Savage Night (14 page)

Even so, there were lights flashing at him from a Ford Escort van.

He tossed his last bottle of beer onto the pile and climbed out of the car. A bit unsteady on his feet. Drink'll do that. He walked over to the van pretty much in a straight line. Could always sober up when he had to.

Martin Milne reached across, opened the door. He didn't look like his dad.

Phil got in. "You know where Tommy is?"

"Patience," Martin said. Drank beer from a bottle. "We're going to Fraser's. Need to speak to your nephew, too."

Fair enough. Speak to Fraser about his dad. Phil hadn't said a word. Not cause he was scared of Smith, just didn't want Fraser phoning the cops. Couldn't trust the spoiled prick. Hadn't spoken to Mum either. She didn't want to. She was still pissed off with Tommy for buggering off. Two weeks was a long time, right enough. But it was fine with Phil. Meant he had less explaining to do.

Phil slotted home his seatbelt and stretched his legs. "Not scared I'll hurt you?" he asked Martin.

"You won't."

"You're sure of that?"

"Mum said you were cool," Martin said. "Not like your brother. I'm no threat to you. You're none to me. That right?"

Phil nodded. Martin had asked as much on the phone. Had Jean told him?

"Keep it a secret," she'd said.

"Why?" Phil had wanted to know.

"My husband's just been murdered. How do you think it'll look?"

She'd had a point. Phil never told anyone other than Tommy.

"How is your mum?" Phil asked.

"Good." Martin reached over the half-height steel partition behind the seats and produced a carrier bag that clanked in a promising kind of way. "Help yourself," he said.

In the bag were half a dozen bottles of beer. Way to go. "Don't mind if I do," Phil said. "You want another?"

"I'm fine."

Phil opened the bottle and took a sip. Tasted like shit. Foreign crap. Couple of sips later, though, it wasn't so bad. He raised the bottle to Martin.

Big guy, Milne's son. Could easily go to fat. He needed to take care of himself. Wore that cravat thing round his neck. Drove very carefully. Came across like a bit of a nonce.

But still, Phil wasn't looking forward to having to kill him.

He couldn't think of anything to say. He downed more beer. Needed it. He watched the scenery, the pretty lights out of focus. Felt good, though. He had a nice buzz going. Couple more long pulls. Yeah. Nice.

Tired. So fucking tired. Hadn't slept properly for ages. Not like him at all. Tommy was missing. His little brother was missing. Phil shouldn't have let that happen. "We going to be long?" he asked.

"Twenty minutes?"

Time passed.

Phil felt the beer bottle slide out of his fingers. It rolled over his leg. Dropped to the floor with a thud.

"Whoa!" Martin said.

Phil mumbled, "Just beer."

"You want to pick it up?"

He couldn't. No way. He was far too tired. "Just leave it, eh? Nearly empty, anyway."

Martin shrugged.

"I'll grab fifty winks." Phil smiled at him. "Wake me up when we get there, eh?"

***

"YOU ASLEEP?" MARTIN asked Phil Savage a couple of minutes later.

No sooner had he said he was going to catch some sleep than Savage had slumped towards Martin, landing with his head in his lap. Martin almost pranged the van, but managed to shove Savage's head out of the way so that the guy's plump cheek rested on his thigh and Martin was still able to reach the gearstick, even if he couldn't get at the handbrake. Since it was quite a drive out to Fraser Savage's house, it was probably a good thing that his uncle was out of sight.

"Wake up, you fat ginger bastard," Martin said.

No reply.

Sleepy Head had convinced Martin's mum that he'd had no involvement in his dad's death. But Martin wasn't so sure. Phil Savage was exactly the kind of man who would have killed Martin's dad. And even if he hadn't, the dirty fucker had slept with his mum.

Phil Savage deserved everything that was coming to him.

Martin had had two weeks to tell himself this over and over. Which was just as well. He'd needed it. But he was ready now. This was not something he was going to mess up, whatever Effie and her dad thought. Oh, they never said as much, but he knew they didn't think he had it in him.

"Well, I do," he told the unconscious man. "You wait and see."

He'd make Effie proud of him.

Fifteen minutes later, and the warm, wet patch on Martin's jeans was spreading towards his crotch. He'd been warned that GHB could induce some powerful reactions: spasms and vomiting weren't uncommon. But he'd managed to sneak a look and he was pretty sure Savage was drooling on him rather than spewing.

Still, he was glad when he pulled into Fraser's driveway. He drove round the back of the house. Out of sight, not cause of the neighbours—there weren't any—but to ensure Fraser didn't spot the van when he came back with Effie.

When Martin lifted Phil's face off his leg, the damp patch instantly cooled. Definitely drool, but he'd have to get rid of all his clothes afterwards, anyway, so whether it was sick or drool really wasn't a big deal. He had to stop flustering about shit that didn't matter.

He shook Savage. No response. Shook him harder. Nothing. He was hardly breathing. Had to look closely to detect the rise and fall of his chest. Could have been fooled into thinking he was already dead.

Martin lit a cigarette. The smoke hit the back of his throat, fired a dart of adrenalin into his brain.

Getting into the house would be no hassle. Park had given Martin a key. And Effie had got the number for the burglar alarm the night she'd gone back with Fraser. Martin hadn't liked that, but there was nothing he could do about it. He trusted her enough to know that nothing had happened, but still.

He'd take in the bag first—a few tools, dropcloth, plastic footwear, shit like that. Then he'd take in the tub. Could do it all in the bathroom, yeah, but the bathroom was upstairs and that would mean hefting Phil Savage all the way up there and then back down afterwards. Much more straightforward to do it in the sitting room. They'd worked it all out.

He had to stick to the plan. That was the only way he'd get through this.

Mr Park,
Andy
(couldn't get used to calling him that), wanted Fraser to see what they'd done to Phil. He wanted Fraser distracted so that Effie could do her thing. Which seemed pretty sadistic to Martin. He'd said so to Effie and she just said, "Yep, and?" And he wasn't sure, so he shrugged, and she said, "That's the whole point, Martin," and he nodded.

As for Martin's role in this, yeah, he'd considered waiting till they were in the house before spiking Savage's drink. He'd weighed up the pros and cons with Effie and decided there was less risk doing it this way. Doctor the beer before handing it over, then the only risk was that Savage was going to say no, but according to Effie he was a pisshead so that was unlikely. Or that he'd notice the beer was a bit flat. If he had, the plan had been to kill him in the car park. Wait till he was buckled in, then reach into the back, get the knife out of the bag, and chib him where he sat.

This way was better. Meant Martin hadn't had to drive around with a corpse for a passenger, which wouldn't have been any fun if he'd been pulled over. At least with Sleeping Beauty next to him, Martin could have claimed Savage was blutered and if the cops hadn't believed him, he could have invited them to check Savage's pulse and see for themselves.

Martin took a last drag of his cigarette. He couldn't put this off forever.

"I'll be back in a minute," he said to Phil.

Still no reply. Good.

Martin left Phil asleep in the van and walked round to the front of the house. He sucked in a lungful of air. Then he opened the door, found the alarm panel and keyed in the code.

Prelude To A Savage Night

The Savages And The Parks

PHIL TOOK THE torch from Tommy and shone it on Grant's motionless body, highlighting the gleaming patches where blood dripped through the young lad's shirt and trousers.

Tommy looked away, said, "Fuck," for what had to be the twentieth time. His stomach was only just holding out. Felt like a terrified rabbit was trapped inside him, trying to kick its way to freedom.

As far as Tommy could gather, Grant had rammed the door with his head, punching a hole in the glass large enough for his shoulders to fit through. Whatever his velocity, he was never going to make it through the doorway strapped to a dining chair. So he'd slumped down onto what appeared to be a horrifically sharp wedge of broken glass and was stuck there.

Tommy took a step back. "What're we going to do?"

Phil said, "I think we should fuck off."

"You what? We have to do something for him."

"Like?"

"Call an ambulance?"

"What about Smith?"

"Fuck Smith."

"He'll still be wanting his money."

"Fuck the money."

"We could go to the cemetery."

"How does that help Grant?"

"Forget Grant for a minute. Right now we have to think about us."

"Christ's sake, Phil. There's no time. Look at him."

"We'll make time."

Tommy breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. No good. Wasn't just his stomach, his heart was hammering away too. He took a few rapid breaths. "We have to take him to the hospital."

"You're not listening."

"Jesus, Phil, he's going to
—
"

Phil smacked Tommy hard on the cheek. "Calm the fuck down."

Tommy stared at his brother, cheek stinging. Said nothing for a while. Then: "Phil? What have we done?"

"It's okay."

Phil raised his hand and Tommy flinched, thinking he was going to get hit again.

But Phil lowered his hand onto Tommy's shoulder and squeezed. "It's a mess," he said. "But it'll be okay."

Tommy wasn't so sure.

"You all right, Tommy?"

"I don't know." His teeth were chattering. That fucking rabbit was still pounding away inside him. His skull felt like it was shrinking.

"You going to pass out?"

Tommy shook his head.

"Then you're okay. I need you to listen. Can you do that?"

"Yeah," Tommy said.

"Good. Now here's what I was thinking. Grant was going to go to the cemetery with the money, right? We can go instead."

"Okay," Tommy said.

"But how do we explain that to Smith?"

"You asking me? It's your suggestion."

"Maybe we don't need to. If Smith's waiting there, he might wonder why we're showing up instead of Grant. But we can just tell him Grant never turned up."

"Turned up where?"

"At the bus station."

"Grant was never supposed to turn up. Not as far as we were concerned. " Tommy felt as if somebody'd rubbed every inch of his skin with a cold cloth. He ignored it, forced himself to concentrate. "I was supposed to leave the money in the locker, drop off the key and go home." He shivered. "And that was the end of the story. You weren't supposed to be there. And we weren't supposed to know about Grant. And he's dying while we're standing here talking, Phil, for Christ's sake."

"I'm not thick. I know all that."

"So why're you suggesting such a dumb idea?"

Phil aimed the light at Tommy, made Tommy put his hand in front of his face.

"Cause I
was
there," Phil said, lowering the torch. "And we can just admit to it. What's Smith going to do?"