Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [70]
A moment passed. Then Smith lowered the sword. "It's not about what I want to hear. It's about you accepting your role in Grant's death. Can you do that?"
"I didn't …" Tommy choked. "I …" He looked at Smith, stared him in the eye and whispered, "Yes."
"I didn't catch that."
"Yes," Tommy said.
"Grant died because of you?"
Tommy nodded.
"Say it."
"Grant died because of me."
"Wasn't so hard now, was it?"
"I'm sorry."
Smith pointed the sword at him. "You think an apology makes everything okay?"
"I didn't say that."
"Because it doesn't."
"No," Tommy said. "I didn't think it would."
Smith sat down, smiling.
Maybe because he knew he'd won.
Tommy had gone over and over that night in his head. Imagined different outcomes. Sometimes Grant survived. Sometimes he didn't try to bolt, just told them what they wanted to know. But the scenario Tommy kept returning to was the one where he arrived at the abandoned flat and immediately instructed Phil to let the boy go.
That's what he should have done.
What had happened to Grant was Tommy's fault. Looked at through a father's eyes, Smith was right. No way would he ever accept the blame himself and Tommy could understand that.
"Your boy's up to no good again," Smith said.
On the monitor, Fraser was kneeling on the floor, a line of coke laid out on a magazine. He chopped up the coke with a razorblade, inhaled it with a sweeping motion and leaned back.
After a while, he rose, tossed the magazine away and checked his wallet for cash, then vanished from the picture in the direction of the hallway.
"You have about half an hour," Smith said.
Tommy felt a pair of thumbs digging into his temples. He asked, "Till what?"
Smith picked up his chair and left the room.
Savage Night
1 AM
A White Van
IN THE VAN, approaching a set of traffic lights, Martin said, "There's no other way of making sure he'll keep his mouth shut."
Effie said, "He's listening."
"So?"
"This is ludicrous." Effie almost stalled the engine. The clutch took a bit of getting used to but she wasn't going to let Martin drive. Just cause all vehicles were designed for men of average height, didn't mean a petite woman couldn't cope. A Transit might have been a slightly tougher prospect, but they'd bought a second-hand Escort, cheap and disposable, even if it was a bit crammed in the back. So no excuses. If she could strangle a bloke a head taller than her, she could drive a bloody van. She pulled on the handbrake, waited for the lights to change.
She could feel Martin's eyes on her.
He said, "We should have … you know … back at the house."
She shook her head, kept her voice low. "Well, we couldn't."
"I know. Fuck, though. Can't be that hard."
"Go ahead," she said. "Try it."
"What, right now?"
"Yeah. Climb into the back and do it."
"I'm too big."
"You could squeeze through."
"Why don't you?"
"I don't want to."
He stayed silent. He was working something out. Effie gave him peace to do so and after a while, he said, "Why can't we do it, babe? Is it cause it's … unethical?"
"Big word."
"Big situation."
She chose not to respond.
He punched her lightly on the knee. "Well?" he said.
She shrugged. "Something like that. I dunno. He's a kid. Course it's unethical."
"Grant was a kid too."
She said, a vivid image of her brother's face in front of her, "I've no intention of killing anybody I don't want to. And I don't want to kill the kid."
"Fine." He paused. "Probably means we're all going to jail, Effie."
"Cut the crap, Martin."
"It's not—"
"Just shut up."
It was one in the morning. She'd just killed someone. Cut up his body. And this kid was a whisker away from having to die. Most likely because of her father. Not Martin. He wasn't to blame.
"Sorry," she said. "I'm tired."
"Want me to drive?"
"I'll be fine." She revved the engine. "Why are these twatting lights taking so long to change?"
She would have jumped them if she didn't have a couple of bodies in the back along with a kidnapped eleven-year-old, tied up and gagged. Hardly ideal circumstances