Whatever happened, this time Nick Glass was going to see it through.
*
In the prison car park once again. Just like last night. Only this time, he took the gun out of the glove compartment. Held it while he made sure he really wanted to go through with it.
A whole day without any sign of Watt. Maybe he'd gone.
Nah, he'd be back. Of course he'd be back.
Glass got out of the car, gun shoved inside the waistband of his trousers and covered with his jacket. He walked towards the gatehouse feeling the gun rub against the base of his spine.
Crogan nodded at him once he stepped inside. 'Feeling the weather?'
'Yeah, bit chilly,' Glass said, looking at his gloves.
'You feeling okay?'
'Bit of a cold coming on.' Glass sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his glove to make it look convincing. Fact was, he'd popped quite a few OXYs and felt great, no pain at all. Found some codeine in his stash, too, so he'd been topping up with those. Had the rest of the OXYs loose in his pocket for later. They'd been making him sleepy, though, so he'd had to compensate with a faceful of bennies. He knew it wasn't the best idea but he had to get through the night so he could do what had to be done. 'You alone?'
'Like I said.'
'So how do we do this?'
'Walk on through,' Crogan told him. 'Easy as that.'
Glass did. When he stepped through the metal detector, it beeped.
'Hang on a tick,' Crogan said.
Glass stopped in front of him.
'You got something there you shouldn't have?' Crogan stared at him.
Glass's stomach squeezed tight. What the fuck was Crogan up to?
'Going to have to search you, Officer Glass.'
Glass said, 'I trusted you.'
'Got to be careful who you trust.'
'Fuck,' Glass said. 'Fuck.'
Crogan grinned. Then he burst out laughing.
'Jesus Christ,' Glass said. 'Jesus fuck.' The fucker was messing with him. Glass felt anger like daggers digging into his shoulders. Wondered for a minute if the painkillers weren't working.
'Should have seen your face,' Crogan said. 'Priceless.'
Glass took a deep breath. Didn't help much. He took another breath. 'Don't piss about like that,' he said. 'Jesus.'
'Go on,' Crogan said. 'Coast's clear. Just don't do anything stupid.'
Jesus Christ. 'I won't.'
'All joking aside,' Crogan said, lowering his voice, 'if you land in the shite, I'm not going down with you. You get caught, then it's a mystery to us all how you smuggled a gun in, but you most definitely did not get it past me tonight. Maybe you brought it in soon after you first started? Probably you bribed a turnkey to let you through. Someone who's on the outside now. Got it?'
Quite a speech. 'Fine,' Glass said. He didn't need this. Really didn't need it. 'How do you know I have a gun?'
'You want to take something metal inside, it's either a shank or a gun.'
That was a fair point. 'So maybe it's a shank.'
'Wouldn't fancy your chances against Caesar with only a shank. Neither would you.'
'If it was a gun, would you be okay with that?'
'It's not going to be pointed at me, is it?' He was grinning again, no clue just how angry Glass was.
'It's not going to be pointed at anyone.'
'You're not going to shoot Caesar? Now I'm disappointed.'
'It's just a threat.'
'Dodgy. If you're not prepared to use it, it's a bit of an empty threat.'
Amazing how many people wanted to offer advice on what to do with a gun. 'I thought you didn't want me to do anything stupid,' Glass said.
'That's right,' Crogan said. 'Don't pull a gun on Caesar if you're not prepared to use it. You won't live long enough to tell me about it. You sure you're okay?'
*
Around eleven Glass calls Lorna.
'You woke me up,' she says. Yeah, she sounds sleepy. Or drunk. Her speech is sloppy.
'Just wanted to make sure you're okay.'
'Why shouldn't I be?'
'No reason.' He thinks about telling her what he's going to do. But no good can come of her knowing. He hopes she'll understand later.
'So why phone and wake me the fuck up?'
She has to ask that? His wife wants to know why he's phoning her. Hoping she'll understand is futile.
'You know what, Lorna? It doesn't matter.'
He hangs up. Regrets it instantly, and toys with the idea of calling her back. Manages to hold off for a minute.
Then dials.
'Lorna, I'm sorry.'
'It's over,' she says. 'Fuck you, Nick. I've had enough. I'm packing my bags.'
When he's thought about her leaving him, he's never imagined it would be like this. He's always imagined she'd find out about the drugs. Maybe find the stash. Or the gun.
But to decide to leave him because he gets annoyed with her on the phone?
She doesn't mean it. She's pissed, that's all. Being melodramatic. She'll fall asleep again right away, forget it ever happened.
He almost dials again just to call her a bitch, tell her to leave, he doesn't care. But he does care, that's the problem. If it was just her, he's not so sure it wouldn't be for the better. But Caitlin? God, no.
Nothing to worry about, though. Just hangover talk. She won't leave him.
*
Actually, at around eleven when Glass called Lorna she didn't answer. Even when the phone was ringing, he imagined her at home in the dark, deciding not to answer because she knew it was him. But, no, she was most likely still at her mum's.
He'd have called her mother's, but there was no point. He'd already called twice. Each time the old witch insisted Lorna wasn't there. Why she couldn't just say that Lorna didn't want to speak to him, he didn't know.
Since he woke up, he'd been praying he'd remember what had made her leave. It was possible he'd said something. Let slip that Watt had visited, maybe, and she'd freaked, taken Caitlin, got on the next train to Dunfermline. Back to Mummy and Daddy. And David.
He needed coffee. That'd sort him out. But he didn't want to make coffee. He couldn't face the prospect of finding another little present inside the container.
Fuck it, what was wrong with him? Did he really think he could kill somebody if he was scared of making a cup of coffee?
He strode over to the cupboard, dragged out the coffee, tried to flip the lid. Couldn't with his gloves on. He took off the left one, tried again.
No dead kitten tonight.
He spooned granules into his mug. Hands shaking so badly he almost missed. Poured in milk. Splashed some onto the counter. Picked up a damp cloth, same cloth that'd been used to clean up the sink area since he'd first started. Those were some filthy bastards he had to work with.
After he'd mopped up the milk, he rinsed the cloth, smelled his fingers. They were sour. Left the tap running, held his hand under the water. Let the flow hit the index finger of his good hand.
The tip of his missing finger tingled.
And tingled.
And tingled.
He poured water into his mug. Stirred the coffee, watching the frothy top swirl. Stirred it again, the opposite way.
Picked up the mug.
Sipped.
Clamped his teeth round the edge of the mug.
Burned his lip.
Bit.
Burned.
Bit harder.
Yelled into the mug.
Liquid bubbled.
Let go.
Held it between his teeth.
Till it dropped.
It bounced off the carpeted floor, liquid splashing over his feet, the bottom of his trousers.
He sat down on the floor. Adjusted the gun in his waistband. Stared at the steam rising from the carpet. Smelled the coffee. Listened to the sound of running water.
Sat there while time passed and things happened in his head and he forgot them and then they happened again
and he changed what happened because what he saw in his head wasn't right, couldn't be right, wasn't going to be right, hadn't been right. Time passed and he looked back on it and it was all wrong and twisted in on itself and knotted and he knew he had to unravel it and do what had to be done.
He took another couple of painkillers and some more speed to counter the drowsiness.
Twenty minutes later he got up. He had to peg in.
The gun dug into his spine every time he took a step. It was uncomfortable, but it didn't hurt.
He couldn't wait to whip it out, though. Shove it in Caesar's face. Realised he'd have to do it left-handed, so he stopped to practise. It felt odd the first few times, but then it sat in his hand and his finger found the trigger no problem.
He tucked the gun away again and finished pegging.
*
Horse said, 'What the fuck?'
Light spilled into the cell from the corridor, enough that Horse raised a hand over his eyes to block it out.
Glass showed him the gun. 'Move it,' he said.
Horse swung his legs out of his bed.
His cellmate, a spindly young drug-dealer, looked terrified.
'Keep your mouth shut,' Glass told him.
He nodded.
Horse said, 'The fuck are you doing, Glass?'
'What I should have done a long time ago.'
Horse shook his head. Got to his feet.
He was wearing underpants, nothing else. But the way he was standing, comfortable with his body, you'd have thought he was wearing a fancy bespoke suit.
Glass hated the fucker's confidence. He told him.
Horse stared at him. 'The fuck you been taking?'
'I want that recording of me.'
'I don't have it.'
'Course you do.'
'It's not here.'
'Where is it?'
Horse waited, looked at the gun, 'Why should I tell you?'
'Don't, then,' Glass said. 'Let's go wake up Caesar and ask him.'
Horse stared at him.
'Fucking move your fucking arse,' Glass said. 'You fucking hairy cunt.'
*
Caesar's first words were the same as Horse's. He said, 'What the fuck?'
Jasmine made do with squeaking noises.
Glass steered Horse in front of him.
'Shut up,' Glass said. 'The pair of you, shut the fuck up.' He waved the gun at Caesar and Jasmine.
He was in control now. They had to see that.
Jasmine stopped squeaking, pulled her blanket around her.
Horse said, 'Look—'
'You fucking shut up,' Glass said. 'I told you. I've had all the shit I'm going to take from you lot.'
'What's brought this on?' Caesar made to get out of his bed. 'Do a man a favour and this is the thanks you get.'
'Stay there,' Glass said.
'Or what?' Caesar said. 'You'll shoot?'
'Exactly,' Glass said.
'Ordinarily,' Caesar said, 'I'd be pissed off at being woken in the middle of the night. But on this occasion, I really don't mind.' He chuckled. 'You're a real comedian, Nick.'
Prick, prick, prick. Fucking prick. 'This isn't a joke.'
'Oh, I think it is.'
'You think so?'
'I think so. What do you think, Horse?'
'I think so too.'
'I don't give a shit what you think. Either of you.' Glass looked at Jasmine. 'Any of you.'
'Bet that's not even a real gun,' Horse said.
Glass pointed it at him and pulled the trigger. Nothing. Felt awkward. Thought he hadn't pulled it hard enough. Then realised what the problem was.
'See?' Horse said. But now he didn't sound too confident.
Glass flicked the safety as Horse took a step towards him. Pulled the trigger again. In the confined space of the cell, the noise bounced back through his bones.
Horse collapsed onto the floor. And he did collapse. The kind of fall that had to hurt even if the bullet hadn't.
'I'll be fucked,' Caesar said.
Jasmine started squeaking again.
'You shot him,' Caesar said. 'You actually shot him.'
'I'll shoot you too.'
'The fuck's wrong with you?'
Jasmine was screeching now. Really painful ear-splitting horrendous noise she was making. Like a bag of cats somebody'd set alight.
And along the corridor, the shouting and banging had started from the other cells. They were awake. Heard gunfire. And the only thing they could do to let anyone know they were in danger was to start making a racket.
The officer at the gatehouse had probably heard something, too. It was quite a distance away, and the duty officer often had the radio on. But even if the sound had travelled, the response would take time. Time to decide what the noise was, what to do about it. Help would take time to arrive. That was the nature of help, especially in a place like this where nobody could go anywhere in a hurry. Glass would be okay for a while yet.
Anyway, he couldn't rush this. Had to be done properly. Couldn't concentrate with this racket, though.
'Shut up!' he yelled at Jasmine.
She screeched at him.
He pointed the gun at her and shot her too.
She shut up.
The relative silence was beautiful.
'The fuck did you do that for?' Caesar said.
'If she'd shut up she'd still be alive.'
'You're a sick man.'
Had to hand it to Caesar. He was remarkably cool. Just had two people shot right in front of him and although he had to know he was next, he wasn't even breathing hard. Not that Glass could see.
Glass almost burst into tears, he was so impressed by Caesar. Thought about handing over the gun, telling him he deserved it.
Wished he was as fucking cool.
And, you know, dying was a way out. Problem solved. All problems solved. Well, they weren't solved, they became someone else's. But that was tempting too.
Glass didn't like too much responsibility. Caitlin was more than enough. But he didn't want to die just yet. That was too easy. 'Horse and Jasmine wanted to escape,' he said. 'There. They've escaped.'
Caesar shook his head.
Glass supposed that meant something but he wasn't sure what.
'What do you want?' Caesar asked.
'That tape recording.'
Caesar nodded. 'It's gone. Smuggled out. Watt has it.'
'That's handy. I want to see him anyway. Where can I find him?'
Caesar looked up. 'I give you Watt, you'll kill me.'
'Maybe I'll kill you anyway.'
'You're fucked, Glass. You just killed two people.'
'Yeah, I'm fucked,' Glass said. 'My wife and kid left me. Because of you. And Watt. So you're both fucked too. We're all fucked. Ask Horse and Jasmine.'
Caesar said, 'I gave you Fox.'
'Yeah, thanks. You set me up with your little note. Very nice of you.'
'You didn't think that was funny? Problem with you, Glass, you've no sense of humour.'
'You think? I'm having a laugh right now.'
'I can see that. You like killing. Feels good, doesn't it?'
'I didn't say that.'
'I think you'd like to cut off Horse's head, play football with it.'
Glass glanced down at Horse and noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. When he looked up again Caesar was rushing at him, a flash of steel hurtling his way. A big fucking flash. A blade. Glass dropped to the floor, rolled, slid in some of Horse's blood.
A clang as the blade struck something hard, something close to his body.
Glass twisted, got his hand up and fired.
Caesar looked at his arm. The bullet had ripped a hole in his bicep. He dropped the blade. It looked remarkably like Peeler's machete.
'Where did you get that?' Glass said.
Caesar was holding his arm, teeth bared, blood dripping through his fingers. 'Fuck you.'
'You couldn't have brought it in. Couldn't have
got it through the metal detectors.'
'Fuck you, Crystal, you dopey cunt.'
'So how come?'
'Fuck you.'
'A con couldn't have …' Course a con couldn't have. Had to be an officer. But who? Only officer who was in the machine shop at the time was Glass. Until Fox arrived. Fox and Ross. 'Fox? Fox gives you a machete and you pay him back with a blanket party?'
'Fuck you.'
Glass shot him in the knee. 'Fuck you.'
Caesar buckled. Yelled. Kept yelling.
'Was it Fox?'
Caesar roared. Pain or rage or both. Then: 'No.'
Then it had to be: 'Ross?' What a bitch.
'Fuck you.'
That was that.
Caesar was a constant moaning sound, the roaring gone.
There was banging from the peters all the way down the corridor now.
Glass had to hurry. He picked up the machete, tucked it under his arm. Big fucking bastard of a thing. How the hell had Caesar managed to hide that in his cell all this time?
'Think it'd be funny if I cut your head off?'
Caesar said, 'You're fucking mental, you twat.'
Glass shot him in the stomach.
*
Glass knelt, laid out Caesar's hand on the floor, palm down, fingers spread.
The racket the cons were making was ricocheting around in Glass's skull. Could hardly hear what he was doing, the sound making him dizzy.
He lined up the machete. Had to strike in the right place, as close to the knuckle as possible.
Difficult with his left hand.
Caesar wasn't dead yet — Glass saw his chest rise, fall. But he wasn't saying much, and his eyes were closed.
So, aye, okay.
Ignore the noise.
Here goes.
He swung the blade down as hard as he could. It cut through Caesar's index finger all right, and also half of his middle finger and the tip of the next one.
Caesar opened his eyes. His eyelids flickered. Then closed again.
Glass dropped the machete, picked up the finger. Squeezed blood out of it. Nice clean cut. Only question was whether it was going to fit.
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