Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [73]
And then there'd be the surprise to follow. Park didn't feel good about dumping Effie in it, but she wouldn't agree to killing Jordan so it hadn't left him much of a choice.
Had to be done.
"You arranged this?" Savage said. "You fucking sick bastard. You fucking sick fuck. What did he ever do to you?"
Savage really didn't get it, did he? Couldn't get his head round this at all. Maybe Park should try to explain once again. Or maybe he should leave Savage alone for a while.
"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck me," Savage said. "He's killing him. He's cutting … oh, Christ. You've got to stop this."
Yeah, Park was starting to feel a bit sick. Maybe he'd leave Tommy to it, see how Liz was doing. Or maybe go grab a sandwich or something, settle his stomach. Park got to his feet. "Want something to eat?"
Savage gagged, made it to the bucket just before he spewed.
***
AT FRASER'S HOUSE, Martin was remembering that he had to stop Phil Savage's heart first. Effie'd said that he shouldn't cut him up while it was still pumping. It'd make a right mess. And although Martin had the tub, and the dropcloth, he didn't want to make any more mess than necessary.
He'd thought it'd all be harder than it was. He'd psyched himself up and felt fine. Thought of Effie, what she'd think if he screwed this up. But he wouldn't. He stared at Phil Savage, just so much flab that looked dead already. Martin aimed the knife—holding it two-handed—over the heart. Counted to three and plunged it in.
The body jerked. The eyes opened. Fingers straightened. A foot kicked out.
Martin tugged the knife out and slammed it back in. Did that three times and then Savage was still. Wouldn't close his eyes though. Martin tried to force them shut, but they kept springing open. He gave up. Wrestled Savage over so he was face down in the tub.
Martin took a moment, remembered he was doing this for his dad, too. For Grant, for the Parks, of course. He wouldn't be here otherwise. But maybe he should have done this years ago.
He'd told himself there wasn't sufficient evidence. But everybody knew Tommy Savage had had Martin's dad killed. Everybody but his mum thought Phil Savage was involved.
Truth was, Martin hadn't had the balls. Not on his own. But with Effie, he could do anything.
He picked up the hacksaw.
Tommy Savage, your brother's dead. How does it feel?
Wished his mum was here to see this.
I'm about to carve up a corpse and I think of my mother.
He knew why.
Pictured it. Ten years old. Standing on the stool in the kitchen. Smelling Mum's clean gin-breath as she placed the noose round his neck. Pulling the rope tight. Her voice cracking as she said, "I'll be with you soon, Martin." Sound of chair legs scraping on the linoleum floor. Burning pain in his throat, neck jolted, legs lashing out, unable to breathe. And then Dad running into the room, grabbing him round the waist and yelling at his mum, "You stupid fucking mental bitch."
Dad had replaced the chair. Untied him. Held him. Martin was warm and in pain and safe.
Mum said, "I'm sorry, Martin. I'm so sorry."
"I won't say anything, Mum," he'd said, a coil of pain searing his neck.
Dad had slapped her, told her to shut her fat face.
An accident, they'd said when they arrived at the hospital. He'd been playing. Nobody suspected it was a lie. Why would they? What kind of mother would try to hang her son?
He hadn't told anybody that. Not even Effie.
Martin started cutting into the back of Phil Savage's neck. Revenge was much harder work than you could ever imagine.
***
PARK FLICKED ON the light in the kitchen and hurried over to the sink. Laid the sword on the worktop. Opened the window.
Better.
He'd done what any father would have done. The whole family had agreed. Well, apart from the business about Jordan. Richie had