Blood City

by Douglas Skelton

  He wondered, is this it? Is this what it’s like to die?

  And then he thought of Marie and he thought of Jessica and then, just like that, he thought of nothing else.

  * * *

  Audrey was kneeling beside Donovan, her hands on his shoulder, wondering what she should do when she heard him say ‘Marie’ and ‘Jessica.’ Then he visibly wilted and his head slumped to one side. She didn’t know what to do so she just sat there gently touching his shoulder and hoped someone had called 999.

  Boyle stood behind them, the gun dangling all but forgotten in his hand. He didn’t know what to do now. He had shot a cop. He didn’t know what to say. He had shot a cop. He hadn’t meant to do it but that wouldn’t matter to them. There would be hell to pay now. He had shot a cop.

  He whirled as he heard footsteps pounding down the stairs behind him.

  * * *

  As soon as he heard the shot Davie burst out the front door, Abe squeezing past his feet. He heard Rab blundering from his bedroom, a series of curses flooding from his mouth. Davie took the stairs two at a time, but even so the dog was still ahead of him, a growl rising in his throat as he leaped downwards. Davie turned at the landing and saw the three figures at the closemouth. Boyle was already turning in his direction, the gun in his hand levelling, and Davie just had time to take in the fact that Audrey was kneeling beside someone before he realised that Abe was flying towards Boyle and Boyle was lowering his aim.

  ‘Abe! No!’ Davie yelled, jumping down the remaining steps. But it was too late. Boyle fired.

  Either Abe was moving too fast or Boyle’s aim was hurried because the bullet missed the dog and careened off the tiled wall to fly harmlessly into the darkness of the back close. Abe lunged at Boyle’s arm but he dodged out of the way and crashed the handle of his gun down on the top of the dog’s head. Abe yelped and slumped, shaking his head to clear it, but kept his feet. Boyle swore once and glared at Davie, before turning and fleeing, practically leaping over Audrey as she crouched at the opening. Davie stopped and looped his fingers round Abe’s collar, twisting round to Rab who was now at the bottom of the steps.

  ‘Hold on to Abe,’ said Davie and Rab nodded, taking hold of the collar. Davie took off after Boyle, his eyes meeting Audrey’s briefly as he passed, his mind registering that it was Donovan lying bleeding on the closemouth but knowing there was nothing he could do now but catch the bastard.

  Whatever the reason for the bad blood between them, it ended tonight.

  And as he dashed along the street towards Boyle’s swiftly moving back, there was a brief flicker of light in the sky and then a few seconds later the first low rumble of thunder.

  27

  DAVIE HAD TO ADMIT that Boyle could move. By the time he had sprinted up the street and reached the junction with Duke Street, the boy had made off like a hare. He knew he would never catch him on foot – Boyle had too much of a head start – but Davie had no intention of letting him get away.

  That was when he saw Donovan’s car lying to his left, the nose pointed at the kerb, the keys still in the ignition. Davie could drive well enough to steer in the right direction without hitting anything but he’d never passed a test. That didn’t stop him. Wrenching open the door, he slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key and fired up the engine. He glanced at the gear stick, checking where reverse was, and manhandled it into position, hearing the gears crunching. He pushed the brake off and hit the gas, sending the car jolting backwards into the middle of the street. He jammed his foot on the brake before he slammed into a parked car and then threw it into first. He pulled the wheel to the left and moved forward, slower this time, until the nose was aimed towards Duke Street. He paused for a split second, wondering if this was a good idea, before he punched the gas again and the car lurched forward into the main road.

  It was late and the road was relatively quiet, but even so Davie heard the screech of wheels and the strident complaint of a horn, both of which he ignored as he twisted the wheel to the right. He was already scanning the pavement as he sped along Duke Street, looking for Boyle. He didn’t so much as glance at the speedometer, though he knew he was going too fast. He was driving a policeman’s car without permission – actually, he’d stolen it – he was unlicensed, uninsured and he was going to batter shite out of someone. A speeding ticket was the least of his worries.

  He spotted Boyle’s back, still legging it like an Olympic athlete going for Gold, and pressed down on the accelerator to draw level. He shot a look at Boyle through the driver’s window but he was too intent on making his escape to pay attention to what little traffic was on the road. Davie spotted a gap in the line of cars at the kerbside up ahead and gave the steering wheel a sharp jerk, bouncing onto the pavement and stopping a fraction of an inch from the window of a small hardware store. Boyle skidded to a halt and raised the gun with a shaking hand just as lightening pulsed through the sky.

  Davie climbed out of the car and sneered. ‘Big man with a gun, eh Boyle?’

  ‘I’ll fuckin do you, McCall. I mean it…’ said Boyle, his voice shaking with exertion and fear.

  Davie tried to appear calm but inside he felt his guts knotting and tightening. Boyle was too far away to rush him, but not so far away that he would miss if he fired. Thunder rumbled somewhere above them as Davie said, ‘Put it down, Boyle. It’s just you and me now.’

  ‘I’ll put you down, ya fucker.’

  Davie’s mind raced as he gauged the distance between them, knowing for sure he would not make it. His only hope was to make Boyle drop the gun.

  ‘What is it between you and me, eh?’ Davie asked.

  Now it was Boyle’s turn to sneer. ‘Don’t gimme that, you know what it is.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ insisted Davie, keeping his voice steady, looking for an opening.

  Boyle seemed to sense some danger and took two steps back. ‘Your dad,’ he said and Davie felt his stomach tighten further. ‘He did my dad in.’

  ‘I’m no my dad,’ said Davie quietly while thinking, I might have known.

  ‘No, but you’ll do.’

  Lightening ripped through the dark sky again, followed shortly by the rumble of thunder. It’s getting closer, Davie thought as he considered his next move. Somehow he had to get Boyle to put the gun down.

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Davie, understanding the need for revenge. At first his own need had been focussed simply on Johnny Jones, then on Jazz, but now here was Boyle, who had fired a gun at Audrey. For that alone Boyle had to go down. He nodded and said, ‘But let’s do it the old-fashioned way, eh? No with guns.’

  Boyle smiled but there was a distinct lack of humour in it. ‘A square-go?’

  Davie nodded again and he saw Boyle considering the proposition. He knew what was going through Boyle’s mind. He was tough, three years older and he had more experience than Davie. He had also regained his wind after his run along Duke Street. Add to that he’d already given Davie one kicking and he was confident he could give him another, no bother. Boyle nodded once and slowly stooped to lay the pistol on the ground. Then he rose into a crouch and waited for Davie to make a move.

  Davie felt his mouth tighten. He heard a wind rushing in his ears that had nothing to do with the growing thunderstorm and his vision was gradually narrowing on one thing and one thing only – Clem Boyle. Everything else around him was already fading, as if a mist had suddenly begun to form, leaving only Boyle clear and sharp. The roar inside his head grew in intensity and there was an additional sound, like waves on shale, and Davie knew he was ready.

  They stared at each other for a few moments, each waiting for the other to begin. There was a severe flash and almost simultaneously a sharp crack as the thunderstorm raged above the city, but as yet there was no rain. Duke Street was deserted and it was as if they were the only two left on the planet. They stood on the pavement of the city street as the electric air crackled and rumbled around them, each one watching, each one tense, each one ready to bring thi
s to an end.

  It was Boyle who moved first.

  Davie knew it would be.

  The red-haired youth’s face creased into a snarl as he launched himself across the void between them with a throaty growl. Davie was ready and neatly side-stepped to the left while at the same time lashing out with his right leg to sweep Boyle’s feet away from under him. Boyle’s hands stretched out to buffer his fall against the hard concrete, but he still went down hard and Davie knew the impact would have sent a shock wave of pain through his arms and shoulders. Not enough pain, though. Not nearly enough. Davie took a pace backwards and lashed out with his left foot, smashing it into Boyle’s ribs with such force that the boy’s body lifted slightly from the pavement. Davie drew back his foot again and delivered another brutal kick to the chest. Boyle cried out and rolled away, Davie following, but Boyle was fit and he managed to snap to his feet. He resumed his crouch, but Davie could tell by the way he favoured his left side that some damage had been done to his ribs. That makes us even, he thought.

  Boyle smiled through his pain and nodded at Davie, as if he knew what he was thinking, then darted forward. Davie knew he would be expecting him to dodge away again so this time he stood his ground, planting his feet firmly and, as Boyle came close enough, shot out his right arm and crunched the hard heel of his hand into Boyle’s nose. He put everything he had into the blow, the power coming from his back and shoulders. Boyle’s head snapped back and Davie moved in closer and delivered another blow, again to his nose. Boyle staggered back, both hands darting to his face as blood flew from his nostrils, but Davie followed him, jabbing at his left side with his clenched fist, once, twice, a third time before he skipped away once more. Boyle twisted his body away, lashing out as he moved with his right hand in a fierce backhanded sweep that caught Davie under the eye, the chunky ring on his third finger slicing a lump of flesh from his cheek. Blood oozed from the deep gash, but Davie ignored the pain and began to circle round Boyle, looking for another opening. Boyle moved too and Davie thought he was simply waiting for a chance to pile in again. He was wrong.

  Suddenly, Boyle stooped and came up again with the revolver. Davie charged across the pavement, gripping the wrist of Boyle’s gun hand with his left hand to keep the barrel pointed away while with his right he slammed a series of blows into his injured ribs. Boyle retaliated, his left fist snapping at Davie’s side. Agony burned through his body from his still tender ribs but he ignored it, concentrating on delivering as much punishment as he could while trying to keep the gun away. They grappled in close quarters, their breathing harsh and laboured as they struggled against each other, sweat sliming their flesh. The storm around them was growing in intensity, the air pressure a palpable creature surging around them. The thunder crashed simultaneously with the lightning flashes now, but still there was no rain to relieve the intense heat.

  Then, with a titanic heave, Boyle threw Davie away from him and swung the weapon round. Davie dodged to the side as a bullet sliced through the air and then he spun back, ready to lunge at Boyle again, but he had already slid over the bonnet of the car and was sprinting along Duke Street. Davie broke into pursuit, determined that Boyle would not get away.

  Boyle kept looking back over his shoulder as he pounded along the empty road and Davie was ready to throw himself to the deck if he stopped and pointed that bloody gun again. They were both slower than normal, Davie because of the ache in his ribs, Boyle from the bruising he’d received earlier, but they still managed a steady pace. Their footsteps reverberated from the tenement walls and seemed to echo the length of the night-time street. The rain still had not hit, but Davie knew when it did it would come like a tidal wave – simply bursting from the sky.

  Finally he saw Boyle slow, his energy almost sapped, and begin to turn. Davie summoned up one final burst of speed and careered into him just as he brought the revolver to bear. Boyle cursed as he was thrown off his feet, the gun flying from his hand and clattering onto the pavement a few feet away. Davie and Boyle rolled together, each one trying to break free, each one knowing that the winner of this struggle was the one who got to the weapon. Davie didn’t like guns but he wanted to reach this one. If he didn’t, he was a dead man for sure.

  They scrambled on the concrete, muscles expanding, sinews stretching, flesh scraping to blood on the hard concrete. Davie tried to crawl over and past Boyle, who writhed like a sweat-soaked snake in a bid to shake him off. A sharp elbow crashed into Davie’s nose and the coppery taste of blood stung at his tongue, but still he hung on. He brought his closed fist down hard into Boyle’s kidney, driving it into the flesh. Boyle groaned but continued to drag himself along the ground, knees and feet pushing, one hand reaching for the gun, which lay just out of the range of his splayed fingers.

  Davie gripped Boyle’s upper arm with fingers slippery with moisture, tugging at it to keep it away from the gun handle. His right hand hammered at Boyle’s side, still trying to exploit its weakness, but Boyle was strong. He managed another monumental heave and threw Davie off, then twisted onto his back and shot out one foot, catching Davie squarely on the chest. Davie’s already protesting ribs caught fire and he tumbled backwards, giving Boyle the chance to launch himself at the gun, hand closing over the butt.

  Davie was about to move in again when he realised that the barrel was aimed straight at him. He was in a bad position, on his back, and no way to escape this time.

  Boyle smiled as he slowly got to his feet, the gun never wavering.

  ‘Davie boy,’ he rasped, and in that moment Davie saw Boyle change. It was subtle, like a shadow passing over his face, but it was something he had seen before. Davie knew then that whatever murderous creature had nestled in Danny McCall also looked at him from within Clem Boyle.

  ‘Game over, son,’ said Boyle and began to tighten his finger on the trigger.

  The report of the gun was incredibly loud and Davie braced himself for the impact.

  But none came.

  For a fleeting moment he wondered if the noise had been a sharp crack of thunder. But then he saw Boyle fly back and slump against the wall behind him, the gun dropping from his fingers to rattle on the concrete. Boyle hung there for a beat, something dark and wet blooming at his chest. Davie turned and saw two uniformed cops in the middle of the street, their car between them and the pavement, the flashing coloured lights dancing in the night. One of them had his arm resting on the roof and in his hand was a police issue pistol.

  Davie looked back to Boyle again, who was glaring at him, his features contorted with either agony or hatred. Then the expression bled from his face as he slid down the wall, coming to rest in a sitting position, his head slumped to his chin, his face blank, his eyes open but sightless.

  It was then that it began to rain.

  28

  JIMMY KNIGHT CARRIED the two cups of coffee to the table and sat down opposite Rab McClymont. They were in the tea room of Kelvingrove Art Galleries and Museum at ten in the morning and they were both confident they would not be seen by anyone from their respective professions. Sunlight slanted in the big windows and it looked like a fresh, early summer morning. It had rained for two days solid and the oppressive heat that had built up on the day Joe had died had been washed away. After Clem Boyle was gunned down, Davie had been taken in for questioning but later released. Given that Boyle had shot a copper there was little chance of any charges being brought against him. Davie had, after all, merely tried to facilitate a citizen’s arrest.

  Rab sipped his coffee and said, ‘So it was lucky for Davie they cops drove by.’

  Knight nodded. ‘We had the lads from the Support Unit out in force after Joe got done. The bosses thought there would be trouble.’

  ‘They weren’t wrong.’

  ‘Aye, sometimes the suits at Pitt Street get it right. Those two had been in Parkhead when the call went out about Frank Donovan.’

  Rab had read it in the morning papers. The two uniformed coppers from the Support Unit had
been speeding along Duke Street in response to the alert issued about a detective being shot when they saw Davie and Boyle fighting on the pavement. They said they stopped the car and called out a warning but Rab suspected that they didn’t say a word before they put one into Boyle. Not that Rab cared much.

  ‘The uniforms did us all a favour taking Boyle out that way,’ said Knight, echoing Rab’s thoughts.

  Rab nodded. ‘Bastard needed killing, right enough. How’s your man Donovan?’

  Jimmy Knight smiled. ‘He’ll live.’

  ‘We thought he was a gonner.’

  ‘So did he. They say he was gone for a minute or so – was walking into the white light – but the paramedics did their job. He’ll be back on the job in a few months. He’ll be fine – he’ll get a medal.’

  ‘You sound as if you wish you’d been shot instead of him.’

  Knight’s smile broadened. ‘Nothing like a medal on your record come promotion time. Which is why I needed to see you.’

  ‘You want me to shoot you, like?’

  ‘No…’

  Knight didn’t need to say anything further. He simply stared at Rab, knowing that the young man knew full well what he needed. When Rab still hesitated he said, ‘Don’t play silly buggers, son. We both know you’re going to give me something.’

  Rab sat back in the plastic chair, still putting off what he knew was inevitable. Knight paused before he said, ‘David McCall.’