Dead I Well May Be (43 page)

At this point, you have to ask yourself, was there no indecision? And
no, I can honestly say there was none. If there had been, it would have been before I killed Sunshine. Not here with Darkey. Not now, not tonight.

I stood up, braced to see if he’d heard me. But he wasn’t hearing anything. With the radio check done, it would be up to seventeen minutes before anyone would get suspicious. Plenty of time. He was wearing a parka with an enormous hood, so big in fact that it restricted his field of vision to about ninety degrees in front of him. He was walking and muttering and carrying a .38 revolver in a thick woolen-gloved hand. So thick it would make finding the trigger difficult. I mean, I ask you. He turned and the moonlight caught him. I was a bit surprised to see that it was our old chum David Marley from way back when. He’d put on weight. He was humming a Chieftains song and banging the gun rhythmically against his leg. He turned away. I crept up behind him and shoved the screwdriver into his throat at the same time as a knee went into his back and my left hand went over his mouth. I left the screwdriver in and with my right hand I removed the gun from his grip. I had it before he even hit the snow, stone dead. I fell on top of him and we lay for a moment. Blood trickling over the snow. He gurgled for a while, and I removed the screwdriver. I looked at his gun and checked it for cleanliness: in a pinch it would do as an extra. I put it in safety mode and slipped it in my side pocket. I looked at my watch. Fifteen minutes to find and kill the other guard. With luck there wouldn’t be a shift change and I could let the other two guards sleep and live. With luck.

I had no glass cutters and I was no alarm guy. I’d searched Marley for keys, but I knew he wouldn’t have any. The indoor man let the outdoor man in and out. My plan was to go in the garage door. If the garage door was alarmed I’d have to abort, but I didn’t think it was. It wasn’t an automatic door, and I’d seen them come in late when the house was alarmed, and when the garage had opened, nothing had gone off; but another time, when they’d opened the house door first: flashing lights,
whoop, whoop, whoop
. But still, that wasn’t exactly proof, and if wishes were horses we’d all have a ride, as the Scotch boy used to say. But what else could I do? It was the garage door or nothing. I slipped around the side of the house. I found the garage door and
jemmied it up with the screwdriver. It was aluminum and bent easy, and I made just enough space to slide underneath. I was so busy doing stuff I didn’t notice that the alarm hadn’t gone off until I was in.

The garage was connected to the house by a door that not only was not locked but did not lock. Hubris, if you ask me. I went inside through a room that contained the washer and dryer. Little night lights everywhere, and I saw that I wouldn’t need the flashlight. I crouched on the floor and listened, but it was quiet. It was the night before Christmas and all through the house, nothing was stirring, not even Darkey or Mouse.

I walked into a large, airy kitchen with marble counters and many appliances. I looked for a dog bowl or cat bowl or any evidence of annoying pets, but I didn’t see anything. I walked into a hall and listened again. The floor was carpeted, the central heating was quietly humming, faint sounds were coming from a room at the end of the hall to the right. I walked down there and listened. Someone was watching TV. The other guard? I spent a minute turning the handle and then I opened the door very slightly. The guard was in front of a small TV set. Jimmy Stewart on the screen. The guard engrossed. His back was to me, turned three quarters away from the door, which made me think that Providence was on my team, for otherwise I would have had to rush him and stab the fucker in the heart or neck, making no end of commotion. I slipped quickly over and put a hand on his mouth and the barrel of the pistol in his ear.

Who? he managed, before I silenced him by pressing in with hand and gun.

Father fucking Christmas. Now hear me. You don’t have to die. You don’t have to die, but if you make one sound or one move that upsets me, I will blow your brains out. Do you understand? If you do, do not nod your head; I don’t want you to move at all, in case I blow your fucking head off by mistake. I’m a jumpy fuck, you see. So instead, indicate that you understand by making a gentle humming sound once.

A frog was in his throat, but he managed a hum. I kept the gun in his ear and went round to take a sideways look at him. A ginger bap, freckly, young. I didn’t want to kill him. He was wearing a T-shirt and baggy jeans. There was a duffle coat on a desk beside him. I frisked
him and he was clean. I took the duct tape out of my pocket and told him to take his shoes off very slowly using only his left hand. Then I told him to duct-tape his ankles together with both hands, but in slow motion. He was sweating and clumsy, but he did it. His back was to me the whole time, but I didn’t particularly care if he saw me or not. On the whole, I suppose I preferred not.

What’s your name? Whisper an answer, I said softly.

J-John.

Ok, John, now listen to me. I’m going to wrap your wrists in duct tape, behind your back. I will need both hands to do this for about one minute. Therefore, I will need to put the gun down; however, it will be beside me and if you make any sudden moves at all, instinctively I will grab the gun and shoot you in the head. Do you understand? Hum if you understand.

He hummed. He put out his wrists, and I wrapped them in duct tape behind his back. I picked up the gun again and blindfolded him with the tape. I tilted the chair.

John, I’m going to roll you on the floor; I’m going to do it gently so as not to make any noise. I need you to go limp and cooperate, ok? You can nod now.

He nodded and I laid him on the floor.

Now, John, listen to me carefully. I have business upstairs and there need not be any unnecessary deaths. I will, however, make sure that I fucking kill you if you raise an alarm or make any move at all from this position. Can I trust you not to be stupid? Nod your head if I can. He again nodded.

Good, now first tell me in a whisper when the next shift change is supposed to be.

H-half an-an hour.

Ok, good. You’re doing well. Do you wake them?

Yes.

Tell me in whispers where exactly Darkey and Bridget’s room is and where exactly the other two guards are sleeping. There are only two other guards in the house, aren’t there?

Yes.

He went on and told me where his mates were sleeping and where
Darkey and Bridget were. I gagged him with tape and enjoined him not to move one inch from this cozy spot on the floor. I left the TV on quietly and went outside the room. The stairs were carpeted and curved round in a thirty-degree angle. You could see the whole house from here and it looked quite nice, a bit busy and overdone, but that would be Darkey, not Bridget. I went upstairs and paused at the top. This was the only moment of indecision I had the whole night. Darkey’s room was down the landing to the left. The guards’ room was the second door on the right. They had bunk beds and slept in the one room, John had said. (Bunk beds indeed, Darkey being a tight bastard, no doubt.) Now the smart thing would have been to go in to the guards’ room and cut their throats. But I’d already made a wee promise to myself in the outside that if I could, I’d let them sleep and live. I mean, I thought I didn’t care much about finesse, but clearly I did. Even so, just because I said I wouldn’t kill them didn’t mean I’d jeopardize the whole mission over it. Jesus. What could I do? I couldn’t very well have them wandering about the house while I was still in the process of executing their employer. Hmmm. I hesitated. I wondered what would happen if I went into their room and gave them each a hefty blow on the head with the blunt end of the screwdriver. It sounded so plausible, but wouldn’t the first blow wake the other guard?

All this went through my brain in a second, and I decided that I would take the bloody chance. It was stupid, but you have to make a decision one way or the other.

I inched up to the guards’ room and spent another minute opening the door. There were bunk beds on opposite sides of a small room. The guards were both asleep in the one to my left, one man in the upper bunk and the other in the lower, which again was lucky.

Here goes, I thought, crept over to the lower bunk, and clubbed the guard behind the ear with my screwdriver. I didn’t wait to see if it bunned him; instead, I got up immediately and thumped the other guy. I pulled out the Stanley knife to cut their throats, but it wasn’t necessary. They were both out of it. I found a lamp, turned it on, and worked fast. I hog-tied both of them with duct tape, blindfolded, gagged them, and stuck them in the recovery position. It was hard
because they were unconscious, but it was all done in under ten minutes. I was proud of myself. I hadn’t topped them. A regular Mother Teresa, I was. Sparing the innocent.

I walked down the corridor to Darkeys bedroom. I opened the door and made sure there were two persons in the bed. Yes. I felt around for weapons, got one, listened for weird sounds. Nothing. Darkey snoring, Bridget snuffling. It was all as smooth as silk.

I turned the bedside light on.

Bridget, her hair down, beautiful. A rock on her left hand that could have sunk the
QE2
. Darkey, sleeping soundly, tanned, relaxed.

Bridget woke first, looked at me, screamed.

Darkey woke and reached under his pillow. I’d already removed his piece and was pointing it at him. Tight little .38, do the job.

You’re alive, Bridget gasped.

I’m alive, I said.

Bridget and Darkey were wearing matching bunny pajamas. For some reason, I’d thought he’d make her sleep in a vulgar low-cut negligee. Instead, this was domestic and cute. Darkey wasn’t a bad lad really, I thought.

Bridget seemed to be on the verge of passing out. She threw up in her mouth instead. Darkey was looking at me with no fear whatsoever. Like I say, not a bad lad.

You killed Sunshine, he said. It wasn’t a question, just a confirmation of fact.

I nodded.

And Bob, too? he asked. This time, he really didn’t know.

Aye, Bob, too, I said.

Jesus, he said, still a ways away from being afeared.

Why? asked Bridget. What’s going on? Please. What’s going on, honey?

I realized she wasn’t talking to me.

Darkey looked at me and looked at her. He read the expression on my face. His number was up.

Sweetie, Michael and I have some business to discuss. I think it would be best if you went into the bathroom for a moment, Darkey said with admirable calm.

What’s going on? she demanded, hysterical.

I’d wanted to talk to her, to let her know what kind of a man Darkey was. To let her know about Andy, Fergal, and Scotchy. To tell her what I’d been through. To tell her that he was a fucking monster. Subhuman. That he deserved to die, that she was better off without him. Maybe even better with me. I wanted to make a little speech and tell her everything, to tell her that I was the strong right arm of the Lord’s vengeance. But once again, Darkey was correct. She didn’t need to see it. It would be better this way.

Darkey’s right, Bridget. We have to discuss a few things, just go to the bathroom, there’s things you can’t hear.

You’re not going to kill him? There’s four men in the house, all of them armed, you’d never get away with it. They’d kill you, Michael, kill you. My God, you’re alive. How? You survived the … Oh God, we didn’t know, Jesus. Is this about money? Michael, promise me you won’t do anything rash. Promise me.

She was looking at me. But she was clinging to him.

Promise me, give me your word, everything can be sorted out, she said. You won’t do anything rash. Promise, say it.

I promise, I said.

Darkey hadn’t taken his eyes off me.

I’ll explain it all later, Bridget, Darkey said. Please, love, do me a favor, just go to the bathroom for a minute. Just for a minute.

But why? she said, sitting up, leaning forward now, almost touching me.

It’s business, Darkey said firmly. Now go.

I looked at him with wonder. He looked back at me, his face a study in composure and concentration. What a man. He was old school. He was Darkey fucking White.

Why does he need a gun? We’re all friends. Michael, I’m so glad you’re alive. Oh my God, Bridget was saying.

Darkey turned and faced her. He could see that I was losing my patience and he wanted to spare her the scene.

Go to the bathroom, for two minutes. Michael and I have to talk business, he said, loudly, forcefully.

She turned to me.

Why do you need the gun, Michael? she asked.

Those eyes. Jesus. How could you lie to her? How could you storm
in here, upset her? How could you even think about hurting her or those whom she loved? It was impossible.

I don’t trust Darkey, that’s all, I said, and gave her a smile. I think it reassured her a little.

And you won’t hurt him? she asked.

Me hurt him? I asked.

Yes, she said, soft, anxious.

Her hands folded themselves in front of her, as if in prayer. It unsettled me, rattled me; my weapon hand twitched.

I won’t touch him, I said.

She let go her hands and took a knot out of her hair.

Darkey breathed in and out.

I remembered to breathe too.

Ok, she said in a monotone. She believed me. She thought it was a misunderstanding, she wanted it all to go away. Tomorrow was Christmas, this was some kind of bad dream.

She looked at Darkey. Darkey nodded.

Two minutes, he said. The bathroom.

She blinked once, got up, and went to the en suite bathroom, closing the door behind her.

She’s gone. You might as well say your piece and get it over, Darkey said in a whisper. I’m ready.

You’re a hard man, Darkey, I said, trying to keep the admiration out of my voice.

Yeah, so are you.

Do you want to know why? I asked him, itching to spill the whole fucking story, but realizing now that I couldn’t.

I suppose I do, he said, still quite cool. If I could be half as together when my time came, I’d be all right. I sat down on the edge of his bed.