20
In that moment she had thought she was going to die. When they burst in, she knew they were there for Winter. She didn’t know who they were, or exactly what it was about, but she knew it was for him. His expansion plans had pissed off the wrong people. It happened. It was the threat of the business. She had been afraid, but not of being killed. They were so obviously professionals. They wouldn’t shoot her if they didn’t have to. When Stewart had made a run for the door, she had cursed him under her breath. Stupid. Unforgivably stupid. They certainly weren’t going to kill him if they didn’t have to, and yet he was encouraging them. Her fear was something else.
There are so many men in the business who are little better than animals. They have no care whatever for other people. The lives of others are playthings, to be ruined at their will. She was naked. They had the power. One of them went upstairs. The other stood and watched her. She knew he was watching her a lot more than he was watching Stewart, even though Stewart had tried to run. He could have done anything. She couldn’t resist. She wouldn’t. He had a gun. He was a professional. Do what it takes to stay alive. But he did nothing. A real professional. Not an animal like so many others. These people were very good at what they did. She had worked out how professional they were by the time they left.
No words. The only sound, the whimpering of the naked man behind the chair. They didn’t even have to ask where Lewis was. They knew. Somehow, they knew exactly where in the house he was. Perhaps they knew the layout. Perhaps they had been to the house before. Could they be people she had met? Possibly. She has met plenty of people in the business over the years. She didn’t recognize them. Then the gunshot. She had been waiting for it, but it still shocked. Knowing that Lewis was up there, dead. He was the one she was most likely to settle down with. She had resigned herself to that. This meant starting again. Then the killer came downstairs, nodding to the other one. The other one turned and looked at her. Why would he look unless he had one last job to do? It was the one moment in the whole experience when she had thought she was going to die. Then he left. Safe.
Now it’s just her and Stewart. He’s still on the floor, silent since the gunshot. Zara turns and sits on the couch. She needs to sit down before she falls down. An exhaustion has taken hold of her, a weakness. She’s not sleepy, but painfully tired. She wants to cry. She feels that she should. But there’s nothing. There’s emotion, but no tears. She catches movement out of the corner of her eye. Could they have come back? No, it’s Stewart. He’s getting up. He looks pale; he looks like he wants to burst into tears. What happened to the confident young man who strutted across the dance floor and danced her away from Lewis? So full of himself. Gone.
Stewart stands up. He shakes his head. What’s the right thing to say and do in these circumstances? He wants to know if he’s safe. He wants to know if they might come back. He can’t ask, that would seem callous. He mustn’t be selfish. He has an image of the older man she was dancing with in the club. He had gone across to dance with Zara; he had been sure the man couldn’t be her partner. Then she invited him back. Everything was fine. Better than fine. Now this. The worst experience of his life. And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice is telling him otherwise. What a story. What a thing to tell the guys. Ploughing a beautiful girl, when two hitmen burst in and murder her partner.
‘Are you okay?’ he’s asking her. He doesn’t realize that he’s breaking a silence. He’s heard the sound of his heart thumping throughout this short ordeal. He’s heard a ringing in his ears from the thump to the head that he took. It just seems like the right thing to ask.
Zara looks up at him. So pretty. ‘Yeah,’ she nods. ‘They didn’t touch me.’
The way she looks at him. She’s not impressed with how he handled it. Stewart feels embarrassed. A man’s dead upstairs, but he’s concerned about looking pathetic in her eyes. He knows it’s wrong, but it’s how he feels. He walks to the couch and sits beside her. He puts an arm round her bare shoulder, rubs it gently.
‘It’ll be okay,’ he tells her.
The words mean absolutely nothing. He must realize how stupid it sounds to say it, she’s thinking to herself. He’s saying what he thinks he ought to. He doesn’t know if it’ll be okay. He doesn’t care. He’s only thinking about himself now. She looks at him. He’s rubbing her shoulder. His hand is moving in widening circles. She sees that he’s getting excited.
‘You should put your clothes on,’ she tells him coldly.
Stewart is getting slowly to his feet. Probably not a bad guy. Just not someone with anything useful to offer. Not any more. She has a feeling that she needs to be safe. She’s not under any particular threat, but she wants safety around her. It won’t come from him.
Stewart gets dressed quickly. Suddenly the selfish thoughts can’t be pushed back any longer.
‘Had you better call the police?’ he’s asking her. There could be a trial. Certainly a large police investigation. A man was murdered. He would be called as a witness. His name would be in the papers and on TV. They would ask him what he was doing there. It doesn’t seem so funny any more. They would be laughing at him, not with him. This could even affect his career prospects. He would forever be associated with it. The panic that had consumed him earlier is coming back. Not as powerful, but more long-lasting.
Zara looks at him, and starts thinking. The police. They’ll be here at some point. Maybe the neighbours have already called them. Think. Think clearly. What do you need to do? What can you do to salvage something from this? You have no money of your own. All you have belongs to Lewis. He won’t want you to be left with nothing. How to get it out of the house? Stewart – he could be useful. Would he be willing? She could make him willing. She stands up, aware of her nudity. She walks quickly across to Stewart and throws her arms around him.
‘You have to help me,’ she says with a slight sob. She’s looking up into his eyes now. She reaches up and kisses him passionately. His hands go round her back. One goes down to her bum. God, it’s so easy.
Zara pushes him away. ‘We have to protect you,’ she’s telling him, talking breathlessly in the passion of the moment and with her desire to help him. What a wonderful woman, even at a time like this. ‘There’s no evidence that you were here,’ she’s telling him. ‘You could get out and nobody would ever know. You don’t have to be dragged down by this.’ It’s so obviously what he wants to hear. He’s nodding along. He thinks she’s just wonderful. Thinking of him, instead of herself. What chance that he would ever meet a girl like this again? ‘You can go out the back,’ she’s saying to him. ‘Over the back wall, into the garden opposite. You go left and you’re onto the next street. You’ll be safe,’ she’s telling him, and they’re kissing again. His heart is racing. This is magnificent. He wants to stay with her, but he has to get away. He turns for the back door. ‘Wait,’ she says, ‘you can help me too.’
Stewart is standing in the hallway. Zara has run upstairs. She’s told him to wait there. He watches her run naked up the stairs. His heart is still racing so fast that he can hear it. There’s a dead body upstairs. The police are coming. He really needs to get out of there now, if he’s going to get out of there at all. Maybe he should just go. No. She wants him to help. Helping is the right thing to do. This gorgeous woman. This woman who had to suffer a life tied to a drunkard. This woman who’s just had to go through a traumatic experience. The least he can do is help her in some way.
Zara is upstairs. She opens her bedroom door and reaches for the light. She knows she’s going to see something horrible. She knows she has to brace herself. She’s seen terrible things before. You don’t spend this much time in this business and not see a few things. She saw Nate beat a man half to death once. In an alleyway. When Nate was finished, the man’s face didn’t look human at all. His head hadn’t even seemed the right shape. That guy had survived, though. Somehow. She knows she’s going to see Lewis dead. She knows it might be gruesome. She cares ab
out him. That’s why this is different. She does actually care.
It isn’t as bad as she expected. The smell isn’t of blood, but of urine. The sight isn’t bloody. A trickle runs from his chin, down his neck and disappears into his clothing and the bedding. It looks almost innocuous. If she hadn’t known that it was a bullet wound, if she hadn’t known that the killer was a professional, she might have thought he had survived. It looks like no more than a nick. There’s no movement. She should have heard breathing. Something. There’s a silence that makes her flesh creep. To be in the company of another person who makes absolutely no sound. The silence of death.
She shakes herself. No standing around. Don’t waste time. If the police arrive now, you’re in trouble. Naked in the room with the dead body. A lover downstairs. Drugs in the wardrobe. She walks briskly across and pulls open the wardrobe doors. The panel at the base inside the wardrobe pulls away in her hand. Underneath are two wads of cash, one bag of coke and a bag of pills that she can’t immediately identify. Lewis knew what they were. He kept little of his supply in the house, often nothing at all, but he’d been having trouble with a peddler of his and had been left with excess. She doesn’t know how much it’s all worth, but between the money and the drugs, it’s a few thousand. Zara has little else. She needs that money.
She puts it on the floor, and slides the panel back across the wardrobe. She picks up the cash and gear and gets out of the room, running now. Stewart is still at the bottom of the stairs, looking nervous. He sees that she’s carrying something. His eyes widen.
‘Please, Stewart, you have to help me,’ she’s saying to him. Pleading. Pathetic. ‘If they find this in the house, I’ll go to jail too. I need you to take this for me. Give me your address. I’ll come and collect it from you. Just store it, for a little while.’ She realizes she’s going on too long. Saying too much. He can be persuaded. She’s reaching up and kissing him again. ‘Give me your address. I’ll come round. I don’t want to lose you too.’
She’s beautiful. She’s vulnerable. She needs you. It’s a strangely wonderful thing, to be needed. Particularly to be needed by someone you want. She has suffered a lot at her man’s hands. It’s hardly a surprise to find that that drunk upstairs is a drug dealer as well. He must be a dealer. He couldn’t have bags of the stuff for his own use. Stewart’s drug use has been very limited, but he knows the difference between recreational amounts and a dealer’s amount. There’s cash too. A lot of cash. They look like twenty- and fifty-pound notes. There could be a couple of thousand there. Help her? She could name you, if you don’t. She wouldn’t, he’s sure. Much too good a woman. But she could.
‘Of course I’ll help you,’ he’s saying, reaching down and kissing her again. She’s handing him the bags and the cash, and he’s stuffing them into various pockets, out of view. She’s grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. He’s writing his address. Is it wise? He can trust her. Those eyes. He can trust them.
‘You have to go out the back,’ she’s saying, as soon as he hands her the piece of paper back.
‘Yes,’ he stammers. Thank heavens for her presence of mind, he’s thinking, as Zara leads him to the back door. If it wasn’t for her, Stewart would be there when the police arrive. She’s saving him. Saving herself too. She’s unlocking the back door.
‘Go straight ahead, over the back wall, turn left and you come out on the next street. Don’t draw attention to yourself.’
‘Yes,’ he’s nodding. He bends down. She kisses him again. He steps outside and she closes the door behind him.
21
They’re down the front path and across the road to the car. Calum drops into the driver’s seat. He’s turned the key in the ignition before George is even in beside him. They keep the balaclavas and gloves on. Keep covered until you’re out of sight of any possible witnesses. The car starts and they pull away. Still silent. Guns out of view. Round the corner at the bottom of the street. Out of view of the house, out of view of the witnesses. Balaclavas pulled quickly off. More good luck. They’ve passed no cars in the short journey from the house so far. Nobody has seen them on the road in balaclavas.
‘You have any trouble with him?’ George asks. His voice is hushed. Unnatural. He’s trying too hard to sound calm.
‘Couldn’t have been easier,’ Calum’s telling him. His voice sounds strained too. Trying to hide the fact that he doesn’t want to talk. Always uncomfortable talking after a job.
‘I didn’t have any trouble, either,’ George is telling him, having not been asked. ‘After I knocked the guy down, he stayed down. She didn’t move a muscle the whole time. Went quick. That was good. Don’t know what either of them would’ve done if you’d been up there longer. Good job, though. Real clean.’
‘So far,’ Calum says quietly, concentrating on driving.
‘Aye,’ George is nodding.
A few minutes later. Still driving. Calum watching the road, George talking.
‘Man, there was so much I wanted to say when we got in there. Jesus! There was so much goin’ through my mind when I saw them like that.’ George bursts out laughing. Calum smiles; one day he knows he’ll look back and laugh. Not tonight. The job is still too fresh. ‘The look on the boy’s face. That was priceless. Man, he wasn’t just scared, he was totally bummed. Did you see it, Cal? One second he’s inside this gorgeous girl, next minute he’s got a gun at his head. Christ! Poor bastard. Nobody should lose a shag like that. Can’t believe she was with that loser Winter in the first place. Gorgeous girl with low standards. I like that,’ George says, and he laughs loudly again. Calum is aware of the constant references to how attractive Zara Cope is, but now isn’t the time to comment.
It takes eleven minutes to get to the drop-off point. He’s not going to leave George outside his flat, that would be crazy. There’s a risk in leaving him a mile away. He has to get back home with his balaclava and gloves, dressed all in black. That could raise eyebrows. George is good at this sort of thing, though. He does this in his work a lot. A lot of the jobs he does – beating and intimidations – are done during the night. He gets there and gets home again without being picked up. He needs no advice on how to do it, and do it well. That’s why he’s more relaxed. For him, the effort is over. The drop-off point is in a rundown part of town, an old industrial area with little industry left. Calum pulls up at the side of the road.
They won’t see each other for some time. Certainly days, perhaps weeks. You keep your distance. You make sure people don’t put the two of you together. The police will have a vague description of body types. You keep yourselves apart. George opens the car door. It seems odd to leave without saying something, but what do you say?
‘That was a good job, pal. Give us a call when the heat dies down.’ He wants to say more, but he doubts Calum wants to hear more. Calum needs to change the car, get rid of the guns and get himself home before the sun comes up and people get out on the streets and notice him. Too much to do to hang around chatting.
‘You did well, I appreciate it,’ Calum is saying to him. It’s the first thing he’s said since they left the house that doesn’t sound strained. The first thing that sounds genuine. George nods, and shuts the door.
He leaves George walking along a strange street in the dark. A strange pang of camaraderie. In the wake of most jobs Calum wants nothing more than to go home and be alone. There’s a solitary streak in his nature that reigns after a job. Not tonight. Tonight he wanted to let George know that he appreciated the help. He felt a sudden urge to be in the company of someone. Anyone, really. Ageing, he decides. Pushing thirty, and suddenly wanting someone to spend time with. He has felt that outside of work. He has felt the desire to settle down, but has lived so entirely for his work that he’s resisted the urge. Nearly two years since he had a serious relationship – just casual flings with random women since then. It’s a curious feeling, as he turns the corner and George disappears from view in his mirror. He still feels his work is done more comfortably alone,
but he needs more people in his life.
There’s much still to be done. Precautions must be taken. It used to be much easier. The older guys will all admit it. A more difficult job now than it’s ever been. Used to be that you could dump things in bins at the side of the road. Not now. CCTV might pick you up. Bins aren’t simply emptied into the back of a lorry, and the garbage then tipped into landfill. Most of the bins at the side of the road will have their contents sent to recycling plants. Got to be careful with that. He decides to hang on to the balaclava for now. Not in the mood to find somewhere safe to ditch it, this late at night. His rubbish will be collected on Monday. A risk to hold on to it that long. A risk to keep all the clothes he has on for that long. He’s going to ditch them all. Maybe find something before then. See how the land lies.
For now, the priorities are the car and the guns. Guns first. The seller knows he’ll return. He doesn’t know when, but he knows. There’s a process. Supposedly safe. Calum doesn’t like it much, but it’s what the man uses. Has been using it for decades, gets away with it. When you’re finished with the guns and it’s not a good time to knock on the door, you go to the house and into the back garden. You go up to the shed, pull away a small section of side panelling and push the guns in. You put the panel back in place. Then you leave. He checks the shed every day. He gets the guns, presumably puts them back in his loft. You go and visit him in the daytime, a day or two later, and he pays you for the guns you’ve delivered. He doesn’t pay you what you paid him, but you get some of your money back. Calum doesn’t like the system. What if someone follows him and checks the shed? What if someone’s watching the runner’s house when he turns up?
The Necessary Death of Lewis Winter (Glasgow Trilogy) Page 9