Savage Night (12 page)

"All the homes are full," she said when he returned. She'd heard him at the door and came to meet him.

"All of them?" He closed the door.

"The nice ones, yeah. There are a couple with vacancies but I got the impression they'd be every bit as bad as McCracken's."

"Bugger that." He shrugged out of his coat. "No point taking her out of that shithole to put her into another."

"Got one that'll take her two months from now."

Jesus. "That long?"

"Best I could do. And they'll need a month's deposit and a month in advance."

He looked for somewhere to hang his coat. The pegs on the back of the door were all used. "Got any good news?"

"I'm just telling you what I found out."

"I know. Sorry. I'm pissed off, though."

"Look, the deposit and all won't be a problem once Savage pays up. So if we look on the bright side, at least this gives us plenty of time to plan how we're going to do this."

"I suppose." He tried to hook his coat on one of the pegs. Couldn't get it to stay there. Tried another. "One thing, though, Effie." He tried the last peg. His coat hung there for a second, then slipped off and slumped onto the floor.

"Yeah?"

He picked up his coat, held it to his chest. "Me and Mum can't stay with you till then. It's just not practical."

She shuffled her feet, head bowed. "You think Martin doesn't want you here?"

He put his coat back on, fighting to get his right arm in the sleeve. "We're already on top of each other. It was crammed when I was staying on my own. But with Mum here too, it's just not going to be workable. Two months of this and we'll be at each other's throats. It's nothing to do with Martin."

She still wouldn't look at him. "You'll take Mum somewhere, get out of our hair. That it?"

The coat was on. He zipped it up. "You think I won't cope?"

Now she looked up at him, eyes big and fiery.

"Effie, don't be mad at me."

"I'm not, Dad. It's just a bit of a shock. You sure you'll cope with Mum?"

He thought about what he'd have to deal with. He'd dealt with the worst of it already. He'd have to cook for her, medicate her, make sure she got some exercise. No problem. Only thing that bothered him was that Liz might fall over, cut herself. He'd be no use to her then.

And then he had a thought that instantly dried out his mouth. He said, "What if she has a period?"

Effie laughed. "She stopped having those while you were inside."

"Then I'll be fine." He put his hands in his pockets. "I've made up my mind."

She nodded, knew him well enough not to try to persuade him otherwise. "Dad, we'll expect to see you and Mum a lot. You have to promise. If you need a break, bring her round here."

"Yeah," he said. "Course."

"Any idea where you're going to go?"

He was thinking, he'd always got along just fine with Yardie's mum and with her son back inside, there was a chance she might like some company again. "If it's okay to borrow the car," he said, "I'll take Liz for a spin, go check something out right now."

***

OLD MRS YARDIE was delighted to see him. She ushered him into the house, all smiles and slow-walking for Liz. Not that Old Mrs Yardie galloped along at a great speed herself, but Liz did like to take her time.

Mrs Yardie led them through the big hallway into her sitting room. "You should have said you were coming," she said. "I'd have made pancakes. And I've no coffee. Will tea do?"

"No need to bother," Park said.

"It's no bother." She stood there staring at him.

"Lovely," he said.

She went off to make the tea.

"Nice, eh?" Park said to Liz, leading her to a chair.

Flecks of spit gathered between her lips. She sat down.

"You'll like it here," he said.

When Mrs Yardie returned with the tea—pot, milk jug, sugar bowl, fancy cups, all on a brass tray—Park got to his feet to take it from her.

"I can manage," she said.

Park took it anyway and placed it on the coffee table.

Old Mrs Yardie took a seat on the settee, leaned forward. "How does she like it?" she asked, nodding towards Liz.

Park wasn't sure. He never made tea. Liz never drank it. "White, no sugar," he said.

"And yourself?

"Same," he said. Then, "No, I'll have some sugar, too."

They chatted for a while, Park commiserating with her on Yardie's return to jail. She said he deserved it, didn't know where he'd got the drug habit from. And that he was in her bad books from the day he'd asked Park to leave.

She said, "If I hadn't been away at Maud's at the time—"

"What would you think about me moving back in?"

She looked at him, cup frozen mid-route to her lips.

"Just temporary," he said. "Couple of months. No more than that."

"Well," she said. "Well, I have your old room upstairs still. I don't see why not."

"And Liz," he said.

Old Mrs Yardie turned to look at her. "Goodness," she said. "She's no trouble. Such an angel."

"Isn't she?" Park said. "Is that a yes, then? We'll pay twice what I was paying before."

"Oh, no need," Old Mrs Yardie said. "Just pay the same. You keep your money. You young folks need it."

Park stood up, bent over and took her hand. "I wish I could do something for you," he said. "To say thanks."

"Maybe you can. I was just thinking … If you didn't mind looking after the house for two or three weeks, I could go see Maud down in Kent. She's not well at the moment. But I hate to leave the house empty."

"Just let us know when," Park said. "We'd be delighted."

"As long as you promise you won't throw any wild parties."

***

FOUR DAYS LATER and they'd settled into their new home. Old Mrs Yardie was off visiting her sick sister. Took the train, left her car keys with Park. Which made it easy for Park to take Liz with him when he went to Florida Al's.

Park had never been to the tanning studio. In fact, he'd never been to any tanning studio. He was happy with his skin the way it was.

The guy behind the desk, blonde hair streaked blue, said, "Can I help you?"

He didn't look Spanish and he didn't sound Spanish. Park said, "Where's Carlos?"

"Out back, smoking." He motioned Park to the rear of the salon. "Door's open."

"My wife needs somewhere to sit," Park said.

"Only got the seat I'm sitting on," the guy said.

"That'll do," Park told him.

In the alleyway at the back, a small bronzed guy, looked about twenty, was taking a long drag on a cigarette. "Who are you?" the guy said.

"You Carlos?"

"I ask first."

"You're too young to be Carlos."

He smiled. "I have the face of the youth."

"My son's a bit like that," Park said. "Not the one you worked with. The other one, his little brother."

"And you are?"

"The Expurgator's dad."

Carlos didn't react. "What do you want?"

"I want your gun."

The Spaniard stared at him. "I do not know no Expurgator."

"Name's Park."

Carlos shrugged. "I know no Park either." He paused. "Only where I walk my dog." He grinned.

Park smacked the cigarette out of his hand. Grabbed his throat, pinned him against the wall. "I'll pay you," he said. "Cash." He squeezed. "Lots of it." He squeezed harder. "Just give me your gun."

Blame Effie. She'd pointed him in the right direction.

She'd said, "You should get yourself a weapon, Dad."

And he'd said, "Where would I get one of them?"

"Carlos has a gun."

"But I can't use a gun," he'd told her.

"You know that. But the guy you're pointing it at won't."

"And why would Carlos give me his gun?"

"Cause you're Richie's dad. And cause you'll pay him."

"Don't have any money, Eff."

"But you will. Lots of it. You can pay him then."

"You know," he said. "You've got a real head for business."

The Spaniard whimpered. Made gagging noises. His voicebox vibrated beneath Park's fingers.

Carlos didn't look as if he was going to be a threat. Too busy choking.

Park let go and Carlos doubled over, coughing like a sick dog.

Park waited patiently, although he was tempted to knee him in the chin to help straighten him up again.

Eventually Carlos unbent of his own accord. His eyes were bloodshot.

Park said, "Two grand."

"You can't offer
el
dinero
," the Spaniard wheezed. "I am not who you think I am. This Expurgator, he is not someone I know.
Dinero
or no
dinero
."

"Three."

Carlos paused. "Why you think I have a gun?"

"I spoke to my son." A lie. "Richie said you'd let me borrow it."

"Four." His voice sounded just fine.

"Three five."

"
Si
." The little man put his hand behind his back, reappeared with a gun. "I could have shot you when you were strangling me."

"But you didn't." Park wrapped his fingers round the gun, eased it out of the Spaniard's grip. "You need balls to shoot someone."

Carlos smiled. His lips trembled under the strain of holding it. "Money?"

Park aimed the gun at the Spaniard's forehead. Kept his arm steady. "And now I can shoot
you
."

"But you won't." Carlos was sweating.

"You saying I don't have balls?"

Carlos said, "Three thousand five hundred. Cash. Now."

"Like fuck."

"Is my gun. We had a deal."

"Your gun, eh?" Park lowered it. "Where's your receipt?"

"I have no receipt. I don't buy no Glock in a supermarket."

"I think I'll keep it, then."

"But is mine. You don't understand. Is a Glock. Is very difficult to find a Glock in this city."

"Yeah?" Park walked away. Stopped. Said, "Tell you what, I'll give it back to you when I'm done."

"If you don't," Carlos reached into his pocket and took out his cigarettes, "I will send someone to fetch it."

Savage Night

8:30 PM

Vehicles

PHIL PAUSED AT the traffic lights. Polished off his beer, tossed the bottle.
Clink
. A big pile rattled around on the passenger seat, dripping onto the upholstery. He didn't give a shit, though. Grabbed the last one and cracked it open.

The car lurched forward.
Shit
. He wrenched the handbrake on. Fine. No problem. He shouldn't be driving, so he was told. Well, fuck 'em, he'd drive if he wanted. His head wasn't throbbing, not at the moment.

He'd taken a real whack that night, though. Hell of a lump.