Savage Night (33 page)

Just when he thought he couldn't bear any more, the pain burst into his chest, fired through his windpipe and shot onto the dashboard. A solid thing that rattled around. He blinked, looked at Jordan who was still waiting for him to speak. He couldn't.

Back on the dashboard, the pain had rolled to a stop. It was a steel ball, red-hot. He reached out to pick it up, not caring if he got burned, but a fist burst through the windscreen and Tommy grabbed only a handful of air.

"Looking for this?" Grant lay on the bonnet, ball held between finger and thumb.

"Give that back," Tommy said.

Grant placed the ball in his mouth. Tommy watched smoke seep through Grant's lips and then the lad swallowed and Tommy's anger started to build all over again. He could feel it, already a soft warm lump in his gut.

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. Didn't want to know about it. Didn't want to register it. Didn't want to accept it. But couldn't help herself. She
had
to see.

Look away
. At what? At the blood on the ground? At the fucker who'd done this?

Had
to look back.

Don't be dead. No. Don't you dare. Martin. Martin, baby.

It was obscene.

A dark, forked ribbon of blood draped down his cheek, dripped onto the ground.

But that wasn't what had made her retch.

She looked up at the jagged-boned eye socket and stared into the dark space in Martin's face where once there had been an eyeball.

***

"GRAB HIS FEET," Tommy said. Effie Park wasn't listening. Caught up in the moment. Watching her dead boyfriend lying there. Very touching. Tommy almost felt sorry for her. He said, "You can't will him alive, you know. Won't happen. I should know."

She acknowledged him finally. "Huh?"

"He's not coming back from the dead. They don't. Apart from dreams. In your head."

"In my head?"

"Love to chat but we have to move. Grab him."

She bent over, picked up his feet. "Like this?"

Looked like she was in some kind of daze. That was okay. Made her easier to manipulate.

"That's fine," he said. He couldn't use both hands himself, his bad arm was too sore, so he grabbed hold of a handful of jumper. "After three," he said. Counted. And lifted.

That's when she sprang for the gun.

"Shoot her," he told Jordan.

Jordan glanced at him, then did what he'd been told. The shot went wide. But it stopped her in her tracks. "Next time I won't miss," Jordan said. "You fucking bitch."

"Language," Tommy said.

***

SHE WASN'T GOING to cry. She was stronger than that.

Savage closed the van doors. She wanted to ride in the back with Martin but they'd be jammed in pretty tight, the tub on its side, Martin resting on top of the headless Savages at an angle, so he'd fit. Anyway, Tommy Savage said no and he'd taken the gun back so she wasn't going to argue with him. She knew
he
could shoot straight.

She wasn't going to fucking cry.

Fuck off.

***

TOMMY SHEPHERDED EFFIE round to the front of the van.

He'd get her to drive. He needed to keep his eyes on her, not the road, and anyway he'd found on the way here that driving was agony with his arm in such a poor state.

She had her hand on the door when the dog came at them out of the darkness and made her jump. Looked like a small Collie-Lab cross. It started barking, looked vicious, all teeth. Behind it stood its owner, a guy so pale he seemed to glow in the moonlight. He was wearing a flak jacket and a Che Guevarra cap. He held a shotgun in one hand and was tugging at the dog's leash with the other.

Tommy held his own gun by his side, behind his leg, out of sight and hoped the guy hadn't noticed it. Tommy said, "Evening."

The guy said, "What's going on? What was that noise?"

At least, that's what Tommy thought the guy said. It was hard to hear him over the din the dog was making. Tommy squeezed the butt of his gun. He asked, "Can you get your dog to be quiet?"

The guy nodded, then bent down to scold the dog. It had got into a rhythm, though, and seemed to be enjoying itself.

"We had a spot of engine trouble," Tommy shouted. "Fixed now."

The guy stood, the dog calmed down a little, just growling now. "Yeah. But what was that explosion?"

"Eh?" Tommy said, pretending not to hear him. "Engine trouble. Nothing exploded."

"I heard an explosion. Sounded like a gunshot."

"Oh, explosion," Tommy said. "Came from back that way." He had to use his bad arm to point behind him, into the woods, and only just managed. Hoped the guy didn't see him wince. "The law are already off investigating."

"They are?"

"See for yourself." He nodded at the police car opposite. "You didn't call them, then?"

"Not yet."

"Well, somebody did."

"Yeah," the guy said. "Yeah. Over that way, you say?" He pointed with the gun.

"Yeah."

"Okay." He didn't look convinced.

"Anyway, we have to be going. Engine seems fine now."

The guy watched them all climb into the front of the van.

Effie looked at Tommy.

"What's wrong?" he whispered. "Get moving."

"Won't it look odd, me driving?"

"What's odd about that?"

"Women don't usually drive when men are around."

"Yeah?" he said. "And here's me thinking you'd be a feminist."

As they pulled away, Effie driving, he watched the guy and his dog walk off along the path that led into the woods. Tommy wondered how long it would be before he realised there weren't any cops, that nobody was coming back to the cop car.

***

"WHERE WERE YOU going?" Savage asked her, his arm on the back of her seat, the gun dangling inches from her chin. His little bastard son was sitting on his knee, acting all hard now that Daddy was here.

Effie contemplated making another grab for the gun but decided to wait for a clearer opportunity. Anyway, her hands were still shaky from last time she'd tried. She gripped the wheel as hard as she could, didn't make any difference. She could feel the vibrations through the whole of her body. Next thing, her teeth would start chattering.

"Asked you a question," Savage said.

She sucked her lips. They smacked apart. "Heading towards town, like you said."

"No, where were you going earlier, when I called you? Where were you taking Jordan?"

"To see Dad."

"You mean to Old Mrs Yardie's?"

"He tell you that?"

"Mrs Yardie certainly didn't."

Effie thought that was a strange thing to say.

"She his girlfriend?" he asked.

She glanced at him, see if he was taking the piss. Hard to tell. His pupils were tiny, eyes bloodshot and staring.

He nodded, as if she'd said yes. "Poor woman," he said. "Taken advantage of like that. Can't even speak for herself."