Bad Men

by Allan Guthrie

  Fuck's sake. Here she was thinking about Tony's tadger and Joanne's boobs and Cutey-pie was at death's door. From plants to Tony Twelve-Inch. What was going on in her stupid head? She was stressed. That's what it was. She'd had a bad fucking time of it recently, what with one thing after another. She apologised to Cutey-pie and bent over to kiss his nose. She talked to him. He liked that.

  She was trembling all over. You'd think it was the middle of winter and she wasn't wearing any clothes. Cutey-pie would warm her up. But he was cold, too. His nose was freezing. She kept her head down, whispered in his ear.

  When she felt the car start to slow down, she sat up again. The tyres crunched over gravel. She looked up, saw that they were in a churchyard. Place was surrounded by trees. No other cars in the driveway. The church was locked up. Big oak doors sealed tight. She'd never been here before.

  Wallace winced as he pulled up on the handbrake. Then he turned off the engine. Caught her eyes in the mirror again. He looked pissed off.

  This was bad. May didn't know why, exactly, but she knew. Something was wrong with him. They shouldn't be here. This clearly wasn't the vet's and it wasn't their old house. This was nowhere. A churchyard. Hidden from the road. Could be anywhere.

  Had he planned all along to take her here? Was there something here he wanted to show her? There was nothing around but gravestones. Was that it? Had he dug a grave for her?

  May's forehead felt as if somebody had slapped a cold cloth on it. Her bravado vanished, like it always did. She could only go so far. She craned her neck, scanning left, right, behind her. Heard the rumble of traffic. Not too far from the road, then, even though she couldn't see anything through the trees. She could run. She'd have to run. Back down the driveway. She tried the door handle. Door was locked.

  Caught his eyes in the mirror again. Still he didn't smile. He was watching her.

  "This isn't the vet's," she said. Stupid fucking thing to say. She was itching under her arms. Sweat. She could feel it prickling at her skin like nettle stings. "Is there something here you want to show me, Wallace?"

  "Yeah, but it's an appetiser. The main course comes later," he said. "Let's call this foreplay."

  The fuck did that mean? She opened her handbag, fingers shaky.

  He turned, faced her. "May," he said, "I'm going to fuck you senseless."

  "No, you're not."

  "Really?"

  "Really." She took out her knife and stabbed him in the neck.

  He didn't bleed until she yanked the knife back out, just pulled a surprised face, all totally wide-eyed. But once the blade was out, blood streamed from the wound. He put his hand to his throat and his fingers slowly turned red. He popped the locks, fumbled for the door handle, fell out onto the driveway making choking sounds.

  She got her phone out and dropped it, her hands were so shaky. Picked it up. Called Flash.

  When his dad had called, Flash was sitting in the car in the hospital car park, windows open, letting out the dog smell, which was very faint now, but you still got an occasional whiff when you weren't expecting it so it was safer to wind down the windows even if it was raining, which it wasn't, not at the moment, anyway, although the sky was overcast and it could go either way. He could use a cigarette right now. He'd been sitting in the car since he arrived, chalking up a bloody great parking bill, but he couldn't bring himself to go in and see Rodge lying there in that state, so he'd sat in the car watching patients and hospital staff weave in and out of the hospital, whilst he tried to summon up the courage or whatever it was to open the door and drag his sorry arse inside.

  But he hadn't been able to and he was just about to start the car and drive back home, when Dad called to tell him Wallace had shot Norrie and kidnapped May.

  Flash's instinct was to drive over to Wallace's. He wasn't sure what he could do, but he had to get there and even if he didn't expect Wallace to turn up on his doorstep with May in tow, there wasn't a helluva lot else Flash could do.

  What had Dad meant by saying he wasn't sorry about Norrie? That Norrie had shot Rodge? Sounded like he was raving, maybe banged his head or something. Norrie was his best mate. Of course he was sorry Norrie had been shot.

  Flash flirted with the idea of phoning the police, but he knew what they'd say about Wallace: "Why won't your family leave the poor man alone, Mr Baxter?" But it was different now, wasn't it? There was a corpse back at Dad's. Maybe he should call them, after all. But Dad would have called them if he'd wanted to and maybe Flash should stay out of it, just concentrate on trying to find May, and maybe then, once he'd located her, he should contact the police and let them know where she was.

  That was an idea, so with that plan in mind, Flash was halfway to Wallace's when May rang him. She was in a state, yelling at him, saying he had to help, she'd used Dirk, she'd killed Wallace.

  Once he'd worked out that Dirk was the knife he'd bought her, Flash's immediate responses were mixed. Somewhere buried underneath the shock was pride that May had finally done what no one else had been able to do – not Rodge or himself or Dad or Norrie or Pearce – and killed the bastard, but there was also guilt that he'd provided her with the means to do it. Cause her life would never be the same again. "Stay where you are," Flash told her. "I'll be right there."

  "I don't want to stay here," May said. Her voice broke. "I'm scared."

  "Well, I'll meet you somewhere nearby."

  Quietly: "Okay."

  "Right. So where are you?"

  "I don't know, Flash. Never been here before."

  Shit. Flash knew he should call the police right now but he just couldn't bring himself to do it cause he couldn't leave his little sister to the mercy of those fuckers. They'd tear her to pieces. "What's it look like?"

  "What's what look like?"

  "Where you are. Describe it."

  "Dunno," May said. "Churchyard. With trees and bushes. A driveway. And lots of graves. Both sides."

  Bollocks. There were dozens of churches like that in Edinburgh. That was no good.

  May said, "Maybe we should call an ambulance."

  And Flash found himself saying, "The medics won't know where you are either, May. It'd be pointless."

  "But maybe they could find me."

  The left side of Jacob's face was wet. Down the hallway, he heard Norrie cry out. A choked yell. Still some fight in the auld bastard.

  Jacob thought about picking himself off the floor and redialling, but he didn't think he could. The pain radiating down his left side was too intense. So intense, he hardly noticed the pain in his eye any longer. If he put any pressure on his left side, he felt like his heart would burst. He was sprawled on the floor, aware that he wasn't breathing too well. A bit shallow. He raised his head, managed that okay. All he wanted to do now was put his hand over his chest. But he couldn't get into position. It was a stupid thing to want to do anyway, but he knew it would make all the difference. The gesture would be a strange kind of comfort.

  He breathed through his nose, as best he could through the bandaging. Or at least, that's what he thought he was doing. But in fact he wasn't breathing through his nose. He wasn't breathing through his mouth either. And his vision was going. Not red. Not blood-smeared. No, it was shrinking, black-edged.

  He didn't want to go like this, not knowing what was going to happen to May.

  But there didn't seem to be much he could do about it.

  "If the ambulance can find you," Flash said to May, "so can I."

  "And then what?"

  Good question.

  "Flash, I really think I've killed him."

  So now she was suggesting there was some doubt. "Is he breathing?"

  "Hang on." Pause. Then she screamed.

  "May? May? Speak to me. What's going on?"

  "He grabbed me."

  Ah, fuck, no. This wasn't happening. The only thing more dangerous than Wallace was a wounded Wallace. "Get out of there. Run. Go on."

  "It's okay. It's okay. He's let go. I t
hink he's dead now. Properly."

  "May, you have to leave. If he's still alive, he's dangerous. Get out of there now."

  "I can't."

  "Course you can. Just start walking. Find a street sign. Tell me where you are and I'll pick you up."

  "I can't."

  "Come on, May. You don't know he's dead. You have to get out of there. One foot in front of the other. A step at a time. Come on."

  "I can't leave Cutey-pie."

  Pearce's fucking dog. Jesus in a basket. "What's the fucking dog doing there?"

  "Don't swear at me."

  "I'm sorry, May. What's with the dog?"

  "This guy, he ran Cutey-pie over." Her voice was piercingly loud. Flash had to hold his mobile away from his ear. "Wallace said he'd take the dog to the vet's."

  Why the fuck would Wallace do that? He wasn't known for his kindness, particularly when it came to the Baxters. Flash had to keep calm and he had to keep May calm. "May, I need you to walk to the nearest street and tell me where you are."

  "I can't."

  "Do it, May. Do what you're told."

  "Flash, please."

  "Don't fucking say you can't. Just do it." Damn. He was swearing at her again. Stay friggin' poised, amigo.

  "Flash, I've got blood all over me."

  "Is any of it yours?"

  "Some of it's Cutey-pie's. Some of it's Wallace's."

  "May, is any of it yours?"

  "No."

  She wasn't injured, thank Christ. He should have asked her that first. Jesus, what kind of brother was he? "Get out of the car. Walk a few yards until you can tell me where you are. Then you can wait by the car with the dog until I get there."

  "You don't think we should call an ambulance?"

  Flash said, "Find out where you are first. Then we'll decide. Now start moving. And keep talking to me."

  "People will see me all covered in blood. They'll run away screaming. The police'll come. I'll get arrested. I'll be —"

  "Slow down, May. It won't be as bad as you think."

  "It is, Flash. I can't let anybody see me like this. They'll freak out. I'll get put away."

  Flash thought for a second or two.

  "Flash? You still there? Don't go."

  "Can you wipe the blood off?"

  "Where? With what?"

  Jesus. Flash closed his eyes and hoped that he'd manage to stay calm cause he was churning up inside. How was he supposed to know where May could clean herself up?

  "And I can't leave Cutey-pie," she said again.

  Which gave Flash an idea. "If you take the dog with you," he said, "anybody sees blood, they'll think it's the dog's."

  "I can't move him."

  For fuck's sake. "May, you have to."

  "Flash, help me."

  Jesus fucking Christ. What was he supposed to do?

  KISS, KISS, BANG, BANG

  May had been hysterical for a while and Flash hadn't been able to get any sense out of her. He still didn't know where she was, so he was just sitting at the wheel, idling along, going nowhere slowly.

  Flash squeezed his phone hard, he was so friggin' frustrated, and said, "Speak to me, May."

  "Gotta get out of here."

  Fantastic. A response. "Yeah. Just hang on. I'll be with you soon."

  "Gotta get out of here."

  "I know." Shit, shit, shit. He didn't want to lose her again. She was talking to him now. He had to keep her talking. "Keep calm, May. Please." She wanted to get out of there. Good. But would she leave the dog?

  "Gotta get out of here."

  Yep, patience. "One foot in front of the other. Come on, you can do it."

  "Oh, Jesus, Jesus."

  "What is it? May? Speak to me. What's happening?"

  "Jesus. He moved again, Flash."

  Oh, Jesus, Jesus. "Run."

  "I can't."

  "Fuck's sake, May. Do it."

  May said, "I have to kill him."

  "Don't do that. Please don't do that."

  "He's not dead, Flash."

  "I know, but you can't just go ahead and kill him."

  "But he should be dead."

  "I know he should be but ..." Shit.

  "I already killed him. I can do it again."

  Christ. What the fuck should he tell her? "Wait for me in the car. Can you do that? Sit in the car. Lock the doors."

  "Dirk."

  "You still have it?"

  "It's in his hand."

  "Don't think about that, May. You have to help me find you."

  "I'm sorry," May said.

  "It's okay," Flash said. "Keep talking. Please. Give me some idea where you are."

  "I can get Dirk. Wallace has stopped moving again. It was just a jerk."

  "No."

  "I'll get the knife. Kill him."

  He had to distract her. She had to get out of there. Last thing she wanted to do was pick up the knife again. Wallace sounded like he was still alive. Which was good news for May if Flash could get her out of there. "May, listen to me. Listen. You listening? May?"

  "Aha."

  "See how the dog is."

  "Huh?"

  "Cutey-pie needs your help. He's scared."

  "He is?"

  "That's right. Go on. Quickly." Pause. "You doing it?"

  "What about Dirk?"

  "You can get it later."

  "I don't think I want it now, anyway."

  "That's okay, then."

  "Flash, will I go to prison?"

  "Don't worry about that."

  "He tried to ... it wasn't my fault."

  "I know. You won't go to prison. I promise."

  "But they'll find the knife and they'll blame me. Doesn't matter that Norrie shot him."

  "Norrie shot him?"

  "In the arm."

  Norrie had been busy. And where had he got a gun? Never mind.

  "And it was Norrie who shot Rodge."

  Fuck. Maybe Dad wasn't raving.

  "But he's dead now. Wallace shot him."

  Flash knew that. This wasn't the greatest topic of conversation. It was clearly upsetting her.

  As was the business with the knife. She repeated: "They'll find Dirk, Flash."

  "They won't know who the knife belongs to."

  "But they'll be able to trace it."

  "Don't worry about it."

  "Fingerprints."

  "May, we'll sort all that out when I get there. Just help me find you. Please. Where's the last place you remember?"

  "I dunno."

  "Think. Where did you go when you drove off?"

  "Supposed to be going to the vet's."

  "Which vet's?"

  "Had to stop and ask someone."

  And would Wallace have headed in that direction, if he never had any intention of reaching his destination? Flash had to hope so. He closed his eyes. "And where did they suggest?"

  "I ... Slateford, I think."

  Warehouses and old breweries. And, yes, churches. "Okay, I'll find you."

  "Cutey-pie's still breathing," May said. "What should I do now? I don't want to leave him alone in the car."

  God, this was hard. "Stay in it, then."

  "Okay."

  "Great. Lock the doors."

  "Hang on. Okay."

  "You're doing good."

  "Flash?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I wet myself."

  "That's okay, darling. It's okay."

  Her teeth chattered. "Flash?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Wallace has still got his gun."

  Tune started playing. Funky drumbeat. Human beatbox shit. Annoying the crap out of Pearce. He said, "Give it a rest."

  Thank fuck the shouting was over, though. Words had been popping into Jesus's head and coming straight out of his mouth, making no sense at all. Nothing Pearce could do about it. Just had to lie there and listen. Try as he might, he couldn't get the crazy fucker to shut up.

  "Pop into my mouth. Come out of my head." That was the most coherent res
ponse to anything Pearce had said in the last while.

  Jesus's brain wasn't prepared to play ball. Not yet. Maybe not ever. It was cooked.

  Enough of Jesus. Pearce knew that if he stayed here, he was going to die. If he didn't free himself, that was. It was a fucking weird situation, lying here pinned to a bench with Jesus looming over him on a cross. If Pearce didn't keep a grip, there was a panicky edge just dying to creep in and take over. He had to be careful, keep control, not allow that to happen.

  It helped having the lights on. In the dark, as he'd been previously, it was as if he'd lost the power to think rationally. There was too much out there, too much of a distraction in the unknown. Of course, he knew there was only Jesus out there, but here he was, not scared of the dark, exactly, but finding it harder and harder to see a way out of this situation. Even if Wallace had intended letting him go, Pearce was now a witness to a crucifixion. Wallace couldn't let him go. The only question was how Wallace was going to dispose of him. Another cross, or would Pearce get lucky and take a bullet in the skull?

  While Jesus stayed quiet, just moaning occasionally, Pearce thought through his options. They were ... zero. There was absolutely fucking nothing he could do. Almost everything he thought about was patently, almost painfully, impossible. He'd been there, thought about it, no matter how ridiculous it seemed, and realised it wasn't up to him. He couldn't do anything. The restraints were too powerful. Pulling against them did nothing other than hurt his arms, made the pain in his side flare up.

  His fate was out of his control.

  He was as good as dead. He could see himself dead. Close his eyes, he was dead. Open them, he was dead. Peer through slitted lids, still dead.

  He had to remind himself he wasn't dead. Not yet. It was all in his head. Although he knew now what it was like to be dead. And it didn't seem so bad. Some comfort, at least, as far as Mum was concerned. But it was still a state he'd prefer to avoid if possible. The question was, how?