me and Ellie. Fuck, Janie. Fuck! We were gonna call if off at the wedding. Officially. That was going to be the end of it. Fuck. I'm so sorry."
"What?"
"Yeah. Just... We'll talk about it later. We gotta get out of here now. Come on."
And then it hits her like a ton of bricks.
"Janie, come on! We'll talk in the car!"
And then somebody's banging at the door.
And he realizes it's too late.
"Janie! Move out of the doorway!"
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"Janie!"
"You son of a bitch."
And she holds up the gun slowly.
"You lying son of a bitch."
"Janie?"
Bang. Bang!
Not the gun.
The door, still.
Bang, bang, bang!
"Come on, Janie." Martin's stepping backwards now. Wary. Cautious. "Come on. We'll talk this out. We can-"
BANG!
That's the gun.
The gun goes off. One stray bullet, shattering a tile. Tears are flowing, the faucet's dripping. Martin's sweating. "Janie..." BANG! Again, right at the floor. BANG, BANG!
The door, again and again, harder and harder. Bang, bang!
"Five bullets, right, Martin?"
"Janie-"
"That was four."
And she lifts the gun to her head and fires, and her brains drip down the wall, and Martin's screaming at her body before it even hits the ground, and then the door's knocked open and his visitor's thunder through the halls, and no matter who it is, Martin's life as a free man just ended in any way possible.
His cell phone rings.