was too late,” he started.
I hadn't wanted to interrupt, but I couldn't help myself.
“What do you mean, you couldn't hear? I was making enough noise outside to register on the Richter scale. The neighbors five doors down came out, for God's sake. You must have heard.”
Kiffo looked a little embarrassed.
“Yeah, well, I'm a little… well, deaf. Just in my left ear, you understand.”
“You might have told me this, Kiffo, before you had me as lookout for you. If I'd known that letting off a cannon would have been the only way of attracting your attention, I might have been a little less willing to get myself involved in this mess.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Go on.”
“It was horrible, Calma. I was in her bedroom, checking things out. I hadn't done nothing at that stage. I waswondering whether I should pee over her pet cockatoo, when I heard her coming up the stairs. I had no time to get away, so I hid in her wardrobe. It was awful in there. She had all these … all these… woman things hanging up. You know, underwear things.”
The image of Miss Payne's underwear was not one I wanted to dwell on.
“I had my face stuffed into something lacy with wires, Calma,” he continued, his voice catching with emotion. “And a cockroach was climbing up the insides of my trousers. The wardrobe was dark and smelly and I could hear her moving round. And then that bloody great dog started to bark. It was in the room with her. I thought that at any moment she would throw open the doors of the wardrobe and the dog would rip my throat out. If I'd known then that I would be spending the next nine hours surrounded by her… you know, things… I'd probably have been glad if it had.”
“Nine hours! But you must have had some chance to get out of there.”
Kiffo shook his head.
“Nah,” he said. “There were a good few hours when the Pitbull was downstairs, but every time I went to open the door that bloody hound kicked up a helluva noise. She got really suspicious. Came upstairs about five or six times to check the place out. I could hear her growling. Her and the bloody dog. Could be relatives, them. The worst bit, though, was when she went to bed.”
Kiffo's face drained of color and for a moment I thought hewouldn't be able to go on. He looked in need of one of those disaster counselors they have—you know, for victims of landslides and bushfires. He was about as traumatized by his experiences as anyone could be. To his credit, though, he swallowed and carried on.
“I could hear her undressing, Calma.” His voice shook. “It was horrible. That must have been about eleven-thirty. And by that time the roach was nesting in my bal—trousers and I couldn't move and I wanted to sneeze and I couldn't do that and my nose was really itching where her thingies were hanging against my face and…”
“Calm down, Kiffo. You're safe now.”
He took a few deep breaths and swallowed the rest of the coffee. Suppressing the shudders, he carried on in a calmer tone.
“I could hear the bed creak as she got into it. Must be a helluva bed, that one. Reinforced, I reckon. And then, just when I thought it couldn't get no worse… it did.”
“Why? What happened?”
“She had a CD player by the bed. I'd checked it out earlier. You know, one of the things I was going to trash. And she put on a CD. For, like, an hour.”
“So what's wrong with that?”
“It was that Irish dickhead. You know, the one who stamps about on stage, feet wiggling all over the place, but the rest of him all stiff like he's got a metal bar up his arse? That one. It was really gross, Calma. All those fiddles and accordions and things. I thought I was going to die.”
I could see his point. It did seem unnecessary torture.
“But what about when she went to sleep? You must have had a chance then.”
“She lets the dog sleep with her. Poor bloody thing. What with her and all the Irish music it has to listen to, you can't blame it for being a
I hadn't wanted to interrupt, but I couldn't help myself.
“What do you mean, you couldn't hear? I was making enough noise outside to register on the Richter scale. The neighbors five doors down came out, for God's sake. You must have heard.”
Kiffo looked a little embarrassed.
“Yeah, well, I'm a little… well, deaf. Just in my left ear, you understand.”
“You might have told me this, Kiffo, before you had me as lookout for you. If I'd known that letting off a cannon would have been the only way of attracting your attention, I might have been a little less willing to get myself involved in this mess.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Go on.”
“It was horrible, Calma. I was in her bedroom, checking things out. I hadn't done nothing at that stage. I waswondering whether I should pee over her pet cockatoo, when I heard her coming up the stairs. I had no time to get away, so I hid in her wardrobe. It was awful in there. She had all these … all these… woman things hanging up. You know, underwear things.”
The image of Miss Payne's underwear was not one I wanted to dwell on.
“I had my face stuffed into something lacy with wires, Calma,” he continued, his voice catching with emotion. “And a cockroach was climbing up the insides of my trousers. The wardrobe was dark and smelly and I could hear her moving round. And then that bloody great dog started to bark. It was in the room with her. I thought that at any moment she would throw open the doors of the wardrobe and the dog would rip my throat out. If I'd known then that I would be spending the next nine hours surrounded by her… you know, things… I'd probably have been glad if it had.”
“Nine hours! But you must have had some chance to get out of there.”
Kiffo shook his head.
“Nah,” he said. “There were a good few hours when the Pitbull was downstairs, but every time I went to open the door that bloody hound kicked up a helluva noise. She got really suspicious. Came upstairs about five or six times to check the place out. I could hear her growling. Her and the bloody dog. Could be relatives, them. The worst bit, though, was when she went to bed.”
Kiffo's face drained of color and for a moment I thought hewouldn't be able to go on. He looked in need of one of those disaster counselors they have—you know, for victims of landslides and bushfires. He was about as traumatized by his experiences as anyone could be. To his credit, though, he swallowed and carried on.
“I could hear her undressing, Calma.” His voice shook. “It was horrible. That must have been about eleven-thirty. And by that time the roach was nesting in my bal—trousers and I couldn't move and I wanted to sneeze and I couldn't do that and my nose was really itching where her thingies were hanging against my face and…”
“Calm down, Kiffo. You're safe now.”
He took a few deep breaths and swallowed the rest of the coffee. Suppressing the shudders, he carried on in a calmer tone.
“I could hear the bed creak as she got into it. Must be a helluva bed, that one. Reinforced, I reckon. And then, just when I thought it couldn't get no worse… it did.”
“Why? What happened?”
“She had a CD player by the bed. I'd checked it out earlier. You know, one of the things I was going to trash. And she put on a CD. For, like, an hour.”
“So what's wrong with that?”
“It was that Irish dickhead. You know, the one who stamps about on stage, feet wiggling all over the place, but the rest of him all stiff like he's got a metal bar up his arse? That one. It was really gross, Calma. All those fiddles and accordions and things. I thought I was going to die.”
I could see his point. It did seem unnecessary torture.
“But what about when she went to sleep? You must have had a chance then.”
“She lets the dog sleep with her. Poor bloody thing. What with her and all the Irish music it has to listen to, you can't blame it for being a
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