Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [78]
The top of a black cap came into view. Another couple of feet and if they looked up they'd see Park and Savage. Park tucked the gun into his trousers. Didn't know where to put the sword. Looked at Savage. Offered the sword to him.
Savage took it in his good hand, no doubt wondering what the catch was.
Park had to move fast. He grabbed the pillow, pulled off his ski mask, threw it at Savage. Had to move now.
"Help," Park said, running along the landing. "Help." Louder as he hit the stairs. "He's got a sword, Officers." Down a few steps. "Up there." Pointing.
The coppers looked very different from one another. One was of retirement age. The other looked like he was about twelve.
"Hold on," the old one said. "Stop. Stop!"
Park stopped halfway down the stairs.
Savage said, "Don't listen—"
"He's got a sword," Park said. "Look!"
The policemen moved forward and craned their necks to look up at the landing, where Savage stood with the sword in his hand, dirty blanket tied round his neck like a cape.
"It's not how it looks," Savage said.
The cops glanced at each other, then the old cop said to Savage, "Drop the weapon."
"I'm not—"
"Drop it!"
"It's not—"
"Drop the weapon and move away! Now! Do it!"
The sword clattered onto the landing floor. Savage backed away, out of sight, into the bedroom. His voice carried through the open door. "It's not mine. It's not me you should—"
Definitely got his voice back now. "Thank God," Park said, walking down the stairs, doing his best to look scared. "I'm so happy to see you, Officers."
The young cop looked pretty scared himself, mind you. Bit of a fright seeing the madman up there with the sword, was it?
Park walked right up to the cops. No trouble at all.
Savage's voice came from upstairs: "It's him you want to be arresting. He's a fucking murdering bastard. Killed my son. Strangled him. Cut his head off in a tub."
Park smiled. "He's crazy."
"And my brother," Savage shouted.
"Sounds it," the older cop said. He looked at the pillow in Park's hand. "You want to tell us what's going on?"
"I can do better than that."
The younger cop looked at him.
"A demonstration." Park whisked the gun out from his waistband, pillow held in front of him, fired. Moved the pillow to the side, fired again.
The policemen dropped. Bam, bam. From the floor, the young one said, "Fucking hell. Fucking hell. You fucking psycho fuck."
Of course Park couldn't look to tell for sure, but he thought he'd nailed them both pretty good. Aimed for the midriff so at worst they'd be incapacitated. Couldn't hear the older one at all. And the younger one might be mouthing off but he didn't appear to be moving. Good. Although it sounded like the younger one might be capable of radioing for assistance. Which meant that Park had to get out of here right now. Either that or scrabble about for the walkie-talkie with his eyes shut. They kept those things on their shoulders, didn't they? Or…
"Report in," Park said. "Tell them there's nothing here."
"Bastard. You've killed—"
"And that you're going to go grab a cup of coffee."
Pause. Gasping. Then: "I don't drink coffee."
"So tell them you're going for a glass of lemonade. But don't chat. Keep it short."
The young cop did what he was told.
"Now throw the walkie-talkie away," Park said.
He did.
"Now tell me you love me."
"You what?"
Park aimed at the sound. Must have got it right cause after he pulled the trigger, the little fucker shut up.
Now what?
Savage.
Park took the stairs three at a time. Paused on the landing. Savage's bedroom door was closed, the sword nowhere to be seen. Presumably Savage was lurking behind the door, waiting to slice a chunk out of Park the moment he stepped inside. Park wondered if he could shoot him through the wall. It was only plaster. But tempting though it was, Park didn't want to kill him yet if he didn't have to. His punishment wasn't over.
So Park held his gun at the ready. Turned the door knob slowly. Pushed the door. Stayed where he was.
The door swung open, revealing an empty