The Tailor's Razor

3. A Hopeless Esquire

Later that evening
Taylor's hotel room

Taylor lay on his bed staring at the ceiling fan, slowly spinning. The air felt still and dull, regardless, and Mahdo lay sprawled on the cool stone floor, panting rapidly.

Taylor was on edge; Madison had taken off at a rate of knots after they had emerged from the bay, discovering half a dozen voicemails from her mother. The voice on the other end of the line had been hysterical but refused to explain what the matter was till she got back to their house on the Point. Madison had fretfully buckled her helmet and sped off over the hill after dropping her boy at the Crystal Palace.

Three hours and twice as many shots of rye later Taylor began to worry that she hadn't called back. He leapt at the phone when Tomas rung.

"When you weren't at the beach I thought you must have heard," Tomas said softly.

"What the hell is going on!?" Taylor demanded.

"You're going to have to sit down for this."

"I'm in bed man!"

"All right, calm down. Madison's dad's dead. He was shot on the road out to the Preserve," Tomas breathed.

Taylor buried his face in his hand, "Dead?"

"It went right through his head."

"Man..." Taylor looked out to the harbour, and he got that familiar desire to photograph the play between night and sunset on the western hills, "Did they get the guy?"

"No; it was a girl. She stole a bike and they lost her on the road. Listen, I called cos I'm heading down to the station to talk to the police. I'm friends with the cops there."

"Cheers man."

"You know where it is? The courts down by the water?"

"Yeah I know the one. Thanks Tomas; appreciate it," he rubbed Mahdo's ribs with the ball of his foot, "But if I'm not there when you turn up don't wait."

"You be careful," said Tomas.

"Oh, I'll try."

"Bye."

"Seeya man," hanging up he dialled Madison but it rung out. Thinking it might to rude to harangue the girl he left the phone on his bed, pouring another glass of rye.

"What a scoop," he sighed, looking down at Mahdo. The dog's enormous smile faded when he saw the look on Taylor's face. Rising from the floor he stretched in extremis before coming over to his mate, resting his head in Taylor's lap.

The phone rang and Taylor lunged at it, "Madison?"

"Will," her voice sounded brittle, "Dad's dead."

"I just heard."

Blubbering for a second she swallowed the pain, letting it run down her cheeks instead, "I don't... who..." she choked again, "I can't talk now, I'm really sorry."

"Nah I totally understand, I just..." he thought for a second, "I say this from experience, Madison; let go of all that pain you're feeling. You might think that's all you've got left of your dad, I know I did, but you need to weep, you need to scream and laugh and do whatever you need to get all that out because when it's gone he'll still be there, in you. When the pain's gone all that's left is the warmth of his memory. Trust me on that one, Madison," his voice cracked, "Now you stay with your mother, and your brother, and I'm gonna find the bitch who did this."

She didn't speak for almost a minute, not till Taylor repeated her name did she say "Don't promise that, Will."

"I'm going to the police, girlie; you take care."

"You too. Bye."

"Seeya," he flicked the phone around aimlessly in his hand till he downed the dregs of rye, "C'mon Mahdo; we're off."

The dog stretched again, happily following Taylor out the room. He knew it wasn't good for his mate to mull too much; Taylor's moods were infectious to all creatures great and small.