Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [66]
"For a while."
"And it's nothing major?"
"Not on the phone, Mum."
"The tobacco again? Tommy, I thought—"
"It's not that."
"Tell me," she said. "I can keep a secret."
"I haven't … I can't say."
A pause. "Is there anything I can do?"
Smith leaned forward, whispered in his ear.
Tommy said, "Tell the boys I've had to go abroad for a while. They won't be able to get in touch. Don't worry them."
"Of course not."
Smith whispered some more.
Tommy turned, looked at him. "And Phil can't know either."
"He doesn't know?"
"Not a word, Mum."
"Okay."
"Okay. 'Bye, Mum."
Smith took the phone from him, gently, so Tommy didn't protest, and cut him off. "Very good," Smith said. "You're a natural liar." He fiddled about with the keys, dialled. After a few seconds he said, "Phil, how's the head? Listen carefully. If I hear that you've been snooping around trying to find your brother, I'll kill him. You got that?"
Phil must have replied cause Smith said, "Yes, that means he's alive. Worked that out all by yourself. Very clever. Now be quiet and listen. Someone will be in touch in due course. Just behave yourself till then and don't go poking around or breathe a word to a soul. Your family thinks Tommy's abroad. Let them think that or Tommy dies."
That night Tommy hadn't slept at all. He was cold and scared and the chain kept getting in the way. Worse, something was stuck in his bicep from when he'd tried to escape the previous night back at the car. He'd have taken a look at the damage, but there was no lamp and he couldn't reach the lightswitch.
He waited till dawn. Saw that a piece of glass was embedded in his arm. Poked around tentatively, but couldn't get a grip on it.
Next morning, he threw the bucket at the window and broke a pane. He shouted for help.
Smith appeared in his mask, slippers, katana, said, "There's no one for miles." He left the room with the bucket, came back dressed, a gun tucked into his waistband and carrying a dustpan and brush, a roll of duct tape and a new bucket, a blue plastic one with a white handle. He taped a piece of cardboard over the hole.
Before he left, Tommy asked him, "Can I have my clothes back?"
Smith said, "No."
Tommy said, "Would you help me take this piece of glass out of my arm?"
Smith looked at him. "Did you try to get any pieces of glass out of my son?"
***
TWO DAYS LATER and the wound didn't look too good. Tommy had managed to tease and pinch and tug the glass out yesterday but the wound needed more than sluicing with cold water. Ought to be properly cleaned, stitched, bandaged. But Smith wasn't about to take him to the nearest hospital, or play nursemaid. He'd made that clear before asking Tommy to hand over the piece of glass.
Yesterday seemed a long time ago.
Smith barged into the room. "Morning," he said. "You want breakfast today?"
Tommy shucked off his blanket. "My arm's agony," he said. "You have to let someone take a look at it."
Smith said, "No," and turned his head away. "Cover yourself up."
Who'd have thought Smith would be such a prude?
Tommy pulled the blanket round him again. "If the cut's infected, I could die of blood poisoning."
"I don't give a rat's arse."
"Your fun would be over."
Tommy was relying on being worth more to Smith alive then dead. Smith had indicated to Phil that Tommy would be alive till somebody got in touch. It made sense that Smith would keep him alive till he'd screwed every last penny out of him.
"My fun," Smith repeated. He kept his head turned away, poked the point of the katana into the floorboards. "How about I cut your arm off at the shoulder? That'll be a sure way to get rid of any infection."
"Won't help." Play him at his own game, Tommy thought. "Chances are I'll die of blood loss or shock. And if the blade's not sterile, there's the same risk of infection."
"I'll get you some antiseptic cream," Smith said. "You can rub it on the stump."
Tommy didn't know how far to push. He tried a little further. "Cream would be good. Can I get some now?"
Smith said, "I should really