Savage Night (35 page)

"You stay here," Savage said, head still fixed to the front.

She thought he was talking to her. She was mistaken.

He looked at Jordan. "Me and her will go inside."

"I don't want to stay here."

"You'll be safe."

"Dad."

"Please, Jordan."

"I don't want to. There's dead bodies in here."

"There're dead bodies everywhere, son."

"But, dad…"

"You're staying right here. Do as you're told."

"I'm scared."

"Don't be silly."

"I'm not being silly."

"Look, they're corpses. They can't harm you. It's the people who are alive you should be scared of."

Effie wondered why Savage didn't want the kid in the house.

"Jordan," Savage said. "I need your help." Here was her answer. "I need you to blast the horn if you see a police car coming this way. I can't do this without you."

"Why not?"

"I don't have time to explain. You have to stay here."

"And beep the horn?"

"Yeah. If you see a police car."

"Won't it be too late by then?"

"Maybe," Savage said. "But at least I can finish up what I'm doing."

"What're you going to do?"

Savage looked at Effie and she shivered. "Not something you need to worry about," he said to Jordan.

She'd stopped shaking for a while, hadn't noticed at the time, but noticed once it started again. The look on Savage's face was freaky as hell. The bastard was no doubt planning all sorts of evil shit. Not going to be content with shooting Martin. She still didn't believe he was dead. Somehow. Despite seeing the evidence. Still thought he'd get up and look at her and say her name.

Oh, God. There was that image again, the hole in his face, hitting her like a blow to the head.

"What's wrong with you?" Savage said.

"Let's get this done," she said.

He nodded.

"Dad," Jordan said. "I don't want to stay in the van."

"Okay," Savage said. "We'll all go. If the police come, they come."

***

TWO COPS. SHOT dead. One missing his shoes.

"You do this?" she said.

A pause. "Your dad," Savage replied.

Had they been alone, she was sure he'd have wanted to impress her, scare her, make her think he was ruthless and manly. But with the kid, he didn't want to seem like a bad daddy. He was a drunk trying to behave sober and fooling nobody.

Jordan put his hand over his mouth. He'd seen the bodies of his uncle and brother but they'd been all wrapped up. Now he was faced with the difference between butchering your own meat and buying it all neatly packaged in the supermarket. Far too much for an eleven-year-old.

Effie said, "Where now?"

"Upstairs," Savage said.

"Is he alive?" she asked.

"You might not believe me," Savage said, "but I really have no idea."

***

FOR A FRACTION of a second Park thought it wasn't so bad. Then it hit him. And it
was
bad. Couldn't have predicted just how bad. He'd broken bones before but he'd never felt anything like this.

Deep pain sliced through his arm. Not just his wrist, but the entire arm, from fingertip to shoulderblade. He yelled, let go of the sword. It didn't fall to the ground. Either it was stuck in the ground, or still stuck in his arm.
Jesus. Jesus fuck.

He breathed in. Yelled again. Legs kicked out. Toes curled. The fingers of his good hand squeezed into a fist, nails digging into his palm. Tendons tight enough to snap. Eyes watering. Moist breath against the cloth over his head. Gasps. Heartbeat going crazy.
Ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom.

Every nerve in his body wrapped in a tiny parcel of boiling tar.

Had to tighten
the ligature round his arm, stop the bleeding. But he'd dropped the ends when he'd opened his mouth to scream. Had to fumble around, try to find them. Couldn't concentrate on that now.

The pain.
Jesus Christ.
Had to control that first. How he fucking wished he could take this back. He'd gladly sit here, wait for the police to arrive. Nothing wrong with that. The fuck had he been thinking?

Focus. Had he done the job? After all this, it'd be a shitter if he'd fucked it up. Needed to have cut all the way through. Couldn't tell, though, without being prepared to pull the sword out. Couldn't face that. Not yet. Just had to sit here. For a minute. Not pass out. Stay awake.
For Christ's sake, stay awake.

Pulsing. The pain was pulsing now. Waves swelling. Floating on it. Getting carried along by it. Wondering if he was in shock. Probably.

Stuttered breaths. Sobbing. Eyes wet. Drooling. Something hot and warm trickling down his wrist, licking his fingers.

He could feel that, the warmth on his fingers. His fingers shouldn't be able to feel anything. Did that mean the blade hadn't gone clean through? Shit. Or was he imagining it? Tried to move his index finger. Thought he'd succeeded. But maybe he had a phantom hand. Always hearing about people getting limbs lopped off and their brains not accepting the loss. Maybe his brain wasn't accepting that his fingers were gone. Fuck. He needed to whip the blindfold off and see exactly what he'd done to himself. But of course he couldn't do that.

Shaking now like he had a vibrator up his arse. Moaning like a prison whore. Crying, for fuck's sake.

Okay. He could try to move his arm. If he'd cut clean through, he ought to be able to pull it away. Of course, if he hadn't, this was going to hurt much worse than it did already.

"Fuuuuuuuuuck."

Nothing.

His brain was blocking any signals to his arm that might cause more pain. Couldn't move.

Fuck his brain. He'd kick the shit out of it, bastard thing.

Well, his brain wasn't making any decisions for his other arm. Luckily, it was still thinking for itself. He reached for the sword handle. Palm cold and sticky with sweat. Pull the blade out now. Had to. Then slip the cuff off and he'd be free.

Treat this like tearing off a plaster. Do it quickly. Short and sharp.

Yeah.

Held his breath and—
motherfuckingcuntbastard—
breathed out again.

No chance, then. Maybe he'd try it the other way. He lifted the handle slightly, testing the blade. Didn't feel any new pain, felt no resistance, no give. Moved it again, a little further, and liquid fire spewed through his veins.

He yelled until he was out of breath. Filled his lungs. Yelled again. Yelled until his throat hurt. Must be delirious cause he heard Effie say, "Dad." Yeah. He was losing it. Going to pass out. The blade was stuck in his wrist. He wasn't going to be able to shift it. So he was a dead man. Might as well just close his eyes, let the greyness take him.

Heard her voice again, closer: "Dad. Dad?"

Couldn't help himself. "Effie?" Crazy, talking to her. But then he'd talked to her when he was in prison. At night. In his cell when he couldn't sleep. Sure, he'd talked to her. He'd talked to Grant, too. Some of the cons prayed to God. But Park was a family man. And he was head of the family. God didn't get a look in.

Savage's voice: "Cover your eyes, Jordan."

Park heard footsteps moving towards him. Urgent: "Dad?"

"Effie?" Took a lot of effort to say her name. Wanted to let go. Just say fuck it to everything. Shut down.

"We have to get him to a doctor," she said.

"Oh," Savage said. "Now that's funny."

"He'll lose his hand if we—"

"And Phil and Fraser? What about their hands?"

A pause.

"Jordan?"

"I'm going to throw up, Dad."

"Well, I did tell you to stay in the van."

***

JORDAN LEFT THE bedroom. Best thing for him, Tommy thought. Pretty horrible sight for a kid to see. Naked bloke hacking his wrist off with a sword. Not much better out on the landing, mind you, where Jordan would be staring down at a pair of bullet-riddled cops. At least they had their clothes on and weren't spurting blood from any of their bodyparts.

There was no end to Park's sadism.

Tommy looked at the sorry fuck lying there, his daughter prodding around the cut, testing the blade, wondering no doubt if it was safe to pull it out. Wondering, too, no doubt, if she could attack Tommy with it. In her sweet little fucked-up head, going:
stop the bleeding or kill Savage?
Well, that was her dilemma and only she knew the answer. Tommy had his gun ready. He was prepared. If she attacked him, it'd be the last thing she ever did.

His finger was itching.

"You watching, Grant?" Tommy asked, fire burning in his gut. "I hope so."

***

EFFIE HAD SEEN enough blood tonight to be able to examine the wound without feeling queasy. She spoke to her dad. "Blade's gone about halfway through. Looks like the bone stopped it."

He moaned at her.

"By the way, I'm fucking mad at you," she said.

"For?"

"You know. Sending Jordan to Fraser's."

"I didn't."

"Don't start." She grabbed the ends of the piece of cloth he'd wrapped round his wrist. "I'm going to tie you off." They were warm and wet. She didn't want to know where they'd been. She pulled them tight, ignoring his cry. Tied a knot. Ought to be enough to stop the bleeding. For now.

She didn't want to tell him what had happened to Martin. He could find out later. When he was well. But for that to happen, she first had to kill Savage.

***

TOMMY WONDERED WHAT she was waiting for. She'd applied the tourniquet. All she had to do was—

***

ALL IN ONE motion. The blade came out more easily then she'd thought. Her dad roared as she swung the sword towards Savage, rotating from the hips, putting everything into it.

Something massive kicked her in the chest.

***

TOMMY EXPECTED THE shot to knock her back a couple of feet but she collapsed where she stood. Lay on the floor on her back next to her dad, a blossoming red stain above her left breast.

***

PARK GUESSED THE worst. "Effie?"

***

"HOW DOES IT feel?" Tommy asked him.

***

PARK RIPPED THE blindfold off his head. Determined not to look anywhere else. Blinked at Savage. Fucker had a gun. Thought he was in charge.

Fuck him. He wasn't even wearing his own clothes.

Park swung at him with his good hand.

Missed by a couple of feet.

If only he'd managed to hack through the bone, he'd have been rid of the cuff, free to get in close and beat Savage to a pulp.

One thing he could do, though.

He scrambled around on the floor, trying to locate the sword. Effie had pulled it out. It had to be close. Had to be. If only he could take a glance. Enough to locate it. No more. If he didn't focus on the blood, he'd be okay.

He had no choice. Take the chance or die. No contest.

Okay.

He looked.

Effie lay still. Hair fallen over her face.

He looked down. Her hands lay palm up, fingers loosely curled around the sword.

He could get it. Awkward, but he could do it.

Oh, you stupid bastard.