Zero History

There was something on the bedside table. Part of the fuselage of a model plane:
curved, streamlined, its upper surface yellow, dotted with brown. She bent for a closer
look, saw a miniature leopard print, on plastic.
“Don’t touch. Stings.”
“What is it?”
“Taser.”
“A Taser?”
“Heidi’s. Brought it from Los Angeles by accident, in her bag of Airfix parts. Swept it
blindly up with her model-building bumf, when she was well pissed.”
“TSA didn’t notice it?”
“I hate to break this to you,” he said, feigning grave seriousness, “but that’s actually
been known to happen. TSA not noticing the odd thing. Shocking, I know …”
“But where would she even get it?”
“America? But contrary to the saying, what happens in Vegas evidently doesn’t always
stay there. Someone in Las Vegas gave this to her husband. As a present for her, actually.
Hence the leopard print. Lady’s model, you see. TSA didn’t spot it, Her Majesty’s
Customs didn’t, but Ajay certainly did, this morning. She had no idea she had it. Packed
it by mistake when drunk. Which is no defense, but has been known to get the odd thing
handily across a border, now and again.”
“What do you want with it?”
“Not sure yet. ‘Follow the accident. Fear the set plan.’ ”
“I thought you loved plans.”
“Love planning. That’s different. But the right bit of improv makes the piece.”
“It shocks people?”
“Capacitor inside, enough juice to knock you on your handsome. Two barbed darts,
from that, on fifteen feet of fine insulated cable. Propelled by captive gas.”
“Horrible.”
“Prefer it to being shot, any evening at all. Not that it’s nice.” He leaned over, picked
the thing up, sat back against the pillows. Held it up between thumb and forefinger.
“Put it down. I don’t like it. I think you need to sleep.”
“Milgrim’s on his way. And a makeup artist hairdresser person. We’re getting together
with Ajay. Makeover party.”
“Makeover?”
“Whiteface.” He flew the Taser behind the screen of his laptop. Up again. Pause at
apogee. “We don’t want to leave Milgrim in Big End’s hands, once this starts.” He looked
at her. “We want him with us, regardless of what Big End wants. I’ll need something for
him to do, some excuse for keeping him with us.”
“Why?”
“If my scheme should fuck up, as you say in your country, and that’s always a
possibility, your man will very badly want to pass Milgrim to Gracie, posthaste. Very