by Carys Jones
‘So you’re paying with this… bitcoin?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And delivery? Will someone hand it to you down a back alley in a brown paper bag?’
‘Hardly,’ Amanda rolled her eyes. ‘For a cop you’re not all that switched on, you know,’ she added teasingly.
‘I’m in homicide, not weapon and drugs trafficking.’
‘Good job,’ Amanda cracked a smile, ‘because you’d be wasting a lot of resources with all your back-alley monitoring.’
‘Fine, so how does it work?’ He placed his drink down and roughly shook his head. ‘Actually, no, I don’t want to know.’
‘Okay.’
‘But it will be delivered?’
‘That sounds like you want to know.’
Shane clenched his jaw. ‘Fine. Tell me.’
‘It’s all about PO boxes these days.’ Amanda’s gaze danced across the screen. Her transaction was almost complete.
‘A PO box. Right.’
‘So I’ll just finish my order and—’
‘Let me see,’ Shane dragged his chair around to the other side of the table. He swallowed as he looked at the purchase Amanda was about to make.
A 9mm pistol. Silver. It was apparently ‘light and easy to use.’ Ammunition supplied.
‘You, um…’ he awkwardly stabbed his finger at the screen.
‘What?’
‘You need a silencer.’
He was so close that Amanda could feel his leg pressed up against her own. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, ‘A silencer?’
‘Yeah,’ Shane coughed nervously and pulled the laptop closer to them. ‘However you plan to use this, it’ll be better if it doesn’t make a sound, trust me.’
‘You’re suddenly awfully knowledgeable.’
‘In my job you get to understand the way a killer’s mind works,’ he said grimly. ‘When it happens, you want it to be fast, quiet and clean. When it comes to murder, that’s the holy trinity that everyone is aspiring to.’
‘Shane?’ Amanda saw a shadow pass over his face, hardening his features.
‘I’m essentially helping you commit murder.’ He dragged a hand down his face. For a moment he looked completely lost. ‘Everything I stood for. Everything I worked for. I’m flying directly in the face of it for… for you.’
‘I know,’ Amanda said softly, chewing her lip and watching him. He looked so young bathed in the glow of the laptop. But the deep lines around his eyes, the creases in his forehead, were evidence enough that he was no longer the boy who she played with on the beach.
‘I’m risking it all for you,’ he was starting to sound annoyed. ‘Does that make me a fool?’
‘No.’
Shane just stared at the laptop. ‘I fear that it does.’
*
A day. That’s how long Amanda needed to wait for her darknet purchase to be delivered. It was going to be left in a PO box near Glasgow train station.
‘You shouldn’t come,’ she’d decided this as soon as her acknowledgement email had come through. Shane was watching the news, his back to her as she sat on the bed wedged up against a mound of pillows, her laptop resting on her upper thighs.
‘Of course I’m coming.’ Shane didn’t turn around.
‘No, you shouldn’t. In case something does go sour. I don’t want you getting implicated in this.’
‘I think I’m already pretty implicated, don’t you?’
‘Shane—’
He swivelled around, momentarily ignoring the stern-faced man on the television delivering the evening news. ‘You jump I jump, remember?’
‘No,’ Amanda closed her laptop with an angry flourish as laughter tumbled out of her, as brilliant in clarity as the jangling of silver bells. ‘You…’ she pressed a hand to her chest. Laughing hurt. Almost as much as sneezing did. It forced her swollen, aching muscles to work much more than they’d currently like to. ‘Shane, you can’t quote Titanic at me about this.’
‘Why not? You used to love that film. Do you remember when you made me hold you up on that rock on the beach pretending we were on the bow of the ship?’
‘Ha, yeah, I remember.’
‘John called us sad and sulked off.’
‘I think he was starting to feel a bit like a third wheel at that point.’ Amanda lowered her hand, her laughter subsiding.
‘Jokes aside, the sentiment is there, Amanda. We’re in this together, there’s no going back now. Tomorrow, we’ll both go and collect your… delivery. Okay?’
‘He dies.’
‘What?’
‘At the end of Titanic, Jack dies. Even when they both jump, they don’t both make it.’
‘Amanda,’ Shane reached for her leg and placed his hand on it. ‘It’s just a movie. And together, we’re going to be fine, I promise. We’re not on a sinking ship.’
Sinking deeper into her pillows, Amanda eyed him warily. ‘Aren’t we?’
*
The next morning brought rain and lots of it. It bounced off the pavement and ran in rivers along the gutter. Amanda walked arm in arm with Shane, their heads bowed against the watery onslaught from above.
‘We could call an Uber,’ Shane had suggested when he opened the curtains and saw the leaden sky outside.
‘No. There can be no record of our going to the station today. We have to walk. Heads down to avoid any CCTV cameras.’
The bottom of Amanda’s joggers were already soaked through. Her shoes squelched with every step. But they were nearly there.
She’d clocked the van when she left the hotel. It stood faceless and passive, and yet its presence felt like the sword of Damocles over her head.
‘It’s weird how it’s always there, don’t you think?’ She tucked in close to Shane and edged his attention in the direction of the van.
‘It’s just a white van, Amanda. They are all over the city.’
‘But it’s always there.’
‘Maybe they work in the hotel.’
‘Then why not use the car park like everyone else?’
Shane shrugged and kept walking, head bowed against the rain. Amanda glanced back at the van and wondered if she was slipping into some strange state of paranoia. Maybe it was just a van. And maybe she was going crazy with worry, maddened by always having to check over her shoulder, always having to fear what lurked in the shadows.
People hurried all around them, huddled beneath umbrellas. Rainwater had been walked into the station, streaking the floor with damp, muddied stains. Amanda pulled down her hood and shook herself off.
‘I’m at least buying an umbrella,’ Shane started stalking towards a nearby shop. ‘It’s pouring it down out there and I’m not getting soaked a second time.’
Amanda waited, suddenly feeling awfully superfluous to the flow of activity going on around her. People craned their necks at the arrivals screens, shook off their overloaded umbrellas and fired off swift messages on their phones. No one was looking at her. No one was staring at her as if they knew the real reason she was there – that she had no train to catch. No one noticed her at all.
‘Okay,’ Shane returned, brandishing a long black umbrella. ‘So where now?’
Amanda was reluctant to keep going. She felt weighted with anxiety. Her stomach churned like the time she’d scrambled up into the attic of the cottage to cop a feel of her freshly wrapped Christmas presents. At the time, she’d known that she shouldn’t have been there, her heart kept an anxious beat as she scurried around, pawing at all the brightly coloured items.
‘Come on,’ Shane took her hand and helped her feet remember how to move. She numbly let him lead her deeper into the station. ‘This is where we need to be, right?’
Six rows of PO boxes, neatly stacked together like lockers at a public swimming pool. Amanda thrust her hands deep into her pockets. She was about to steal fire from the Gods – about to do something which could have dire consequences for everyone she knew. Everyone she loved.
‘Just go,’ she
hissed at Shane through clenched teeth. ‘I’ve got this.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ He stubbornly remained at her side.
‘Fine.’
They were taking too long. If anyone was watching them, keeping an eye out for strange behaviour, then they were surely ticking every box. Amanda pushed her shoulders back and tried to appear nonchalant as she approached the second row of boxes.
‘She said it was 218,’ she spoke loudly, confidently. Like she was just picking up a package which had been shipped over from a distant cousin.
‘218, that’s here.’ Shane found the right box faster than Amanda would have liked. He hovered beside it, hopping from foot to foot, restless.
‘Oh, right, thanks honey,’ Amanda gave him a saccharine smile, doing her best to keep up some sort of charade of normalcy. She approached the keypad and punched in the number that had been emailed to her. She almost didn’t want it to work. As she pressed in the final 4 she held her breath. There was a bright chirp of confirmation and then the small metal door swung open. Amanda had to force herself to look inside. She half expected thousands of bullets to suddenly pour out, to pool at her feet as every security guard in the vicinity came running over, drawn to her illegal activity.
But nothing bounced against the floor. Inside there was a simple square package in a cardboard box. It looked completely unassuming, like a regular Amazon order.
‘Is that it?’ Shane was peering in along with her.
‘I guess so.’ Amanda was about to reach in and grab it, but Shane beat her to it. He retrieved the box and didn’t dwell on its details. He just clamped it at his side and gave Amanda a curt nod.
‘Okay, then, let’s get going. Lucky I bought this umbrella.’
He was being so calm. Amanda wanted to take the package, shoulder her fair share of the burden, but she knew he wouldn’t have it, and she couldn’t risk rousing suspicion by fighting with him over it. Remaining cool and composed, Amanda closed the PO box and, arm in arm with Shane, she began to drift back towards the exit of the train station. Her heart was beating so loud that it was deafening.
Up in the attic of her mother’s cottage no one had caught her as she sat amongst the dust and cobwebs feeling the hidden stash of Christmas presents. Amanda must have sat up there for almost an hour, merrily trying to decipher what her gifts were simply based on size and shape. Clothes were always a disappointment – light and flat. But a box, that always caught Amanda’s attention. Especially a heavy one. When she finally climbed down from the attic there was more than just dust that clung to her though. Guilt dug into her pores. Whilst her parents were out shopping she’d betrayed their trust. Amanda considering leaving the panel to the attic ajar, leaving a clue about her dalliances. She wanted to get caught, to be berated for going up there. It would surely help remove some of the guilt. She closed the hatch, leaving it looking exactly the way it had before she went up into the attic. Her parents never figured out what she’d done and on Christmas morning she’d been suitably surprised by her array of presents to keep her secret safe. But the guilt never left. Amanda just learned how to wear it.
21
The package looked so innocuous sat in the middle of the bed. Amanda stood chewing her nails as she regarded it. She scanned every edge, every corner, not daring to take her eyes off it for a second as though it were a bomb that could go off at any moment.
‘Are you going to open it?’ Shane was standing beside her, equally reluctant to be in too close proximity to the box.
‘Do you think I should?’
‘At some point, yes.’ Then he sighed. ‘Although in an ideal world you’d just throw the bloody thing away and we’d be done with all this mess.’
Amanda shuffled away from him. She headed for the plastic bag full of items she’d hastily grabbed at the chemist on their way back. Rummaging in its depths, she pulled out the multipack of disposable gloves and carefully snapped on a pair. Amanda returned to the foot of the bed and steeled herself with a deep breath.
‘Right.’ She leaned forward and, slowly, carefully, reached for the package. It was heavy. It felt like it contained a pair of really expensive shoes or several DVD boxsets. She plucked the tape that sealed the box loose and then lifted its lid. The gun was nestled in a medley of styrofoam balls. There was no purchase receipt, no label for a return. Just the weapon. Amanda closed her fingers around the gun’s hilt and withdrew it from the box. It was heavy. She quickly had to share its weight between both her hands.
‘Where’s the silencer?’ Shane remained focused on the box. He pulled on a pair of bright blue disposable gloves before rooting through the aerated balls. ‘Here,’ he pulled out a short black cylinder. ‘This attaches to the barrel.’
The gun was resting in Amanda’s palms. She offered it to Shane, relieved when he took it from her, easing her burden. He twisted the silencer into place, then he checked the gun’s magazine and whether the safety was in place.
‘You really know what you’re doing,’ Amanda noted as she watched him. She’d cradled the gun like it was a grenade whilst Shane was now holding it at arm’s length, looking down its barrel.
‘I’ve held a gun before.’ He turned the weapon over, checking both its side.
‘I haven’t.’
Shane stopped, his arms stiff and extended. ‘You haven’t?’
‘No,’ Amanda could feel her cheeks getting hot. ‘When would I have?’
Shane smoothly placed his hand around the barrel of the gun and offered the hilt towards Amanda. She stepped back, suddenly unwilling to take it.
The curtains in the room were drawn and all of the lamps were on, filling everywhere with garish yellow light. Amanda suddenly felt the brightness burning against her eyes. She shielded herself with her arm, feeling like a mole that had been forced out into the baking sun.
‘If you’re serious about this then the first step is learning how to hold the damned thing,’ Shane offered it towards her again. He held it with such confidence. There was no tremor in his hands, no sweat upon his brow.
Amanda felt her chest start to tighten. When Will had aimed his gun at her, his body had been just as stoic, like all his limbs had been cast in stone. He didn’t even flinch when he turned the barrel of the gun towards his wife.
Amanda lowered herself against the end of the bed, a hand against her chest. She couldn’t breathe. When had Will learned to manage a gun? Was it during all the years he lived in Glasgow? Was it just another thread to add to the growing ball of yarn that was all his lies?
She remembered how it felt when McAllister wedged the tip of his gun against the back of her head. It was like someone had dropped ice down her spine making everything go numb. Twice someone had held a gun at her. And now… now she was supposed to become the thing which she was trying to vanquish. A murderer. A monster.
‘You’re having a panic attack.’
Amanda heard the rustle of paper as Shane placed a brown bag into her hands.
‘Breathe into this. Slow and steady. In and out. Okay?’
Amanda breathed.
In.
Out.
Had Will sourced his gun on the darknet or through an old prison contact? Did it even matter?
In.
Out.
The pain in her chest eased. Amanda lowered the bag from her mouth and looked at Shane. Her face felt hot and blotchy. She noticed that his hands were empty. Where was the gun? Before she could spin around in a panic, he rested his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes.
‘It’s back in the box. With the safety on. It’s fine. Amanda, I need you to calm down, okay? Just keep breathing nice and slow.’
‘I can’t do this,’ she looked down forlornly at the crumpled bag in her hands. ‘I can’t kill someone.’
*
‘Why are we here?’
The hotel’s gym stank of old sweat. It was late in the evening and all of the equipment was empty and unused. Amanda ran her clammy palms dow
n the front of her T-shirt. The short sleeves exposed the dark bruises that ran up her arms like a Jackson Pollock style tattoo. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a high ponytail.
Shane had insisted that she spend the afternoon resting. Somehow she’d managed to fall asleep in the same room as the gun, to forget about it altogether. And it was still up there, locked away in the hotel room’s small safe. While they were down in the gym. Amanda folded her arms against her chest and looked over at Shane, waiting on a response.
‘You need to get your strength back.’ He scanned the various pieces of equipment and then led Amanda over to a punchbag. He wore a skintight T-shirt and loose-fitting joggers. He looked sculpted, sleek, his hair still tousled from when he’d lay in bed beside Amanda while she slept, gently reassuring her whenever she got trapped in a nightmare and twitched and whimpered.
‘Right now, you’re afraid,’ Shane told her. ‘Will broke your trust, McAllister tried to kill you. You’ve got so much to be afraid of. But you’ve never been the kind of woman to give into fear.’ He punched the bag once, directly in its centre. The hook which it hung from shuddered. ‘Find your strength again and the fear will ease.’ He stepped back from the punchbag and nodded. ‘You try it.’
Amanda lamely bundled her fingers into a fist, ignoring the persistent ache in her joints and smacked the punchbag. It stayed rigidly in place.
‘Again.’
She smacked it. It stayed in place.
‘Again.’
‘Look, Shane…’ With a sigh she stepped back from the punchbag. Why did she need to bother learning how to throw a punch if she had a gun? Surely that was the entire point of such a weapon – to eliminate the need for physical prowess? ‘This is all pointless.’
‘He threw you off a cliff.’
She froze.
‘He knew that if the fall didn’t kill you the trauma of it would scramble what remained of your sanity, fuck you up beyond repair. Did it make you think of your dad?’
Tears gathered behind her eyes – her knee-jerk reaction whenever she thought of her beloved father.
‘He wouldn’t have let you fall, but you did. And Amanda – you survived. You never needed a knight in shining armour to come riding up, not when you were capable of saving yourself all along. You’re your own hero. You don’t need to hold onto your dad like you do.’