Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [80]
Carl had to admit he was tempted. But that wasn’t the right way to do the job. This job had to be done a special way, just like Gordy had taught him, and Carl wasn’t about to disappoint his brother by messing it up. He wasn’t going to disappoint his brother again.
The kid must have caught sight of the razor, because he started to whimper and struggle harder. Carl carefully brought the blade down to the base of the 133
boy’s throat.
Oh yes.
‘What the frigging hell do you think you’re doing?’ A man’s voice shouted near him. ‘You stick him here and you’ll have every black in the street down on us. Not to mention the law.’
Carl flinched at the angry tones. He turned to see Billy Spot bearing down on him. ‘Get him in the car before you bring the whole street down on us.’
‘Keep back,’ Carl screamed. He wasn’t going to let Spot take his glory now.
‘Keep back or I’ll do it right here, right now, I swear.’
The boy started to cry loudly in his arms. Carl glanced about him, feeling like a trapped animal. The queer boy was close by, helping the fallen black to his feet. A few Teds on the other side of the street were beginning to take an interest, having heard the noise of the crash. Perhaps it would be best just to kill the little boy now and then make a run for it?
Billy Spot raised his hands and moved closer. ‘Come on, Carl,’ he said, softly. ‘We don’t want no trouble in the street. Gordy wouldn’t be pleased if you brought the law down on him, now would he?’
‘You leave my brother out of this,’ Carl yelled and clutched the boy tighter.
He was suddenly less sure of himself. It was hard to be sure of anything while the armed robber’s eyes were on him.
Billy Spot made a show of looking around them. ‘We’re attracting attention.
You don’t want the police to get a description, do you? Tell you what, you keep hold of the lad, good and proper, and I’ll drive us back.’ He nodded towards the queer and the black, who were looking on, their eyes fixed on the blade in his hand as if willing him not to use it. ‘They’re not going to give us any trouble now, are they? Not while you’ve got the boy. We can take them back with us. An extra prize for Gordy.’
There was a soothing quality to Billy Spot’s voice and Carl found himself nodding along with the cockney’s words.
‘That’s right. I’ve got the boy,’ Carl murmured, transfixed by Billy Spot’s deep blue eyes. ‘I’ll get the prize.’
Jack sat in the back of the car next to the scar-faced man who held the razor to little Dennis’s throat. Dennis appeared to have retreated into himself, his brown eyes stared sightlessly in front of him, and his teeth were chattering. A trail of snot hung from his nose. Jack started to reach for his handkerchief to wipe it for him, like he often did at home, and then he took one look at Carl Scraton and changed his mind.
Little Dennis was making tiny noises. Whispered words repeated over and over like a ritual prayer.
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Carl Scraton looked almost as hysterical as Dennis, his knuckles white where his hand gripped the handle of the razor. Hysterical and dangerous.
How could anyone even think of killing a child?
‘What are you looking at?’ Carl spat. Jack flinched and turned away, scared that he might inadvertently do something that might provoke the thug into using his knife. Jack caught the second man’s eye in the driver’s mirror for a moment. There was something familiar about the driver, although Jack was sure that he hadn’t actually seen his face before.
The driver winked at Jack.
The thunder of footsteps sounded in the office upstairs. Gordy glanced towards the stairs which led up out of the cellar. If that was Carl and Billy returning then they must have done the job. Here was a chance to really impress his devil.
Daylight streaked into the underground room from the top of the stairs, dissolving the eerie gloom and causing Gordy to blink repeatedly.
Carl descended the stairs holding the boy in an arm-lock. The boy’s body was limp, his short, thin legs