Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [43]
Even if he managed to undo these bindings, he wouldn't be able to get out of the boot. Could hardly just lie back and kick it open. Or could he? And then what?
But if he got his hands free he could get to his phone and call for help.
"I'm in a car boot."
"Where's the car?"
"I don't know."
In any case, he realised, when he moved, that his pocket was empty. Smith had taken his phone.
Tommy lay in the dark, ignoring the stabbing pain in his bladder, trying to steady his heartbeat, breathing as evenly as he could, trying to guess when the car would hit another bump so he could roll with it. Focus on the present. Be philosophical. Laid back. Phil would be proud of him.
Christ, he hoped Phil was okay.
As a kid, Phil was the one who'd dive off the highest diving board, the one who'd stand up to the school bully, the one who tried smack. Phil was the great adventurer. He'd be fine.
But, shit, Tommy shouldn't have listened to him. They shouldn't have gone to the cemetery. Phil had got him into a right brilliant adventure now, hadn't he? Should have just paid up and gone home. Well, he was paying for it now.
Jesus, his heart was hammering. And his bladder was bursting. Wasn't as if he could ask Smith to pull over while he got out and took a leak. Smith could be planning on taking him all the way to Dundee or somewhere, for all Tommy knew. No way he could hold on for that long. Maybe he should just let go. He'd feel so much better. But the thought of the stink and the discomfort were just too much.
Maybe Smith wasn't ever going to let him out. Maybe his plan was to push the car into the Forth and watch Tommy drown.
Why did he have to go and think of that?
Despite what it meant if he wasn't allowed out of the car, it was worse to mull over what might happen once Smith stopped and got out. He'd open the boot, and then what? Lop Tommy's head off with the samurai sword?
Tommy almost wet himself.
He was shaking so much he hardly noticed that he hadn't been jolted around in the last couple of minutes. But he noticed now, and realised that the car was slowing.
His heart kicked into a new gear. Rattled in his ribcage. He could hear the echo in his ears.
The car came to a halt. The engine died. The door clicked open, slammed shut.
A few seconds later, the boot opened. Light shone in his eyes.
Then Smith's voice: "Where's Grant?"
Oh, fucking fuck fuck fuck.
"It was an accident," Tommy said.
***
PARK GRABBED TOMMY Savage by the ear. Hadn't even touched him and the wanker was screaming like a teething baby. Park got hold of the other ear and yanked him out of the boot. Well, not quite. He got stuck and squealed, and wouldn't budge no matter how hard Park was pulling, and Park didn't want to end up with a torn ear and nnnnngah bleeding wound and all that would entail, so he had to let go and lift him out, like he really was a fucking baby.
Once Savage's shoulders were over the lip, Park grabbed an ear again and yanked hard. Savage dropped to the ground. Yelled for help.
Park let him lie there for a bit. He could shout all he liked. Nice quiet spot. Not much chance of anybody being around this late. Park thought about what he'd said. It was an accident. That could mean any number of things. None good.
Savage's yells turned to whimpers before long. Then he just lay there, quiet, making occasional spastic eel-like wriggling movements.
Park said, "Tell me about the accident."
Savage squirmed a bit more.
"Well?"
"No."
That was honest. "No choice, Tommy. If you tell me, I'll make it quick."
"Oh, God," Savage said. "It was an accident."
"You need help to focus? I can help. Could be that a little pain will do the trick."
And then Savage started talking, words spilling out in a garble.
Eventually, Park got the gist of it: Fat Phil had collared Grant, they'd both