To Die For (25 page)

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you listening to yourself? One second you say she killed them, the next you say she hid from the gunmen.’

‘Beckett, Walsh and Jenson were killed where they sat. They hadn’t had time to react because they didn’t know the killers were in the house. There was only one way for that to happen – somebody else let the killers in. She was the only other one in the place. She opened the door for the killers, then went upstairs to hide.’

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

‘She’s just a girl, man.’

‘Beckett had a thing for girls. It was easy to plant her on them.’

‘But why? Why would she do it?’

‘Because she had no choice. Ever noticed how she talks about her family in the past tense, except for her sister?’ I looked up at the girl. ‘It’s your sister they’ve got, isn’t it?’

Her head moved a bit up, a bit down.

‘My sister.’

‘And you had to telephone a number, give them an address?’

She shook her head.

‘No, sir.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘They would have known the address. They probably sent Beckett there.’

‘They gave me a telephone. My sister called me and told me what to do. I had to unlock the door and open it for them. She told me to do that. She told me to hide because the men would want to bring me back with them. I didn’t hear anything. I thought everyone had gone. I went downstairs.’

‘You saw them, darling?’ Browne said. ‘The dead men?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you run?’ I said.

‘There was banging on the door. Loud bangs. I was scared. The door was breaking. I ran back upstairs.’

Those bangs had been my bullets.

‘That’s why you were afraid to say anything?’ Browne said to her. ‘Because of what they made you do?’

‘They said they would hurt her,’ she said quietly.

‘And I thought it was trauma,’ he said.

‘It is trauma,’ I said.

‘Christ. Who was it?’ Browne said. ‘What bloody monster could use a bairn like that?’

‘There are people.’

‘I’m sorry I hurt you,’ she said. ‘I was scared.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

She whispered something I didn’t hear.

‘What?’

‘You saved me,’ she said, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. ‘You saved me from them. I was scared. And you came and saved me.’

And then I understood. And Browne, looking at me with a kind of sadness, understood too. It was funny, in a terrible way.

‘I didn’t save you,’ I told the girl. ‘I never knew you were there. I went to that place to get some money and to kill some men.’

There I was explaining myself. Fuck the girl. Fuck what she thought.

‘Let her believe it, man,’ Browne said to me. ‘For God’s sake, can’t you let her believe in something good? Even if it’s you.’

He looked older. He looked like his insides had collapsed. He leaned back against the wall, not even trying to stop me now. I didn’t move. The girl didn’t move. Browne didn’t move. We all just hung there, like that fucking drop of water.

‘The poor girl,’ he said. ‘I can’t – ’

That was when the front door exploded.

They were on us in seconds, bursting in like rats, pouring over each other to get to us. Browne cried out and tried to block them. He lasted a second, less. He was hit and fell and was kicked. I saw him go limp. I heard the back door smash open. I threw one off me and started to climb the stairs. I felt punches on my body as a couple of men threw themselves at me and clung on. I threw out my elbow and heard cartilage crack. I reached round and grabbed hair and yanked it and heard a scream. I smashed a face into the stairs. There were no knives, no guns. They’d been told to take me alive. I couldn’t stand and fight: there were too many. I looked up. Kid was frozen, clinging to the banister, her knuckles pale, her mouth open, her eyes wide, her chest heaving. I stumbled up the stairs, kicking out, throwing my arms back in a desperate attempt to get to higher ground. I got closer. I didn’t look back. I knew I wouldn’t make it. The girl had a chance, though. They were all over the stairs, reaching up for me, grappling for my shirt, my jacket. I leaned forward, touched the stairs with my good arm. I felt them crawl up on to my back. I pushed back with all my strength, roaring with the effort, flinging back my arm, my head. I heard shouts and cries and felt them fall off me. I was free of them for a moment. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. I staggered up the rest of the stairs and reached the top. I grabbed Kid and lurched into the bedroom. I threw open the window, lifted her through and dangled her below me. I was leaning as far over as I could so that she was only ten feet or so from the ground. She tried to cling to me but I shook her off and tossed her into the bushes. She cried out as she landed, but she was okay. She got to her feet and stood below the window and looked up at me, lifting her hands as high as she could.

‘Run,’ I said. ‘Go to your sister.’

‘Please – ’

‘Go.’

She didn’t budge. They were almost on me.

‘I’ll come for you,’ I said. ‘RUN.’

When I turned, they were all over me.

I was in a warehouse, or some kind of workshop. I had no idea what time it was. There were no windows. The strip lighting was bright and made my eyes hurt. It felt like night. There was a long metal bench along the wall to my right with cardboard boxes beneath. Tools and cans of oil and stuff like that were spattered around. I turned my head as far as I could. The far end was in shadow. I couldn’t see the door.

I was in a chair, one of the type used in offices with thick plastic armrests and chrome legs. The chair was small for me, but strong. I pulled against the ropes around my wrists and ankles. They didn’t give, not a millimetre.

My head felt light and dull. It was good that it didn’t hurt. It was bad that I was woozy. I didn’t know what they’d used. Chloroform, probably.

I wanted to close my eyes and sleep. I wanted to close my eyes and not wake up, not have to deal with this shit, with this world. I couldn’t afford to feel like that. I fought it, biting my lip and tasting blood. I pulled against the ropes, knowing it was useless but trying to build up the rage, get the adrenalin going.

A door opened somewhere behind. I felt the chill of air on my neck. I was cold with sweat. Men walked in. If I’d been thinking more clearly, I would’ve feared what was to come. I knew I should’ve done, and yet I didn’t. I seemed away from it all, as if I could stand back and watch myself. I knew I was probably going to die, but the thought didn’t mean anything to me; it was just an idea. I tried to make myself think about it, about my death. I should have felt terror or panic or something, but I didn’t, and it occurred to me that I didn’t care that much anyway. The door closed. I braced myself.

Two men, both in suits, walked to positions in front and to either side of me. I didn’t know these men. One was lean and blond and in his forties. He was sinew and tight muscle. The other was shorter and younger with brown hair and a stud earring. The men stood looking down at me. I knew the game. I’d stood where they stood.

I heard another man walk towards me. These two were waiting for him. He came forward and stood between them, facing me. He was short and his stocky build was edging towards fatness, stretching the suit he wore. His square face shone with grease and sweat so that it looked as if, with effort, he was trying to contain himself. He had a nice tan and an expensive haircut, but they couldn’t hide his sixty-odd years.

I’d never met him, but I recognized him. His name was Bobby Cole.

‘You’ve caused me a lot of fucking trouble, boy,’ he said.

He tapped Blondie.

‘Which arm?’

‘Left. Around the shoulder.’

Cole looked around the room and wandered off for a moment. The other men didn’t move, didn’t take their eyes off me. When Cole came back, he had a ball hammer and I started to panic and felt my balls tighten and my stomach sink and the cold sweat break over me because I knew what was coming. He smashed the hammer into my left shoulder. The pain made me gasp; it spread through me and split me apart. I stretched the ropes with the agony. It was good. The anger, the rage, the need to destroy spread with the pain. The three men stood back and waited. I felt faint, but the adrenalin was flowing. I was soaked in sweat. I leaned my head forward and threw up on to the floor in front of me and over the seat. Blood leaked down my arm.

‘Where’s my fucking money?’

I shook my head. I thought I was going to pass out. I couldn’t speak. Cole wasn’t stupid. He gave me a minute. He didn’t want a corpse. Not yet, anyway.

‘Where is it?’

‘Haven’t got it.’

Cole sighed.

‘Hit him.’

The man with the earring stepped forward and planted a quick left-right combination on my face. They were powerful punches, short and sharp. He knew what he was doing, but I’d taken that kind of stuff all my life.

‘Where is it?’

‘Beckett took it.’

‘I know Beckett fucking took it. I hired the cunt to take it.’

‘He set me up.’

‘Bollocks. Hit him.’

I took some more pounding. It was okay, but it wouldn’t be if they kept it up.

‘I did the job. He took the money.’

He lurched forward, his hands on my wrists, squeezing them.

‘Bollocks, you cunt. I know you and Beckett and Kendall fucked me over. And I know you fucked them over. You think you can kill ’em and you’re safe? Huh? You ain’t fucking safe from me. I’m going to rip your fucking limbs off if you don’t tell me where my money is right fucking now.’

He was in my face now, his eyes bulging and watery, phlegm in the corners of his mouth, and I thought, Christ, he’s panicking. He was shitting himself and that was bad. He wasn’t thinking clearly. My arm was a nightmare of pain and my head throbbed with dullness. He wasn’t going to believe my story. I wouldn’t believe it. I had no choice.

‘I can prove it,’ I said.

‘Fuck your proof. Give me my money, or tell me where it is, and maybe I’ll let you live.’

That made me laugh. I don’t know why. It wasn’t funny.

‘You’ll kill me whatever I say. You’ll have to. Now, we can make this hard for both of us, you beating me, me telling you I was set up. Or you could shut the fuck up for a minute and listen.’

He stood back and watched me. He breathed heavily through his mouth. Sweat trickled down his cheek. Blondie and Earring stood by and waited. Finally, Cole let out a long breath. He clenched his jaw. He was calming down, reason finally getting through some of the panic.

‘You’ve got bollocks, boy, I’ll say that.’

‘Untie me.’

‘You must think I’m some daft cunt. Is that what you think, eh? You think I’m a cunt?’

‘I don’t know you well enough.’

Earring gave me a right to the jaw for that. I could taste blood. Cole watched while I spat it out. He eyed me curiously, though. I had him thinking.

‘Untie me,’ I said again.

‘So you can clobber me? Forget it.’

‘I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to put a bullet in my head. If you want me to talk, untie me.’

‘I’ll get you talking. Don’t worry about that.’

If I could get him to untie me, I had a chance. Not much, but some.

‘You’re tooled up,’ I said. ‘I’m not. I can’t do anything without getting shot. You can try and make me talk all night and I’ll tell you the same thing: I didn’t take your money. I’m not getting killed tied to a chair.’

I could see in Cole’s face that he was weighing up what I’d said. He was more desperate than I’d thought. They were closing in on him. Sweat beaded his upper lip.

‘You don’t have all night, do you?’ I said. ‘You’ve run out of time.’

Earring and Blondie glanced at each other. They were nervous. Cole’s whole firm was just about holding it together, from what I could see. If he had limitless time to make me talk, I had no chance. He’d sit back and let his boys work on me. But if I was right, he didn’t have limitless time.

‘The longer you keep me tied up, the more I’ll stall. I don’t know how long I can last. I might go the distance. I’ve done it before.’

He took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. When he did that, I knew I had him. He couldn’t get heavy with me for fear of my passing out. He couldn’t knock it out of me quickly because I’d hold on as long as possible and I was used to twelve rounds of punishment. He wiped the phlegm from his mouth.

‘Untie him,’ he said to Earring. To Blondie, he said, ‘Watch him.’

Blondie pulled a semi-auto from a shoulder holster. He took a few steps back and levelled it at me, hip-high, while his mate untied the ropes and moved out of range. I rubbed my ankles and wrists.

I tried to stand, but my legs buckled and I hit the floor hard. I stayed there for a few seconds, on my knees, forehead to the floor, trying to get some blood to my head. The pain throbbed through my shoulder.

‘Help him, for Christ’s sake.’

Earring stepped forward, but I shook him off and stood. He flinched, taking a step back, ready to spring at me. I looked at Blondie. He seemed calm enough. I didn’t want that 9-mil going off in my face. My head had cleared a little. The adrenalin had done that, making my heart beat faster, making the oxygen in my blood flow to my brain. I was thinking better. I stretched my back and looked behind me and saw a large metal roller-door, big enough to let a mid-sized truck through. Next to that was a metal-backed door for people to use. Both were shut and probably locked. I couldn’t see another exit. Blondie was out of reach on my right, keeping back, but he was holding the gun in his right hand and if I could make a second for myself and spin left I might be able to hit him in the carotid before he could bring the gun round.

‘I’m waiting,’ Cole said.

‘You hired Beckett to knock off your casino. He hired me, through Kendall.’

‘I know that. What of it?’

‘Why did Beckett want me? He had his usual crew; he had Simpson for the heavy stuff. They wanted me for a different reason: to fit me up. But that didn’t make sense. Why would Beckett bother to stick me with the blame for ripping you off? He would’ve known you’d still want your money back and when you found out I hadn’t got it, you’d go after him.’