Shooting in the Dark

I have to bring the life of at least one more person to an end.
     

27
     
    There was a knocking sound coming from the engine of the Montego, like the little guy who lived in there had certain knowledge of an impending disaster and wanted to get out. Sam thought about dropping the car off at the garage and collecting Angeles in a taxi. But the single tenner in his wallet convinced him he had to coax the car along for a few more miles.
    Rosie, one of his old flames, had told him that machinery was always surrounded by invisible elemental beings, like imps and goblins, who weren’t very bright. If you looked after the machine, made sure it was oiled and in good condition, then these little guys were happy to play about among themselves. But if you neglected the thing, let it get rusty and corroded, they were likely to start messing around. They’d trickle rust into the petrol tank, guide the tyres towards slivers of glass on the road, and they’d alter the fuel ratios until internal combustion failed completely. Any mischief they could cause, they’d go for it.
    Come to think of it, that banging from under the bonnet could easily be those guys dismantling the car while it was travelling along the road. A pixie wrecking crew out of their skulls on exhaust fumes.
    Rosie got religion really bad in the end. Seemed to spend the whole day on her knees. She lived on clichés and meditations and moved away to a New Age commune. Sam tried to think about Rosie but he couldn’t remember her face or why they were attracted. He couldn’t recall the sound of her voice. Just the weird things she said.
    Angeles was sitting on her bed in a side ward on the top floor of the District Hospital. She wore stone-washed jeans with a navy fitted jacket, and a charcoal-grey blouse. She was pale, her features drawn, as if someone had her skin in a tourniquet at the back of her head. ‘Sam,’ she said as he entered the room, a smile animating her face.
    ‘You ready to get out of this place?’
    ‘I think so, yes.’ She was on her feet now. She handed him a sheaf of paperwork. ‘Discharge papers. I still have to see one of the nurses. Then we can go.’
    Sam collected her suitcase and stood close to her so she could take his arm. His hand was swathed in bandages but she didn’t seem to notice. He walked her out of the room and along the corridor to the nurses’ station. As they approached, a small nurse with her hair highlighted in different shades of maroon detached herself from the table. ‘Ms Falco,’ she said, ‘here’s your medication.’ She held out a small paper bag, then remembered that Angeles couldn’t see it. ‘I’ll give it to your friend, here.’
    Sam had Angeles in one hand and her suitcase in the other. He grinned at the nurse and held the suitcase wide so she could slip the tablets into his jacket pocket.
    ‘Any goodies in there?’ Sam asked. ‘If I should need a new way of looking at the world.’
    The nurse shook her head. She didn’t say anything. She’d heard it all before.
    Sam got Angeles installed in the passenger seat of the Montego and walked around to the driver’s door. She seemed to be having some trouble with the seat belt. He waited, not wanting to seem over-solicitous. There’s something wrong with the woman’s sight; she’s not a cripple. If she needs help, she’ll ask for it.
    ‘This’s broken,’ she said.
    ‘It’s just awkward,’ Sam said. ‘I could show you?’
    ‘It’s broken,’ Angeles said. ‘I could show you.’
    He turned in his seat and pulled the belt around her. There was that hospital smell, and then the scent of the woman muffled behind it. He slotted the male connector into the female receptor and listened for the click.
    Angeles pulled on the belt to show him that the connection didn’t hold.
    ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It’s supposed to click.’
    She shrugged. ‘It’s broken,’ she told him. ‘It’s never going to click again.’
    He made the connection once more, held it with both hands so she couldn’t pull it apart. She ran her fingers lightly over his hands and smiled. ‘Are you going to drive like that?’ she asked. ‘You want me to take the steering wheel?’
    ‘There’s something wrong with the engine, as well,’ Sam told her. ‘Kind of knocking noise. The thing’s falling apart.’
    ‘It’s nice to know I’ve hired a company that isn’t overcapitalized.’
    Sam looked across at her. She’d put on a poker face to make things as