Lenny responded to each unspoken statement with a frown and shaped his own lips into an inaudible ‘What?’ His mouth still open from the second ‘What?’, he apparently decided this was as good a time as any and took a large bite out of the chocolate digestive. As he began to chew, a look of satisfaction spread across his face, and he nodded to himself as though pleasantly surprised that the taste was far better than he’d anticipated. From then on, he took little or no interest in Carrot’s phone conversation.
Carrot, on the other hand, had no option but to listen to Harry Vincent’s expletive-strewn monologue. So shocked had he been to hear his boss’s voice that he hadn’t even smiled to himself at Harry’s opening line of ‘I’m on a train’. This was then followed by a brief explanation as to why he’d had to fly all the way over from fucking Greece to sort out their fucking cockups and the announcement that he’d be at the flat himself in the next couple of hours or so.
Towards the end of the “conversation”, Carrot became aware that Lenny was slowly circling the armchair in the centre of the room whilst steadily munching biscuit after biscuit and occasionally licking his fingers. At first, he seemed to take only a passing interest in the occupant of the chair, but Carrot grew increasingly concerned as Lenny’s circling brought him closer and closer to their captive with each rotation. Not only that, but his passing interest in the man gradually transformed into attentive curiosity and then into concentrated study. By the time Carrot ended the call, Lenny had stopped circling altogether and was stooping over the guy in the chair and gently patting both of his cheeks between the palms of his hands.
‘What’s up?’ said Carrot, wrestling himself out of the sleeping bag.
‘Not sure,’ said Lenny without turning. ‘I think he might be dead.’
Three paces brought Carrot to Lenny’s side. The guy certainly didn’t look too good. His complexion was a bluish shade of grey, and the complete absence of movement from his chest was a worrying indication that he had stopped breathing.
‘We need to get a look at his eyes,’ said Lenny and took hold of one end of the duct tape that obscured them.
Carrot shot out a hand and grabbed his arm before he could peel back the tape. ‘Hang on. Hang on. If he’s still alive and you take the tape off, he’ll be able to identify us later. That’s the whole point of the blindfold.’
‘Yeah, I see what you mean,’ said Lenny, letting go of the duct tape. He pulled himself up to his full five foot two inches and tweaked his chin as if giving the dilemma some serious deliberation. ‘How about the gag? At least that’ll tell us if he’s breathing or not. If he shouts out, we’ll know he’s still alive and we can slap it straight back on again.’
The length of tape came away with a sharp screeching sound as Carrot tore it from across the man’s mouth. There was no cry of pain even though the stickiness of the tape must have taken a considerable amount of four-day-old facial hair along with it. This was not an encouraging sign, Carrot realised, and he bent his ear close to the man’s mouth.
‘Well?’ said Lenny.
‘Can’t hear a thing. You got a mirror?’
‘What?’
‘A mirror. You hold it up to his face, and it clouds up if he’s breathing.’
‘No, I haven’t. Have you?’
‘No.’
‘There’s one in the bathroom,’ said Lenny after a moment’s contemplation.
Carrot slowly turned his head to look up at him and pointed out that the bathroom mirror was not only about three foot square, but it was also screwed to the wall, so unless he had a screwdriver in his pocket, the idea was a non-starter. He didn’t even bother to respond when Lenny said something about mountains and Mohammed and suggested they could carry the guy into the bathroom, chair ‘n’ all, and hold him up to the mirror instead.
He shifted his ear downwards to the man’s chest but could detect no sign of life there either. He stood upright and absent-mindedly adjusted his toupee, suddenly aware that Lenny had left his side and was once again sifting through the litter of empty food containers on the breakfast bar.
‘For Christ’s sake, Lenny. Don’t you think we’ve got more important things to think about than your bloody stomach?’
Lenny ignored the remark but came back from the kitchen area, polishing the base of a tinfoil takeaway carton with his sleeve. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Try this.’
Carrot was forced to admit – but only to himself – that Lenny wasn’t always quite as stupid as he looked. Taking the empty container, he caught a whiff of curry as he bent down again and held it up to the man’s face. He kept it there for several seconds and then inspected the reflective base for any sign of misting. It was still just as shiny as when Lenny had handed it to him. He listened to the chest again. Nothing.