Bad Men

by Allan Guthrie

  Norrie tried to speak again. Finally managed to say, "No, boss."

  "You're not denying it?"

  "Yeah."

  Jacob was confused. Not that it mattered. Norrie had clearly shot Rodge. The only question was why. Jacob asked him.

  Norrie gasped, squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. He was no doubt in terrible pain, but Jacob didn't feel sorry for him. Quite the opposite, in fact. Jacob was pleased his old friend was feeling pain. Jacob had to restrain himself from leaning down and stabbing a finger in Norrie's wound and pressing down hard.

  Jacob said, "You killed Louis, too?"

  Norrie's eyes lost focus, then he nodded.

  Jacob shook his head. He didn't understand and Norrie wasn't going to last long enough to explain. Unless Jacob got him to a hospital. Thing was, Jacob really wanted to know. He didn't want Norrie to die. Was it the accident that had made Norrie behave like this? People said Norrie wasn't quite right in the head but Jacob had never believed that. Norrie was always perfectly fine when Jacob was around. Lord save him, but although Jacob didn't want Norrie to die, he didn't want Norrie to live either.

  So first things first.

  Jacob placed the gun on the floor at his feet. Then he stuck his hand in Norrie's pocket. Bingo. Wallace should have looked for it, although he probably didn't care too much what happened now. Jacob took out Norrie's mobile phone, hoping to Christ he had Flash's number on it. Jacob had to find out how to work the stinking thing first, though.

  He wished he'd paid more attention.

  Step one was turning it on. For the life of him, he couldn't see an on/off switch. What on earth were you supposed to do? He asked Norrie.

  Norrie choked, dribbled blood over his chin.

  Jacob shook his head.

  Norrie held out his hand and Jacob gave him the phone.Norrie pressed a tiny little button with his thumbnail and pressed some other keys and handed the phone back to Jacob.

  What now? Dial the number, Jacob supposed. Could he remember Flash's number? It was in the address book by the telephone in the hall. No, Jacob couldn't remember it. "You have Flash's number on here?" he asked Norrie.

  But Norrie had closed his eyes and was making sporadic spluttering sounds that were painful to hear.

  Jacob put down the mobile phone and picked up the gun again. He had one bullet. He could finish off Norrie, or he could put an end to his own misery. Or ...

  Door opened and off he scooted and a screech of brakes later, Cutey-pie was on his side in the middle of the road. And May was thinking, couldnae be. Nah. A dream or something like Joanne kept having where it was dead vivid like as if she was there and all and it was really happening. Cause Wallace shooting Norrie was totally freaky and totally impossible to believe. Course Joanne was away in her head. A real mentalist. Fat tart. And May was sane. Which meant all this had happened.

  Look at it again. Still can't take it in. Play it back.

  She'd been too busy wondering how she was going to escape from Wallace. Look at him, cocky or what, with his fucking gun? She was glad he'd been shot in the arm. Looked nasty, too.

  Screech. Smack.

  The driver got out of the car, neck scrunched into his shoulders, arms robot-stiff , palms forwards, the way Italian footballers react when they've fouled an opponent. Dipshit was dressed in a shirt and tie, smart trousers.

  And that was enough for May to get really angry. "Bastard!" May yelled at him. "Fucking fannyarse!" she said.

  He got more stiff-armed and his neck started to disappear like his shirt was floating towards his head. Looked like he was thinking about running away. Scared of the wee lass, was he? Should be.

  Or maybe he was scared of Wallace, cause he still had the gun in his hand and was waving it about and shouting, his torn shirtsleeve stained red already where some blood had soaked through.

  May joined Wallace. "Fuck you!" she said to the driver. "You fucker!"

  But she realised that Wallace was shouting at her.

  Anyway, the driver swivelled round and got back in his car.

  May could have thrown some more insults (and she had some bad ones, she just couldn't think of them) at him, but, oh well, what was the point? More important, what was she going to say to Flash? She couldn't just tell him straight out that Cutey-pie had been run over.

  Tyres screeched as the driver screamed off out of there.

  Good. Glad to see the back of the bastard. Maybe everything was going to be okay, though. Cutey-pie's eyes were open. His top lip was curled up, baring his teeth. Looked for all the world like he was grinning.

  May bent over him.

  Wallace said, "Watch he doesn't bite."

  "He won't bite."

  "Hurt dogs are dangerous."

  "Can't blame them, can you?" Arsehole. How was an injured dog supposed to know you were trying to help? All they knew was that it was sore and they didn't want any more pain. "That cock jockey" – see? – "was going too fast." The rage had seized hold of her again. She wanted to kick that poncey twat of a driver in the balls.

  "Bloody dog ran out in front of the car," Wallace said. "Nothing the driver could do."

  Nah, kicking his balls wasn't enough. Cut them off. "Ten miles an hour slower, he'd be okay. I've seen the adverts."

  "Don't think so."

  "Thoughtless bastard." Cook them and smother them in tomato sauce and feed them to Cutey-pie. "He'd be fucking okay. Anyway, you opened the door. It's your fault."

  Wallace was quiet for a second, let her stroke Cutey-pie's cheek. Wee fella's eyes flickered towards her, looked away again. And he sighed as if he was bored of all this and just wanted to get on with whatever was going to happen next. Cool dog, or what?

  May said, "We need to get him to the vet's." She gave Wallace her best stare. If he argued, she'd bloody well do him. He had a gun, but she didn't give shit. He only had one good arm. She had some nasty thoughts swirling around in her head right now. And she had Flash's present in her handbag. Good old Dirk. Wallace could do his worst but she wasn't going to let Cutey-pie lie on the road and bleed to death.

  She told Wallace how she felt.

  "All fucking right," he said. "Just calm down." He put his hand on her shoulder and she got a lungful of aftershave. Or more like a throatful, cause it didn't go all the way down before she coughed it back out. Same kind of fuddy-duddy stinky old-guy crap Sue's dad wore. Stink City. Sort of smellies Dad got for Flash at Christmas and he thanked Dad for and never uses but he couldnae bring himself to chuck in the bin.

  The toes of Wallace's shoes were totally gleaming. May patted her

  skirt down, just in case he was thinking of using those gleamers to sneak a peek of her pants.

  Cutey-pie's tongue flicked out and disappeared again almost immediately. "You thirsty, darlin'?" she asked him. Looked at Wallace and said, "You wait with him while I get some water."

  Wallace grabbed her. "Take me seriously," he said. "Or I'll shoot the fucking dog." He pulled a face like he was constipated.

  May said, "You wouldn't."

  He pulled back the hammer and placed the gun against Cutey-pie's head.

  "Okay, okay," May said. She was forgetting that it was Wallace. Most times when they were together when she said he wouldn't do something, he'd gone ahead and done it. He was a loophead. She should be scared of him but she was still too angry. Why was she so fucking angry? She didn't know. The rage had started simmering when Flash gave her the knife and she realised they'd all been scheming behind her back. All of them. There wasn't a single fucking one of them she could trust. Since then, she'd got gradually angrier. Wallace barging into the house and shooting Norrie and threatening Dad hadn't helped. And now Cutey-pie had been run over.

  Cutey-pie needed to get to the vet's as quickly as possible. His eyes weren't looking too bright. Probably a wee bowl of water was neither here nor there. So, okay. Judging by the way he was flopped out, he'd be hard pushed to do much more than look at it, poor soul. She slipped he
r fingers under his back and lifted him as gently as she could, making shushing noises all the while. "Where's your car?" she asked Wallace.

  "Up the street a bit," he said. Then he shook his head. "You're not taking the fucking dog."

  She tried hard to keep her voice calm. "Please. Just let me drop him off at the vet's. Then you can still show me whatever it is you want to show me."

  "No."

  "Come on, Wallace. What's it to you?"

  "I just fucking shot somebody. And, in case you hadn't noticed, I got shot too."

  "Get in the car, then. Stop standing in the middle of the road, bleeding."

  "Lay the dog down."

  "Consider this your good deed for the day."

  "I'll fucking shoot you, May. Swear I will."

  She turned her head, spotted the Range Rover, and headed towards it. "He's just a wee thing but he's getting heavy. Get the door for me."

  Behind her, Wallace roared something.

  She felt her back itch. A calculated risk. But she knew how to play him.

  He charged after her, overtook her, his face red. "Why won't you fucking do what you're told?" he said.

  Her armpits prickled with sweat. "Would you get the door, please?"

  He grunted, slammed the gun down on the roof of the car and dented it. Stupid bastard. The he moved like a pit-bull was after him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he said, yanking the door open.

  She laid Cutey-pie carefully on the back seat and said to him, "Hang in there, sweetheart." She climbed in after him.

  Wallace said, "He's bleeding all over the seat."

  "What about you?" she said. A thin line of dark blood had seeped out from the bandage, trickled down his arm, and was dripping off the end of his little finger.

  "It's nothing." He shook his arm.

  "We need to get him to a vet, Wallace."

  Wallace slammed the door closed, bolted round to the driver's seat and sat behind the wheel, staring at her in the mirror. She looked away, stroked Cutey-pie's head. After a second, the engine purred into life. She rested Cutey-pie's head on her lap. It looked uncomfortable, though, cause he didn't have the longest neck in the world, so she lowered his head back onto the seat. God, she hoped he was going to be okay. She'd ask the vet what kind of dog he was, cause she had no idea. A terrier of some kind, yeah, but he was some kind of special breed, she was sure.

  She stroked his cheek and he stuck out his tongue and licked her hand. Just once. Seemed to take a whole lot of effort.

  There wasn't much blood. Wallace had been making a fuss. Just a bit from the back of Cutey-pie's head and the area just above his missing leg. He was going to be okay. If they got to the vet's in time. She was sure of that. "Can you go faster?"

  "I'm not going anywhere with that dog."

  "Then I'm getting out." She reached for the handle.

  He glanced over his shoulder. "I'll shoot you."

  "Then you won't get to show me whatever it is you want me to see."

  Wallace stared at her. "May, I've a good mind to call your bluff."

  She stared back at him. "I'm stepping out of the car with Cutey-pie in five seconds." She paused.

  She opened her mouth again to start counting, but Wallace cut her off. "For fuck's sake," he said. He pulled away from the kerb. The car jumped forward in fits and starts, Wallace having difficulty with the gears. After a bit, he sussed it out, drove one-handed. "I don't know where I'm going, May."

  "To the vet's."

  "I know that. I just don't know where to find one."

  "Well, there's bound to be one around here somewhere. Everybody's got a pit-bull or a Rottweiler or a Doberman. Joanne's brother's got a lizard. I ever tell you that?" She spotted a likely punter heading towards them. "Pull over and ask this biddy with the poodle."

  "Why would she know?"

  May had married a real thick dipshit. A real thick violent dipshit. She explained to him: "She's taking her dog for a walk. She must live round here. So she's probably taken it to see the vet at some point, yeah?"

  Wallace's eyes held hers in the rear-view mirror. "Anybody ever tell you you're a cheeky little bitch?" he said.

  "Yeah," she said. "My husband. All the time."

  "Sounds like the kind of guy who knows what he's talking about."

  No, he was a first-rate wanker. Jesus. She pressed her handbag closer to her, popped the clasp. If he didn't shut the fuck up and get to a vet's, she'd introduce his balls to Dirk. See how he liked that.

  Or – Jacob could do this.

  He stepped back from the cupboard door and aimed the gun at the lock. Figured that if he shot it, he'd get out, call Flash on the land line, rescue May before Wallace did whatever he was going to do to her.

  Please God.

  No time to hang around asking Norrie why he'd done what he'd done. Not that Norrie would be able to tell him much.

  Jacob dabbed his left eye with the heel of his hand. It came away wet. But he wasn't crying over Norrie's betrayal. No, he was crying because he was going to lose May. He knew it.

  He had to hurry.

  He pulled the trigger.

  Big noise. So loud it made his eye sting. And it was still stinging. He couldn't see out of it. Kept blinking and all it did was make his vision worse. He dabbed it with his hand again and his hand came away red.

  Felt himself start to panic. Knew he had to keep calm. Panic and he'd be no good to anybody.

  Keep it together, Jacob.

  Close the eye. Close it. It was no good anyway.

  He tried, but it wouldn't stay shut. Something in it, and the eye wanted rid of it. Blinked some more. And something kept making him try to see out of it. Had to believe that it wasn't as bad as it felt.

  He forced it shut and it stayed that way, sort of, the eyelid fluttering, but at least he was able to see out of the other one.

  The lock had shattered. Wood and metal had splintered. And that was the problem. He must have got something in his eye.

  He dropped the gun. It was useless now. No more bullets.

  He pushed open the door, stepped into the hallway. He avoided looking in the mirror. Didn't want to see how bad his injury was. Not yet. Had to make a call first.

  Focused with his good eye, hands shaking as he opened the address book and squinted to read Flash's number. He dialled. For God's sake, answer, Flash. Then he realised Flash was in a hospital. Probably have his phone turned off.

  The phone rang three times and then Flash said, "What it is?"

  God love the boy. "My eye," Jacob said, before realising that that's not what was important right now. "Wallace's got May," he said.

  Flash swore. "Where are they?"

  "I don't know. They've gone. He shot Norrie."

  "Jesus. Is he okay?"

  "I think he's dead. Or nearly."

  "Shit. I'm sorry, Dad."

  "I'm not."

  "What?"

  "Norrie shot Rodge. It wasn't Wallace. Norrie thought he was ... look, I'll tell you later. Go get your sister. Head for Wallace's."

  "Jesus. You okay, Dad?"

  "Never better, son." Jacob hung up, felt a giant hand squeeze his heart and keeled over on the floor.

  Cutey-pie's chest was barely moving. May bent her head to listen to his breathing. His tongue flopped out and touched her chin. She sat up, determined not to cry. Her emotions were all over the place. God, she felt like shit today. Couldn't have been a worse time for all this crap to be going down. How many more years of these frigging stomach pains? She couldn't wait for the change of life. After she'd had three kids. Two boys and a girl. That'd be cool. Joanne reckoned May should go on the pill. Safer. But also to make her periods more regular and less heavy, cause when they came, they fucking came. May wasn't sure she could trust Joanne's advice, though. Joanne had two kids already and she was three months younger than May. Anyway, kids was a touchy subject. And so was that fat tart, Joanne.

  Wallace gave May that look in the mirror again. Like she was stupid or s
omething. He knew how to make her feel small. Horse tosser.

  "You know where we're going, then?" she said. The biddy had given them directions. Nearest vet's was some distance away, apparently. Wallace seemed to know where she meant. May didn't have a baldy.

  Wallace said nothing.

  May looked away. Didn't want to communicate with him, anyway, the murdering fuckwit. Well, Norrie wasn't dead when she'd left but the chances were that he would be before too long. Wallace really didn't give a shit sometimes. He was like some kind of psycho. Anyway, she wasn't going to talk to him. You didn't step into somebody's home guns blazing. It wasn't right. And he'd kidnapped her, which wasn't right either. And maybe he hadn't done things to Rodge or done things to Louis but it didn't bear thinking that she'd let that fucking animal inside her. Christ, she felt fucking filthy, and not in a good way.

  She spoke to the dog, again. Keeping him relaxed. Daft, right, she knew, telling him not to worry, but what else were you supposed to say? Not as bad as talking to plants, eh? And she'd done that before. Had a spider plant that died very slowly over a couple of years. Probably wouldn't have lasted six months if she hadn't spoken to it. Anyway, she talked to Cutey-pie for a while, hoping her words would have the same life-prolonging effect they'd had on the plant. After a while she felt pressure build up behind her eyes, knew she'd lose it and start to bawl if she let so much as a single tear escape.

  Thinking about plants, now. Like a useless fanny. Who was she trying to kid?

  There was only so much she could do, wasn't there? She wasn't a bad person. Not really. If she was, it was Wallace who'd made her bad.

  She stroked Cutey-pie, watching his eyes narrow, widen, narrow again. She wondered what it was that Wallace wanted her to see. He'd been pretty keen. Keen enough to force her out of the house at gunpoint, keen enough to shoot Norrie to get the fact he was serious across. Had to be something grotesque, then. It'd be something that was getting back at her in his own special way. Well, fuck him. No, she didn't want to think about that. Anyway, it was never like ...

  Fuck, she was crying.

  Tony Twelve-Inch. Not that she'd ever slept with him, but Joanne said Tony Twelve-Inch had shown it to her and that it was maybe nine inches but no more than that. May didn't believe her. Joanne liked nothing better than to lie about stuff to her friends. She probably hadn't even seen it at all. Why would Tony show it to her? She said she'd had to show him her tits to get him to unwrap it, but May couldn't imagine Tony wanting to see those walloping great fat puddings. But then, he was a bloke and blokes didn't seem too fussy.