He'd only taken a few steps when a sharp cracking sound made him freeze. The sound came from a distance away. Somewhere near the broken staircase. Another of Banky's goons must have been lying in wait over there, ready for the signal to shoot Pearce.
But there was no pain.
He turned to see Banksy on his knees, staring down at his chest.
"Ray," Banksy said. "Ray! Some arsehole's—" He coughed. And again. "Ray! I can't—"
"What the crap?" Ray ran towards him.
Pearce grabbed Ray's arm as he passed, twisted his wrist hard enough for him to drop his gun and scream. More of a squeal, in fact.
Pearce picked up the gun and pointed it at Ray.
"Ow, man." Ray was holding his sore wrist with his good hand. "That hurt."
Pearce glanced at Banksy. "Drop it."
Banksy looked at the Uzi as if he'd forgotten he had it. He started to raise his arm. Didn't get very far, though, before his head snapped back.
The whipcrack followed.
Banksy dropped the Uzi and slumped onto his belly.
"Oh, man." Ray raised his hands. "His head's … God." He looked around him, then back at Pearce. "Don't let them shoot me too."
"If I let you live, you'll come after me."
"It's cool, man. I wouldn't. Me and Banksy, we weren't all that close." He was shaking. "Didn't like each other all that much, honest."
"He's your brother."
"Mate, I wouldn't lie to you. Truth is, I always thought he was a wanker."
Pearce took a deep breath. "Give me your hand."
"You what?"
"I'll leave you a couple of fingers. Even let you choose which ones."
"No, you can't—" Ray stuck his hands behind his back. "I need them."
"Fair enough." Pearce shot Ray in the foot. Then he shot him in the other foot. Then he shot him between the eyes.
Ray collapsed onto his brother. One dead wanker on top of another.
12:20 am
Pearce looked towards the abandoned warehouse, waiting to see who the shooter was, the one who'd taken out Banksy. He had a good idea who it might be.
But nothing moved. At least, not that he could see.
Maybe the shooter had already gone. Left Pearce to clean up.
Before he did that, he had to check on the kids.
12:21 am
When Pearce opened the back door of the car, Hilda jumped up at him and licked his hand. Pearce tickled him under the chin. "Everyone OK?"
Kirk put his hand up.
"What is it, son?"
"I peed." He put his hand down.
"OK. Well, we all pee. Don't worry about it."
"I saw the ghost. It made me pssssh. Hilda saw it too. He barked a bit. Like this." He made a yelping sound.
"Like this!" Devon yelped too.
Kirk burst into tears.
Shit. "Hey, no need to be scared. Sounds like it was just a small ghost. A baby ghost. Hilda's scared it off. And I'm here now."
Kirk pointed at Devon and shouted. "She didn't see it. She was sleeping."
"You want to calm down, Kirk?"
"No!"
"Fine. Carry on shouting, then. Maybe I should join in. Bet I could make more noise than you. Want to try?"
He shook his head. Wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "No."
"OK."
Ray had pinned up a black bin-liner between the front and back seats, which meant that the kids couldn't see out. They wouldn't have seen any of the shootings. Wouldn't have seen their mother killed. That was something, at least. Maybe Ray hadn't been such a wanker after all. Or maybe he'd done it 'cos he couldn't stand the sight of them. Nobody would never know now.
"Can I see the fireworks?" Devon yawned.
"What fireworks?"
"I heard them."
"Ah. They're all done."
"I dreamed about my mummy."
"I don't … what did she say?"
"She loves me and Kirk and Daddy and Granny. And you! And Hilda! And she wants her shoe."
12:25 am
The jumper snagged on Jack's chin. Pearce pulled on the neck to widen it and tried again. Gave it a good yank to get it moving, and peeled it off the dead man.
Jack sagged forward, his head lolling sideways.
Pearce ignored the figure running towards him. He had to hurry. He took his own sweater off and put Jack's on. Smelled a bit musty. Nice fit, tho. Both of them were built on the hefty side. Only thing left was to get his own sweater on Jack.
"What are you doing, Pearce?" That Aberdonian accent.
He looked up. She was just a few feet away, chest heaving as she caught her breath. "You should get out of here, Ailsa."
"I will. Just thought you might need a hand."
"Haven't you done enough for one night?" He realised he sounded angry. Actually, he was angry. She'd taken a massive risk. But he was also grateful. "I'm sorry. I should say thanks."
"It's OK." She moved closer. "Least we could do."
"Why?" He pulled his sweater down over Jack's head.
"I owed you."
"Ailsa," he said. "What happened before, that was years ago. Anyway, what I did back then … I did it because I wanted to." He forced Jack's left arm through the hole in the sleeve.
"Because I couldn't do it myself."
She'd tried, though. Bought herself a gun, just couldn't get hold of any ammo for it. Tonight she had a gun, and ammo.
"Where did you learn to shoot like that?"
"I didn't. I left that to Joe-Bob."
Christ's sake, it was worse than he thought. "Where is he?"
"At the foot of the staircase back there. Waiting."
"I'm not thanking him."
"He doesn't expect you to."
"Why'd he agree to do this?"
"Because I asked him."
"Nicely, right? It's a big ask."
"He's a big man."
"Oh, God." Pearce let go of Jack's arm. "You're going out with him?"
"What's it to you?"
Yeah, what was it to him. "Not my business, sorry."
She crouched down beside him. "Let me help you with that."
"No, you'll get hairs and stuff on him." He forced Jack's other arm through the sleeve. A gloved hand popped out and Pearce pulled it through.
Done.
Now Jack was wearing Pearce's jumper and gloves. Maybe those police forensics bastards would believe that Jack was the one who'd fired the gun. Maybe not, but it was the best he could do.
"I thought I might regret this." Ailsa stood up. "When I saw what the other guy did to that woman…" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "It really pissed me off."
"It's done. You can't take it back."
"That's OK. I'm still pissed off."
Pearce didn't know what to say to her. He thought he knew her, but all he knew was who she once was. This was someone else. He'd liked her before. Now he liked her all over again. But even if Joe-Bob wasn't on the scene, liking her wasn't enough.
"Those kids I saw earlier." She looked over towards Julie's crumpled body. "Is that their mother?"
He nodded. "Their dad's dead too. Their granny's still alive, though. At least they have someone." He reached out and touched her shoulder. "Listen, you really should go."
"What are you going to do?"
"Wait for the police. Work on my story while I'm waiting."
"But you shot one of them. You have to disappear."
"I didn't shoot anyone."
"I saw you."
"You were never here."
"It won't work. Swapping your clothes won't fool the police."
"Pile of scum like these three, the cops will be looking for easy answers. But it doesn't matter. Jack here's wearing gloves that'll have traces of gunshot on them. It's my word against his and he's not in a state to speak for himself."
She nodded. "It's risky, though. Why don't you just leave?"
"The kids. They know my name. They know I
was here."
"You're screwed if you stay."
"I'm screwed if I don't. Just go, Ailsa. I'll be fine."
She looked at him. "I wish I could do something."
"You can." He handed her the Uzi. "Take this with you. Give it back to your boyfriend."
"It's not like that."
"That's not what you said before."
"I didn't say anything."
"He just killed someone for you. Speaks for itself."
"Does it?"
He held her gaze for as long as he could. It wasn't long. "Go. Get out of here. I'll see you later."
"You should go too. While there's still time." She turned.
"Hey, Ailsa." He got to his feet. "Tell that fat bastard he's maybe not so bad after all."
12:30 am
"You kids OK?" Pearce tugged down the bin-liner Ray had used as a curtain.
Hilda wriggled into the front through the gap between the seats.
"Did you find my mummy?"
Pearce picked up Hilda, turned around, looked straight ahead with the dog on his knee. Couldn't make out much. He'd turned out the lights of Banksy's car, put Jack's coat over Julie's body. "Yeah, I found her."
"Did you give her the shoe?"
"I did. She's wearing it. She said to say thanks."
"Where is she?"
"Somewhere nice." Pearce should be looking them in the eye, but he was too much of a coward. "Far away, though. She has to stay there a while."
"Don't want her to."
"But you get to stay with Granny, Devon. Won't that be fun?"
"Ray tied her up. With string. He made knots. I can do knots, Pearce."
Devon tugged Kirk's arm. "Funny game."
"Yeah, it was a game, Pearce. Granny said."
"Did Ray do … did he do anything else to her?"
"He put her in the cupboard. Can we let her out now?"
Pearce faced the front again, lowered the window. He was drained. Just wanted to go home and sleep. But it wouldn't look good if he left. The police would find out he was here easily enough. From Granny. Or the kids. And they'd want to know why he'd left a murder scene.
Sod them. He turned on the engine. "OK. Let's go rescue Granny."
12.55 am
"Honestly, I'm fine." Granny rubbed her wrists. "Just a bit stiff. It's cramped in there." She looked behind her at the cupboard they'd just let her out of.
She'd been trussed up and gagged, the settee dragged in front of the door to make sure she didn't escape.
No cuts or bruises, though. At least none that Pearce could see.
She gave her arms a shake. Ruffled her hair. Wiped a hand over her eyes. "Where's Julie?"
Pearce turned to the kids. "You two should be getting to bed. It's late."
"Is it past my bedtime?"
"Long past it, Kirk."
"Is it past your bedtime?" Devon grinned.
"You bet it is."
"Granny, are we sleeping here?" Devon bounced on her tiptoes.
Granny looked up at Pearce. "I think so." She held his gaze and he nodded.
Devon took his hand. "I can read you a bedtime story if you want."
He smiled at her. "I won't be staying. But thanks."
"Maybe tomorrow?"
"Maybe."
1.25 am
He was walking up to his front door with Hilda when footsteps clacked behind him. He turned and was face to face with a couple of uniforms, him-and-her versions, the him with a tapered cat-like chin and the her a head taller with a fat scar above her eye that made it look like she had an extra eyebrow.
"Gordon Pearce?" Cat Boy had one hand on his walkie-talkie, the other by his side, ready to reach for his baton.
Pearce breathed in. "That was quick."
"Are you Mr Gordon Pearce?"
"Guilty."
"We'd like you to come down to the station." PC Eyebrow leaned forward on the toes of her ugly black shoes. "Answer a few questions."
Ah, well. It was going to happen sooner or later. "No point denying it, is there?"
Cat Boy stepped to the side, swept an arm to show Pearce he wanted him to walk in front. "If you wouldn't mind …"
He took a couple of steps. "How did you know it was me?"
"The witnesses at the pub. They described you. Couple of them knew your name. And your dog's fairly distinctive."
Pearce let out a small laugh. "Is this about the damaged car?"
Cat Boy frowned. "What else would it be about?"
What else, indeed?
###
Other titles featuring Pearce
Two-Way Split
Amazon UK | Amazon US
For Robin Greaves, today is no ordinary day. But then, he's no ordinary man.
A set of compromising photos triggers Robin into planning revenge on the people closest to him. But one bungled post office robbery later, he finds himself stalked by the police, a couple of sleazy private detectives, and a cold-blooded killer who won't rest until Robin's dead.
Surely it's all too much for one man to handle. Especially when he hasn't been taking his medication.
Two-Way Split is a lean and muscular crime thriller with some hard-hitting violence and a seriously twisted dark side.
Winner of the Theakston's Crime Novel of the Year and shortlisted for the Crime Writers' Association Debut Dagger award.
Bad Men
Amazon UK
Winner of the Spinetingler Award for Best Novel (Rising Star) and short-listed for the Last Laugh Award, Bad Men is "… the most extraordinary white-knuckle ride of violent chaos and deathly dark humour I have ever come across" – The Herald
First published under the title Hard Man and described by critics as 'a Grand Guignol masterpiece', 'a Buster Keaton movie with bloodshed' and 'an updated and X-rated version of Hamlet', Bad Men is a blackly comic over-the-top crime novel for readers with a strong stomach and a robust sense of humour.
Edinburgh hard man, Pearce, just wants to be left alone. But the Baxter family has other ideas. When 16-year-old May Baxter gets on the wrong side of her psycho husband, Wallace, Pearce is invited to protect her. At first he declines. But then things start to get personal…
Hilda's Big Day Out
Amazon UK | Amazon US
A short story about a tough little dog, and three bonus stories.
Hilda's Big Day Out was commissioned by the Sunday Mail as its seasonal short story. It's a tale of violence, abduction, and pilchards, told from the perspective of a Dandie Dinmont terrier called Hilda, who's whisked away from a deserted Edinburgh beach by a skinny stranger on New Year's Day.
Also included are three non-Hilda stories:
Your Mother Should Know was commissioned as part of Nigel Bird and Chris Rhatigan's Pulp Ink anthology. It's the story of Southern teen from a repressed background who has issues with her mother and a boyfriend she wants to impress. Unfortunately, her attempt to impress him doesn't work out as planned.
Bye Bye Baby was commissioned by Victim Support Scotland for their Shattered: Every Crime Has A Victim anthology. The story's narrated by Mrs Wilson, whose young son, Bruce, has disappeared without trace. She's grief-stricken and angry and a little drunk, but there's something deeper and more heartbreaking than initially meets the eye of the detectives who pay her a visit. This is the original story that spawned the author's Top Ten Kindle novella of the same name.
Call Me, I'm Dying was commissioned by Busted Flush Press for A Hell Of A Woman: An Anthology Of Female Noir, edited by Megan Abbott. A couple having a meal on their wedding anniversary are not what they seem. An unusual phone call helps reveal the truth, but is it too late?
Also by Allan Guthrie on Kindle
novels
Kiss Her Goodbye UK/US
Slammer UK
Savage Night UK
novellas
Bye Bye Baby UK/US
Killing Mum UK/US
About the author
Allan Guthrie is an award-winning Scot
tish crime writer and co-founder of digital publisher, Blasted Heath. His debut novel, TWO-WAY SPLIT, was shortlisted for the CWA Debut Dagger award and went on to win the Theakston's Crime Novel Of The Year. He is the author of four other novels: KISS HER GOODBYE (nominated for an Edgar), HARD MAN, SAVAGE NIGHT and SLAMMER and three novellas: KILL CLOCK, KILLING MUM and BYE BYE BABY, a Top Ten Kindle Bestseller. When he's not writing and publishing, he's a literary agent with Jenny Brown Associates.
Visit Allan's website at: http://www.allanguthrie.co.uk
Visit Criminal-E, Allan's ebook crime fiction blog, at: http://criminal-e.blogspot.com
Table of Contents
Kill Clock
6:30 pm
6:45 pm
7:00 pm
7:15 pm
7:30 pm
7:45 pm
8:00 pm
8:10 pm
8:40 pm
8:55 pm
9:10 pm
9:20 pm
9.35pm
9.50 pm
10:15 pm
10.35 pm
10:40 pm
11:15 pm
11:28 pm
Midnight
12:15 am
12:20 am
12:21 am
12:25 am
12:30 am
12.55 am
1.25 am
Other titles featuring Pearce
Two-Way Split
Bad Men
Hilda's Big Day Out
Also by Allan Guthrie on Kindle
About the author
Kill Clock Page 6
