Savage Night (30 page)

They'd be fine.

Park watched Savage and waited. Savage wasn't giving anything away. But he couldn't keep it up forever. He was rocking to and fro. As if he was retarded. Maybe he'd lost it. "Jordan dead yet?"

He just sat there. Eyes dull. Mumbling.

Park had seen this kind of thing before. One of the guys on his landing in jail had taken a beating. A blanket party, they called it, where a bunch of guys threw a blanket over their victim's head so he couldn't recognise them, then pounded the shit out of him. The guy had resisted for a while, then slumped into submission and took what they threw at him without complaining. He wasn't unconscious. You could tell by the way he jerked when a fist or a foot made contact with him. But he didn't move. Didn't say anything. Didn't cry out. If they'd whipped the blanket off him, Park bet his face would have looked like a
nnnnngah
bloodstained version of Savage's.

They sat in silence, Park trying to read Savage's face. Concentrating so hard that when the doorbell rang, he nearly fell off his seat.

***

PARK'S FIRST THOUGHT: leave it. Whoever was at the door would go away.

Savage had turned away from the screen and was watching Park. Park didn't like it. His face itched under the ski mask.

Still, wouldn't last for long. The fucker outside would go away and Savage would turn his attention back to the screen. Park just had to wait. Be patient. He'd been doing that all night. It wasn't a problem.

Who knew, maybe the fucker had gone already.

Wishful thinking.

The bell went again. This time followed by a pounding.

And Savage was all wide-eyed and hyper now. No doubt thinking he was about to get rescued. Poor bastard.

Who the fuck was visiting Old Mrs Yardie at this time of night? It was midnight, near enough. Well, never mind what time of night it was. Point was, nobody visited old ladies this late at night and nobody knew Park was here, so there shouldn't be any visitors.

He was wondering what he should do when Savage ran a few feet in the direction of the door, yelling like he was plugged into an amplifier. How someone in such a poor state of health managed to make such a din, Park didn't know. Park took out his gun, shouted at him to shut up. The fucker kept up his racket, though. Not so sick or crazy after all. Malingering bastard.

Loose dust and crumbs of plaster fell onto the bed as Park grabbed Savage's pillow and stepped towards him. He'd reached the end of his chain, still a considerable distance from the open doorway, and was standing with his back to Park, shouting his lungs inside out. Park dropped the pillow over the fucker's face, pulled it tight at the back. Muffled the sounds coming out of Savage's mouth.

"Shut up," Park said. "Or suffocate."

Kept it up, the tosser. For a little while anyway. Then he started to panic when he realised he couldn't breathe. Hands flapped at Park. Having second thoughts now.

The doorbell rang again. The letterbox rattled. Then a voice called, distant but audible, "Anyone in there? Open up."

"Like fuck," Park said, quietly. They'd heard Savage, and that's why they'd shouted through the letterbox.

Savage tried another shout but the sound was a pitiful squawk.

"Stop fucking struggling," Park told him through clenched teeth.

The bell rang once more. A fist pounded on the door. Then a duller sound. Like maybe somebody was kicking it. Then silence.

Good. The fucker had had enough and was going home. At last.

Savage stopped struggling.

Park waited a little longer, then eased the pressure on the pillow.

Savage gulped in air, said, "Help," in a weak voice.

And then nothing.

At first all Park heard was Savage wheezing as he fought for breath. Then he heard voices. Coming from below, inside the house. Jesus Christ. There was more than one of the fuckers and they'd let themselves in the back door. Yes, he probably should have kept it locked but he'd had no reason to suspect company. Particularly the kind of company that invited itself in.

He dropped the pillow, letting Savage fall to his knees with a thump and a groan. Scuttled back to the bed, picked up the sword. Couldn't use it but he couldn't very well leave it there for Savage either. He'd take it with him. Make him look scarier than if he just had a gun.

Savage was croaking again. Got his breath back. "Help," he said. "Help. Please." Like some old crone who'd smoked unfiltered Woodbines all her life.

Park crouched beside him. Dug out the key for the closet chain. Unlocked it. Got an odd look and another, "Help" from Savage. Shoved the gun against his temple. Whispered, "Shut up or I swear I'll put a hole in you right this second."

Savage shut up.

"Now stay quiet and move out onto the landing." Savage crept towards the doorway, rubbing his wrist. Park tucked the pillow under an arm and followed him.

Park eased Savage onto the landing.

Below, someone said, "Probably kids."

And someone else said, "We should call for back up."

Shite.
Police.

"And look like a pair of pricks who can't handle a couple of neds? Kids having some fun. Found an empty house, nobody home, door open. That's all it is. Probably skedaddled out the back while we were hammering away round the front."

"Maybe," the other one said. "You want to check upstairs?"

The top of a black cap came into view. Another couple of feet and if they looked up they'd see Park and Savage. Park tucked the gun into his trousers. Didn't know where to put the sword. Looked at Savage. Offered the sword to him.

Savage took it in his good hand, no doubt wondering what the catch was.

Park had to move fast. He grabbed the pillow, pulled off his ski mask, threw it at Savage. Had to move
now
.

"Help," Park said, running along the landing. "Help." Louder as he hit the stairs. "He's got a sword, Officers." Down a few steps. "Up there." Pointing.

The coppers looked very different from one another. One was of retirement age. The other looked like he was about twelve.

"Hold on," the old one said. "Stop. Stop!"

Park stopped halfway down the stairs.

Savage said, "Don't listen—"

"He's got a sword," Park said. "Look!"

The policemen moved forward and craned their necks to look up at the landing, where Savage stood with the sword in his hand, dirty blanket tied round his neck like a cape.

"It's not how it looks," Savage said.

The cops glanced at each other, then the old cop said to Savage, "Drop the weapon."

"I'm not—"

"Drop it!"

"It's not—"

"Drop the weapon and move away! Now! Do it!"

The sword clattered onto the landing floor. Savage backed away, out of sight, into the bedroom. His voice carried through the open door. "It's not mine. It's not me you should—"

Definitely got his voice back now. "Thank God," Park said, walking down the stairs, doing his best to look scared. "I'm so happy to see you, Officers."

The young cop looked pretty scared himself, mind you. Bit of a fright seeing the madman up there with the sword, was it?

Park walked right up to the cops. No trouble at all.

Savage's voice came from upstairs: "It's him you want to be arresting. He's a fucking murdering bastard. Killed my son. Strangled him. Cut his head off in a tub."

Park smiled. "He's crazy."

"And my brother," Savage shouted.

"Sounds it," the older cop said. He looked at the pillow in Park's hand. "You want to tell us what's going on?"

"I can do better than that."

The younger cop looked at him.

"A demonstration." Park whisked the gun out from his waistband, pillow held in front of him, fired. Moved the pillow to the side, fired again.

The policemen dropped. Bam, bam. From the floor, the young one said, "Fucking hell. Fucking hell. You fucking psycho fuck."

Of course Park couldn't look to tell for sure, but he thought he'd nailed them both pretty good. Aimed for the midriff so at worst they'd be incapacitated. Couldn't hear the older one at all. And the younger one might be mouthing off but he didn't appear to be moving. Good. Although it sounded like the younger one might be capable of radioing for assistance. Which meant that Park had to get out of here right now. Either that or scrabble about for the walkie-talkie with his eyes shut. They kept those things on their shoulders, didn't they? Or…

"Report in," Park said. "Tell them there's nothing here."

"Bastard. You've killed—"

"And that you're going to go grab a cup of coffee."

Pause. Gasping. Then: "I don't drink coffee."

"So tell them you're going for a glass of lemonade. But don't chat. Keep it short."

The young cop did what he was told.

"Now throw the walkie-talkie away," Park said.

He did.

"Now tell me you love me."

"You what?"

Park aimed at the sound. Must have got it right cause after he pulled the trigger, the little fucker shut up.

Now what?

Savage.

Park took the stairs three at a time. Paused on the landing. Savage's bedroom door was closed, the sword nowhere to be seen. Presumably Savage was lurking behind the door, waiting to slice a chunk out of Park the moment he stepped inside. Park wondered if he could shoot him through the wall. It was only plaster. But tempting though it was, Park didn't want to kill him yet if he didn't have to. His punishment wasn't over.

So Park held his gun at the ready. Turned the door knob slowly. Pushed the door. Stayed where he was.

The door swung open, revealing an empty room, then started to close again.

No doubt at all where Savage was, then. Should Park shoot him? Hell, no. Park's only slight concern was the sword. But Savage was exhausted and had a gammy arm. If Park couldn't handle him in that condition, he deserved what was coming to him.

Park kicked the door hard. Dived into the room. Rolled over twice. Spun around to face Savage behind the door, gun pointed at his forehead.

But Savage wasn't there.

Park heard a noise behind him, turned to see Savage, all dirt-streaked and skinny and naked under the flapped-open blanket, swinging at him with the sword. Rolled out of the way just in time.

Sneaky bastard had been under the bed.

The blade stuck in the floor. Savage tried to pull it out one-handed, getting some healthier pink in his otherwise grey cheeks as he watched Park point the gun at him.

Used up all his strength in the blow. But, no, there he was putting in an extra bit of effort.

Wrenched it free.

"Well fucking done," Park said.

Savage was only a couple of feet away. Cock dangling practically in Park's face. Didn't seem to be so shy any more.

"Pull your blanket over it," Park said.

Savage raised the sword.

Park said, "Drop that or I'll shoot."

"Why should I care?"

"Think about Jordan."

"Nothing I can do."

"There is. Get to Fraser's in time. Save him. Be a hero. Should be easy for a man like you."

"You fucker." You could tell he was struggling to keep from swinging the sword at Park again.

Park said, "So much as twitch and I'll pull the trigger. So drop the fucking sword."

"Did you kill those policemen?"

"What do you think I was doing? Firing shots at the ceiling, hoping they'd run off and keep their mouths shut?"