Macbeth

‘No one’s allowed to know more than they have to, not even you, Bonus. But back to the matters in hand. Lady has taken her own life, but Macbeth seems paralysed rather than upset, would you say?’

‘That’s my interpretation.’

‘Hm. And if Tourtell declares a state of emergency, do you think Macbeth in his present state of mind will manage to take power, to do what has to be done to establish himself as the town’s leader?’

‘I don’t know. He seems... not to care. As though nothing is very important any more. Either that or he believes himself to be invulnerable. You will save him whatever happens.’

‘Hm.’ Hecate tapped his stick on the floor twice. ‘Without Lady the value of Macbeth as chief commissioner has sunk.’

‘He’ll still obey.’

‘He might succeed in taking power now, but without her he won’t be able to keep it. She was the one who understood the game, could see the wood for the trees, knew what manoeuvres were required. Macbeth can throw daggers, but someone has to tell him why and at whom.’

‘I could become his new adviser,’ Jack said. ‘I’m winning his confidence.’

Hecate laughed. ‘I can’t quite make up my mind whether you’re a mud-eating flounder or actually a sly predatory fish, Bonus.’

‘I am a fish though, I gather.’

‘Even if you could bolster his impaired ability to rule, I doubt you could do much about his will. He lacks Lady’s lust for power. He seems to desire things you and I have not been dependent on, dear Bonus.’

‘Brew?’

‘Lady. Women. Friends maybe. You know, this love between humans. And now that Lady’s dead he’s no longer driven by the desire to satisfy her hunger for power.’

‘Lady also needed love,’ Jack said quietly.

‘The desire to be loved and the ability to love, which give humans such strength, are also their Achilles heel. Give them the prospect of love and they move mountains; take it from them and a puff of wind will blow them over.’

‘Maybe, maybe.’

‘If the wind blows Macbeth over, what do you think about him there as chief commissioner?’ Hecate nodded towards the glass. One of the sisters was drying Lennox’s left arm with an alcohol swab and searching for a vein while holding a syringe ready.

‘Lennox?’ Jack said. ‘Are you serious?’

Hecate smacked his lips. ‘He’s the man who brought Macbeth down. The hero who sacrificed his mobility to save the town’s mayor. And no one knows that Lennox works for me.’

‘But Malcolm’s back. And everyone knows Lennox runs Macbeth’s errands.’

‘Lennox followed orders like a loyal policeman should. And Malcolms and Duffs can disappear again. Roosevelt won a world war from a wheelchair. Yes, I could get Lennox into the chief commissioner’s office. What do you reckon?’

Jack looked at Lennox. Without answering.

Hecate laughed and laid a big soft hand on Jack’s narrow shoulder. ‘I know what you’re thinking, flounder. What about you? Who will employ you if Macbeth has gone? So let’s hope Macbeth rides the storm, eh? Come on, let me show you out.’

Jack cast a final glance at Lennox, then he turned and walked back with Hecate to the toilet door and the station.

‘Wait,’ Lennox said as the sister placed the needle against his skin. He put his free right hand into the big side pocket of the wheelchair. Pulled the cord from the end of the handle.

‘Now,’ he said.

She pushed the needle in and pressed the plunger as he took his hand from the pocket, swung his arm low alongside the chair and let go. What Priscilla had brought from the office rumbled along the concrete floor and disappeared under the table bearing the flasks, tubes and pipes beside the tank.

‘Hey, what was that?’ Strega asked.

‘According to my grandfather, it was a grenade he had thrown at his head,’ Lennox said, feeling the high, which would never be like the first time but still made him shiver with pleasure. Which was, after all these years of searching, still the closest he had come to the meaning of life. Unless it was this. The full stop.

‘It might be a Model 24 Stielhandgranate. Or an ashtr—’

That was as far as he got.

Jack was halfway up the stairs when the explosion sent him flying. He picked himself up and turned back to the toilet. The door had been blown off and smoke was drifting out. He waited. When there were no more explosions he walked slowly down the stairs and into the toilet. The cubicle and door to the kitchen had gone. There was a fierce fire inside, and in the light of the flames he could see everything had been destroyed. The kitchen and those inside didn’t exist any more. And five seconds earlier he had been—

‘Bonus...’

The voice came from directly in front of him. And there, from under the steel door on the floor, it crawled out. A smashed cockroach in a white linen suit. The soft face was covered with shit and his eyes were black with shock.

‘Help me...’