'Nothing. Why did I phone you? I didn't know you were a doctor.'
'You needed something for the pain.'
'Could have found something in my stash.'
'I'm pretty sure you tried.'
Glass nodded. 'Did you … did you cauterise the wound?'
'Shit, no. That's barbaric. You did that yourself.'
Glass winced at the thought. Glad he couldn't remember doing it. 'Did you find my finger? The part I cut off?'
'Said you'd got rid of it. Put it somewhere it couldn't do any harm.'
Glass wondered if he'd dropped it in the bin, thrown it outside, flushed it down the toilet. He had no idea.
'I tried to take you to the hospital,' Mad Will said. 'You weren't having it. Threatened to shoot me. So I just made you as comfortable as I could. Gave you some painkillers, and something to knock you out. Want me to take another look at it?'
'Thanks,' Glass said. 'And there's one more thing you could do.' He looked around, said to Mafia, 'Where's my jacket? There's something I need in the pocket.'
'Darko's got your wallet,' Mafia said. 'Had to use one of your cards at reception.'
'That's okay,' Glass said. 'I had something else in mind.'
*
At first Glass's arm ached under the tight new bandage and his finger throbbed in its new dressing but Mad Will told him to up the dosage on the pills if he needed to and Glass had done just that. Now there was only a stiffness and an itching. He didn't want to fall asleep, but he was all out of speed. He hoped the adrenaline from the night's events would help counter any soporific effects of the painkillers.
Mad Will had refused to sew Caesar's finger onto Glass's stump. He'd said too long had passed and then looked confused and asked Glass where he'd found the finger. And when Glass explained that it wasn't his finger, Mad Will just shook his head sadly.
Yeah, Glass knew it made no sense. But he was missing a part of himself and he wanted it back, even if it was dead and belonged to someone else.
'Whose finger is it?' Mad Will had asked.
'Doesn't matter,' Glass said. 'He doesn't need it.' But that made no difference to Mad Will. He wouldn't do the surgery.
'So what's the plan now?' Mad Will said.
'Someone's bringing transport, right?' Mafia said.
'Couldn't get anyone else this time of night,' Mad Will said. 'So the only car we've got is mine. How did you get here?'
'In my car,' Glass said.
'Where is it?'
'Darko's getting rid of it.'
'Mafia's cell mate?'
'Yeah,' Glass said, surprised at how little he cared. 'The guy who shot me.' He had to force himself to sound angry.
'So you did have a car?'
'Highly recognisable one,' Mafia said.
'With known plates,' Glass added.
'Could have swapped them,' Mad Will said. 'No problem at all. When's Darko expected back?'
'He's not,' Mafia said.
'Just you now, huh?' Mad Will rubbed the tip of his nose with his thumb. 'Sure you don't want to turn yourself in?'
Glass laughed. 'Mafia won't let me.'
'He won't?'
'Ask him.'
'Hmmm,' Mad Will said. 'Sure it isn't you who doesn't want to turn yourself in? What did you do?'
Glass's eyelids were heavy. The painkillers were knocking him out. 'I killed some people,' he said. 'I'm in trouble.'
'I thought you didn't remember anything.'
'I remember tonight. Wish I didn't.'
'You killed someone tonight?'
'Yeah,' Glass said.
'Shit,' Mad Will said. 'Let me get you out of this place. Somewhere they won't look for you. Cause if Darko's been caught, the police'll be here right away.'
'What have I been telling you?' Mafia said to Glass. 'We've got to get moving.'
'Your hangout?' Glass asked Mad Will.
'Precisely. It's safe. Nobody lives there. It's not that comfortable, but nobody's going to come looking for you. You can rest up for a while. Get some sleep before you move on. Or whatever.'
'Okay,' Glass said, and Mafia agreed.
'Just one thing,' Mad Will said. 'I'll need the gun.'
*
Glass sat up front, the gun stashed in the glove compartment. He listened to the steady purr of the engine as Mad Will drove them along a twisty B-road away from the hotel. Glass closed his eyes. No point fighting it.
When he woke up, he remembered he'd been dreaming about Watt and Mafia as kids. They were playing together in a school gym, along with a bunch of other kids, all of them dressed in school uniforms.
Mad Will slowed down for a set of traffic lights. When they changed, Glass craned his neck, said to Mafia in the back, 'Were you and Watt once close?'
'Like brothers,' Mafia said.
Glass faced the front.
'What did you say?' Mad Will asked him.
Glass shook his head. 'Do you know where Watt lives?'
'Yeah.'
'Would you tell me?'
'Why? You want to go bleed on his floor?'
'I want to kill him.'
'Go to sleep,' Mad Will said. 'Maybe when you're better.'
The car was cruising again, the engine making a soothing sound. Glass leaned his head against the window. The vibrations in his skull felt comforting. He watched fence posts spring into life, then shoot past. Whuuump, whuuump, whuuump.
In the backseat of his mum's Volvo, as a kid, he used to pretend he was outside, running alongside the car. In his imagination, keeping up was never a problem. He liked running in the fields best. Soft underfoot, great smells, no risk of being run over, countless obstacles to hurdle. Cause not only was he a speed merchant, he could also jump enormous heights and vast distances.
If the weather was nice during the summer, his mum liked to drive to the country with him and his sister. Mum didn't like beaches, preferred grass to sand. She'd point the car in a different direction each time, drive till they found somewhere that looked nice and green.
They'd stop. Have a picnic. Only once did they have a problem. And it wasn't that they got asked to move by an irate farmer. None of that 'Get off my land' crap. Not once. But they did get asked to move by a handful of polo horses in a field on some poncey estate.
Glass had never been so scared in his life. He thought horses were friendly creatures. But he'd got up close to this bunch, who'd whinnied, and stamped as he approached. He didn't read the signs. He was only ten or so. Nice if he could say he felt brave, but that wouldn't be true cause he didn't know there was anything to be scared of. He just did what curious little boys do.
One of the horses, a chestnut, reared up on its hind legs. Then another did the same. And only then did the young Glass consider that he might be in danger. But, still, he stepped closer, maybe being brave now. Certainly determined. Determined to get near enough to stroke their noses and give them a handful of grass.
That's when the action kicked off.
Two of them turned their backs on him, one after the other, sudden movements like fleabitten dogs twisting to nibble their itchy backs.
They straightened up. Neighed. And kicked out.
One of their hooves narrowly missed his head. He'd have taken a serious wallop if it had made contact. He stood for a second, imagining his head caved in, and saw that another kick was about to come.
He forced his legs to move. Sprinted. Put some distance between him and those crazy beasts.
After a bit he looked over his shoulder.
The horses were charging after him. All of them. In a pack.
He shouted. Waved to his mum and Hazel, a couple of hundred yards away, sitting on a rug under the shade of a tree.
Mum looked up. Waved back.
Hazel looked as though she was laughing.
Glass shouted again. Kept running. Could hear the thud of hooves as the horses galloped across the grass. Getting louder. Catching up with him.
Closer and closer.
&nb
sp; They were snorting. He could feel hot breath on the back of his neck.
And there, his mum, Hazel, both waving now. Hazel leaning over, asking his mum something. His mum ignoring her.
Glass's cheeks were hot with tears.
He tripped.
Hands smacked into the grass. Wrists wrenched with the impact.
He tried to scream.
Didn't have the breath.
He was going to die. Trampled to death. He knew it.
Hooves battered the earth behind him. Echoed in his bones.
Hands over his head. Braced himself for the crunch of his spine.
But the horses ran past him. Jumped over him. They didn't touch him.
They cantered to a stop and, shaking, he looked up at them from the ground.
He pushed himself to his feet.
Hazel was laughing so hard Glass could hear her from where he stood. Mum was scrabbling towards him.
'Go away,' Glass shouted at Hazel. 'Go away.' He ran towards his mum, still shouting.
When he reached her, she grabbed him round the waist and hugged him close. She panted in his ear.
Over her shoulder, Hazel was sitting on the grass, smiling. 'Go away,' he said, quietly.
His mum said, 'You want me to go?'
'No, her,' he said. 'Her.'
'Oh, Nick,' his mum said. 'Is she laughing at you again?'
Glass nodded. 'Make her go away.'
His mum let go of him and turned. 'Hazel,' she said. 'You heard what Nick said. Now go away.' She paused, asked Glass, 'Has she gone?'
Glass watched as Hazel's eyes narrowed, and then she flickered and disappeared as if she'd never existed. 'Yeah,' he said. 'She's gone. Why was she laughing at me, Mum?'
But his mum didn't know. Hazel was always a mystery to her.
Glass had survived without injury, and Hazel had appeared again after a few months and said she was sorry, but he'd never liked horses after that.
Always felt safe in the car, though, on those trips with his mum and sister.
Yeah, he'd imagine he was outside in the field, horses chasing after him, snorting crazily, but he was perfectly safe. He'd pound through the grass, swish through fields of rapeseed, dance his way through turnips put out for sheep to graze on. He'd hurdle fences, leap over ponds.
Nothing could harm him out there. That world was no more real than memories. Around him, out in the field, Glass saw the city lights surrounding them. There was a soothing feel to all this. Maybe it was the painkillers giving him a sense of wellbeing. The stump of his finger pulsed.
He'd killed three people.
He'd been shot.
He'd cut off his own finger.
Lorna had left him.
He'd be okay. He just needed to sleep.
THURSDAY
Glass shook his head. Bad idea. Felt like a bird inside his skull was trying to peck its way out.
He was aware of water dripping down his face. He couldn't see anything and then a beam of light struck the backs of his eyes and he cried out.
'Are you with us, Nick?'
Glass tried to raise his hand to shield his eyes. Something stopped him, though. His hand bent backwards but his wrist wouldn't budge. He felt something dig into his skin above the glove.
Shit. Shit.
Tried his other hand. Same. He tugged harder. Both hands. No give.
He couldn't see, the light dazzling him. He ducked his head.
'Am I blinding you?'
Glass looked down, and saw through aching, bleary eyes that he was in a chair, wrists strapped to the arms.
Jesus Christ.
He tried to move his feet. His ankles were tied too.
Glass blinked water out of his eyes. Licked his lips.
Fucking fuck fuck.
The light moved away and he followed the beam.
Saw pizza boxes tucked down the side of a camera tripod and realised they were in Mad Will's bedroom. Only it was different from how Glass remembered it from the porno shoot. The bed had gone. And it looked from the reflection of the torchlight on the floor that someone had put down a plastic sheet.
Some additional light was spilling through the curtainless window, splashing the dark of the room with a pale grey.
He looked up. Made out Watt in a shirt, sleeves rolled up, torch in one hand, gun in the other. Behind Watt, about ten feet away, was another chair. Glass thought he saw someone slumped in it.
'Mafia?' Glass yelled.
'He's not going to help you.' Watt bent down in front of Glass, shone the torch at him.
Glass dragged his gaze away. Saw a half-empty bucket of water by his feet. A coil of rope.
'Let me ask you something, Nick,' Watt said. 'Did you kill Caesar?'
Jesus fuck. He knew. Mafia must have told him. Fuck.
Glass pulled against the ropes binding his wrists. No give at all. Just set his shoulder on fire again. Must've been out long enough for the painkillers to have worn off.
'That looks like a guilty reaction,' Watt said. 'Or is it just fear?'
Then Glass realised that Mafia couldn't have told him. If he had, Watt wouldn't need to ask. Glass yelled: 'Fuck you, you piece of shit.'
'Not so loud,' Watt said. 'The neighbours might hear.' He laughed at his own joke. They both knew there weren't any neighbours.
Glass strained again. The ropes dug into his skin.
'You're going to tell me the truth, Nick.' Watt shone the torch on his own face. 'See how serious I am?' He paused, no trace of a smile. 'The truth. Or you die.'
Glass felt as if the bones in his ribcage were contracting with each breath. They were going to crush his heart. He needed something to calm himself. More painkillers. No chance he'd get to them. 'I swear I'll kill you,' Glass said, hoping to release some of the pressure inside him.
'Oh, right.' Watt angled the torch back at him. 'And how will you do that?'
Glass planted his feet on the floor, tensed. He didn't plan it. Just seemed the right thing to do. He lurched forward and up. Hoping to get lucky, smash his head under the bastard's chin.
Watt saw it coming and swerved.
Glass lost his balance, crashed onto his side. He lay there gasping, staring up at Watt, pain searing through his shoulder. Not a lot of give under the plastic sheet. He'd kick-started the pain in his finger too.
Watt booted him in the mouth.
Blood spurted from Glass's lip, burst onto his tongue. He spat.
Watt's foot moved again. Glass squeezed his eyes shut, but the second kick didn't come. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Watt had stepped over him and was around the side, one hand on the back of the chair, the other grabbing a leg.
Watt eased the chair onto its back. 'I heard someone cut Caesar,' he said. 'Mutilated him.'
Glass said, his voice unsteady, 'I wouldn't know.'
'Chopped off his fingers.'
'Well.' Glass swallowed. 'Is that right?'
'Why would someone do that?'
'Maybe they just wanted one.' What was he saying?
Watt nodded. 'They just wanted one. That's fine. It's okay to take one if you just want one, is it?'
'Caesar didn't need it.'
'The fuck are you talking about?'
'He didn't need it. If he was dead.'
'But you did?'
'I didn't say I took it.'
'So what's this?' Watt held something under the torch.
Glass squinted. Watt had found Caesar's severed finger. 'That's mine,' Glass said.
'I don't think so.'
'Take my glove off.'
'Don't be stupid.'
'Take it off.'
There must have been something in Glass's voice, because Watt leaned over and touched the index finger of the glove. Then he grabbed hold of it and pulled. The glove slid off.
'See?'
'Well, well,' Watt said. 'Full of surprises. That must have stung. Who did it?'
'I don't remember. But I think it was me.'
&nbs
p; 'Was that before you killed Caesar or after?'
Glass said nothing.
'You don't want to talk. I tell you, though, I'm glad we had this little chat. Now I know that if I want a finger, you think it's okay to take one.'
'I didn't say that.' Glass balled his fists, tucking his fingers out of sight. Pain shot through the stump, made him gasp.
'You did. Anyway, relax. Did I say I'd take yours?'
What was the sick fuck planning? Cutting off one of Mafia's? 'Take it,' Glass said.
'You're a bit short.'
'Take mine,' Glass said. 'Please.'
'Let me get this right,' Watt said. 'You're begging me to cut off one of your fingers?'
Glass was silent for a second, then whispered: 'Yes.'
'Well, how can I refuse? Lucky I brought my knife with me. Hang on.' Watt disappeared into the shadows, returned seconds later, looming over Glass with the light shining on a steak knife. 'Think it's sharp enough?'
*
Glass screamed because he remembered the pain from the first time.
He remembered being here before. Not when he bought the gun from Mad Will. Not later during one of the drug pick-ups. No, he remembered being here in this room, tied to this chair. No, maybe it wasn't here. He remembered being at home.
Yes, Watt barged into the bedroom. Barged into the bedroom, right. He had a knife. Watt held Glass down, held him down, yes, flattened his finger against the floor, that's right, yes.
Brought the blade down.
There was a smell too. A sour smell. Can't forget that smell.
When the remembered pain got more than he could endure, Riddell said, 'It's good to remember.'
'It's agony.'
'It's your agony.'
Glass said, 'This isn't the worst part.'
'It's all in the past.'
'That's not true. I'm here now.'
'Who's there with you?'
'Me, Mafia, Watt.'
'Are you sure?'
'Concentrate,' Watt said. 'Does it hurt? Does it hurt? Does it? Did it hurt Caesar?'
Glass didn't answer.
'Answer me, you fucker, or I'll do it.'
*
He came round again to another bucket of water, light shining in his eyes.
His finger throbbed deep in the bone. The memory hadn't faded.
Slammer Page 15
