Two-Way Split

by Guthrie, Allan

  An odd thing happens: Don is unable to breathe.

  A pair of birds circle overhead. One named Donald, one named Don.

  Donald's in the garage messing with parfin and he knows Mummy doesn't like it. He did it one time before and she said it was very, very dangerous. She hit him with her hairbrush on the bare backside until her arm was sore and she had to stop.

  Robin tugs Donald's arm and Donald says, "Go away."

  Donald is eight years old. Robin is six. He pulls Donald's sleeve again and says, "What you doing Donald? Can I see?"

  Donald sighs like it's a big deal and says, "Go away." He swings his elbow and catches Robin on the chin.

  Robin says, "That hurt." If Mummy was around he'd cry. But he knows there's no point. Donald'll just laugh. Maybe even do it again.

  Donald says, "Sorry," in the silly voice he uses that Mummy tells him off for. He pulls a face.

  Robin peeps over Donald's shoulder and sees him soaking one of Mummy's old knickers that she uses for dusting. Donald's tongue's sticking out of his mouth like when he has a fit. Donald's pleptic, you know.

  "Mummy's going to smack you if she finds out."

  "Well, she won't, will she?"

  "What you making with it, Donald?"

  "A torch."

  "You need batteries."

  "Not that kind of torch, stupid. A fire torch."

  "A fire torch? Wow. Can I have one?"

  "You're too young."

  "Show me how to do one."

  Donald screams at him, "Leave me alone."

  Robin waits until Donald's face has gone normal again and then he plucks at his jumper."Can I smell?"

  With a sigh Donald lets him move closer and sniff the soaked rag.

  "Can I smell the bottle now?" The parfin is in a plastic water bottle that Mummy keeps hidden in a high cupboard in the kitchen. She doesn't know Donald can reach it by standing on top of the microwave.

  "All right." Donald unscrews the top and Robin takes a deep breath. It makes him feel a bit dizzy. He takes another breath. Donald puts the top back on and sets the bottle on the bench next to the box of long matches.

  Donald drops the rag. His eyes go funny.

  "Stop it, Donald."

  Donald falls on the floor and his legs start twitching.

  "You having a pleptic fit?" Robin asks him. Donald carries on kicking. Robin knows he should get Mummy from Mrs McRobb's next door. But he wants another sniff of the parfin first. He grabs the bottle and takes the top off. It smells really nice and he thinks Donald might want to smell some too. But Donald can't smell anything at the moment. He's too busy twisting about on the garage floor.

  Robin has an idea. He splashes some parfin on his big brother's face. He aims for his nose, but some gets in his mouth and mixes with the spit at the edges of his lips. Robin pours some in his hair. "Shampoo." He pours more. "For you." Mummy makes him laugh when she says that. He pours lots more. He bends over to sniff it. He rubs his fingers in Donald's hair. It doesn't foam up like shampoo. His fingers smell of parfin. He wipes his hand on his trousers. Shakes the bottle. There isn't much left, so he dribbles it over Donald's jumper and empties the rest on his jeans. It looks like Donald's peed himself. Ha, ha.

  He's lit matches before. These are easy. Big ones. He opens the box and takes one out. The end is red. Sometimes they're brown. And once he saw a blue one. He strikes it on the side of the box and nothing happens. He tries again and the flame goes whoosh. He lets it burn for a while and then holds it next to Donald's head. His brother's hair glows blue and goes flickery orange and starts to crackle. He drops the match and puts the parfin bottle and box of matches back on the bench.

  Donald is screaming. He's dancing on his back like a beetle and screaming. His hair is a big flame and the skin on his cheek is on fire. One of his eyelids looks like it's melted. Robin claps his hands and giggles. He gets the matches off the bench and lights another one. He drops it on his brother's chest and watches the jumper catch fire. He lights another one and drops it. Then he drops the whole box.

  He waits and watches. He gets scared. He says, "Donald. Stop it now." When everything apart from Donald's shoes is burning he starts yelling, "Mum." He runs outside and into next-door's garden and up the steps and bangs on the door so hard that his fist hurts. Tears stream down his cheeks. He keeps yelling, "Mum. Mum."

  She comes to the door and sees his face and says, "What is it, love?"

  He grabs her hand and drags her along the path, back through the garden and into the garage.

  She says, "Oh, love." Her hand clamps over her mouth. Her face is white. She says, "Oh, love." She runs over to Donald, who has stopped moving. "Love." She starts batting the flames with her hands. The smoke makes her cough. She chokes. Tears stream down her face. She shrieks, "Love."

  3:54 pm

  Pearce heard the singing. Heard the scream. He watched Kennedy clamber through the open window and return a short while later, hand covering his mouth.

  Pearce said, "Okay?"

  Kennedy raised his eyes and gave the slightest of nods.

  Eyes closed, tiredness swimming in his veins, Pearce said, "Dead?"

  Kennedy moved his hand from his mouth and said, "I think so." He closed the window.

  Pearce said, "You better get out of here." His mum's killer was dead. He'd killed himself and saved Pearce in the process, in a strange kind of way. Pearce felt cold. He was never cold.

  The young man picked up the holdall and opened it. He said, "Jesus," and closed it again. He walked over to Pearce. "Give me the gun."

  "No chance." Pearce raised his arm. It took more effort than fifty press-ups. The gun wobbled in his hand. "Take the money and piss off out of here or I'll shoot you where you stand."

  "That's all the thanks I get?"

  "You were a big help," Pearce said. "Now fuck off."

  "I don't believe this. You're only alive because of me. If I hadn't climbed up the scaffolding and got in the window and set up a distraction, you'd be dead." The bag swung in his hand. He looked about fifteen years old.

  "What do you want? A kiss?" Pearce sighed. Bad idea. It made his stomach burn. He screwed his eyes shut. The pain was extraordinary. It made him want to laugh. "I will shoot you." He opened his eyes and searched Kennedy's.

  "Who are you trying to kid?" Kennedy said. The muscles around his mouth gradually slackened. "You couldn't hit a barn door if you were standing right in front of it."

  Pearce couldn't keep his hand raised. He let it drop, still clutching the weapon. "What do you want?"

  Kennedy said, "The gun."

  "What for?"

  "Never had one and it's no use to you. You think I want to shoot you?"

  "Maybe," Pearce said. "You might think I'll tell the cops about the money."

  "You won't."

  "You prepared to take that gamble?"

  "It's not a gamble."

  Pearce frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "You're taking some of it, too."

  "The money? I am? What about your boss?"

  "I don't have a boss. I resigned earlier today. All this," Kennedy gestured with the holdall, "was my idea. He knows nothing about it."

  "And your bright idea is to split the money with me?"

  "Two ways, right down the middle."

  "I don't want it."

  "That's irrelevant."

  "I refuse to accept it."

  "Then maybe I will have to kill you."

  "Don't act so tough," Pearce said. "It doesn't suit you."

  "The only way I can trust you is if you're involved. Can't you see that?"

  Pearce thought for a moment. "My word isn't good enough?"

  "I can't make that decision. I don't know you."

  Pearce said, "Okay. Go see this guy. His name's Cooper. He's got a first name but nobody knows what it is. You should call him mister." He gave Kennedy the address. "I owe him some money. He'll tell you how much."

  "Roughly?"

  "
Less than a grand."

  "You have to take more—"

  "Doesn't matter if it's ten quid or twenty thousand. It's a two-way split however it's divided." Pearce paused for a moment to fight the pain. He carried on, "Either it's stolen or it isn't. Now, help me." His hands were covered in blood and he couldn't get his mobile off his belt.

  Kennedy helped him detach the phone. "You want anything? A blanket?"

  "Just piss off before the police get here."

  "Can I have the gun?"

  "Fuck off."

  3:56 pm

  Pearce felt cheated. Revenge was sour. He licked his dry lips. They tasted metallic. He dialled 999. They told him an ambulance was on its way. He hung up.

  He was exhausted. He dialled her number.

  She said, "Hello."

  He didn't know what to say. After a moment he said, "Hello."

  "You're breathing strangely."

  "Am I?"

  "You okay? Pearce, what's happened?"

  "You want the good news?" He paused. Coughed. "Or the bad?"

  "Don't be flippant."

  "Dread—" he said, "—fully sorry."

  "Don't be cheeky."

  "Right." He paused. Closed his eyes. Cold. Shit, it was cold. "He's dead."

  She screamed in his ear. "Christ Almighty!"

  He dropped the phone. Still heard her screaming. No words. Just a long agonised scream. His fingers fumbled for the phone. Got it. Lifted it to his ear. It weighed as much as a fat baby.

  She said, "Why are you telling me this?"

  "That was the good news."

  "Stop it."

  "Stop it?"

  "Stop it."

  "Stop it." He paused. His eyes welled up. He fought back the tears. What was happening to him? His voice cracked when he said, "I didn't kill him."

  "Oh, God," she said. "Oh my Christ, thank God."

  "Ailsa, I might," he said, "pass out."

  "You what? What's wrong?"

  "Tired." His voice was weak. "The bad news." He licked his lips. "I got shot."

  "Christ. Where? Where are you shot?"

  He tried to laugh, but couldn't. He heard the sound of a siren and felt an overwhelming sadness spread inside him. It thickened his blood. Lined his skin. Cloaked him from head to toe. "I'll be fine," he said.

  She said, "Pearce. You okay? Pearce, you still there? Pearce. Answer me, you bastard."

  Also available on Kindle by Allan Guthrie

  Bye Bye Baby, a novella

  Amazon UK, Amazon US

  A Top Ten Kindle Bestseller

  When a seven-year-old boy disappears after school, the case is handed to Detective Frank Collins. He's been looking to lead a high-profile case for a while, and sets out determined to prove his worth. But the missing schoolboy is only a trigger for another crime. Someone is intent on exploiting the boy's grief-stricken mother. And they have plans for Frank Collins too.

  " a police procedural filled with incident … and man, what an ending." Detectives Beyond Borders

  Killing Mum, a novella

  Amazon UK, Amazon US

  Receiving ten grand as down payment on a hit isn't that much of a surprise to Carlos Morales. After all, arranging contract killings is his business. But he never expected that someone might want his mother dead!

  What's equally troubling is the fact that the anonymous package arrived addressed to 'Charlie'. Only two people call him by that name: his wife and his mother. Has his wife just hired him to whack her mother-in-law? Or is his mother just looking for some help to put an end to her misery? Or maybe there's another answer entirely.

  One thing's for sure: Carlos is about to find out.

  "… another fantastic whirlwind of violence and intrigue from Allan Guthrie, who is fast becoming a master in his genre." Euro Crime

  About the author:

  Allan Guthrie is an award-winning Scottish crime writer. His debut novel, TWO-WAY SPLIT, was shortlisted for the CWA Debut Dagger award and went on to win the Theakston's Crime Novel Of The Year. He is the author of four other novels: KISS HER GOODBYE (nominated for an Edgar), HARD MAN, SAVAGE NIGHT and SLAMMER and three novellas: KILL CLOCK , KILLING MUM and BYE BYE BABY, a Top Ten Kindle Bestseller. When he's not writing, he's a literary agent with Jenny Brown Associates.

  Visit Allan's website at:

  http://www.allanguthrie.co.uk

  Visit Criminal-E, Allan's ebook crime fiction blog, at:

  http://criminal-e.blogspot.com