The Artist of Death - Chapter 9

The Artist of Death – Chapter 9

Tobin had dropped Amy off at Nikita’s the previous evening and then went back home, rested the night at his apartment and then drove back into town to collect her. At ten minutes past six Amy was ready to go. Tobin had his new car parked outside. Amy climbed into the seat beside him and the engine roared into life. He applied the throttle and the vehicle responded easily and he accelerated when he reached the road and followed the curve of the street until the reach the main two-lane highway that was to take them north towards the Harbor Bridge. They pulled out into the early morning traffic and the lights obliged by turning green as they approached them. Tobin accelerated and Amy felt herself being pushed back into her seat by the power of the two point five, V six engine.
"Nice car," she remarked with a tired, voice.
"Mmm, just recently got it."
"It's nice, really nice."
Amy sat back and closed her eyes. For the first time in weeks she felt safe. She had deliberately ignored the message that Troy had left with Lizzy at the door the previous night demanding that she call him to let him know where - as he had put it – where the fuck she had been. For all she cared now he could rot in hell.

Troy arrived at 'Nikita's' just as a metallic grey Mazda surged away from the traffic lights. "Fuck, that's nice," he muttered, "I wouldn't mind one of those myself."
He never saw the head of the passenger, the headrest shielding the view. Troy waited outside but Amy never appeared.
"Fuck, where the hell is she?" He leant on the horn but still nothing. He climbed out and slamming the door behind him strode up the steps.
"Can yer tell 'er I'm 'ere?" he snapped at Lizzy.
"She's gone," she barked back.
"Gone, gone where?"
"She left about ten minutes ago."
Troy was agitated. "Who wiv?"
"I dunno. I couldn't really say."
"Listen you old slag, you better tell me," he snarled, his anger rising, “or else.”
"Or else you'll what?" she said raising her voice and getting out of her seat. Lizzy wasn't a big woman, slight in fact and her impish hairstyle and almost youthful features belied her inner depths but years of teaching Karate had honed her muscles as well as her reflexes and her mind. Troy was no match for her. "If you don't piss off right now I'll do to you worse than what you did to her. If you ask me she's well rid of filthy little scumbag like you. Now get lost."
"You ain't got the bottle lady," he said standing his ground.
The door flew open and before Troy could react, a lightening punch landed square on his face, the force so powerful that he hit the ground flat on his back at the foot of the steps without touching any of the treads.
Lizzy stood at the top of the steps, hands on her hips, "You got anything to add you stupid little prick," she asked angrily.
Troy struggled to his feet, his nose broken and wiped blood from his splattered face, "I'll get you for that you bitch you see if . . ."
Lizzy was down the steps in two strides and a drop kick aimed at his chest sent Troy crashing against the side of his car. He gasped and groaned, his breath driven from him.
"Get it into your head stupid," she began, "I can make mincemeat of you with my eyes shut. Now for the last time, fuck off and don't come back." Lizzy went back inside and locked the door.
Troy, still wheezing got to his feet and struggled with the car door. Climbing in he sat for a few moments and tried to collect his thoughts. He glanced at Lizzy with angry, baleful eyes. He wanted to get back out of his car and smash her about like she had just done to him but for once in his life he thought better of it. Instead, he started the engine and drove away. Shit my ribs hurt, he thought as he gingerly rubbed them. Then he slammed the steering wheel with his fist, "Fuck the bitch. Where's she gone?" he shouted out loud.
He drove around the streets scanning every pedestrian he saw but Amy was nowhere to be seen. "Fuck it," he screamed. "The slut, fuckin’ slut."

Tobin left Amy sleeping in his bed while he went and replenished his depleted stocks of materials. She'd recoiled slightly, as she had done since she started coming to his home when she’d followed him inside, the smell of fresh paint being quite strong.
"You'll get used to it," he'd said to her.
"Listen, if I can put up with bad beer breath while Troy is humping away on top of me, I can sure put up with this."
He'd left her for only a few minutes while she got undressed and climbed into his bed but when he came back into the room she was already sound asleep. She was still asleep when he got back in mid afternoon and it was only his moving around that had woken her.
She opened her eyes with a start, the strange surroundings catching her unawares momentarily. As her mind cleared she remembered where she was. She could hear Tobin moving around on the mezzanine floor and getting out of bed, pulled on her clothes and went out of the bedroom and joined him.
She sat quietly, Tobin not realizing that she was there and she watched him work. It was in complete contrast to what she experienced when she was around Troy. With him it was constant fights, arguing. In his house she had to watch every step, mind every word. In Tobin’s world there was no tension, no stress. "What used to be there?" she asked looking at the piles of plaster scattered on the floor, surrounding an obvious square area which indicated something large had sat there.
Looking up he smiled. It wasn’t a broad smile, just a friendly smile that acknowledged that she was there. He turned his head and looked at the scattered remains of plaster where ‘Chains’ used to be. "That was where a sculpture stood, that I had been working on."
"Where is it now?"
"Finished, it’s in some gallery somewhere now." He looked back to the chips and dust and wondered about its fate.
Amy nodded, understanding the simplicity of his life. It was a life she wanted. It was a life that she used to have before she left America.
"Hungry," he asked looking at her.
Giving a nod of her head, she replied, "Famished."
"I'll cook something." He went down the stairs, Amy followed. He led her into the bathroom. "Have a deep hot bath. A good long soak will do you good. I'll get you a fresh towel and I’ll bring you some sweat pants and a top."
Amy turned on the taps and waited, sitting on the edge of the bath while it filled. She saw some bath salts and sprinkled some in and swished her hands around. Immediately bubbles rose and pulling off her clothes climbed gingerly into the hot water. As she settled, she leant back and the water lapped around her neck.
Amy closed her eyes and tears coursed down her cheeks. It had been such a long time since she had sat in a bath tub; she didn't know how much she had missed it till now.
Tobin knocked on the door. "Can I come in?" he called.
Amy grinned at the absurdity of it all. A few hours ago he had had his hands all over her naked body and here he was asking if he could come into his bathroom while she sat in his bath.
"Sure, come on in," she laughed.
He came in carrying a sweat shirt and pants in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.
"Wow, this is a treat," she said, her eyes smiling at him.
He could tell she had been crying but he said nothing. "I thought you might enjoy this while you soaked," he said to her, holding the glass out.

"I'll say. Thanks, although I don't usually drink this early in the day." She reached out and took it from him.
"I'll leave these for you," he said laying down the sweats on a stool.
She took a sip of wine and before she could speak Tobin slipped out the door closing it softly behind him. "He's a treasure," she muttered. She let herself slip a little lower until the water level lapped around her chin and then wiggled her toes. The action was so miniscule yet it spoke volumes of how she felt. Such a small action that meant so much, it told her of how relaxed she felt. Tobin was right. There was no way in hell that she could ever go back to Troy, not now, all that was far behind her. True, she had to get back to the house to retrieve her belongings but as for staying there. In the solitude of the bathroom she snorted her contempt at the thought.
No, Troy was history. A bad memory on a page in a book of mistakes one that she fully intended to rip out and burn. Other mistakes she looked back on and kept them so that could recall them and know that she would never make them again. Troy Lenning was the kind of demon that you drove a stake through its heart and once it was dead you buried it and never looked again at its gravesite.