Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [96]
Maybe the chamber was empty.
She saw his finger move, heard the explosion.
Maybe not.
***
EFFIE WAS SITTING outside on the grass, having trouble breathing. She stared at the van, wondering how she was going to make it over there to Martin. She'd rested for a while, but she needed to get moving again soon. Jordan would help.
But she heard the sirens close in and knew it was too late. She raised her hands. Didn't know how long she could keep them there, though. She wondered if an ambulance was coming. Not for her—there was no point—but for Jordan. Smoke inhalation. He was coughing like a sixty-a-day-for-life man.
Behind her, the house burned. Effie hoped Old Mrs Yardie wasn't going to be too upset when she returned from her sister's.
"I'm sorry," the kid said. He was sitting next to her. He'd put his hands up too.
A cop car nosed into the driveway, briefly lighting up the van as a figure leaned back in the passenger seat.
"What for?" she said.
"Telling Dad you were going to kill me."
"That's okay," she said, trying to make out who was in the van. Saw nothing but shadows, though. "Come closer."
He edged over till they were touching. He was warm and smelled of smoke.
"I didn't want to be on my own," she said.
He nodded. "I know how you feel."
"Where's your mother?"
"South Africa. Went there with some dick called Russell."
Effie thought of her own mother. Couldn't come to terms with the fact that her son was a hitman. Got too much for her, and she tried to drown herself. Nearly succeeded. Starved herself of oxygen for just long enough to leave her brain damaged, not long enough to do the job properly.
Effie said, "Don't you have anybody, Jordan?"
"My nan."
"I never knew mine."
"Why not?"
"One died in an accident before I was born. The other died of cancer when I was a baby."
"That's a shame," Jordan said. "I was thinking, maybe you could come visit. Afterwards."
"I don't think so." If she survived, it'd be a long time before she got out of prison. Maybe she wouldn't ever get out.
The door of the van opened and Martin shouted to her: "I have to go. You coming with me or what?"
***
EFFIE OPENED HER eyes and she was back in Old Mrs Yardie's, on the floor in her mother's room, searing pain in her chest, between her shoulder blades. She slumped onto her side. Jordan stood above her, pointing the gun at her, pulling the trigger, again and again. Nothing happening, each time just a dry click. Buzzing in her ears. Stench of burnt toast in her nose. She could hear the roar of flames. Through the open doorway, she could see smoke billowing along the landing.
She couldn't move. Frozen again, as if those fat men were sitting on her limbs. The feeling would pass. It always did.
Jordan tossed the gun onto the floor. It slid across the floorboards, rattled to a stop against the back leg of Mum's chair.
Slowly, Mum reached down, untied the scarf round her ankle. Sighed. Picked the knot on the other one. Then eased herself out of her chair. Got to her feet.
Effie tried to speak.
Mum was staring at Jordan. "Is that you, Richie?" She held out her hand. "Let's go, son."
He stepped towards her, took her hand.
"Mum?" Effie managed to say.
Her mum looked down at her. "Too much blood," she said.
"I know," Effie said. "Go."
Mum bent down, touched Effie's hair.
"Get out of here," Effie said. "Hurry."
Nobody moved.
Effie closed her eyes again, a chill breeze caressing her face. Lights from police cars shone through her eyelids. "I can't visit you, Jordan."
"Well," Jordan said. "Maybe your Mum could."
"Yeah," Effie said. "I think she'd like that. Wouldn't you, Mum?"
***
About the author
Allan Guthrie is an award-winning Scottish crime writer and co-founder of digital publisher, Blasted Heath. His debut novel, TWO-WAY SPLIT, was shortlisted for the CWA Debut Dagger award and went on to win the Theakston's Crime Novel Of The Year. He is the author of four other novels: KISS HER GOODBYE (nominated for an Edgar), HARD MAN, SAVAGE NIGHT and SLAMMER and three