Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [38]
He closed his eyes, banged the back of his head off the seat, said, "Fuck", under his breath. Did it again, harder and louder. And again.
Kept it up cause it stopped him thinking about what had happened. After a while his hands stopped shaking.
"You shouting about?" Phil said when he came back.
"How'd it go? They believe you?"
Phil put the car in gear, headed off. "I said I was a neighbour. Heard a noise. Went to see what was going on. Found the door open. Wandered inside. Saw somebody lying in a pool of blood. Yeah, they believed me."
"Good."
"Yeah, terrific."
They didn't speak for a while, long enough for the tremble to creep back into Tommy's hands. He checked his watch. "You want to put your foot down?" he said. Time was tight if they were going to make the rendezvous with Smith in the graveyard.
"And get stopped for speeding?"
Tommy looked at the speedo. "Sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, Phil. I'm really sorry."
"Yeah, no big deal. Anyway, we'll be at Worm's soon. Maybe he'll look after the money for you."
Tommy knew Phil's mate by reputation only. Something of an eccentric. Worm claimed he hadn't slept in twenty years. "I'm sure he's a great bloke," Tommy said. "But if he looked in the bag and saw all this cash, he might be tempted to keep it."
"You'll just have to keep the money on you, then."
"I'm not leaving it in the car. Some joyriding hoodie will be off with it in no time."
"Keep it on you, I said."
"Can't take it to the cemetery."
"Why not?"
"Smith'll love that."
"Doesn't matter what Smith loves. He's going to be dead meat in an hour or so."
Tommy got a flash of Grant, wedged in the doorway, blood running down the glass, blood dripping onto the floor. Tommy couldn't handle any more bloodshed. "Dead meat?" he said.
"In a manner of speaking. You're not chickening out, are you?"
Tommy looked at his brother. "No," he said.
"Cause I can go to the cemetery alone."
"Don't wind me up."
"I'm serious. I'll go to the cemetery. You take the money somewhere safe."
"I can't let you do that."
"Think I can't handle Smith?"
"I think you might handle him too well."
Phil banged the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "You want to keep an eye on me?" He puffed his cheeks out, nodded slowly. "Okay, look, you keep the money on you. We find Smith. We … sort him out. Nothing too heavy. Just enough for him to get the message. Threat's over. And you get to keep the money. Okay?"
Tommy swallowed. "That easy, eh?"
Phil speeded up a little. "Don't see why not."
Tommy wished he had a tenth of his brother's confidence. He wanted to reach over and give his arm a squeeze. Then he remembered the slap in the face. He could still feel the warmth in his cheek. He kept his arm by his side.
"One thing I'd like to know," Phil said. "What did you do that pissed this guy off so much?"
Tommy paused. Good question. "I've no idea."
"Come on. You can tell me."
"Honestly, Phil, I haven't a clue." The closest he'd come to an answer was the nursing home guy's death. That was supposed to be significant. "The name McCracken mean anything to you? Eric McCracken?"
Phil slowed down, pulled into a parking space near a bizarre concrete building that looked like it'd been built in the sixties. He switched off the engine, took his gloves off. "Nope," he said. "Not a bloody thing."
***
WORM WAS EXPECTING them. Or so he said. So why he opened the door dressed in what looked like a hospital gown was a puzzle.
Phil made the introductions without commenting on the gown. Worm glanced at the bag in Tommy's hand, then led them inside. The gown was open at the back and Tommy got an eyeful of Worm's hairy arse as he waddled along the corridor in front of them.
Tommy looked at Phil, who shrugged.
The walls were decorated with lots of paintings of military scenes. Battles, regimental marching, cannons, swords. Lots of swords.
The sitting room was spacious, looked comfortable and reeked of dope. A long-haired blonde slouched on the sofa, struggling to keep her eyes open. She was wearing a hospital gown, too. She said hello to