The Hit

by Melvin Burgess

  That happened twice more; then the questions started. They took him to an interview room and told him how much better it would be for him to confess now. His mate Al, apparently, had already cracked and told them everything. Adam’s parents had been called and were waiting outside for him. His mother was crying; so was his dad. It didn’t look as though they could afford bail, but he might get a deal if he talked now. Did he really want his parents to be sitting there all night, worrying about him?

  Then came more time on his own. More threats. A policeman came in and kicked him around the cell for a bit. Then more quiet, more screaming and shouting, followed by another beating. Adam kept his mouth shut, more by instinct than from any sort of plan. Eventually, hours later, a doctor came for the blood and urine tests. Afterward, back in the cell, sitting on the floor breathing in the stink from the toilet, Adam’s last hope died. This moment, this misery, was going to be the rest of his life.

  Hours passed. Once again the police came and took him out to a small room where he was charged with robbery and resisting arrest. Then he was marched along a corridor, turned a corner, and emerged in the front of the station where his mum and dad were waiting for him.

  He was confused. What about the blood tests? Didn’t they know about the Death? The policeman was explaining to his parents what would happen next. The test results would be back in a week or so.

  A week! He was free. Suddenly, he was filled with joy. He had never been so glad to see anyone, ever. He grinned at his parents, but they looked back at him dark-eyed, and almost at once, his spirits sank again because — what was he going to say to them? How could he ever explain what he had done to himself, and to them?

  All three of them stood there like naughty children while the sergeant gave them a lecture about being good parents and a good son. His mum hugged him while his dad signed some papers, and he was handed over like a lost pet into their care.

  The journey home was grim. The bail had been huge — more than they could possibly afford. But they’d found it for him somehow, out of love. His mum drove; his dad sat twisted around in the seat trying to talk to him, but Adam had nothing to say.

  “Why?” his dad kept saying. “Do you think this is going to solve all our problems? All you’ve done is make them worse. All that money for the bail.”

  “It’s not the money,” said his mum.

  “Not just the money, no,” said his dad. “But Adam — think! What are we going to do? How are we going to manage?”

  Back home, his mum cooked him sausages while his dad sat at the table drinking tea. He went off to bed as soon as he could and texted Lizzie that he was out. There was no reply.

  An argument was going on downstairs — obviously about him. Some time later, his dad came up to say good night. He bent over the bed to kiss him, something he hadn’t done for years. His scratchy gray beard on Adam’s cheek reminded him of when he was little.

  “You must remember that we love you very, very much. No matter what, Adam. No matter what. We have each other first, last, and forever. But this has to stop. Robbing a shop! A poor man doing his job — you must have terrified him. You must accept the way life is and help us. You understand?”

  Adam nodded.

  “I want your word. Your word of honor, Adam, that this will stop.”

  Adam didn’t even pause. “I promise. I give you my word. I’m sorry, I really am.”

  “Good.” His dad nodded. For him, that was that. Adam had given his word. There would be no more questions or doubts. Only Adam knew that his word was worth nothing.

  The old man paused at the door to drive his message home. “I love you. I love you and this has to stop,” he repeated. He nodded once more, then left.

  Adam tried to go to sleep — the sooner this day was over, the better. All he wanted was that wonderful good-morning feeling that came when he woke up with Death fresh in his veins. But he knew his mum was going to come up to see him, too. Sure enough, ten minutes later, there was her step on the stairs. The door creaked open. She whispered his name to check that he was awake. He didn’t answer, just lifted his head, and she came quietly in, sat on the bed next to him, and stroked his head.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I know you are,” she said. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “What for?”

  “This mess. It isn’t what I wanted for my kids. Your dad handicapped. Me working myself into a shadow. And Jess, of course, especially Jess. But you know what, Adam? The funny thing is, I’m proud of him in a way.”

  Adam was outraged. “But he let us down!”

  “He stood up for what he believed in. And maybe he’s right — have you thought of that? Everyone’s working harder and harder for less and less. So few people getting richer and richer, and the rest of us getting poorer every year. Kids killing themselves for a good time. Jess wanted to do something about that.”

  “I can’t believe you have any pity for him,” said Adam.

  “I know he let us down. I’m angry about that, too, but at least he did it for a good cause. People are talking about revolution, you know. It can happen if we want it to. There are half a million people on the streets of Manchester right now, as we speak. Half a million! Something has to give.”

  Adam said nothing.

  “The thing is, Adam …” She squeezed his hand and bent down a little closer, to try to push her words deep inside him. “Life is still worth living. There are so many wonderful things. Having a job you don’t like — most of us have to do things we don’t like, but it’s still an adventure. It’s all waiting for you. Growing up, having children. Making love. Falling in love.” She smiled. “It really is like they say in the songs. Love is the greatest thing. Don’t throw it all away just because there are bad things as well. Life can be generous as well as mean. It can be joyful. Always remember that. Promise me, Adam, will you — always to remember that?”

  More promises. Adam nodded. But he would keep this promise, he felt. He would remember her words until his dying day.

  She bent to kiss him. “Night-night,” she whispered.

  “Night, Mum.”

  Adam turned over as she left the room and lay there, keeping himself awake. He waited until the house had gone very, very still before he got up, let himself quietly out the front door, and left.

  ON THE BUS, LIZZIE ESCAPED BY SIMPLY STAYING PUT. NO one seemed to realize that she was with Adam, or if they did, they didn’t point her out when the police came up and took that lad downstairs. She sat quietly until the bus got into town, and then went straight back to the flat.

  That was it, then. Bang. Adam was as good as dead.

  On her own at last, she burst into tears. What a couple of days! It was exhausting just sitting next to Adam, watching him foam over with life and knowing he was going to be dead in just one week. And now he was gone forever.

  She was relieved; she felt dreadful for feeling relieved. She was sad; she was angry. He’d let her down; she’d let him down … she didn’t know what she felt.

  She drifted about the flat, wondering what to do now. Her parents would be going crazy. She turned on her phone, which she’d kept off to avoid hearing from them earlier, and sure enough, there was a long list of calls and messages. Where are you? What’s going on? We just want to know you’re safe. It was the first time she’d been away from home without telling them. She had planned to be away a week, but it looked like it was time to go home already.

  Life was going straight back to zero, she thought. Home. School. Mates. Mum and Dad. And all the time, Adam was in a cell waiting to die.

  Not yet. She wasn’t ready to go back yet. She turned on the telly and flipped through the Internet to find out more about Death — and there it all was: the gangs rampaging around Manchester, the rumors about the Zealots manufacturing the new cheap Death. The stages people went through. It started off manic, apparently, in the first few days, then calmed down. That was when the despair hit home.

  She
wept again. It was impossible to think about Adam without crying. He had been a little shit these past two days, but that wasn’t him — that was the drug. She dried her eyes and flicked through some more until she found what she was looking for. A page on a Deather site: “The Antidote.”

  It was a no-hoper — but it was the only hope.

  There were a lot of rumors, but no hard facts. A post by a journalist explained how an antidote was impossible because of the way the drug bound itself to the brain. But then there was another by a guy who claimed to have actually taken the antidote after stealing it from a secret government lab. It was real, he promised. It was out there. You only had to look …

  And another post warning about this cruel hoax.

  Who knew? If there was an antidote, she was in the right place. This was Manchester, where it was all happening. The police were pretty sure the illegal Death was being manufactured here. Not only that, but Lizzie had a good idea who might be involved.

  It was dangerous, she knew that — Julie was scared by Christian for a reason. But it was Adam’s life at stake. She had to at least try. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

  She had his phone number, too — he’d slipped it to her when she was talking to him at the party. She didn’t want to lunge straight in, though, so she began by trying a cautious phone call to Julie first.

  Her cousin was horrified when she heard that Adam had taken Death, but pleased that he had been caught.

  “Thank God he’s off the streets,” she said. “Deathers are such wankers. It makes me angry. He deserves it. God knows what sort of trouble he’d have got you into. He was lucky to have you for just a few days. These people only get worse as it gets closer.”

  She went on to tell the story about a couple who had been at her party who’d taken Death.

  “It started off, they were so cool. Really Zen and all that. Sitting about watching the sunset and being, like, in tune with the universe? You know. The next day, guess what? She catches him with a pair of prostitutes. He’s like, ‘Hey it’s cool, I’m just, you know, making the most of my last few days.’ Next thing, they’re at each other’s throats. From love to hate in two minutes. How Zen is that? She forgives him, just about, but now — guess what? Going with those whores has made him realize what he’s lost! How insulting is that for a girl? Next day she finds him in the bathroom with his throat cut out, dead as yesterday’s hamburger. So now she’s got two days left and she’s searching, like, for the antidote, you know? Which doesn’t even exist. How’s that for fun? One more week on the planet? He didn’t even make four days.”

  “So that’s right about the antidote?” Lizzie asked. “You know that? There isn’t one, right?”

  And all she wanted was for Julie to say, No, there’s no antidote. I know that for a fact. She pretty much held her breath, waiting for the feeling of relief when it came.

  But instead, Julie got cross. “Listen to me, Liz,” she said. “The people peddling this stuff are very rich, very powerful, very greedy, and very dangerous. They will do anything they have to to get what they want. If there is an antidote, they’re the only people who know about it, and they ain’t saying.”

  “So you’re saying there might actually be one, then?”

  “Don’t you even dare think about it. You’ve just had one fuck of a lucky break. You had Christian Ballantine after you and a total loser for a boyfriend — and by sheer luck, both those things have been sorted out for you. So just leave it, OK? Bloody hell. What are you trying to do? You’re seventeen. Stop acting like a silly little girl. Stay away from anyone — especially Christian — who has anything to do with this shit. Get it?”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” said Lizzie noncommittally.

  Julie seethed and raged some more, but she had already made a number of fatal mistakes, including calling Lizzie a silly little girl, but mostly by confirming that Christian was involved in Death.

  * * *

  Christian was delighted to hear from her.

  “Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to find you,” he cooed.

  “Oh, round about,” Lizzie replied vaguely.

  “Shouldn’t you be at school?” he asked.

  “It’s the holidays. Hey — I have a question for you,” she said.

  Christian was lying in the bath. He settled down in the foamy water with a cup of tea at his side. He had been getting pretty irked with Vince about his inability to find the new girl — and lo! Here she was, delivered right into his hands.

  “It’s about Death,” said Lizzie.

  Christian paused, his cup of tea halfway to his lips. “Why are you asking me about that?” he asked peevishly.

  “You said drugs. It sounded very glamorous,” said Lizzie. “I just thought … you know …”

  “OK,” said Christian. This girl was not only desirable. She was also dangerous.

  “I was wondering if you knew if there’s an antidote. I’ve been hearing there is one,” Lizzie said.

  Silence, except for a little splashing.

  “Because I have this friend,” Lizzie pressed on. “This guy. He’s been through a really bad time and he’s gone and done it. Taken Death. I was wondering … you know …”

  “I see,” said Christian. “Well. We should meet up and talk about it.”

  “Can you do anything?” she asked.

  “If I could help you — and I’m not saying that I can — you’d have to meet me, wouldn’t you? I mean, what do you want? For me to put it in the post?”

  Despite herself, Lizzie felt a ray of hope.

  “Are you saying there is one?” she said. “Just be straight with me.”

  “Lizzie, this is a phone call. I can’t talk about it here.”

  “I have to know. I can’t come to see you unless I know.”

  “Put it like this,” he said. “The things people can do today, huh? You know? The entire human genome. Particle physics. They made a man grow a new leg the other day, I read. Then they say they can’t work out something like this. Strange, isn’t it?”

  “I knew it,” said Lizzie calmly. “I knew it. Everyone says there isn’t but I knew there just had to be.”

  “You think.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Christian laughed. “Yeah, matter of fact I do. You are going to have to come to meet me, though.”

  “Can you get it for me?”

  “We can’t talk about it on the phone.”

  “How much will it cost? I’ll need to bring money with me.”

  “More than you could possibly afford.”

  “I can give you ten thousand. I have ten thousand,” she said. And she had. Various aunts and uncles had given her the money toward her university fund.

  Christian snorted. “Forget it. Nowhere near.”

  “That’s all I have.”

  “Just come round. You won’t need any money.”

  Lizzie paused. “Will you give it to me if I come?”

  Christian laughed out loud. “Oh, I’ll give it to you, don’t worry about that,” he said, and he giggled like a boy.

  So it was that. She’d thought so. So — just how far would she go to save Adam’s life?

  “What exactly do you want, Christian?” she demanded. “Just say it.”

  “I want you, round here, right now. In my bed.”

  “That’s the deal?” she asked. “Sex for the antidote, right?”

  “That’s the deal.”

  “How long do I have to think about it?”

  * * *

  Christian’s house was right out in the country. Driving there, Lizzie was so nervous she actually stopped the car at one point and started back. But then she turned again and went forward. She was saving a life. What sort of a bitch would she be to let Adam die, just because of sex?

  It was the old story. Boys went to the rescue with a gun in their hands, girls with their panties in their pockets. So which was worse? This way, she thought, at least n
o one was going to get hurt.

  When she arrived she sat in the car at the bottom of the drive for another minute or two. Last chance to back out. Then she drove up and parked on the gravel in front of the house.

  The house didn’t help. It looked wrong. It was a great square thing, an old rectory or something. The curtains were all drawn, but some of them were half off the hooks. The paintwork was peeling, there was glass out in at least two of the upstairs windows, and a hank of ivy had been half pulled off one of the side walls and hung there like a piece of peeling skin. The lawns and shrubbery that bordered the house were wild and overgrown, but the gravel area in front had been carefully raked. Three highly polished and very expensive cars stood there — a Porsche, a Lamborghini, and something else, she had no idea what. There were skid marks in the gravel as if someone had been doing wheelies. If it weren’t for the cars outside, she’d have thought she was at the wrong address.

  She knocked on the door, which was opened almost at once by Vince, who didn’t say a word, just stood aside to let her in. He was huge, she’d forgotten how huge. Standing next to him, she felt very little indeed.

  Vince turned and led the way inside, still without a word. It seemed as if she didn’t require the pleasantries anymore. It made her feel like dirt. Maybe that was how prostitutes always felt.

  They walked along an uncarpeted hallway, past a series of shiny but very dusty doors and expensive-looking wallpaper. The whole house was like that — beautifully decorated with lovely furniture, but filthy dirty. It stank, too, of stale food and old clothes.

  Vince opened one of the doors and ushered her into a huge sitting room — no carpet, one enormous couch, and a table littered with old takeout containers. Christian was waiting. He stood up as she came in.