by Jay Stringer
The living room door opened. Alex heard the two of them walk in. They were less than fifteen feet away. Would the cop notice the blood? He tried the ropes behind his back. Being dragged along the floor had loosened them. Alex continued twisting his wrists back and forth. He just needed a few more seconds.
‘So, there are just a few things we need to follow up on,’ the cop said.
‘Really?’ Kara was playing her role to perfection, trying to sound calm and upset at the same time. ‘What is it you need, detective?’
The cop’s tone softened, going for friendly. ‘Call me Hanya. I just need to go over a few things we didn’t get to this morning. Nothing serious.’
Alex heard pages being flipped in a notebook.
‘Do—do we really need to be doing this now? Today, I mean? My husband only just—’ There was a wobble to Kara’s words now, and Alex could picture her starting to tear up. He’d never noticed before, but from the other side of her affections he could see what an actor she could be.
Alex thought about making a noise. Calling out.
It wouldn’t do much. He couldn’t move his mouth, his throat hurt when he spoke and Milo’s hand was pressed tight over his lips. But he knew Milo’s knife was a bluff. They needed him alive, and they couldn’t risk killing him while the cop was there.
He sucked in some air through his nose and braced himself.
Milo must have sensed what he was doing, and pressed the knife into the flesh of Alex’s throat. It didn’t quite break the surface, but it would only take one more push. Alex breathed out, showing Milo he was going to behave.
The movement had helped his wrists. They were almost free.
Just a couple more twists . . .
Kara and the cop – Hanya, he remembered – had stopped talking. Was Alex imagining there was a tension in the room? Things felt frozen. Tight.
‘Is that blood?’ Hanya said.
Yes.
Milo stood up. He ran around the side of the counter, raising the knife in his hand. Alex heard an impact, a heavy blow like two people colliding. There were a few grunts.
Hanya shouted, ‘Milo? What the fuck?’
Alex pulled his hands free and started to crawl along the floor. It was slow going at first. Hell, it stayed slow, but he grew more confident as he moved. His bound leg was a dead weight, dragged behind him, but he had just enough strength in his arms and the other leg to shuffle forward.
As his head cleared the kitchen counter, he looked up to see what was going on in the living room. Kara and Milo were both on the floor. Hanya was standing over them with a gun switching from one target to the next. Milo was putting his hands over his face as cover from the weapon, and Kara was breathing heavily and wincing.
Alex’s first thought was, I’m saved.
His second was, I’ve seen her somewhere before.
His third, Shit, she was the woman talking to Joe at the café.
Then he looked at the gun again, and it dawned on him that Glasgow cops didn’t carry. Shit. Joe had sent one of his crooked cops to take them all out. This wasn’t a rescue. He needed to think fast.
If only his brain would play along.
‘You shouldn’t have that?’ Kara said. Halfway between a question and a statement. ‘You shouldn’t have a gun.’
Hanya hadn’t noticed Alex yet. She turned to answer Kara. ‘Clearly, you’re the brains of the operation. Because wonder-boy here just tried to threaten me with a butter knife.’
‘It’s still a fucking knife,’ Milo said. Alex heard the tremor in his voice.
Alex laughed. In spite of everything. Milo and Kara were both panicking. They were amateurs, and everything about this situation was spiralling out of control. Except for this cop. Hanya. She was cool. She was calm. She was cracking jokes.
The laughter drew her attention and she turned, bringing the gun around expecting a third attacker. Her mouth dropped open when she saw Alex, and she mumbled a vague, ‘Whaaat?’
She was surprised to see him.
That gave Alex hope. That meant she hadn’t been sent to kill him. He mumbled something that he hoped sounded like, ‘Help.’
She pulled out her mobile with her spare hand and started taking a few steps toward him. She typed a number into the keypad, and while her attention was split so many ways, Kara had taken the chance to grab Alex’s golf club. She jumped up from the floor and swung it in a wild attack. Hanya sensed the move and, with a precision and strength that Alex would frankly have found hot if his libido wasn’t buried under seven layers of pain, she dropped the phone and caught Kara’s wrist, pivoted, and threw her across the room and into the coffee table.
Milo grabbed the knife off the floor and again tried to rush Hanya with it. The cop sidestepped Milo again, and used the gun in place of her fist, hitting him full in the face. He flopped backward. And crashed into the bar. Bottles of scotch and vodka rocked, then toppled forward onto him.
‘Wait.’ Kara had risen to her knees. She was favouring her back where it had hit the table, and her words came in jagged gasps. ‘This isn’t what it looks like.’
‘I don’t know what this looks like,’ Hanya said. ‘He blew up this morning, but it looks like you’ve been torturing him, and he is a footballer who has no reason to be here. Why don’t you start telling me what this looks like?’
Milo rose up behind Hanya with a full bottle of Talisker and swung it hard into the back of her head. The sound bounced around Alex’s skull. Hanya staggered forward and dropped the firearm. She blinked a few times, and her head seemed to shake in slow motion, like a wrestler trying to sell a big blow. Milo brought the bottle down again. Hanya turned to block it, but wasn’t working at full speed, so she only deflected the worst of it, taking the second hit on the shoulder. The bottle fell to the floor and Milo slipped his arm around Hanya’s throat from behind, trying to get her into a chokehold.
Kara picked up the gun. She climbed to her feet and aimed, one-handed, at Hanya. She smiled and pulled the trigger. The recoil jerked Kara’s hand back, and she yelped in pain. Or at least, Alex assumed she yelped. He saw her face contort and her mouth move. He didn’t hear anything, and he realised he wasn’t hearing anything at all. The scene remained completely silent at first, then a tinny ringing seeped in through his ears. Thunder rolled in shortly afterwards.
Hanya had sagged, becoming a weight in Milo’s grip. Alex watched her push a hand to a wound in her side. Kara aimed again, and this time she planted her feet squarely and gripped the weapon with both hands.
She fired two more shots. Alex heard both of them. Hanya made grunting noises, but so did Milo behind her. They both fell to the floor.
‘Ynnn . . . you shot me—’ Milo called out. He sounded like a hurt cat.
Kara stepped over to them. She looked down at the cop first. Hanya was moving slowly, trying to turn onto her side. Alex saw a glassy look in her eyes, like a UFC fighter who’d taken a big hit. She was moving on instinct. Reaching for the phone. Kara raised the gun to shoot again, but Hanya’s movements slowed down, then stopped. The fingers of her right hand twitched in the direction of the phone. She let out a heavy breath. She mumbled something. It wasn’t quite a word. It sounded like she was saying, It’s okay, but Alex couldn’t tell if it was directed at him, or at herself. Then her body sagged. One minute she was there, the next she wasn’t.
Alex had never seen anybody die before.
He didn’t like it.
Kara turned to Milo. He was crying. Alex found the tears more pathetic than anything else. ‘You shot me,’ Milo said again, through the blood and waterfall.
‘At least you won’t have to see the next season of The X Files.’ Kara fired one last bullet, shutting him up.
She turned to level the gun at Alex.
‘Now. Now. Listen. This?’ She waved at the two bodies. ‘This is your fault. You’ve done this. And now we’re probably going to have police here any minute. So. So. What we’re going to do is we’re going to go fo
r a ride in my car. You’re going to tell me where this money is, and we’re going to go get it.’
Alex nodded.
Enough.
He had no fight left.
SEVENTY-TWO
FERGUS
13:42
Second time lucky?
I fiddle with the electronic lock at Alex’s building, and this time I get it open in seconds. Like a boss.
I take the lift to the first floor. It looks like there are two apartments to each level, one on either side of the lift and stairs. I start going door-to-door, working my way up.
‘Hi, do you have time to talk about our lord—’
SLAM.
‘Hi, do you have time to talk about—’
SLAM.
‘Hi, do you have time—’
SLAM.
‘Free pizza . . . is what our lord and saviour—’
SLAM.
Finally I come to a door with no answer. I try a couple more times, and press my ear to the wood, listening for any movement inside. The lock is simple enough, and I ease the door open.
I’ve been concerned that I might not know when I’ve found the right apartment. It’ll be easy enough if Alex is there, but if he isn’t, what signs will there be that it’s his place? It’ll be under a fake name, so I can’t check the mail, and he hasn’t moved in yet, so there won’t be any giveaway signs of life.
Any doubts vanish when I see the inside of this place. It’s tacky as hell. Red leather sofas, metal kitchen, a framed picture of the London skyline on the wall. This is a flat that’s been decorated out of a catalogue, by an idiot.
The fridge is full of beer, and the cupboards hold enough different varieties of pasta to feed a bachelor for a lifetime.
I go searching for the real proof that this is Alex’s place.
The cash.
The flat is arranged over two floors. The living room and kitchen are one large open-plan area, and the bedroom is above, on a small mezzanine. I open closets and cupboards. I look under chairs. Under the bed. I check the bathroom. There’s a cupboard under the stairs, and I open the door.
Bingo.
Five large sports bags.
I slide one out toward me. It’s heavy. I pull on the zip, seeing the crisp and clean twenty-pound notes stacked in bundles. Alex was right, this isn’t just walking around money. There must be millions here. I put the bags back where I found them, and shut the door before I start to come up with any more stupid plans.
I close all the blinds and turn all the lights back off. I settle onto the sofa with a beer. I’ll be here when Alex gets back. If anyone else turns up, at least I’ll know he’s blown it.
I sip at my drink and wait.
This is a mistake.
Something I’ve noticed, in the hours since I flipped that switch and stopped thinking about killing, is that I’m no longer burying the part of me that says I shouldn’t kill. That voice has been getting louder all day and, as I sit here in the dark, with alcohol, I can feel something new.
Is this—?
Is this guilt ?
I pull out my phone and Facebook stalk the guy I took out yesterday. Scott. Even looking at his interactions, I can see he was an arsehole. He shared dodgy memes, cracked rape jokes, total scumbag. But his pictures include birthday parties with a young girl. Maybe a daughter who lives with her mum?
Hell, their lives just got a lot harder.
The guy I wasn’t supposed to kill? The councillor, Dominic Porter? He’s not married, got no kids, but he does have an elderly mother in a care home. I don’t want to think what’ll happen to her without the help of her son.
And now I’m sat, in the dark, waiting to talk to someone I’ve pretended to kill. I’ve helped him steal money off one of the most powerful criminal organisations in the country, and along the way I’ve lied to two of their key figures.
This is not going to go down as my finest day.
And I’m sitting only a few feet from millions of—
No.
No more complications, Fergie.
If I touch the money, and Alex manages to come back, he’ll have a reason to fuck with me. If I can keep him quiet, then we can both avoid pissing Joe off. And if I can avoid any issues with Joe or Asma between now and 1 p.m. tomorrow, then whatever they get up to, I’m out of it.
Just one day without messing anything else up, that’s all I need.
My phone vibrates on the sofa next to me.
I have messages from Sam.
TheSamIreland – Hey.
TheSamIreland – Me again.
TheSamIreland – Sorry. I’m having a weird day.
TheSamIreland – Maybe we could just get a takeaway. Watch a movie?
Okay. Maybe the day is improving.
SEVENTY-THREE
SAM
19:30
I made a point of getting to Fergus’s place bang on time.
It created a few moments of silliness, because I was ten minutes early, and waited by the front door. Who wants to be early ? No. I wanted to ring his bell at the exact time we’d agreed.
It was just down to timing. We’d arranged I would pick up the food, and he would sort the movie. I’d opted for Chinese and, remembering my favourite place tended to get busy in the evenings, I’d set off earlier than I needed to. The restaurant cooked the food in record time, and I was at Fergus’s door way sooner than I wanted to be.
I’d picked something a little softer to wear this time. The same kind of skirt as our first date, but in a deep blue, and a light, short-sleeved top to match. I wore a denim jacket. A little less fuck you than my biker leather.
I watched the seconds count down on my phone, then pressed the buzzer.
Fergus opened the door straight away.
Had he been doing the same thing, on the other side of the door?
What a pair of fannies we were.
Sod it. Go all in.
I held up the plastic bag holding the meal. ‘It might be a bit cold,’ I said. ‘Because I’ve been standing outside like an idiot for ten minutes.’
He grinned down at me, and I tilted my head back, giving him the room, Go on. He took the hint and kissed me. Softly. Nothing serious. It didn’t have the charge of our first, but that was fine. Plenty of time yet.
He led me into the living room. His flat was tidy. I was impressed, if not a little jealous. This wasn’t a rush job. You can tell when someone had cleaned up just for your visit, because things are way too tidy, and small details will be out of place. A pile of things on a table, a candle burning to cover a smell, all of the TV and cable remotes piled in front of the television. That’s the best giveaway. Nobody leaves them there.
There were none of those signs in his room. Things were tidy, but looked lived in. The remotes were on the sofa, where people really left them. There were no candles burning. It looked like he actually lived like this.
Fergus took the bag from me and headed into the kitchen. I took my phone out, and switched it off. Like I’d said, all in. Hanya was right. I was going to live a normal life, just for tonight.
I followed Fergus into the kitchen. He already had plates set out on the worktop, and was dishing out the food. He was making no attempts to give me small portions. This man knew his stuff.
‘So I thought we could watch A Life Less Ordinary,’ he said. ‘I’ve got the Blu-Ray.’
I leaned in closer to him and tilted my head a little, hoping it came off as playful. ‘Did you buy it specially for this?’
He said that he hadn’t, but it came with a telling pause, and I knew he was lying. That was sweet. We already had a thing. I watched him move. He’s wearing a black shirt. It’s looser than the jumper he wore on our first date, but that’s just giving my mind more room to play.
And then I’m thinking, maybe the movie can wait?
Maybe the Chinese will be better cold?
When he turned to ask me what booze I’d like, I stepped in close. He took both of my hands in his, thr
eading our fingers together, but didn’t make any further move. After a few more seconds I thought, Sod it, and kissed him.
Kiss three was still not as good as the first one, but it was getting there. I pressed in a little closer, feeling his back and waiting for him to do the same with me.
He didn’t.
Huh.
I can’t have misread it?
Maybe he just needs a little alcohol to loosen him up. We’d put a fair amount away the first time. Okay. Give him some room, Sam. Back off. Let him ease into it.
Grown up, remember?
SEVENTY-FOUR
FERGUS
19:38
Oh man.
You bottled it there, Fergus.
She leans in, she kisses you, and you don’t go any further. She starts feeling you up and you don’t go any further. What the hell is wrong with you?
I want to but—
But what?
I don’t know. My gut falls out. I back down. I’d like to blame the stress of the day. But the truth is? I just chickened out.
‘I, uh, I’ve not got gin,’ I say, turning back to my cupboard. ‘There’s beer in the fridge, and I’ve got rum, also some Jim Beam or scotch.’
‘Rum is fine.’ Her voice is a little cool. Off. Have I blown it? Shit. ‘Rum is my mistakes drink, I do silly things.’
There’s a flash of that smile again. We’re still in the game. I need to earn the moment back, though, because it’s gone. Sam walks through into my living room with her food and drink, and I follow. The place is neat and tidy, and I even tidied away my Blu-Ray collection into their correct cases and onto the shelf.
I hope she’s impressed by that. Sam’s got these great eyes. They just look up into you and, suddenly, you want to have a load of clever answers. But I keep finding I haven’t got any.
Sam sits on my sofa, right on the end farthest from me. I figure it’s a test to see what I do next, so I settle down right next to her, and she smiles a little to herself.
We start watching the film. At first, we’re silent, actually following it while we eat. Then we start cracking jokes at the screen, and turning to each other to talk. Soon, the film is just background noise, and we’re talking. Occasionally touching each other’s arm or leg.