Slammer

by Allan Guthrie

Watt must have set the chair upright cause Glass could feel a solid surface beneath his feet.

  He looked down at his finger. Watt had ripped off the bandage before he hammered the handle of the knife down on the stump. It was bleeding again. Glass gagged. His mouth filled with sick. The acid bit into his cut lip. He spat, aimed for Watt's shoe, but missed.

  Watt moved the beam away from Glass and Glass saw that he had the gun in his hand now, the knife gone.

  Glass tried to see if Mafia was okay but he couldn't make out a thing. He wouldn't put it past Watt to do something to his brother while he was unconscious. 'Do what you want to me,' Glass said. 'Just don't hurt Mafia.'

  'What does he have to do with it?'

  'Nothing,' Glass said. 'I swear it wasn't him.'

  'You really have a thing about him, don't you? What are you, queer after all? Surprised you have a kid.'

  Glass didn't want him talking about Caitlin.

  'Lovely little girl,' Watt said.

  Stop it.

  'I'm very fond of her.'

  'You fucking paedo,' Glass yelled. 'Fucking beast. Fucking stoat bastard.'

  'Don't call me that, Nick, it's not nice.'

  'You think Caesar would be proud of you? You think? He'd fucking gut you, you nonce cunt.'

  'Look,' Watt said. 'I may be many things, but I'm no paedo. I do like Lorna, though, in that special way. Might have some fun with her later if you don't mind. Or even if you do. Particularly if you do.'

  'They're not a part of this. For God's sake, leave them alone.'

  'You're a lucky man.' The soles of Watt's shoes scuffed the plastic sheet as he walked up and down. 'You should treasure them.'

  'I'm begging you,' Glass said. 'Please.'

  'I'm a reasonable kind of guy,' Watt carried on. 'But I'm wondering if you are. Now let's look at this rationally.' He paced another couple of steps away from Glass, turned to face him. 'Someone shot Caesar to death. With this gun. Which is yours, so Mad Will told me before he fucked off home to his bed. Course, I recognise it myself and don't need that fucker's help. Will tries to be friends with everybody, and that's no way for a man to live. I don't think he'd have told me about you if I hadn't heard myself, you know. So don't take it to heart. He only brought you here because he knew what I'd do to him if he didn't. Anyway, this person who killed Caesar with your gun, they killed Horse and Jasmine too. But I'll be honest, I didn't much give a shit about those two. Caesar, though, he was like kin to me.' He paused. 'Unlike my actual blood brother. Anyway, if you could just convince me that you weren't responsible for Caesar's murder, then we can all get on with our lives. But if you did kill Caesar, then you'll have to get what you deserve.' He ducked down till he was at eye level with Glass, turned the torch off. His voice came out of the darkness right next to Glass's ear. 'Did you kill Caesar, Nick?'

  Glass's heart thumped so hard he felt his shoulders lift. He said nothing. The silence stretched and his heartbeat grew faster and louder.

  Finally Watt straightened up, switched the torch back on. 'I'm sure you wouldn't want any harm to come to your family.'

  'They're innocent.' Glass clenched his teeth to deal with the pain. Imagined knocking back a mouthful of painkillers. But that made it worse. 'They have nothing to do with this. Me and Caesar, we were involved in all this shit. It's our fault.'

  'Caesar's fault? You saying he deserved to die?'

  'Fucking right he did.'

  Watt's eyes narrowed. 'You shot him?'

  'I didn't say that.'

  'Near as fucking damnit.'

  Glass shook his head.

  'So it was Darko, then?'

  It'd be so easy to lay all the blame on Darko. 'I didn't say that either.'

  'It was one of you.' Watt stared at him. 'I know that much.'

  'How do you know?'

  'Someone told me.'

  And Glass knew who that someone was. The machete in Caesar's peter had given it away. Maybe Watt would admit what Caesar wouldn't. 'Ross,' Glass said. Not a question.

  'Very good.'

  A drop of water trickled down Glass's chin. 'What do you have on her?'

  'Nothing. She was Caesar's business partner.'

  'Jesus.' Glass didn't understand that kind of greed. 'She knew I was involved?'

  'Yep. Wasn't all that happy about it, though. Thought you'd lose it and snitch. Like Fox.'

  'Fox was a snitch?' Glass said.

  'That was his plan. He found out about Ross. Threatened to blab.'

  'Jesus,' Glass said again. So that was the real reason Caesar arranged the blanket party.

  'So,' Watt said, 'this is fun. But you still haven't answered my question. Last chance. Which one of you killed Caesar?'

  'Okay,' Glass said. 'Darko killed Caesar.'

  'Oh, my. This is sweet. You think I can't tell when someone's shitting me?'

  'It's true. You have to believe it.'

  Watt licked his lower lip, sucked it into his mouth, spat it back out. 'I don't think so,' he said. 'If it was true, you'd have told me right away. There'd be no reason for you to protect Darko.'

  'I didn't want you to kill him.'

  'Crap. You didn't want me to kill him because he's innocent. If he was guilty, you wouldn't have thought twice about giving him up to save yourself.'

  'It's not like that. You've got it wrong.'

  'Hold this.' Watt placed the torch in Glass's lap so the light was directed at him. Then he bent down, picked up the coil of rope off the floor. 'Who do you love most in the world?' He measured a piece of rope. 'Mafia?' He cut the rope. 'Nah, I don't think so. It's purely sexual with him, isn't it? Maybe you love yourself most.' He looped the rope, formed a second loop, crossed one loop over the other. 'But if you do, cutting your own finger off's a pretty strange way of showing it.' He moved behind Glass, feet scraping on the plastic sheet, and yanked his head back. 'Lorna?' He looped the knot around Glass's exposed neck. The rope fibres tickled Glass's skin. 'Caitlin?' Watt tightened it.

  'Leave them alone.'

  Watt pulled the ends of the rope and Glass's head snapped back. He started to choke. Watt kept the rope taut. 'I'd advise you,' he said, 'to sit very still. I'm going to tie this off on the chair legs. Once I've done that, there'll be just enough slack for you to keep your head level without strangling yourself.'

  'You don't need to do this.'

  'You'll just sit there and not try to escape till I get back, will you?'

  'It was me. I killed Caesar. I admit it.'

  Silence.

  Then he felt a sharp tug on his hair and the pressure on his throat eased.

  'I'd like to kill you,' Watt said. 'But that would be too easy on you.'

  'Do what you have to do,' Glass said, breathing fast. 'But do it to me.'

  'Cut a few more fingers off? Some toes? Your nose? Your balls? I could do that. All of it. Maybe I will. But first I have to go see Lorna and Caitlin.'

  'Don't. I'm begging you, don't.'

  'Save your breath.' He let go of Glass and crouched down again.

  The rope tightened. 'Please,' Glass said.

  'Nearly there.'

  The rope dug into Glass's throat, constricted his swallowing. 'Too tight,' he said, his voice sounding different, nasal, a pressure building up behind his nose.

  'It's a clove hitch. With this little beauty, the more you wriggle, the more it'll tighten. Wriggle enough and you'll choke yourself to death.'

  *

  'He's bluffing,' Glass said into the dark room once Watt had gone.

  Glass wished Mafia was awake. He needed reassurance. After the momentary relief of seeing the back of his torturer, the realisation of what Watt had threatened took over.

  Lorna and Caitlin weren't at home, Glass reminded himself. They were safe. Watt couldn't touch them. They weren't at home. They were at Lorna's mother's. Yep, that's where they were.

  'Glad that fucker's gone.'

  'Mafia?' Glass said. He was alive. 'You all right?' There was a pause and
Glass wondered if Mafia had lost consciousness again.

  'I've been better,' Mafia said, finally. 'My head aches. I'm tied to this chair and I've got a noose round my neck. I can't move.'

  Glass knew how he felt. 'You been awake long?'

  'Few minutes. Thought I'd keep quiet till I worked out what was going on.'

  'We have to get out of here,' Glass said. He leaned forward. Immediately the rope tightened round his neck. The pressure behind his nose increased. He could feel it in his cheekbones. He could hear it in his ears. It beat in his shoulder, in his finger.

  Maybe he should keep struggling, let himself choke. Maybe Watt was right. It was all he deserved.

  The rope dug into his throat. His eyes started to throb. He got scared, let his head go back. The knot didn't slacken. He tried to shrug it loose, but the effort was no good. He'd have to sit here till Watt returned, throat squeezed, hoping he didn't faint.

  'I can't move either,' he said, his voice odd. 'We're not going anywhere.'

  'Well, maybe we can try to get someone's attention,' Mafia said. 'Maybe someone's around.'

  'Maybe,' Glass said. Maybe. It was possible. Just as it was possible that Lorna had changed her mind and come home. That she'd be at home right now. Her and Caitlin. Unaware that Watt was on his way over.

  'I'll have a go, then.' Mafia paused and Glass imagined him filling his lungs. Then he shouted: 'Help.' And again: 'He—'. The shout was cut off. 'Jesus,' he said, gasping.

  'Keep your head steady,' Glass said, adjusting to the new sound of his own voice. The pressure in his head was harder to get used to. 'Don't lean forward when you yell.' He took a breath and shouted, 'Help.'

  The noose round his neck muted the cry. He pretended it wasn't there. Tried again. Loud enough for someone close by to hear.

  Mafia joined in.

  Together they cried into the darkness.

  Then stopped, catching their breath.

  Glass felt light-headed. The pulse in his temples beat hard and fast. He waited, hoping he'd hear a reply. Maybe there was a squatter in one of the flats in the building.

  But he heard nothing except the thump of his heart.

  It was possible that Lorna had changed her mind, yes. More likely, though, the police had been in touch with Lorna's mother and when Lorna heard Glass had been taken hostage, she'd decided to come right on home so she could be there for him when he was released. That wasn't just possible, that was probable.

  He yelled again. 'Heeeeelp.'

  And again, Mafia joined in.

  Started off loud, hearty, enthusiastic. Quickly turned into a series of doleful wails. They kept it up till they were out of breath.

  Glass listened to the blood rushing in his ears. If he hadn't been tied to the seat, he'd have fallen off it.

  They were alone. No one was coming to rescue them. All this, it was pathetic.

  Glass couldn't make out Mafia's face, but he knew how he'd look. Defeated. Glass felt the same. 'Is there nothing you can think of?' he asked. But he was really speaking to himself. He needed to feel angry again. The way he felt in Caesar's peter. He had to take the pressure in his head and use it. 'I need to get out of this chair. I need to—'

  'You'll die trying,' Mafia said. 'Just calm down.'

  'I can do it. First thing is to free my wrists.'

  'My brother knows how to tie someone up.'

  If the police had been in touch with Lorna, though, they'd have someone at home with her. Wouldn't they? Would they leave her in the house on her own?

  'Oh, Jesus,' Glass said. 'He won't hurt them. Tell me he won't hurt them.'

  Mafia said nothing.

  'It's a bluff,' Glass said. 'Please God tell me it's a bluff.'

  *

  It felt as if twenty minutes had passed.

  Glass had tried shouting for help again. He'd ripped his throat raw. And he'd made several attempts to free his arms. All he'd succeeded in doing was half-strangling himself and causing new levels of pain in his shoulder and finger.

  His head pounded like his heart was where his brain should be.

  But he tried once again, fighting against the rope as it cut into his throat, his muscles on fire as he tried to lever his hands off the arms of the chair.

  The painkillers had worn off completely.

  Watt would be arriving at Glass's house about now. Glass couldn't give up.

  He opened his mouth and yelled, even though he knew there was nobody but Mafia to hear him.

  *

  Exhausted, muscles aching, his fringe soaked in sweat, his throat swollen, his shoulder on fire, blade-like pulse in his finger, a balloon expanding in his head, Glass said to Mafia, his voice a croak, 'Tell me why you were in jail.'

  Mafia said nothing.

  'Don't blank me,' Glass said. 'Please.'

  'You don't want to know.'

  Glass laughed as best he could. Sounded like a wheeze. 'Not only do I want to know, I think I deserve to know. What did you do?'

  'Now's not the time.'

  'Now's the only time. Just tell me. I'm a big boy. I can handle it.'

  'I'm not sure—'

  'Mafia, I may never have another chance.'

  *

  Back when Mafia was running with Caesar, so Mafia told Glass, Watt wanted to be part of the action. Mafia wouldn't let him. Watt was bright, could have made something of himself. But he liked getting off his face too much. Managed to stay away from smack, more or less, but he'd take everything else that was on offer. And with Caesar around, there was always plenty on offer. Mafia wanted Watt to stay away from him.

  Watt had other ideas. Thought he was a big boy, old enough to decide for himself what he wanted to do, what drugs he could take, what company he would keep. He resented Mafia giving him orders.

  He married young, had a little girl soon afterwards.

  Like me, Glass thought.

  'Just like you,' Riddell agreed. 'Quite a coincidence, don't you think? Carry on.'

  'Carry on,' Glass told Mafia.

  Well, things weren't working out between Watt and his wife. Watt was getting fucked up too often for her liking. He told her he could stop any time he wanted. Who knows, it might have been true. Problem was, he didn't want to. Denied the drugs were having any negative effect on him. But Mafia could see he was losing it. Showing signs of his head getting messed up. You know, sleeplessness, paranoia, aggression, memory loss, talking to himself, hallucinations. Both Mafia and his wife wanted him to see someone about it. He refused.

  Things built up. He got worse. Reached a point where he got a gun from Mad Will. Later, Watt told Mafia that Mad Will had been reluctant to give it to him, but Watt had convinced him he just wanted the gun for protection. He'd pissed off quite a few people along the way. Which was true enough: it wasn't all paranoia.

  But the gun was the turning point for his wife. She said she didn't recognise him any more. He wasn't the man she'd married. She coped with their failing marriage by drinking. More than once she'd threatened to leave him, but one night she packed a suitcase for herself and their daughter, said she'd had enough, finally, and they were going to her mother's, and that's when Watt flipped.

  That evening Mafia had been out with him all night, knew he'd taken a shitpile of something earlier, in the gents, gone home with him to make sure he was okay. Mafia'd been drinking himself, so he crawled onto Watt's couch, sank into it and fell asleep.

  Watt went upstairs to bed.

  When he flicks on the light, she stirs. He looks over to the suitcase, open on the floor, neatly packed.

  She rolls over, alert. Probably only pretending to be asleep. Isn't that late, clubs only just come out.

  'Are we going on holiday?' he says. 'I can't just now. Got a lot on.'

  'You have nothing on,' she says. 'Spending what little money you earn taking drugs with Caesar and Horse and that blind brother of yours.'

  Straight in with the criticisms. 'He's not blind. And he doesn't take drugs.'

 
'Good for him Maybe you could learn something from him.'

  'Keep your voice down.'

  'You think he'll hear us all the way across town?'

  'He's downstairs. On the settee.'

  'Something else to look forward to in the morning. I should just get up and go now.'

  'Go where? What's going on?' He has no idea. He's given up trying to figure her out. He's the one with the problem but it doesn't take a genius to see that her behaviour is irrational at the best of times. If you love somebody, it doesn't matter what they're like, though, does it?

  'I didn't want to leave a note.'

  'I don't follow.'

  She grabs a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck and tightens her fingers round it. Her voice is flat. 'We're leaving.'

  'I can't, I told you.'

  She tugs her hair, and as she does so, her head rises. 'No, we're leaving you.'

  Then he understands. At least, he understands what she's saying. But he doesn't understand why. 'You can't. I can't cope on my own.'

  'Typical,' she says. She lets go of her hair, thumps her fist down on the bedclothes.

  'What?'

  'Your selfishness. You can't cope, so I have to cope for you.'

  'No, just help me. I'll sort myself out. I promise.'

  'I'm not the person to help you. I can't do it.' She lowers her gaze. 'It's not safe any more.'

  'What do you mean, it's not safe? I'm here. I'm keeping us safe.'

  'You? You're a mess.'

  That isn't true. He'd never been as together as he is right now. He's invulnerable. He pulls out the gun. 'I've got this,' he says. 'Help keep the three of us safe.'

  'I told you to get rid of that,' she yells.

  'Shhh,' he says. Then, louder, as the shrill sound continues: 'Be quiet! Shut up, for Christ's sake.'

  She's quiet only while she fills her lungs. Then she screams, 'Get rid of it.'

  'There's no need for this shit,' he shouts back at her. 'Pack it in.'

  No joy.

  She screams, crazy faced, mouth wide open, cheeks jiggling.

  His ears suck her screams out of the air. Each scream breaks into pieces. Tiny needles of sound dart into his eardrums and lodge there, quivering.

  He yells, 'You'll wake up—'