Slammer

by Allan Guthrie

Then it clicked: this was a hotel room. Of course. There was even a small bowl next to the kettle with sachets of coffee and tea.

  Glass lay where he was, closed his eyes. He had a few painkillers left, in his trouser pocket. All he had to do was reach down. But he was too heavy. Maybe the pain would ease if he didn't move. Lying here, listening to the conversation, that was as much energy as he could summon.

  'Doesn't matter,' Mafia said. 'You agree we need to get rid of Glass's car?'

  'Yeah,' Darko said. 'Drive it somewhere and dump it.'

  'They'll know we're nearby.'

  'Not if we clear out of there straightaway.'

  'We'll have to come back here for Glass. We can't take him with us in his state.'

  'Can't babysit him either. He needs a hospital.'

  'If he goes to a hospital,' Mafia said, 'then it's cheerio hostage.'

  'A dead hostage ain't much good.'

  'He won't die.'

  'You sure?'

  Silence for a bit.

  Then Mafia said, 'We'll get somebody to patch him up. Take him with us.'

  'Who? He needs a doctor.'

  'I'll call someone.'

  Glass heard Darko sigh. 'Even if we get him fixed up, he'll slow us down.'

  'He'll be fine. Just a shoulder wound.'

  'Might be infected.'

  'We'll get it checked out.'

  'Might get infected.'

  'We'll fucking amputate.'

  Pause.

  Then Mafia said, 'This is what we get for you shooting him.'

  Darko: 'Somebody had to. Would you have done it?'

  Silence again.

  'So you should be thanking me. Not complaining.'

  Time dragged.

  Mafia: 'We can't stay here.'

  'I know.'

  'I'll make that call, then. You better move the car. Take it as far away as you can.'

  Another pause.

  'Okay. But I'll come back,' Darko said.

  'Don't bother. They'll be looking for us together. You'll be safer alone.'

  'How are you going to cope?'

  'I'll manage. Glass can be my eyes.'

  'You trust him? I just shot the fucker.'

  'Yeah, you did,' Mafia said. 'Better leave me the gun.'

  'If you want. But it's a murder weapon. We should get rid of it.'

  'No problem. I'll wipe it. Give it to Glass when I'm done with it.'

  Glass sat up. No, he tried to sit up. Couldn't do much more than raise his head. Couldn't hold it there for long, though. He let it fall back against the pillow and groaned.

  'Sleeping Beauty's awake,' Darko said.

  'Wh—' Glass's lips were dry. He licked them. Mafia had gone. Must have slipped off to the toilet. 'Why are you still here?' he asked Darko. 'Go. Listen to Mafia. He's right.'

  'You've been dreaming,' Darko said.

  'I've been awake for a while,' Glass told him. 'You need to get moving. Take the car. Dump it. Don't come back. Of course Mafia can trust me.'

  'Mafia?' Darko wanted to leave, Glass could tell.

  And fuck it, it made sense.

  'Can I give my wife a call?' Glass asked.

  'You're a hostage,' Darko said.

  'Not a real one, though. So who's to know?'

  'Are you totally thick?'

  'Come on. She'll be worried. I just want her to know I'm okay.'

  'Then the whole world will know I'm bluffing. No,' Darko said. 'I can't let you do that.'

  Which was maybe just as well. Glass didn't want to get the reaction he'd got when he called earlier. She'd threatened to go to her mother's. Packed her suitcase. And Caitlin's. He'd persuaded her to stay.

  Yes, he'd persuaded her to stay. Hadn't he?

  Shit, no. He was dreaming.

  She'd gone. But maybe she was back now.

  'Anyway,' Darko said to Glass. 'You're not okay. You need a doctor.'

  Mafia stood in the doorway of the toilet. 'And some new clothes.'

  Glass laughed. 'Fine time for a change of image.'

  'Who's talking about your image?' Darko asked.

  'Just being practical. The bloodstains don't look too clever.'

  'I know what you meant,' Glass said. 'This is all wrong, you know. You should be enjoying this. You should be jumping up and down on the spot like a kid on his birthday.'

  Mafia turned his head in Glass's direction. Waited.

  'I have to explain?' Glass said. 'You're free.'

  'Out of jail, maybe,' Darko said. 'But far from free. McDee's probably dead.' He paused. 'And they'll probably try to finger me for Caesar and his crew. I don't feel like celebrating just yet.'

  'Hardly makes me feel like breaking into a song and dance routine, either,' Mafia said.

  'Darko.' Glass closed his eyes briefly. 'Why did you shoot McDee?'

  'Cause I couldn't kill Ross. I'm not going to shoot a woman.'

  'That's it?'

  'Had to shoot someone. Shooting you didn't work as well as I'd hoped.'

  'Doesn't matter.' Mafia placed a restraining hand on Darko. 'Point is, they're dead and we have to handle the consequences.'

  'Yeah,' Glass said, relaxing. 'You're right.'

  'You should go, Darko,' Mafia told him. 'While you can. Staying together won't be good for our health.'

  *

  Before he leaves, Darko picks up the phone.

  'Don't,' Glass says. 'You can't trust anyone.'

  'You want to lie there and bleed?'

  'No,' Glass says to Riddell. 'It wasn't Darko. Darko left. Mafia picked up the phone.'

  'Quite sure about that?'

  'Positive.'

  'It wasn't you?'

  'Who would I call? Anyway, they wouldn't even let me speak to Lorna.'

  'Where was Lorna?'

  'I don't know. But I'd have tracked her down.'

  'And what would you have said?'

  'That I was sorry.'

  'For what?'

  'I don't know. Whatever it was I did that made her leave.'

  'Okay,' Riddell says. 'Carry on.'

  After Darko left … where was he? Yeah, after Darko left, Mafia picked up the phone.

  That made sense.

  'Don't,' Glass said to Mafia. 'You can't trust anyone.'

  'You want to lie there and bleed to death?'

  'I'll be all right.'

  'Not for much longer,' Mafia said. 'We did our best to stop the bleeding but we're no doctors.'

  Glass looked at his arm. They'd cut the sleeve away, ripped up what looked like a hotel towel and folded it over his shoulder, tying the ends under his bicep. He was still wearing his gloves. Looked bloody silly. He pulled off the left one with his teeth, rummaged in his pocket and found some pills. Popped a couple more OXYs and a speed chaser.

  Mafia dialled. While he waited for a reply, he mumbled to himself, swearing, idly waving the gun around with his other hand.

  'Careful with that thing,' Glass said.

  Mafia placed the gun on the desk. 'Come on,' he said. He hung up. Dialled again. He had to call three times before he got through. 'At last,' he said. 'Same to you.' Pause. 'Doesn't matter what time it is. I need your help.' Pause. 'It's me, Mafia.'

  Glass listened as Mafia explained that they needed a doctor and a car. The guy on the other end must have kept trying to interrupt cause Mafia said, 'Will you shut up and let me speak? I can't explain everything over the phone. Just do what I'm telling you. My friend's hurt. He can't travel till he sees a doctor.'

  He gave the address of the hotel. Then said, 'No, you need to come over right now … Yeah, I know we can't take your car … Get someone else to nick one and bring it over to us. We don't need a driver, just a car, tell them. But get yourself over here in a hurry.'

  He was being optimistic. Glass certainly couldn't drive. His arm was all stiff now. Not to mention his busted hand. And Mafia couldn't see. Between them they had the necessary working body parts, but individually they weren't up to much.

  After
Mafia hung up, Glass said, 'That was nice.'

  'What was?'

  'Calling me your friend.'

  'I'm trying to save your arse here,' Mafia said. 'You think I'd call you a screw?'

  Glass left it for a minute. Then he said, 'So is this just a case of you needing a hostage? Or would you want me alive anyway?'

  'You're such a fucking kid.' Mafia didn't say anything else for a while. Contented himself with stroking the ribbed grip of the gun.

  Glass didn't disturb him. He was right. Glass was a fucking kid.

  So he'd had a sheltered upbringing. Grew up with his mum and big sister, Hazel. Never knew his dad. Occasional blokes, sure, but only one who lasted any length of time. He was okay, but they never really clicked, him and Glass.

  Anyway, Glass met Lorna, first woman he ever fell for, when he was working a summer job in her dad's bakery, saving for university. Back then, before her dad lost the business, she was smart and scary and sexy and confident of what she was doing between the sheets. They'd only been going out for three months when she got pregnant.

  'How?' he'd asked her.

  'How do you think?'

  'But you're on the pill or something,' he said. 'Aren't you?'

  They'd never spoken about it. He'd just assumed.

  'No,' she said.

  'But,' he said, trying to get his head round what he was hearing, 'but you must have been taking some kind of precaution.'

  'Why?'

  'Cause otherwise … you know, this was going to happen.'

  'You think I don't want to be pregnant?'

  'I — I don't … do you?'

  'Yes. Absolutely. I love it. I want a family. Don't you? Isn't that the whole point of a relationship?'

  He wasn't sure. Was it? He'd never thought beyond the sex. 'You could have asked.'

  'I could have, yes.'

  'It would have been polite.'

  She laughed. 'It would have. I'm sorry. Would you have said yes?'

  'I don't want to be a father. I'm too young.'

  'You'll be a great dad. Anyway, too late for regrets.'

  He left school, took a temporary job at the bakery till he found something better, moved out of his mum's and in with Lorna.

  Hazel wasn't happy. Not that he'd left Mum on her own. No, Hazel had long gone herself. Met an American lawyer, got married, moved to Boston. Been trying to have a family ever since.

  And here was her little brother impregnating his girlfriend at fifty yards. No, his sister wasn't happy. She threatened to visit to give him a talking to, but he told her to stay away.

  In those days they'd got on well, him and Lorna, in their little flat above the bakery. And he wouldn't have missed out on Caitlin for the world.

  His mum died two years later. Pancreatic cancer. At least she got to see her granddaughter before she went. Hazel didn't appear for the funeral and Glass hadn't seen her since. She might as well not exist.

  God, he wanted to be home right now with the only family he had left, curled up in bed, Lorna one side of him, Caitlin the other, sneaking into the bed and placing the soles of her cold little feet on his shins, complaining about his hairy legs.

  But he was in a hotel room watching Mafia playing with his gun.

  'Can you leave that alone?' Glass asked him. 'You're making me nervous.'

  Mafia sighed. Tapped his fingers on the desk.

  Glass had to talk to him. Couldn't contain this. There were things he had to know. 'What's going on?' he said.

  Mafia angled his head away from him. 'Got a doctor coming. Getting a car.'

  'No,' Glass said. 'With us. Now. Am I a hostage? I don't know whether this is for real or not.'

  'Your arm hurt?'

  'Not as bad, but yeah, I can feel it.'

  'Then it's real. Pain is real. Maybe the only thing that is.'

  'But you haven't changed, have you? You're still the person I knew inside?'

  'We change all the time, all of us. We're different people from the people we were only seconds ago.'

  'I don't think people change much.'

  'Depends what happens to them.'

  'You saying I am a hostage?'

  Mafia didn't reply.

  'You wouldn't shoot me. Back at the Hilton, you gave Darko the gun.'

  'Being practical. Remember, I can't see.'

  'But if you could, you wouldn't have used it.'

  'We'd escaped from our cell. With a prison officer. Who knows what I'd have done if I'd had the gun.'

  'What if I leave now?'

  'You'll die, most likely.' Mafia looked over at him. 'I wouldn't need to shoot you.'

  'Fuck it, I'm just trying to understand.' Glass breathed out. 'I don't understand why Darko shot me.'

  'I'm sorry about that.'

  'I don't want an apology. I'd just like an explanation.'

  'No, I'm sorry you don't understand.' Mafia took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, one after the other, with the heel of his hand. 'Seemed like the right thing to do. Show the fuckers we were serious.'

  'And you didn't care about the cost?'

  'What cost?'

  'To me, Mafia. The fact that he could have killed me.'

  He put his shades back on. 'He's not that bad a shot.'

  'But I might die. Still. You just said so.'

  'Only if you run. There's a doctor on his way. Stay here, you'll be fine.'

  'That's not a lot of comfort.'

  'You want comfort, you're talking to the wrong person.'

  They sat in silence, listening to the hum of the electricity.

  Glass said, 'You're wrong.'

  Mafia sighed. 'About what?'

  'About comforting me. What you said before. It means a lot.'

  'You ever shut up?'

  'I'm just saying. When you said I was your friend.'

  'Glass, I'm so fucking friendly I'll suck your cock if it'll stop you getting all fucking sentimental. And if you don't fucking shut up, I will put a bullet in you.'

  Glass shut up.

  He shut up for quite some time. In fact, they didn't speak again till Mad Will arrived.

  *

  When they heard the car pull up, Glass raised his head, held it there as best he could. Half expected Mafia to go to the window, look out through a gap in the curtain. Then he remembered that Mafia couldn't see.

  'Can you make it to the door okay?' Glass said.

  'Jesus Christ, I'm not fucking blind.' Mafia picked up the gun, started to move in the direction of the door, paused after a couple of steps. 'Anything on the floor?' he asked.

  'Path's clear.'

  He made it to the door just as there was a knock on it. He fumbled for the handle, found it, opened the door a crack. 'Yeah?'

  'Long time no see.'

  'Tell me about it.' Mafia opened the door. 'How are things?'

  And that's when Glass saw Mad Will and thought for a minute that his bullet wound was worse than he'd realised, that the blood loss and drugs were making him hallucinate. But, no, it wasn't just the familiar chubby face and big teeth: the voice sounded like Mad Will's too.

  Glass let his head fall back onto the pillow, eased his neck muscles which were beginning to tire with the strain of keeping his head raised.

  What was Mad Will doing here?

  'Ah, the patient.' Mad Will walked over to Glass, stubbed his roll-up out in an ashtray. 'We've got to stop meeting like this.'

  Glass grunted.

  'So what happened this time?'

  Glass looked at Mafia. He was wiping his glasses on his sleeve, the pupils of his eyes darting around. 'An accident,' Glass said.

  Mad Will said, 'We'll need to get you sitting up.'

  'I've tried. Can't get the leverage.'

  'Don't worry,' Mad Will said. 'I'll help.'

  'Okay,' Glass said. 'But you can't put pressure on my shoulder.'

  'Jesus,' Mad Will said. 'Who's the doctor?'

  'I dunno,' Glass said. 'Are you really a doctor?'

 
'Well, yes,' Mad Will said. 'At least, I trained to be one.'

  Just what Glass needed. A quack. 'You know what you're doing?'

  'Take it easy,' Mad Will said. 'I'm the best unqualified doctor in Edinburgh. Didn't I take care of your finger?'

  Mad Will knew about his finger. 'You did that?'

  'I did what I could. But it was a mess after you'd finished with it. Any of those painkillers left?'

  'A couple.'

  'Lucky I brought some more, then. So let's see what you've done to yourself this time.'

  And he did somehow manage to raise Glass into a sitting position.

  Mad Will fluffed up the pillows from both beds and shoved them behind Glass's back. He removed the cloth from Glass's shoulder and inspected the wound. 'Gunshot,' he said, after a bit.

  'No flies on you,' Glass said.

  'Didn't I tell you no good would come from playing with guns?'

  'I don't need a lecture. How does it look?'

  'Pretty clean,' Mad Will said. 'Punched right through the flesh. No great harm done. Not much for me to do other than clean it up, stitch you up and then we can sit back, enjoy a toke together.'

  'Can't do,' Mafia said. 'Got to stay sharp. And then get moving.'

  'You have to relax, man.'

  'Fuck that,' Mafia said. 'I've been relaxing for years.'

  'You need antibiotics, though,' Mad Will said to Glass. 'I already warned you, you're going to get an infection.'

  'You did?'

  'You don't remember?'

  'Not a thing.'

  'Trauma,' Mad Will said. 'That and the drugs. You were so out of your face I wouldn't have been surprised if you'd thought I'd done it.'

  'Did you?'

  'Very funny,' Mad Will said. 'You told me it was all your own work.'

  Glass shook his head. 'It's all a blank.'

  'You really need to go to hospital.'

  'Can't.'

  'No,' Mafia said. 'He's staying with me. The fuck are you pair talking about anyway?'

  'Yeah, what happened?' Glass asked Mad Will.

  Mad Will stared at him, eyes narrowed. 'If you don't know, how should I?'

  'My finger, I mean. I don't remember.'

  'I only know what you were rambling about yesterday.'

  'What was that?'

  'An accident. Another one.'

  Yeah, an accident. Sounded possible.

  'Chopping onions.'

  Shit. Maybe not. 'Was Lorna there? At my house?'

  'Didn't see her. You don't remember any of it?'