Billy Summers

Tripp Donovan, sitting on the love-seat, keeps trying to engage Billy in conversation. He says he knows why Billy is here, but whatever that girl Alice told him is total self-protecting bullshit. She was horny, she wanted it, she got it, everyone parted friends, end of story.

Billy nods agreeably. ‘You took her home.’

‘That’s right, we took her home.’

‘In Hank’s van.’

Donovan’s eyes shift at that. He’s got that magic mixture of charm and bullshit, it’s worked for him his whole life and he even expects it to work on the home invader in the Melania Trump mask, but he doesn’t like that question. It’s a knowing question.

‘No, the Love Machine’s broken down in the back parking lot.’

Billy says nothing. Martinez says nothing, and Donovan doesn’t see his roomie’s you fucked up look. Donovan is concentrating on Billy.

‘That a Pro?’ Nodding at the computer bag on the floor. ‘Sweet cruncher, man.’

Billy says nothing. He’s sweating inside the plastic shell of the mask and he can’t wait to get it off. He can’t wait to finish his business and get out of this swinging bachelor pad.

At quarter to five another key rattles in the lock and in comes the third little pig, a small and dapper porker in a black three-piece suit set off by a tie as red as the blood on Alice Maxwell’s thighs. Hank makes no trouble. He sees the blood on Donovan’s face and Martinez’s swollen eyes and when Billy tells him to hold out his hands he does so with only token protest and allows Billy to zip-tie his wrists. Billy leads him to the round table.

‘Here we are,’ Billy says. ‘All in our places with bright shiny faces.’

‘There’s money in my desk,’ Donovan says. ‘In my room. Also some dope. World-class coke, man. An eightball.’

‘I’ve got some cash, too,’ Hank says. ‘Only fifty, but …’ He gives a what-can-you-do shrug. Billy can almost like this one. Stupid considering what he did but true. The flesh under his eyes and around his mouth is white with terror, but he’s behaving and putting up a good front.

‘Oh, you know this isn’t about money.’

‘I told you—’ Donovan begins.

‘He knows the whole thing, Tripp,’ Martinez says.

Billy turns to Hank. ‘What’s your last name?’

‘Flanagan.’

‘And the van out back, the Love Machine … that’s yours, right?’

‘Yes. But it’s broken down. The head gasket—’

‘Blew, I know. But it was running last week, yeah? You guys took Alice home in it after you were done with her?’

‘Don’t say anything!’ Donovan barks.

Hank ignores him. ‘What are you? Her boyfriend? Her brother? Oh boy.’

Billy says nothing.

Hank lets out a sigh. It sounds wet. ‘You know we didn’t take her home.’

‘What did you do with her?’

Donovan: ‘Don’t say anything!’ This seems to be his scripture.

‘Bad advice, Hank. Just say it and spare yourself a lot of grief.’

‘We dropped her off.’

‘Dropped her off? Is that what you want to call it?’

‘Okay, we dumped her,’ he says. ‘But man … she was talking, okay? And we knew she had her phone and money for an Uber. She was talking!’

‘And making perfect sense?’ Billy asks. ‘Holding a conversation? Tell me that if you fucking dare.’

Hank doesn’t tell him that. He starts to cry, which tells Billy something else.

Billy calls Alice. He doesn’t make Hank tell her he’s a worthless piece of shit, because the man’s tears make it clear he already knows that. He only asks Hank to say he’s sorry. Which he does and sounds like he means it. For whatever that’s worth.

Billy turns to Donovan. ‘That leaves you.’

11

The swinging roommates are cowed. No one’s going to run for the door because they know the intruder in the mask would clothesline them if they tried. Billy goes to his computer bag and takes out the Magic Wand hand mixer. It’s a slim stainless steel cylinder about eight inches long. Its electrical cord has been bound into a neat bow by two twist ties.

‘Here’s what I’ve been thinking about,’ Billy says. ‘That men don’t know what it’s like to be raped unless they’ve been raped themselves. You, Mr Donovan, are about to have a reasonable facsimile of that experience.’

Donovan tries to lunge up from the love-seat and Billy pushes him back. When he lands the cushion makes a farting sound. Martinez and Flanagan don’t move, only stare at the mixer with big eyes.

‘What I need you to do is stand up, push down your pants and undershorts, then lie on your stomach.’

‘No!’

Donovan has gone white. His eyes are even bigger than those of his roommates. Billy hardly expected instant compliance. He takes the Ruger from his belt. He remembers Pablo Lopez, one of the squad’s Funhouse casualties. Bigfoot Lopez had that Dirty Harry speech down pat, the one that ends with Harry saying You’ve got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well do you, punk? Billy can’t remember it all, but he has the gist.