Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [45]
No sooner had the idea occurred to him than he twisted round and shoved. His hip hurt from all the banging it had taken in the boot. And his side was bruised from the kicking Smith had given him. But he rolled over. And again. And again. Wasn't sure, but he thought he might be rolling at an angle towards the side of the track, into the woods or whatever was there. Might be a ditch, though.
He adjusted his course as best he could. Gave himself another push. And another. Felt like he was building up some momentum now. If only he'd been on a slope.
He wondered if Smith had finished his call and was coming back yet. What would he think when he found Tommy had gone?
And that spurred Tommy on to roll more quickly.
Something sharp dug into his arm. He tried hard not to cry out. Succeeded. But the bastard stung. Whatever it was, it had stuck there.
He completed another rotation. Started another. And when he put pressure on his arm, the foreign object pressed in even harder. His eyes were wet again. And he was biting his teeth together so hard his jaw hurt. His head was spinning now with all the rolling around.
One more. Just one rotation at a time. He could do it.
A half turn. And his chest struck something solid. Something in his way. Something that moved.
"Going somewhere?" Smith said.
Smith's hand was on Tommy's throat, knuckles pressing into his chest. Then he lifted Tommy to his feet. The skinny bastard was strong.
Tommy waited for the blow, sure that Smith's rage had won out. Tommy winced. Closed his eyes. Peeked through narrowed slits.
But Smith was just standing there. Tongue flicking in and out of the mouthhole of his ski mask.
Tommy swayed, ankles tied together so tightly it was hard to stay upright. He took a half hop backwards.
Smith grabbed him. And said, quietly, "What did I ever do to you?"
Tommy said the only thing he could think of: "Nothing."
But Smith wasn't listening. He said, "That was my daughter. Told me she had bad news." Smith laughed. Then he shouted so loudly Tommy thought he saw the trees cringe: "You believe that? Huh? Bad news?"
"I'm sorry," Tommy said. "How bad?"
***
PARK WALKED INTO the waiting room, knew he'd come to the right place. He'd followed the coloured lines on the squeaky clean floor as he'd been told at reception, but he wasn't always sure whether they were going forwards or backwards. Anyway, he'd got here to find a couple of cops talking to Effie, her hair all mussed up.
"How bad is he?" Park had asked her on the phone.
"They won't say. Just get to the hospital, Dad. He needs you. We all need you."
"Be along as soon as I can. I'm a bit out of town right now."
"What happened, Dad?"
"I'll explain everything when I see you."
"Explain now."
"Effie—"
"Dad, I have to know who did this to my little brother. Tell me."
So he did.
"The Savages were torturing him?"
"Looks that way."
"We have to find them."
"I've already got Tommy."
"Wish you could make a mess of him. Leave him for me. I'll do it. Can you get his brother too?"
"We'll work something out. I'll see you soon."
And there she was, blowing her nose. Martin, pristine and cravatted as ever, with his arm round her. Liz sitting on her own, nobody paying her any attention.
Effie caught Park's eye, shrugged Martin's arm off her shoulder, ran over to her dad. She flung her arms round his neck, said, "It's not looking good." Leaned into him. Her tears dripped onto his skin, hot, then cold.
Park didn't trust himself to speak. He held her.
Martin looked over at him, a wistful expression on his face.
The cops were doing the same.
After a while, Effie pulled her head back, dabbed at her eyes.
Park said, "Can I see him?"
She shook her head. "He's in theatre."
In theatre. Being operated on. Under the nnnnngah knife.
On account of the Savages.
"When will we know?" Park asked.
"As soon as they've finished," Effie said.
Which could be any time. Nothing like sitting around a hospital waiting room wondering whether your son was going to die.
One of the cops