Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [15]
"I told you."
"The old lady? Sticking with that still? Well, it's your arse."
"She hired me to take the bag, deliver it—"
"Deliver it?"
"Yeah. That was the plan."
"When?"
"When? When she told me the plan."
"No, you prick. When were you supposed to deliver it?"
"Eleven."
"Tonight?"
"Aye."
"Where?"
He paused. Swallowed. "Car park."
"Which one?"
Another pause. "Greenside."
"It's closed by eleven."
Tommy wondered how Phil knew that. He had to be bluffing.
"Oh."
The bluff worked.
"Don't lie to me again," Phil said.
"Okay, sorry."
Pause. "Where?"
"I can't tell you."
Phil said, "You'll tell me when I start drilling holes in your kneecaps."
"Warriston Cemetery," the kid blurted out.
Strange venue, Tommy thought, but Grant sounded like he was telling the truth. Warriston Cemetery was a notorious cruising spot for Edinburgh's gays. Plenty privacy behind the tombstones, but the last place you'd expect a bagman to deliver fifty grand. In cash. Maybe that was the idea.
Smith was a clever bastard.
It was about time Tommy got his shoes back on, got in there and found out exactly who Grant's employer was.
***
"GOT MY TOOLS." Tommy shone the torch into Grant's eyes. Made him squint.
"Don't need them," Grant said. "Tell him," he said to Phil.
Phil told Tommy what he'd already overheard and Tommy pretended it was news to him.
Tommy kept the beam directed in Grant's eyes. Otherwise Grant might spot that Tommy's other hand was empty and realise there was no toolbox, that it was all a bluff.
Tommy said, "I don't know that our young friend's telling the whole story."
"I am," Grant said. "Honest."
"Hmmm," Tommy said.
Grant's eyes shone in the light. Tears leaked down his cheeks. He said, voice thick as though he had a cold, "What can I do to make you believe me?"
"What do you think?" Tommy asked Phil.
"Get the drill out," Phil said. "Do an elbow. See if he sticks to his story."
Tommy's stomach rose a couple of inches at the image. He forced it back down, then said, "Sounds like a plan."
"No," Grant said. "Please don't. Please. Please. Aaah." His torso went rigid. He grinned. No, he was grimacing. Like he was in pain. "Aaaah," he said again, and his head slumped forward and he didn't move.
Tommy swept the light over him, up and down, and then up and down again, finally resting on the crown of his head.
"What was that?" Phil said, eventually.
"Really bad acting. I think that was supposed to be a heart attack. That right, Grant?"
No response. Grant kept his head down.
"Grant? Wakey-wakey."
Still didn't move.
Tommy said, "Stop pissing about."
Phil said, "Hey," grabbed him by the hair, lifted his head up.
Grant's eyes were closed. He didn't appear to be breathing.
Phil smacked his cheek.
No reaction.
Phil was just about to strike a second blow when Grant charged forward. He tried to butt Phil but Phil stepped out of the way and Grant, still bound to the chair, plunged into the darkness.
There was a crash, like somebody'd just smashed a window, and then a clatter and Grant said, "Oof," and then, "Ahhhhh."
Tommy swung the torch in the direction of the sound.
Holy shit.
Grant had just run headfirst into the plate-glass door, and burst out most of the glass. He was either wedged in the doorframe or something was holding him up a couple of feet off the ground.
He wasn't making any noise at all now. The only sound was something dribbling onto the floor.
Prelude To A Savage Night
The Parks
"WHERE'S GRANT?" ANDY Park asked, looking at the door of Effie and Martin's tiny council flat, expecting his younger son to walk in any second. Little bastard was late again.
"He called when you were in the toilet, Dad," Effie said.
"How long's he going to be?"
"He's not," she said, looking at Martin.
"Not what?" Park said.
"Effie means he's not late," Martin said.
"He wanking well is." Park looked at his watch. "Time do you make it?"
"Dad," Effie said. "Grant's not coming."
Park couldn't believe he was hearing this. Ever since he'd