For Those Who Know the Ending (32 page)

‘Here,’ Nate’s saying to Martin, ‘give me the gun.’

Martin, still standing by the chair, is passing the gun to Nate, watching him slip it back into his coat pocket. Martin hasn’t moved since he shot Usman, letting the other two do the work because that’s their job and because he wants to be sure he can move without falling over before he risks trying. If Nate thinks it’s because he’s getting his emotions in check then let him think that. Martin’s not concerned by whatever conclusion Nate jumps to, because he knows it won’t make a good impression if he tries to take a step, cramps up and falls flat on his face.

Nate’s laying out the plastic sheet beside Usman’s body, waiting for Gully to walk back across with the towels. Gully’s past Martin, kneeling beside Usman and quickly putting a towel over the back of his head so that he won’t have to look at the wound.

‘Jesus,’ he’s muttering, tightening the towel and getting ready to lift the body.

‘One, two, three,’ Nate’s saying, and the two of them are lifting Usman and dropping him onto the plastic sheet. Rolling the sheet around him until you can’t see Usman any more, and that’s helping Martin relax a little.

‘Better get this cleaned as well,’ Gully’s saying, grimacing as he’s looking down at the pool of blood on the concrete.

He has a bottle of bleach with him, wiping up as much blood as he can onto one towel before putting the bleach on the floor and scrubbing it. It isn’t perfect.

‘Get a splash of oil, something like that,’ Nate’s saying, looking at the pinkish smudge. ‘Something dark that’ll cover it up.’

‘Aye,’ Gully’s nodding.

They’re picking up Usman, wrapped in the plastic sheet, and walking him across to the van. Now Martin has to move, because those two are almost finished and about to leave. He has to go with them, has to start doing something to make it clear that he hasn’t drifted off mentally in the wake of the job. He’s their gunman now, and that means showing you’re useful beyond just pulling a trigger. Display your professionalism in the early days often enough that others take it for granted.

There’s more power in his legs than he expected. He’s moving, walking a circle round the chair and then picking it up, carrying it across the room and putting it down against the wall where it won’t stand out. Back to the middle of the floor, kneeling and picking up the cut strips that had held him in place. There’s a brown patch on one where his blood has dried on it. He’s pulling up his sleeves, there’s a cut on his left wrist. Walking across to the van, passing the strips to Gully who’s putting them inside a towel and putting the towels on top of Usman.

‘There’s a cloth and a bottle of water in the front of the van, lad,’ Gully’s saying to him. ‘You can wash some of the blood off the side of your face before we hit the road. Don’t want people seeing you like that.’

Martin’s nodding, but he’d forgotten all about it. The cut on his head, the blood that had run down his neck and tickled its way under his clothes. He’ll need to clean any of it that’s visible before they leave the garage. He’s walking to the van’s passenger side, finding the cloth and bottle of water in the glovebox. Cloth doesn’t look as clean and unused as he’d hoped it would. By the time he’s finished it’s a dirty red colour.

He can hear Nate and Gully muttering behind him, discussing the best route to where they want to go. Sounds like the grave is dug and ready to be filled, a third man there waiting for them. Sounds to Martin like they picked this warehouse because the burial site isn’t far from here, an easy route on which they shouldn’t be seen and definitely won’t be stopped.

‘You can come out to the grave with us,’ Gully’s saying. ‘We got a guy there; he’ll give you a run back into the city. Be safer going with him than in the van.’

‘Okay,’ Martin’s saying, and not committing himself to saying anything else.

Gully’s smiling a little, another gunman who never bothered to learn the art of conversation. Nate’s closing the back doors, coming round and getting into the driver’s seat. Gully’s sitting in the middle this time, Martin beside the passenger door. No need to keep him squashed in the middle when his work is already done.

They were only on the road for eleven minutes, and now they’re pulling off into the trees and stopping beside an old but sporty-looking car. In the moonlight Martin can see a tall and broad-looking young man, light brown hair with small eyes and a small mouth, standing beside a shovel that’s planted in the ground. They’re out of the van, Nate nodding a hello to the youngster.

‘BB, come over and help us with this.’

The young man’s moving casually across to the van, helping Nate pull out the body. The two of them will do the carrying, Gully and Martin standing by the van and watching. They don’t need help; a third person would just get in the way of a two-man job. Nate and BB are carrying the body across to the grave that BB dug while the rest of them were at the warehouse. He’ll have been waiting a while, given how far behind schedule they are. A patient, unquestioning boy, he’d have waited much longer if he had to. The body, the towels and the straps are all going into the hole. Thrown in casually, two men dumping the body of a stranger they care nothing for. Martin doesn’t wince.

‘It’s a good organization,’ Gully’s saying quietly. Talking in a whisper as a precaution. ‘Lot of good people doing a lot of good work. Don’t matter about the boss being in jail when the rest of the thing is so well run.’

Martin’s nodding slightly, and that’s it. Gully seems to feel the need to talk, to try and create a connection between them. The sort of man who wants to connect with everyone, get to know people and be friends with them even when he might never see them again. Still a smart enough man to know that there isn’t much point in trying too hard with this new gunman. Just good manners to make the effort.

Nate and BB are quickly filling in the grave, trying to return the ground to a presentable state. There’s muttering between them, Nate giving some sort of instruction to the younger man. Martin can’t hear what it is, but the glance BB gave him is enough to know that Nate was instructing the boy to drive the gunman home. Nate’s taking both their shovels back across to the van, while BB walks over to Martin.

‘I’m BB,’ he’s saying, sticking out a big hand for Martin to shake. ‘I’ll give you a lift home, if you’re done here.’

‘I’m done here,’ Martin’s saying.

Nate’s putting the shovels in the back of the van, closing the doors and watching Martin walk across to BB’s car. Martin’s opening the passenger door, glad to be going home, when Nate calls across.

‘We’ll be in touch again soon,’ he’s saying.

Martin’s turning and looking at the large man, standing beside the van. Martin’s nodding, doing his best to seem like he’s one of the team now, but there’s nothing to say. Of course Nate’s going to be in touch, there are details to be thrashed out about Martin’s new employment. Of course Martin’s going to accept whatever details Nate offers, he’s hardly in a position to say no.

BB’s driving back into the city a little too fast, but he’s driving with confidence and he seems relaxed. That, in turn, is relaxing Martin, knowing that the job is behind him, that he has secure employment and the protection of a big organization. No more risky, two-bit jobs, smashing bookies on the back of the head and gunning down befuddled dealers. It’s a step back to the life he had before he came to Scotland, the life he knows well and can live. He’s found what he was looking for when he stepped off the plane that first day, despite it being so well hidden. You don’t plan for someone like Usman, but he served his purpose. Helped Martin make some serious money, helped him get back into the business in the job he wanted.

‘Whereabouts exactly mate?’ BB’s asking him.

Martin’s giving him the name of the next street along from the house. Doesn’t want this guy knowing his address, not yet. Might turn out that this boy can be trusted, they might end up working together again, but until he’s sure of a person Martin will keep them at arm’s length. That’s the only way a gunman can live.

BB’s pulling over to the side of the road on the street Martin named. He’s turning and looking at Martin, smiling a little in a manner that seems to beg for a compliment. He’s in his late twenties, but he looks younger, small features on a wide, youthful face.

‘Thank you,’ is as much as Martin can manage, getting quickly out of the car.

BB doesn’t hang around, pulling away and driving quickly out of view, Martin standing on the pavement watching him go. The last nagging doubt has gone with him. There was a thought, the kind the industry specializes in creating, that maybe BB was part of a wider set-up, here to get access to Martin’s house and hurt him somehow. If they were going to do it, it would have been at the grave, but the worry doesn’t pass until the last of them is gone.

Martin’s walking back to the house, glad of the chance to get some exercise into his limbs, to breathe some fresh air and to think about what he’s going to say to Joanne. Key in the front door and stepping quietly inside. Along the hallway he can see a light coming from the kitchen and it makes him feel good. She stayed up to wait for him, no matter how late he was. She cares enough to wait. He’s walking along the corridor and pushing open the kitchen door, seeing her sitting alone at the kitchen table. There had been fear on her face, but it’s collapsed into relief and she’s getting up quickly. Martin’s laughing just a little, hugging her tightly and kissing the side of her neck.

‘You’re okay,’ she’s saying, a statement rather than a question.

‘I’m okay.’

‘Are you going to be okay from now on?’

‘Yes,’ Martin’s saying. ‘I have a new job.’

Malcolm Mackay was born and grew up in Stornoway, where he still lives. His much-lauded Glasgow-set novels have won the Crime Thriller Book Club Best Read Award and Deanston Scottish Crime Book of the Year, and been shortlisted for the CWA John Creasey New Blood Dagger and the Scottish First Book of the Year Award.

Also by Malcolm Mackay

ANATOMY OF A HIT

(ebook short story)

THE NIGHT THE RICH MEN BURNED

EVERY NIGHT I DREAM OF HELL

The Glasgow Trilogy

THE NECESSARY DEATH OF LEWIS WINTER

HOW A GUNMAN SAYS GOODBYE

THE SUDDEN ARRIVAL OF VIOLENCE

First published 2016 by Mantle

This electronic edition published 2016 by Mantle
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
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www.panmacmillan.com

ISBN 978-1-4472-9162-6

Copyright © Malcolm Mackay 2016

Cover photographs: © Miguel Sobreira / Arcangel Images
Author image © Raj Curry

The right of Malcolm Mackay to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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