The Night the Rich Men Burned (41 page)

Arnie’s standing beside the car, hands on the roof. Take a deep breath. Think clearly. Would Glass do it? He’s come to think of him as such a likeable boy. Always thought he was a loser when he was pals with Oliver. Thought he was a bad influence and a waster. Got to know him and decided that he was a waster, but one that could be saved. A goof with a good heart. And he’s tricked himself into thinking of Glass that way ever since.

But he’s thinking back to that night when Glass turned up at the flat. Thinking of that conversation. He can be as likeable as he wants, but Alex Glass has killed before. Killed because he was in debt and that was his way of getting out. Essentially, killed for money. This isn’t money. This is something more powerful. He could do it again. Don’t kid yourself, he could do it again.

Arnie’s getting into the car. Heading for Peterkinney’s flat, cursing himself for not going there first. Because he’s a coward. That’s what he’s telling himself. He’s a coward, and if he wasn’t, he would have gone to Oliver’s flat first. Even just to warn him. But he warned him last night. Told him what had happened. That was a warning. Ah, stop trying to persuade yourself that you’ve done enough. Stop hoping that the worst-case scenario won’t play out. You’re going to get what you deserve, and you deserve the worst.

He’s turning onto the street where Oliver lives. No sign of drama at first, but as he pulls to a stop outside the building he can see something. People on the street. The front door to the building wide open. Arnie’s jumping out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition. Running to the steps at the front of the building. There are four or five respectable-looking people standing nervously around, some in their nightclothes. Not the sort of people to be seen in public in their nightclothes unless they had a very serious reason.

‘You shouldn’t go in there,’ one of them is shouting at Arnie as he bounds past. Which is when Arnie knows he should go in. Knows he should have been here hours ago.

He’s at the top of the stairs, struggling to catch his breath. He can see the door of Oliver’s flat, ajar. Something lying on the floor outside the door. Looks like a big envelope. He’s walking slowly towards the door when he hears the bang. A single gunshot, muffled and shocking. Arnie’s stopped. Standing in the corridor, waiting for something else to happen. Taking baby steps towards the front door. Pushing it open. Nothing in the corridor before him. Walking slowly forwards. Pushing open the door to the kitchen, praying that his instincts are wrong.

12

Glass’s legs are aching now. Walking through the streets with the Jiffy bag in his hand. Nobody cares. Nobody paying him attention. Just some young guy wandering the streets with a large padded envelope. Why should anyone care about that? There are stranger things to see in this city at this hour. Glass can walk without raising an eyebrow, even if he’s walking unsteadily. Weaving a little, on autopilot.

He bumped into a woman. She said something to him, shoved him sideways. He said nothing. Kept on walking. Doesn’t want to be stopped by her or by anyone. It has to be tonight. There won’t be a second chance. If he gets into an argument with someone, they’ll stop him. Maybe call the police, and then it’ll never happen. He’ll never be able to finish this. Never be able to give this the ending it needs.

Onto the right street. He knows it. Ewan Drummond told him where the building was, one night in a pub. Ewan seemed impressed. Been along here a few times in the last few months, just to see. See where his mate ended up. See what he left the rest of them behind for. Nice street. Nice buildings. Seems like it would have been worth leaving a lot behind for. The sort of place he always saw himself being in the future. Him and Ella. Maybe with kids. Both making good money in jobs they didn’t have to be ashamed of. With loads of friends. This was where he saw it ending up. It started with the fun lifestyle they had in the beginning. It ended with the sort of life you live on a street like this. It was the bit in the middle that he never figured out. How do you get from one to the other?

Walking up the steps to the front door. Names next to numbers next to buttons. O. Peterkinney. Pressing the buzzer and waiting. It’s dark now. Must be night-time. Wait a little longer than you usually would before you press the buzzer again.

A crackle. A voice. ‘Yes?’

Doesn’t know what to say. Hadn’t thought this far ahead. ‘It’s Alex,’ he’s saying in response.

There’s a long pause before Peterkinney’s voice comes back at him. ‘It’s late.’

‘I know. But . . . but we need to talk. We do, don’t we?’

There’s a pause. Another long one. Peterkinney is getting a lot of practice at these. ‘Come up,’ he’s saying, and the buzzer on the door goes.

Glass is pushing his way inside. Out of the cold and into the building. He doesn’t know where in the building the flat is. Walking along the short corridor and looking at the numbers on the doors. Neither of these. Turning back and going up the stairs. Slowly. By the time he’s reached the top of the stairs, Peterkinney has opened his front door. Standing in the corridor waiting for him, wondering what’s taking so long. The conversation with his grandfather was tough. This will be worse. Hurry it up, get it over.

Watching Glass walking the few steps from the top of the stairs and resisting the urge to shake his head. He looks a mess. Not just rough, but like he’s aged a decade. Okay, sure, he’s had a tough day or two. But there’s something else. He looks wasted. Like he’s staring just off-centre. He’s got a big padded envelope in his hand. Carrying something around. Probably something belonging to Ella. Pictures, Peterkinney’s betting. This is going to be one of those tearful look-at-what-you’ve-destroyed conversations. Glass has had a breakdown, Peterkinney’s sure.

‘Alex. You want to come in?’ Better to have this conversation away from the neighbours. There might be shouting. There’ll almost certainly be crying on Glass’s part. He looks halfway to tears already, and they haven’t started yet.

‘I didn’t want to do this, Oliver,’ Glass is saying and shaking his head.

Pitiful. ‘All right, okay. It’s been tough, I know. Why don’t you come in, we’ll talk about it.’ Doesn’t really want this wreck in his flat, but it’s the only option. He can talk to him. Maybe win him round. Make sure he leaves here with the right message to tell the police next time they’re talking to him. He’s smarter than Glass. He can get him under control.

But Glass isn’t moving to come into the flat. He’s still standing there, looking at Peterkinney. Then, like he’s just realized he still has it, looking down at the Jiffy bag. Holding it in front of him and stuffing his free hand inside. Great, here come the photos or some other trinket of the past. Something that’s supposed to provoke guilt and regret. Something that’s supposed to drag Peterkinney down to Glass’s emotional level.

Glass is pulling out the gun, holding it in front of himself for a second. Then dropping the Jiffy bag on the floor and pointing the gun at Peterkinney. Weird thing is, as soon as Peterkinney sees the gun, he’s thinking about the Jiffy bag. He knows that the gun must have come from Mark Garvey. He’s the one who uses those padded envelopes rather than a carrier bag. Takes him a few more seconds to realize that an emotional Glass is pointing a gun at him. He just doesn’t associate Glass with danger.

‘Come off it, Alex. Look, come in, we’ll talk, okay. This? This isn’t the right way to do this. Come in, okay. We can talk.’

Glass taking a step towards him, but not lowering the gun. He’s not following Peterkinney’s instructions; he’s pushing him backwards with the point of the gun. Trying to take control of the situation. Neither of them spotting the neighbour who’s emerged at the top of the stairs. He’s seen the gun. The Good Samaritan who’ll get everyone out of the building. Peterkinney’s stepping back, leaving the door open for Glass to follow him in. Still doesn’t feel dangerous. After all, it’s Alex Glass. His old mate. He’s harmless. He can be talked round.

‘Inside. Go on,’ Glass is saying, nodding in the direction of the first door he sees. The kitchen. Peterkinney’s going slowly. Glass trying to shove the front door shut behind him, but not closing it all the way. Draught excluder at the bottom always catches on the carpet. You have to give it a good shove, which Glass hasn’t. Doesn’t seem to care. Walking along the corridor, gun still raised.

Peterkinney’s walked backwards into the kitchen. Trying to work out how to get the gun away from Glass. Glass might be harmless, but the gun isn’t. Only takes one slip and this goes south fast. He’s obviously emotional. Went and got a gun and wants to show it off. Wants to scare Peterkinney. Fine, scare away. That’s a reasonable punishment for the suffering Glass is going through. But let’s get that gun out of emotional hands as quickly as possible.

‘I heard what happened to Ella,’ Peterkinney’s saying. ‘I really am sorry, Alex; I know how much she meant to you.’

That was supposed to calm things down, but it hasn’t. It’s gotten an angry reaction. A frown from Glass and the gun raised to point at Peterkinney’s head. Peterkinney’s taking an extra backward step. Raising both hands.

‘Okay, look, why don’t you tell me what you want to say. You have something to say, right? Well, you go ahead and say it.’

Glass hadn’t thought this far ahead. There was no plan to say something. Just to shoot. But he does want to talk. Suddenly, for no good reason, he wants to talk. He wants to get it out before it’s too late.

‘You don’t care what I have to say,’ Glass is saying. ‘You just want to delay me. You want to sucker me into giving up the gun. I’m not stupid, Oliver. I’m not one of your dumb muscle. You remember when we met? I was the one that led the way. You were all quiet. Riding along on my coat-tails. I was the one got you into this business. My own fault. But I got you in, because you didn’t have the guts to get yourself in. Have the guts to make money from other people’s effort, yeah. Never the guts to do it yourself. I did it. I was always the one with the guts.’

‘Okay. Yeah, you’re right. You are. Nobody’s saying you don’t have guts, Alex, you do.’

‘Shut up!’ Shouted this time. Fed up of hearing that smug voice coming back at him. Telling him what he wants to hear without any genuine meaning. ‘You lost it, Oliver. You got so far away from that guy you used to be. You ended up killing Ella.’

‘I didn’t kill her, Alex. Honestly, I didn’t.’

‘You did,’ Glass is saying sadly. Lowering the gun half an inch. ‘You killed her. I killed someone too. Yeah. Know what? It’s horrible. Worst thing you can do. It is. It’s horrible. And when you do it, you have to pay a price. That’s how it should be.’

He hasn’t lowered the gun much, but it’s enough to be a temptation. Enough that an impatient man would make a grab. Peterkinney’s taking two steps forwards. Looking to grab the gun, pull it away. Thinking that Glass is just too emotional to stop him. But he isn’t.

Glass was waiting for it. Knew that Peterkinney would be arrogant enough to try something like this. Thinking he could take the gun from Glass. Peterkinney’s made two steps, but not a third. One shot, and he’s falling backwards. It was loud. The shock of it has knocked Glass back a step. A tingling pain in his hands. Watching Peterkinney tumble to the kitchen floor. Holding his hands up to his chest. Breathing so loudly, trying to catch his breath.

Glass is walking towards him. You can see the blood spread out on his shirt, through his fingers. Glass is standing over him, looking down. Waiting for Peterkinney to look at him. Waiting to catch his eye. This matters. It matters because he can’t stop thinking of what was going through Ella’s mind when she died. The confusion and the fear. Knowing she couldn’t defend herself. Peterkinney has to feel that.

Takes the better part of ten seconds for Peterkinney to look up. To look him in the eye. Glass is pointing the gun again. This time at Peterkinney’s head. This time he pulls the trigger twice. There’s no movement from Peterkinney. No reaction. Silence and stillness.

Glass is ignoring the sound of the neighbours shouting in the street. Ignoring everything. He isn’t finished here. If he leaves this flat, he’ll never finish this. Not the way it ought to finish. He won’t move another step.

The horrible thing, what really gets to him now, is that this didn’t feel bad. Didn’t feel good either, but it didn’t feel as bad as killing Bavidge. This should be worse. His friend. But it isn’t. It’s nothing. Maybe because he knows the ending. Ella gone. Peterkinney gone. The end of the life he thought he would have. The only life he wanted to live. Raising the gun and awkwardly putting the end of the barrel in his mouth. A little fumble. Pulling the trigger.

Also by Malcolm Mackay

The Glasgow Trilogy

THE NECESSARY DEATH
OF LEWIS WINTER

HOW A GUNMAN
SAYS GOODBYE

THE SUDDEN ARRIVAL
OF VIOLENCE

First published 2014 by Mantle

This electronic edition published 2014 by Mantle
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
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