"Oh, yeah. Sometimes I think that was the reason."
"Yet she hates me drinking?"
"Never mind Maggie, Mum."
"How can I not mind? She won't let me see my own granddaughter."
"I know."
"She's never liked me."
"I know. But just try to focus. Tell me if you can think of anyone who'd want you out of the way."
"Out of the way." She closed her eyes. "Jesus," she said. "Why should I give a hoot about helping you? Not as if you're helping me."
"You could help yourself by not drinking."
"Listen to yourself."
"You're missing the point."
"You may think so."
"Mum, shut up."
"What did you say?"
"You heard."
She shut up.
"Somebody wants you dead," Carlos said. "Enough to pay me a substantial sum of money to make that happen. You can get all moral on me after we've figured out who it is. Unless you don't care."
She stared into space, said nothing.
"Well," he said. "Do you?"
"Of course I do." She picked up her glass again. "Of course I want to know who hates me that much."
"That's what I thought."
She gulped down the rest of her drink. "So how do we find that out?"
***
Carlos took the long way home, listened to some flamenco for a few minutes, but it was too tortured and mournful for his mood. He stuck on one of Maggie's compilation CDs instead. Good driving music. Nice tempo but relaxing too.
And Carlos needed to relax. Seeing his mother at the best of times was a strain. Tonight, well, he'd felt the back of his eyeballs start to hurt and that was always a bad sign.
His mother's reaction had seemed genuine. What he'd told her had surprised and shocked her. Either that or he didn't know her like he thought he did. No, there was no act there. And even if he was wrong, if she had known, there was no reason for her to want to have herself killed. Made no sense. He'd heard of it before, of course. People who were depressed enough to want to commit suicide, but couldn't actually do it, sometimes they'd hire a hit man to do it for them. Fools. If you can't kill yourself, there's a good reason. Means you don't want to fucking die. But even though his mum was a functioning alcoholic, she wasn't that depressed. Fair enough, she wasn't happy about not getting to see Sofia, but Carlos doubted she believed Maggie would stay angry with her for long.
Which pointed the finger of suspicion at Maggie. Yeah, it was crazy and he didn't want to consider it, but he had no choice. The facts were that Maggie knew who his mother was; she knew what Carlos did for a living; she had easy access to ten grand in cash; and she called him Charlie. But why would she want his mother dead? Because of what happened with Sofia? Made no sense either.
He turned up the volume, started to sing along with the music.
The answer would come to him. It always did.
***
Maggie said, "You're sure?"
"She practically admitted it," Carlos said. "Kept saying she was no good to anybody. Just an old drunk who'd be better off dead." It felt natural to lie to his wife. He wasn't sure why he'd never done it before.
"She said that?" Maggie turned off the TV. "Wow. I mean, fucking wow." She put her hand to her head, grabbed a handful of hair, combed it through her fingers. "I can't believe it."
"I know. It's fucked up."
"Wow." The skin around her eyes creased. "It's insane."
"That's my mother."
Maggie shook her head. "Wonder how she found out."
"No idea."
"Maybe it's a test." She bit her lip, let it go. "Maybe she doesn't really want to be ... expurgated."
Carlos looked at her, waiting for her to say more.
"Maybe she found out what you do and she just wants to see how far you'll go."
Carlos nodded slowly, remembering the word his mother had used. "See how much of a monster her son is? Could be."
Maggie sat down, crossed one ankle over the other. "So what are you going to do?"
"What she wants."
"You mean ...?"
"Si. I'm going to kill the old bitch."
"Holy shit," Maggie said. "You can't do that."
"If she's had enough, I'll be putting her out of her misery. And if she's playing a game, I'm going to make sure I win."
"Even if it means killing her?"
"It's what she wants."
"She can't want that."
"Well, it's what she's paid me for. Wouldn't want to disappoint her, would I? I'm a professional, after all."
"Fuck, Charlie." Maggie rubbed the palm of her hand on her thigh. "You're serious."
"I didn't ask for this. And I didn't decide on the stakes."
"Still..."
"'Still what? I thought you didn't like her? Didn't want her round Sofia?"
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'd want her ... done."
"Done?"
"You know ... expurgated."
"She won't be expurgated. Only Richie can do that."
"You know what I mean. Richie, Jordan, same thing."
Carlos nodded. "I'd rather not use Jordan either."
"I thought you and him had an understanding."
He shrugged. "This is personal. It's more than just a business transaction. Something I need to do myself."
"Shit," she said. She laughed. "Sorry. I'm just ... trying to let this sink in."
"There's more," he said, and waited for her to calm herself. "I'll need some help. Someone I can trust."
"Hardly spoilt for choice, then."
"No," he said. "What are you doing next week? Tuesday night, maybe?"
"Me?" She widened her eyes as what he was asking her sunk in. "Charlie, I couldn't."
"You could. Easy. I'll do the hard part. You don't need to see that. I just need you to give me a hand afterwards."
"A hand? What does that mean?"
"Getting rid of the body."
"I really don't think — "
"I'll make sure it's wrapped up, all sanitised and that. Promise. Just keep an eye out for me while I get the body out of her flat and downstairs. Help me get it into the car. Not ours, I'll steal one. We drive to the Forth, lose the body. After that, we'll dump the car and head home. I'll maybe need some help getting the body onto my shoulders, but I can carry it from there. Other than that, you won't need to touch it."
"Just warn you if somebody's around?"
"That's it. You'd be a lookout."
She lowered her gaze. After a bit she looked at him again and said, "You're going through with this." Not a question.
He nodded.
"Then steal a van," she said.
Jesus fucking Christ. She was going along with it. He stayed perfectly calm."You think?"
"Easier to get the body in and out."
"Yeah," he said, nodding. He clenched his fists. "Yeah. You thinking a Transit?"
"Doesn't need to be that big. Didn't Jordan's old man have three bodies in the back of his?"
"That wasn't his van."
She shook her head, exasperated. "But there were three bodies in it, right?"
"Yeah."
"So nick one of those vans, whatever it was. It'll be plenty big enough."
His fingernails were digging into the palms of his hands. "I'll ask Jordan."
"I know a good car thief if you need one. Brother of Arlene's boyfriend."
"Your sister can certainly pick them."
"You can fucking talk."
"He's reliable?"
"He nicks cars to order."
Carlos unclenched his fists, locked his trembling fingers together. "Kids've got too much money these days."
"And we should take a leaf out of their book. Burn the van afterwards."
"Get rid of any evidence? Not a bad idea." He waited, throat dry. "So we're on?"
"I don't know. I don't know, Charlie. This is a step beyond."
"For me too. But i
t's going to happen, Maggie. With or without your help. I'd like it to be the former."
Say no, Maggie.
"Let me think about it," she said.
TWO
When Carlos arrived at his mother's flat, she was drinking coffee and Jordan was sitting opposite on the settee with the dregs of a glass of milk on the table in front of him.
"Everything okay?" Carlos said.
"We've been having a lovely chat," his mother said.
Carlos wasn't sure for a second, then saw her lips curl slightly and decided she was being sarcastic. Jordan wasn't exactly chatty at the best of times. Not surprising given what the poor kid had gone through. Course, this whole situation was complex, what with Jordan and Richie's families having pretty much annihilated one another about eighteen months ago. Luckily, with Richie still in prison and likely to stay there for a long, long time, that wasn't a problem.
Carlos didn't feel too bad about it, though. He'd needed someone to replace Richie. And Jordan visited Richie's mother regularly, even now, which was something. Just sat there, neither of them speaking, holding hands. He'd seen them there that first time at the Home. Jordan was a blank. And Richie's mother hadn't spoken in years.
It was Richie's fault that Carlos and Jordan had met. Richie'd asked Carlos to check in on Liz, see how she was coping. Carlos couldn't see the point, wasn't intending hanging around, just dropping off some fresh flowers and scarpering, but when he got there he'd found this kid with her, a boy, barely a teenager, and remembered seeing the picture of them together in the newspaper. Part of the media frenzy. Kid Rescues Brain-Damaged Woman From Inferno. Not to mention the horror show inside the country cottage as body after body was discovered. Fascinating. Then all the speculation. Nobody knew who'd killed who. It was all guesswork. The fire saw to that.
And of the only two survivors, Liz couldn't speak and the kid wouldn't speak. Too traumatised, apparently.
And he wasn't the only one. Richie couldn't handle it. Went berserk in the slammer, killed a guard, which meant that he'd probably never get out now. Anyway, no chance he'd get to visit his mum. Which is why he'd asked Carlos to go see her, and how Carlos had bumped into Jordan.
Carlos had spotted it right away. He'd seen it in the photos. He saw it the minute he saw Jordan in the flesh. The kid was dead behind the eyes. Just like Richie used to be.
"Nice of you to visit," Carlos had said to Jordan. "But why?"
Jordan shrugged.
Carlos cleared his throat, lowered his voice. "You can tell me."
No response.
Carlos said, "Tell me what you did."
Jordan looked him in the eye.
"It can be our secret," Carlos said.
Are you a poof or something? Sounded like a young lad's voice, one on the point of breaking, flitting about like it wasn't sure which register suited best. Carlos hadn't seen Jordan open his mouth, but he was the only kid in the room. Well?
"No." Carlos smiled. "No, no." He waited a moment. "Is it because you feel guilty? Is that why you're here?"
I feel nothing.
"Good," Carlos said. "That's excellent. Anyway, I suppose the bitch got what she deserved."
Jordan looked at him again.
The bitch.Liz's daughter. Richie's sister.
"I thought so," Carlos said. "I know how you must feel."
Jordan stared at his feet, tapped the toes of his trainers on the floor.
"You sorry about what you did?" Carlos asked.
Why would I be sorry?
"You like money, Jordan?"
The kid shrugged again.
"You and me," Carlos said. "I think we'll get along just fine."
And they had done. The kid needed an outlet and spilled everything to Carlos eventually. Run out of bullets or he'd still be there pumping slugs into her, he'd said. Or at least that's what Carlos heard him say. Something had happened with Jordan's dad, too, but he wouldn't elaborate. He claimed he didn't feel anything, but there was something there, something raw that Carlos knew was best avoided.
Jordan was good. Professional. Ruthless. Problem was he could only do local jobs. He lived with his grandmother and she kept tabs on him, protective of him now that her sons were dead. Carlos didn't know what had happened to Jordan's mother, but she was out of the picture. So, while Jordan could sneak out for the night easily enough, he couldn't pop down to London for a couple of days. But that was okay. Carlos had wound down the operation anyway and just the occasional job now and again was fine with him. Once Jordan got a bit older, maybe they'd pick up again.
Anyway, it would appear from tonight's showing that Jordan hadn't said anything to Carlos's mother. Maggie didn't care for him much, found the silences hard to bear, although she'd only ever met him a couple of times to deliver his money to him and claimed that he said, "Clever," when she took the money out of the pram the first time, and thanks the second time. But she conceded that he was good at what he did. Carlos had expected his mother would get herself plastered as usual tonight, give them a piece of her booze-addled mind, but she looked as sober as he'd seen her in ages.
Carlos tossed the bodybag onto the shag carpet. "Hope you like the colour," he said.
"You sure you want to go through with this?" his mum asked.
"It's the only way."
He didn't want to discuss this again. They'd been over it enough times already. They really needed to get moving now. Maggie was waiting outside in the Ford Escort van her sister's boyfriend had nicked to order, trying to keep herself relaxed by listening to her iPod, and Carlos was due to give her a bell once he was done. He promised her it'd be quick. She'd be ringing him to see what the problem was if he didn't hurry.
He didn't hurry. He sat down next to Jordan, shifting the gun tucked down the back of his waistband as it dug into his spine.
She had to ring. She had to tell him to stop what he was about to do. This was her last chance.
"Maybe it wasn't her," his mother said.
"Doesn't matter," he said. Maybe Maggie'd taken out the contract, maybe not. But either way, she should make him stop this craziness. He was about to kill his mother, for Christ's sake. Her silence made her guilty of something unforgivable, even if he couldn't pinpoint it just yet. "Whatever way you look at it, if she doesn't put a stop to this, she's a bitch from hell." And she'd signed her own death warrant.
"I'll give her ten more minutes," he said to his mother. "And then..."
"I'm dead," she said, nodding. "Thanks, Maggie."
They sat in silence, Carlos counting down the minutes, then the seconds, and finally, he said, "If you were looking for a monster, I think you've found one." He took the gun out of his waistband and handed it to Jordan. "You'll be needing this," he said. "It's not pretty but it'll do the job."
***
Maggie arrived a minute after he'd texted her. He answered the door, aware of a dull throb behind his eyes when he looked at her.
"Is it done?" she asked.
He turned away from her, led her into the sitting room, pointed at the bodybag, filled out, zipped up.
"Shit," she said. "You did it."
"Of course I did it."
"Shit," she said again. "Do you feel okay?"
"Fine."
"Really?"
"Yeah. How should I feel?"
"I dunno. In pain. Emotional. Horrible."
"I'm fine," Carlos said.
They stood for a minute, looking at each other, at the bodybag, back at each other. "So," Carlos said. "Give me a hand to lift this?"
Maggie didn't move.
"What?"
"How can you be 'fine'?" she asked.
"How many times do I need to say it?"
"I just find it hard to believe —"
"Maggie, we don't have time for this. Help me get the bag onto my shoulder."
"You can't be 'fine'."
"I assure you, I'm just fine. Porfavor." He indicated the bag.
"You're right." She stepped forwar
d. "You're right," she said again. "Looks heavy. You going to manage it?"
"No problem. Diet of vodka, she weighs next to nothing."
"Dead weight though." She looked at him, realised what she'd said. She laughed. "I'm sorry," she said.
"What for?"
"It's not funny."
"No," he said. "It isn't."
"I'm just nervous. I can't get my head round this."
"Don't think," he said. "Act."
"I didn't think you'd go through with it."
"Don't think," he said, louder.
"I should have stopped you."
They stared at the bag. He'd thought all bodybags were black. But the mortuary only had a spare one in tan.
"Charlie," she said.
"Yeah?"
"You killed your mother."
He grabbed her wrist. "For Christ's sake, Maggie. You knew I was going to do it. Why are you acting so surprised?"
"I didn't..." She pulled her arm away.
"You didn't what?"
"Forget it. It's done." She rubbed her wrist.
He spoke quietly. "You wish it wasn't? Maybe you should have talked me out of it."
"Not my call."
He took a long breath through his nose. Smelled Maggie's face cream. She was wearing lipstick too. For her, this was just a night out.
"Fair enough," he said. "Are you going to stand there, or are you going to help?"
***
Once Carlos had watched a delivery guy carry a washing machine on his back up three flights of stairs. Impressive. Even more impressive, the same guy had taken the old one away with him on the way back down. In comparison, carrying a body down a single flight of stairs shouldn't be too much of a task. Carlos took a couple of steps towards the door, testing out the weight on his shoulders.
Maggie looked at him.
"It's not so bad," he said.
***
He was wrong. He'd only managed three steps and already his legs felt leaden. And he kept thinking he was going to topple forwards. He couldn't balance properly, wanted to put his hand on the rail but knew if he did that the body would slip. Maybe the bodybag hadn't been such a great idea after all. This was an extra heavy duty job. Greater 'leakage protection', he was told, after he'd complained about the colour. Sounded just fine as a sales pitch, but the reality was that the bag weighed more than the standard model.
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