Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [47]
"You're not going anywhere," Park said. "Get on your knees."
Effie said, "Oh, Jesus, no."
Martin started to cry.
Liz farted, high-pitched and slow as a sigh.
Fucker didn't do as he was told.
"On your knees," Park said.
McCracken stared at him, shook his head.
And turned away.
Park pulled the gun out of his pocket, changed his grip, ran after McCracken and thumped him hard in the back of the neck with the butt of the weapon. That dropped him to his knees. Park hit him again. Twice.
He swayed.
Park took the carrier bag out of his pocket. Stuck it over McCracken's head.
No, they hadn't mentioned that in the papers. That was the kind of detail they liked to keep to themselves.
Whipped out the clothesline. Coiled it round McCracken's neck.
Wrapped it tight.
Sole of the foot between his shoulder blades.
Steady.
Pulled the fucker's head towards him, pushed his torso away.
"Cabbage, eh?" Park said. "You want to know who the fucking vegetable is?"
The doctor said,
Yeah, maybe he shouldn't have left the clothesline behind, but it didn't matter. "Grant's …"
He'd nicked the clothesline from a supermarket. Same supermarket he'd got the carrier bag.
"… heart "
He'd worn gloves. No way they could connect him to McCracken.
"… stopped."
***
"STOPPED ON THE operating table," Smith said, voice level, low, not whiny at all. Tommy didn't know how he'd ever thought Smith's voice sounded whiny.
Tommy's balls squeezed so tight he felt the ache in his belly. He shook his head, hair wet from where one of these lunatics had poured some fizzy juice over him to wake him up. Christ, he really hadn't needed another whack on the skull.
Smith continued, "My son is dead."
Grant was Smith's son.
Of course Tommy had suspected that all along. He just hadn't allowed himself to believe it. Because therein lay madness, or heart failure. And yet, despite being petrified, he felt a tiny surge of excitement that he'd at least be able to identify Smith now.
Once Tommy discovered who Grant was, and that'd be pretty much public knowledge, he'd be able to track down his father. But he also realised that the information was going to be futile cause he wasn't going to get a chance to use it. Smith wasn't going to let him go.
"My brother," the girl said, sounding older than her tiny stature suggested. If Grant was her brother then she had to be the Effie who Smith had spoken to on the phone. Unlike Smith, she wasn't wearing any kind of mask. Neither was the other bloke, who didn't say anything. But it was dark and Tommy couldn't make out their faces very well.
"It was an accident," Tommy said. Or tried to say. Impossible to speak with the gag on. He wanted to make himself heard. Maybe Effie would believe him. She'd understand.
Smith lurched forward suddenly and Tommy flinched. Smith leaned over him, slipped the gag off. "You wanted to say something?"
"Yeah," Tommy said, licking his lips, wetting them. "It was an accident."
Smith said, "You kill my son. Then you insult my intelligence."
"No, no, no."
"And you're no doubt thinking to yourself that you don't deserve this."
"I don't know what I'm supposed to have done. I mean, about Grant, yes. It was—"
"An accident, I know," Smith said. "But if you're not responsible, who is?"
"You." Tommy went cold. What had he just said? The last thing he wanted to do was antagonise this bastard. But it was true. "You're the one who started all this shit. If it wasn't for you, your son would still be alive."
"You really believe that?" Effie said.
"Yeah. Totally."
"You don't accept any responsibility for your own actions?" The girl again.
"What did I do?"
"The level of denial's staggering," Smith said. "I almost believe you."
"Tell me what I'm supposed to have done, for Christ's sake."
"I suggest you have a good hard think about it." Smith closed the lid and everything turned dark.
Tommy could still hear them, though.
"You pair go home now," Smith said. "I'll take it from here."
"Like fuck you will," the other bloke said. "I mean, I want to help."
"Me, too," Effie said.