Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [85]
He closed his eyes and heard Grant laughing, but when he opened them the boy had gone.
Tommy turned to Jordan. "Did you see that?"
"See what? Dad, you okay?"
"I'm okay," Tommy said, slowly. "Yeah, I'm okay." He stared at the windscreen. It was intact. Not so much as a scratch. He listened to the silence.
"Dad?"
He had to focus. Forget what he'd seen. Or what he thought he'd seen. "That's not what I meant, about Phil and Fraser," he said to Jordan. He craned his neck, peered into the back of the van. "I was wondering what that was."
"The tub? That's where they—"
"No, the thing wedged in the corner. Looks like a petrol can."
"That? It's a petrol can."
Tommy nodded, pushed the driver's door open as wide as it would go. Effie was kneeling on the ground, hands clasped behind the back of her neck. "What's the petrol for?" he asked her.
She didn't turn around, said, "We were going to torch the van when we'd finished."
"Smart," Tommy said. "Whose idea was that?"
"Dad's."
"Regular arsonist, eh?"
"Fireraiser."
"Sorry?"
"Arson's English. It's fireraising under Scots Law."
"Thanks for the lesson."
"Just saying. I know about these things."
"That right?" He still hadn't decided what to do with her. He knew what he should do. Grant would back him up. Right, Grant? Grant said nothing. Course, she was his sister and he wouldn't be able to make an impartial judgment. But, look, Effie was responsible for murdering Fraser. Responsible. There were consequences, for fuck's sake. Stupid bitch. The whole family, whatever they were called, were fucking stupid.
"Watch who you're calling stupid," Grant said. But Grant didn't scare him. Not any more.
"What's your name?" Tommy asked her.
"Effie. You've already used it."
"No, your surname. Your arsonist daddy never told me."
"Park," she said.
"Park," he said. "Park. Such an insignificant name."
"Unlike yours. A name like that, you were destined for a night like this."
He wondered how she'd look without a head. He didn't think he could do that, though. Didn't have her constitution. He'd have to shoot her.
But he needed her help to tidy up first. And he was going to have to get Jordan involved too.
"No," he said.
"No?"
"This is what I want to do. It's a choice." He shrugged. "Anyway, help me get your dead boyfriend in the van."
***
EFFIE COULDN'T BELIEVE he'd handed the gun to the kid.
"Think you can handle it?" Savage had said.
And Jordan had nodded.
"Point it at her," Savage said. "If she makes a sudden movement, shoot her. If she doesn't do what she's told, shoot her. If she looks at you funny, shoot her."
Surely Savage couldn't believe that Jordan was prepared to use the gun. Had to be a bluff. All she had to do was get the kid close, grab the gun off him. But Jordan's hand was shaking. And she realised all of a sudden that she didn't want to look at him funny. Maybe it wouldn't take much for him to pull the trigger after all. Certainly not if he was anything like his dad.
Her knees hurt as she got off the ground. She knew there were creases in them, ridges where stones had dug in. The pain felt good, though. She'd like to gouge deeper, see how much pain she could find.
"Come on," Savage said.
"Yeah," Jordan said. "Get moving."
Little bastard.
She limped towards the front of the car, Jordan trailing behind, gun pointed at her.
Martin came into view bit by bit. First: part of his legs. Another step: up to his waist. Another step: his torso. But no sign of blood so far, which was promising. He was injured, but nothing too serious. Another step.
Looking good. Looking good. Looking …
To the side. The side of his head. A dark puddle, spread wide, balloon-shaped like a speech-bubble. His head … Jesus. She looked away but saw him still, a faded image but still enough to make her gag. Looked again. Forced herself to see the damage Tommy Savage had done to him.
Didn't want to see it.