32
The death woman was coming. Winston Collins’s senses were befuddled with ganja weed, but he knew that. He thought he had done a bad thing, but he wasn’t too sure what the bad thing had been. His mama had told him he shouldn’t be bad, and he had always done his best to walk a good path. But now…he wasn’t sure what was going on. Only that they would pay.
He was hyped on ganja and grief. But he could still smell blood and cheap nylon carpet, could still feel the heat of the sun being magnified by the big plate-glass window as he stood there, sweat-sodden back pressed tight to the wall. And he could still see. He could see the crimson-soaked horror in the chair. And he could see…oh yes, he could see her, just passing by the window, all unknowing, her blonde hair catching the sun like a bright banner, her walk quick, urgent, as she approached the door of Jack Rackland’s office.
It was her. The death woman.
Praise God and don’t worry, be happy…now how did it go? He was so upset that he had forgotten the words of his favourite Bobby McFerrin song. Suki would know.
But Suki was gone.
There it was, nibbling away at the edge of his brain like a rat chewing on rotten meat. Suki was gone, and Bev was hovering between life and death; he might lose her too and he couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear any of it; it was all her fault. Lily King had brought death into their happy home. Winston had always been peaceful, easy-going; but not now, not any more. Lily King and her sidekick had ruined his life, and they had to pay for it.
He saw it all again: Suki turning over the cards and her troubled gaze coming up to meet his, her sweet lips saying, look, this is Lily King’s card; it’s death.
