by Jay Stringer
Then my world wobbled a little bit, and I felt sick. I bent down to throw up, and that’s the last I remember.
While I’m trying to think of more, the doctor steps into the cubicle. He looks like a real doctor. He’s older than me and has a beard, black-rimmed glasses and a white coat. All doctors should look like this. He’s wearing a name badge that says ‘Gilmour’.
‘How you doing, son?’
‘I don’t know, Doc; you tell me.’
He smiles. I like that. If you need a quack, it should be one with a sense of humour.
‘Well, I’d say you got shot and lost a lot of blood.’
‘How much?’
‘A lot. The bullet didn’t hit anything major, but you don’t look to me like you’ve been giving it a chance to close up and seal itself, so you’ve been slowly bleeding out.’
‘I’ve been a bit busy, aye. Shit to do, you know?’
‘Aye, okay. Well, you’re meant to have around eight pints in you, give or take. I’d say you’ve lost about three. Any more than that and you’d be dead. You collapsed when your body went into shock. That’s when your body starts to shut down to protect you, like going on standby. I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.’
‘Three pints? For real? So I’ll never have a full load again?’
He smiles, tries to hide a laugh but fails.
‘Son, your body makes blood all the time. It tops you back up. We’ve given you a transfusion, a couple of pints, so you’re probably feeling a little weird right now—drunk maybe?’
‘A little, aye.’
‘Okay.’ He pats my leg. It doesn’t hurt. ‘The wound has been dressed and treated. As long as you rest it up, it won’t reopen. And you need to sleep, give your body a chance to catch up. You’re still around a pint down, but that’s nothing to worry about as long as you rest and take plenty of fluids.’
‘Like beer?’
He laughs again. ‘Like water, son.’
‘Well, I drink it like water.’
He pauses before he steps out through the curtain. Then pretends to remember something that I bet he’s been working towards the whole time. ‘By the way,’ he says, ‘there are some police officers here who want to talk to you.’
He steps to one side and holds the curtain open, and two cops walk in. Neither of them looks like Columbo. One is a fella, tall and bald, with a beer belly and glasses. The other is a lassie, about my age and Asian. She keeps in shape but doesn’t look like she’s enjoying it. Baldy looks a bit like Bert from Sesame Street, but the lassie looks nothing like Ernie.
Baldy flashes me an ID.
‘Hello, Malcolm.’ I hate being called that. I bet he knows. ‘Remember me?’
‘You all look alike.’
‘Aye. Well, I remember you, son. I remember all the blood on you the day we booked you in for what you did to that girl. My name’s DI Cummings. This is DS Perera. Do you know why we’re here?’
‘Well now, that’s a bit of a deep question, isn’t it? I was just saying that to myself.’
Perera steps in closer to me and takes a look at my bandaged leg, then leans to peer in my eyes. She holds that position until I blink, trying to make me uncomfortable. It works.
‘He’s not concussed, John,’ she says as she moves back beside Baldy. ‘He’s just being a dick.’
‘Aye, I figured him for that. Malcolm Mackie. Mack the knife. I know all about you, son. I was in the station the day they pulled you in for cutting up that wee lassie. Saw you covered in blood, crying and screaming, saying how sorry you were.’ He turns to his partner. ‘You know, you can butcher someone now and not even serve a full term in prison.’
I can feel myself shrinking inside my own head, back to being a teenager. I don’t like to think about what happened. It makes me cry, and nobody wants to see that. I wish Beth was here with some pills—they stop me thinking about it. It’s the only thing I like about them.
‘You came in wearing a bullet hole,’ Perera says. ‘So now we have a problem.’
‘See,’ Cummings speaks again—they’ve rehearsed this—‘we haven’t had any reports of gun crime in the city this week. None at all. That’s good for us, makes us look like we know what we’re doing. But now you’re here with a bullet wound, and that means we have a gun crime with no gun and no bullet.’
‘Sucks to be you, big man.’
They share a look, and then Perera nods and steps out through the curtain. Cummings leans in closer and does the trick of staring into my eyes for a second, but that’s something I’m only going to fall for once. This fucker tried using Jenny against me. He’s getting nothing.
‘You have a think,’ he says. ‘We’re going for a coffee. When we get back, we’re going to interview you about a crime. You can either be the victim and give us some names and limp out of here on your own, or you can be the criminal and be led out in cuffs. It’s entirely up to you.’
He turns and leaves.
He doesn’t look back to see me giving him the finger.
Thirty
Next through the curtain is Beth. She’s dressed up all professional-like, with her hair pulled back. She’s carrying a clipboard, and she looks hot. I think I should tell her.
‘You look hot,’ I say.
She fumbles over her greeting for a second and almost blushes.
That’s my girl.
She looks down at the clipboard and takes a second to get professional again.
‘You lost three pints? Mack, you could have died.’
‘Aye, the doctor said that.’
‘What happened?’
‘I’m not really sure. Well, I got shot, but you already knew that bit.’
She steps in close, looking all worried, and puts her finger to her lips. Am I talking too loud? Probably. I’m all drowsy and don’t really know what I’m doing, so I could be shouting.
‘Sorry.’ I lower my voice. I think. ‘So, I was following Gilbert in town, but then I collapsed. Next thing I know I’m here, all better. They’ve stitched me up and put a whole lot of blood in me. It feels funny, like taking drugs.’
‘The cops are outside,’ she says. ‘I’ve talked my way in as your doctor, but I won’t be able to stop them. The nurses here had to report the bullet wound, and you’re going to be arrested.’
‘Aye, I figured that bit out all by me own self.’
‘They won’t be able to keep you in. There’s no proof. No bullet—just a wound that the doctors have already fixed up. They’ll keep you just long enough to try and scare you into saying something about what happened—then they can hold you for longer.’
‘Bollocks to that.’ I sit up and swing my legs off the edge of the bed. ‘I’m getting out of here.’
My leg goes all funny, like the worst case of pins and needles in history, and I go all light-headed. It passes quickly, but it isn’t fun. Beth steps close to me and puts her hands on my shoulders, pressing me back down.
‘Take this,’ she says, handing me a pill.
‘I’m sick of those.’
‘Just this once, Mack, don’t do the wrong thing. This’ll calm you down, slow your heart a bit, and you think better when you’re calm. Just go with them. I’ll have a lawyer come and represent you, and we’ll have you back out on the street in no time. Then we’ll go and talk to some people about your uncle.’
‘I’m not going to the cop shop,’ I say. I take the pill but don’t swallow it. It’s resting on the back of my tongue, a trick I perfected in prison when they kept fucking around with my meds. ‘When they get me in there, I don’t come out. And I can’t stay here either. Someone tried to have me bumped off last night, and if they find out I’m here, they’ll come for a second try. They shot Rab’s dog. I got to find them and kill them a whole bunch of times.’
‘Please, just—’
I stop her talking with my lips. I press them on hers hard and fast, and she pulls back for just a wee second before she’s kissing me too. She makes a grunting noise, and her breathing speeds up, and then she’s shoving her tongue down my throat. And I’m thinking, fuck yeah. I have to swallow the pill to get it out of the way, but I don’t mind this time. I reach my hands round behind her and feel her arse, and then she presses closer up against me. She grunts a little more. Then I whisper the name Jenny, and she steps back.
‘No, Mack, we’ve talked about this.’
‘I know; I’m sorry.’ I pull her in again and give her a playful kiss, just a short one to win her back around. ‘Beth, I need to get away. Then later on, once I’ve got my shit done, we can go somewhere nice and start this again. In a naked way.’
She looks at me. There’s uncertainty in her eyes, but something else too. She’s up for it, and she’s horny as fuck. Are all psychiatrists this much fun, or did I just get lucky?
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘But call me as soon as you’re away.’
‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’
‘Wait a couple of minutes.’ She rubs my nose with her thumb. ‘I’ll distract them.’
I step up close to the curtain and hear her walking across the tiled floor. She strikes up a conversation, and the voices that come back in reply are Baldy’s and Perera’s. The conversation gets more heated and moves further away. I stick my head out of the curtain and see Beth giving them a real argument over something. They’ve turned their backs to me, and Beth’s taking a few steps in the other direction, trying to lead them away, but they’re pros. They stay exactly where they are. There’s not going to be a way out past them.
I look the other way. There’s a door at the other end, past all the other cubicles with drawn curtains. That’ll be worth a try. Baldy turns his head. He’s side on to me now, as he’s keeping watch with his periph . . . peripher . . . side vision. I duck back behind the curtain. Baws. Beth isn’t going to be able to keep them for long. I need another way out. Like Steve McQueen.
Wait.
I’m being an idiot.
I step back to my bed and then look at the curtain to the side. At the end, by the wall, there’s a gap. I push through to the next cubicle. A little old lady looks up at me in surprise from the old lady magazine that she’s reading. I put my finger to my lips and smile, give her a little of my charm. I walk around her bed and then through into the next cubicle. Some fat dude is out cold, with a big bandage at the end of his leg, where his foot should be. In the next cubicle over are a doctor and nurse fucking away quietly on the bed. They don’t notice me at first because they’re deep into it. They both gasp when they see me, but it’s at the same low volume that they’ve been screwing at, so I don’t think anyone hears. I hurry past them and through the next curtain. This is the last one on the row, with a wall on the opposite side of the bed. A guy is flat on his back with a mask over his face. He seems to be having difficulty breathing, and the mask is either pumping air in or taking it out—I can’t be sure. On a chair beside the bed are his belongings. There’s a rather nice leather coat, a brown thing, like in a submarine movie. There’s a pair of black jeans too. He doesn’t look like he needs either of them. I’m sure if I stop to explain how I need a disguise to evade the polis, he’ll agree that a German submarine captain is the perfect disguise.
I slip on the jeans. They’re a size too big, but there’s a belt I can tighten to hold them up. I nod my thanks to the guy as I pick up the coat, and he stares at me with watery eyes. It looks like he really loves my new leather. I slip my arms into it and try it on, and instantly feel like the star of an action film. Well, I always feel like the star of an action film, but I’ve just promoted myself from Roddy Piper to Kurt Russell.
I step out into the room, bold as brass, like Snake Fucking Plissken. I stand and watch the two coppers for a second. Beth sees me and her eyes widen a little, but she keeps it under control, and I get away with it. I blow her a kiss and then turn and walk out through the door behind me.
Thirty-One
Beth was right. The pill has calmed me down, and my head is clearer. I can think straight now.
For instance, I notice that I’m not wearing any shoes.
That’s a problem with my disguise, right there. I’m pretty sure German submarine commanders wore shoes. Bruce Willis went barefoot in Die Hard, but we haven’t reached that stage yet. It would be nice to throw the dog killer off a building, though. I’ll make a note of that for later.
I could have taken the shoes from the guy with the missing foot, back on the ward. It would only really have been half a theft since he’s only going to need one from now on.
Too soon?
Okay. Time to use this nice clear head and think. Where will I get shoes in a hospital? There’s bound to be a lost property room around here, but I can’t go asking for it. I turn a corner and find myself in the A&E waiting area. People are slumped in plastic chairs. Some are calm and sleepy, some have bits of metal sticking out of them, a couple are screaming. It looks like a fun crowd. I guess my bare feet aren’t going to draw that much attention.
The front entrance is across from the waiting area, on the other side of the seats. Two uniformed cops are standing there, deep in conversation. I don’t know for sure that they’re here because of me, but it’s best to assume.
Two guys stand up in the waiting area, and both have their eyes fixed on me. One is a couple sizes larger than me, with big muscles beneath a tight T-shirt; the other’s short and skinnier. I’ve seen them before somewhere. They’ll have been at some party I was at. Bottom line: if they know me, they’re here to get me.
I smile at them and offer a comedy wave, then turn around and head back the way I’ve come. I see the door for the men’s room. Perfect. I push on through and then try to put as much distance between the door and me as I can before they follow. The skinny one is the first through, followed a few seconds later by the larger dude.
The big guy leans back on the door, keeping it closed with his weight, and watches as the skinny guy springs towards me off the balls of his feet.
Two of them.
One of me.
I’m down a pint of blood, and I’m barefoot.
In any other situation, they’d beat the shit out of me. But they’ve picked the wrong place to try it. There’s no room in here for them to make the numbers count. I duck my head aside to avoid the skinny guy’s leading fist, then throw my weight into the rest of him. I body-check him to the side, and he lands on the sink, the small of his back smacking into the hard edge of the porcelain. The sink cracks and the guy spasms. He yelps, then lands on the floor and throws up. Do I imagine the smell of piss? No. There’s a dark stain spreading across his jeans. Nice trick—I’ll remember that. The big guy seems stuck for a second. He wasn’t expecting this. Sometimes the bigger guys are the worst fighters. They never have to do it. In a quick fight, when it’s all about surprise and power, they can do fine. When they have time to plan, to think, they panic.
I jump him before he can decide what to do. I hit him in the forehead, slamming his head back into the door. Then I follow with a hard knee to his baws. I’m a classy guy. He kneels forward, and I elbow him in the side of his face as he goes down. Just for effect.
‘Who sent you?’
He looks up at me, then shrugs and spits at my feet. I kick him in the face, and his nose breaks. Blood spurts over my toes. Great. I turn back to the other guy.
‘Listen, Piss Stain, this is the second time today I’ve got up close and personal in the lav. The last guy ended up with me putting a knife to his family jewels, so let’s just say that so far you’re coming out ahead.’
He thinks about this and stays silent. It looks like he’s buying it. That’s good, because I don’t have a plan B.
‘So all I want,’ I say, ‘is a name. And just one more thing. Sho
es. I want your shoes. Unless you’ve pissed all over those too.’
Back out in the reception area a couple of minutes later, I hear some shouting. I can see Baldy and Perera over the other side, having a hurried conversation with the uniformed coppers, who are now heading into the ward where they’d been keeping me. I pull the collar of the coat up a little higher and walk out through the seated area and to the front door. These new shoes squeak on the floor. I don’t like them. I’ll steal a better pair later.
Outside I remember we’re in the middle of a heatwave. The afternoon sun is burning down on me and my new coat, and the sweat starts straight away. I keep it tight around me, though. I want to be well away from here before I open it up. There’s a taxi rank by the door. I climb into the first one.
The driver asks me where I want to go.
I smile.
Piss Stain gave me the name. I know who ordered them to kill me. It has to be the same person who ordered the hit last night. The same fucker who killed Rab’s dog. I don’t know why yet, but there’ll be plenty of time for that.
Gilbert.
I’m coming for you.
There are plenty of ways for you to die.
Thirty-Two
Jim
Sam.
I need to warn Sam.
She’s in over her head. I know she’s only trying to impress me. She thinks what I want is for her to keep the business going, like I can’t see through her lies every time she tells me things are going well.
Why the hell would I want her to be in this game? I’ve seen what it does to families, to people, to me. It’s my fault; I talked it all up, made her think I loved the job.
Got to get to the phone.
Got to concentrate.
Find a thing in my head and cling to it. Sam. Phone Sam. Help Sam.
I climb out of my chair and wobble on my feet. Annoying. I used to remember how to walk. Now I need a stick or a frame to help. The memory is in here somewhere—just need to find it. One leg, two legs; there—got it.
