Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [76]
Tommy gasped, couldn't breathe. Dropped to one knee, his chain rattling as it tightened.
Smith placed the blade of his sword under Tommy's chin. Pushed it up, forcing Tommy to tilt his head backwards. "If I can't control you," Smith said, "then I will kill you. Understand?"
Tommy gave the slightest of nods.
"Good," Smith said. "That's your last warning. Now stay there." He stuck the gun in his belt, kept the sword where it was while he dug Tommy's mobile out from his pocket. "Let's see," he said. "Text messages." He spoke slowly as he typed the words into the phone. "Jordan," he said, his voice sounding cheery. "Go," he said, "to," he said, "Fraser's." Then he typed in, narrating along the way, "Don't say a word to Granny. Our secret."
"Oh, Christ," Tommy said.
"And," Smith said, "send." He pushed the button with an exaggerated gesture. "What now, Tommy?" he said. Waited a minute. "Run out of ideas? You could call me names again. And I could slap you. That was fun."
Tommy said nothing. Something had pierced his heart and an unseen hand was squeezing it empty.
"No?" Smith said. "Something else, then. You want to attack me again? That was fun too."
"You killed my son," Tommy said.
"Technically, no. I've been sitting right here."
"You arranged it. You're responsible."
"Oh, now, isn't that interesting? If somebody arranges a murder then they're responsible. Bit like you and Greg Milne."
"I told you—"
"I know. Doesn't matter. Both our sons are dead."
Tommy let his head drop, shook it. "Let's leave it there. Please."
"Now? When the fun's just beginning? You're not a party person, are you, Tommy? Let's wait and see what Jordan gets up to."
Tommy didn't reply.
He'd been shot at and it wasn't so bad. Made him shake, but that couldn't be helped. Suicide for the sake of it was almost an attractive proposition. But he didn't want to die just yet. Because somewhere, somehow, he hoped Jordan would survive, no matter how heavily the odds were stacked against him and Tommy wanted to be there for him when it was over.
He had to get through this. Do whatever it took.
***
"WHAT'RE THEY DOING now?" Park asked Savage, some time later.
"Why don't you look for yourself?"
"Cause I don't trust you an inch. I'm not taking my eyes off you."
"That's a shame."
"Tell me what's happening."
"Fuck you."
You'd be forgiven for thinking Savage had grown some balls. Park said, "Tell me."
"I don't think so. You want to know what's happening, take a look yourself. I'm saying nothing."
"Jordan arrived yet?"
Silence again.
Park couldn't help but wonder if Effie and Martin were screwing this up. All they had to do was make a decision about what to do with Jordan. And they didn't have much choice. The kid would have walked in when they were in the middle of disposing of a couple of bodies. What could they do?
They'd be fine.
Park watched Savage and waited. Savage wasn't giving anything away. But he couldn't keep it up forever. He was rocking to and fro. As if he was retarded. Maybe he'd lost it. "Jordan dead yet?"
He just sat there. Eyes dull. Mumbling.
Park had seen this kind of thing before. One of the guys on his landing in jail had taken a beating. A blanket party, they called it, where a bunch of guys threw a blanket over their victim's head so he couldn't recognise them, then pounded the shit out of him. The guy had resisted for a while, then slumped into submission and took what they threw at him without complaining. He wasn't unconscious. You could tell by the way he jerked when a fist or a foot made contact with him. But he didn't move. Didn't say anything. Didn't cry out. If they'd whipped the blanket off him, Park bet his face would have looked like a nnnnngah bloodstained version of Savage's.
They sat in silence, Park trying to read Savage's face. Concentrating so hard that when the doorbell rang, he nearly fell off his seat.
***
PARK'S FIRST THOUGHT: leave it. Whoever was at the door would go away.
Savage had