Borstal Slags

by Graham, Tom

  He tried to call out to Annie, but a huge, hairy hand was clamped over his mouth. Other hands gripped his arms and pinned them behind him. He couldn’t move or speak.

  Idiot,’ Perry muttered, shaking his head. ‘What did you think you were playing at just then? We’re all on the same side now, Mr McC. You’re just going to have get used to that fact.’ Then, with a sigh, he said, ‘Right, let’s go. Can’t keep Mr Gould waiting.’

  Perry strolled away along the dingy alley, while Charlie and Lewis, the two bouncers, hauled McClintock along behind him, dragging his feet along the ground. They moved through a brick arch into a gloomy courtyard that seemed to be used for motor repairs. Several cars were parked in the shadows, waiting to be fixed. As Sam passed by, he caught a reflection of himself in one of the perfectly polished windscreens. It was House Master McClintock’s. Younger, smoother, less grey, less lined, with a bouncer’s hand clamped over the mouth, but unmistakably McClintock.

  Perry patted him on the back.

  ‘Don’t fret yourself,’ he said with a wink, and ushered him along. ‘It’s not you who’s for the chop. PC Cartwright on the other hand …’

  They came to a large building with tall metal doors. The bouncers let go of McClintock and shoved him roughly inside. There were tools, old tyres, engine parts, bottles of engine coolant, and all the usual paraphernalia of a working garage lying about.

  But there was something else, too.

  Wrapped in chains, hanging by his ankles, and ready to be lowered head first into an open barrel of congealed sump oil, was Tony Cartwright. His face was flushed and red, his bloodshot eyes bulging with terror.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: PUNISHMENT BLOCK

  ‘Jim! Get me out of here!’ Tony Cartwright cried. ‘I’ll do what they say! I’ll do anything they say! Tell ’em, Jim, tell ’em I’m on side with Gould! Tell ’em!’

  McClintock spoke up in a strong, clear voice. He said, very firmly, ‘Get that man down from there. Do it at once.’

  Nobody moved.

  McClintock turned angrily towards Perry. ‘You heard what I said, Laddie, now get that man down!’

  He’s standing up to them, thought Sam. Have I misjudged McClintock? Is he no Judas at all? Is he being a copper – a real copper – trying to do the right thing from himself and his partner despite all the odds against them?

  ‘I gave you an order, laddie,’ McClintock intoned.

  But Perry just winked at him. The two bouncers took up position in the open doorway, folding their arms and fixing McClintock with an implacable stare.

  And then, emerging slowly from the shadows, came Mr Gould himself. He was dressed in a Nehru suit which, for all its fine tailoring, failed to disguise the broad, thuggish body lumbering beneath it. Jewellery flashed on his fingers. At his wrists glittered solid silver cufflinks.

  I’ve seen that man before, Sam thought. And then, in horror, he corrected himself. I’ve seen that suit before – with a mouldering corpse inside it.

  It was the same figure he had glimpsed in the ghost train of Terry Barnard’s fairground, back when they had pursued tattooed bare-knuckle fighter Patsy O’Riordan in there. Disoriented, confused, Sam had found himself blundering about amid the cotton-wool cobwebs and plastic skulls – all of which had, at that moment, not felt fake at all, but genuinely grotesque and menacing – and he had glimpsed in the shifting, coloured lights a figure dressed in a Nehru suit identical to this one. But, as it turned, it had revealed a cadaver’s rotting face, the eye sockets alive with maggots, the grinning skull teeth caked with grave soil.

  That monstrous dead thing and this man in front of me now are one and the same. They are both Clive Gould. This is the Devil in the Dark.

  Gould sauntered forward a few more steps, then stopped. He tapped his expensive, patent-leather Chelsea boot on the hard floor, and let the echo die away.

  ‘The time has come,’ he said, ‘for us all to draw a line under this tedious business concerning Philip Noyes. And you, Mr McClintock, are going to help me.’

  He smiled, and as he did he revealed a chaotic jumble of huge, yellow, uneven teeth. It was the same snaggle-toothed face Sam had seen tattooed on Patsy O’Riordan’s belly, and leering out of the dark at him after Carol Waye of the Red Hand Faction had clubbed him unconscious with the butt of her pistol.

  ‘Philip Noyes was a close friend of mine,’ Gould said. ‘We were business rivals, that’s true. And we had our ups and downs. But his sudden and tragic death was a terrible personal blow to me. Wasn’t it, Perry?’

  ‘A terrible personal blow, Mr Gould,’ piped up Perry. ‘I can vouch for that.’

  ‘You saw what happened that night, didn’t you, Perry?’

  ‘I did, Mr Gould. He left the road and went into the canal.’

  Gould paced towards where Tony Cartwright was hanging, but his attention was fixed on Sam. Or, rather, on McClintock.

  ‘He should have bought his motor through me,’ Gould said. ‘I’d have seen that the brakes were properly checked. And the steering. But he insisted on buying Italian.’

  Gould shrugged. Casually, he felt into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a delicate gold chain. From it hung a fob watch. Sam saw it, and knew it at once. It was the very same gold-plated fob watch that nestled in the pocket of House Master McClintock’s uniform.

  ‘Philip Noyes died in an accident,’ Gould announced. ‘That’s the truth. That’s what happened. Except certain people who should know better think otherwise. Isn’t that so, Cartwright?’

  Tony stared back at him, his eyes wide and terrified.

  ‘Certain people have forgotten they’re on the payroll,’ Gould went on. ‘Certain people have got it into their nutty heads that I’m somehow responsible for Noyes’s death, and that this here gold watch once belonged to him, and that I took from it just before I had him killed. As if I would do a thing like that!’ He dangled the watch on his finger, letting it sparkle, and said, ‘Certain people think this watch links me to the murder of Philip Noyes, and, not only that, but they can use it as evidence to convict me. Now who on earth would think such a thing!’

  ‘Not me, Mr Gould,’ put in Perry.

  ‘And not our friend Mr McClintock,’ said Gould. ‘Which only leaves …’

  Gould reached up and nudged Tony’s shoulder, making him spin slowly on his chain, first one way, then the other.

  ‘Mr Gould, I’m sorry,’ Tony said, his voice now strangely calm and level. He was pleading for his life, but his tones were those of a man apologising to his boss for a minor misdemeanour. ‘I made a mistake. An error of judgement. You can’t blame me, Mr Gould, I’m a police officer, it’s in my nature. But I see now I did wrong. And there was no harm done. You’re in the clear for Philip Noyes’s death; we can’t touch you for it. And killing me, Mr Gould, it’ll cost you money. Think of all the bribes you’ll need to pay out – to my fellow officers, to my superior officers, to the coroner …’

  ‘Oh, it’s not about money!’ Gould smiled, waving his hand dismissively. ‘There’s more to life than that, Tony. There’s things that really matter. Loyalty, trust, that sort of thing.’

  ‘And you’ve got those things from me, Mr Gould, I swear to you.’

  Gould pulled a theatrical wince. He shrugged, drew in breath, slowly shook his head. ‘The thing is, it don’t work like that. The way a fella behaves, the choices he makes – these things define him. And some things, once they’re done, stay done, you know? You can’t unring the bell, Tony, you hear what I’m saying?’

  All at once, Tony’s manner changed. He strained his scarlet face towards Gould and screamed at him, ‘I got a wife! I got a daughter! Think of them! Think of them!’

  ‘I am!’ Gould told him, grinning. ‘Believe me, I’m thinking of them. Especially your daughter.’

  Sam felt revulsion and fury rise up like bile from the pit of his stomach. He stared at Gould’s flat, broad face, at those cruel eyes, and that snaggle-toothed mouth. With Tony Cartwright dead, Goul
d would take Annie for himself.

  Without warning, McClintock lunged forward, grabbing hold of the watch and snatching it from Gould’s hand. He stumbled back, holding the watch aloft.

  ‘Listen to me, Mr Gould!’ McClintock’s voice bellowed into the harsh space of the garage. ‘I’ve got Noyes’s watch here. It links you to the murder of Philip Noyes, just like my colleague PC Cartwright says. It’s evidence, Mr Gould. Evidence I can use against you in a court of law! You’re implicated, and I will see that you go down for life.’

  I got McClintock all wrong, thought Sam. He’s a copper. He’s the real thing.

  But Gould was unimpressed by McClintock’s display. He laughed. Perhaps he thought it was all a joke.

  McClintock thrust the watch into his inside pocket and stood firm. ‘You will not bribe me. You will not intimidate me. You will let down my colleague unharmed right now, or, so help me, I’ll see you put away for the rest of your miserable life!’

  ‘Don’t, Jim!’ Tony Cartwright cried. ‘Please! Mr Gould’s the boss, just do what he says!’

  ‘Silence!’ McClintock snapped back at him. ‘You are a serving police officer, as am I. You will not grovel to scum like Gould, nor will you cut deals with him. You will show respect not to him, but to the law that you have made it your duty to serve!’

  ‘Jim, please, please, I’m begging you, think of my wife and kids!’

  ‘Silence!’ McClintock ordered fiercely. ‘Respect! Duty!’ And turning to glare at Gould he added, ‘And, as for you, you’re under arrest. I suggest you give me no trouble.’

  Gould looked at him, his face expressing disappointment. He sighed, said, ‘Back in the day, coppers had a sense for business.’

  He shrugged, and gestured to one of the bouncers. Lewis obediently picked up a blow torch and ignited the flame. Calmly, like a man with a chore to do, he strolled towards McClintock.

  Is this it? Is this how McClintock got those burns?

  But it was Sam, looking out through McClintock’s eyes, who suddenly thought, Oh, my God, it’s me who’s going to feel this! It’s me who’s going to endure that pain!

  Sam was McClintock, and McClintock was Sam. The agony inflicted on one would be felt by the other.

  He looked from the hissing blue flame of the approaching blowtorch up to Tony Cartwright’s terrified face. At that moment, Gould reached out and threw a lever. Noisily, a gear whirred up in the rafters, and Tony descended head first into the oil. Sam caught one last glimpse of his face, bright-red, wide-eyed, utterly despairing, before it slipped beneath the thick, black ooze.

  McClintock rushed forward. But at once he felt his legs being brutally kicked out from under him. Down he went down, hitting the floor hard. Charlie grabbed him, hauled him upright, and smashed him square in the face with a fist the size of a mallet. It was McClintock’s body that took the force of that blow, but Sam sure as hell felt it, too. The impact went through him like an explosion. As his head shot back, he felt blood splatter over his face and pour down his chin. Another blow powered into his stomach, and, through the haze of his spinning, reeling brain, he was dimly aware of blood and vomit splattering over his shoes.

  He heard Gould say, very calmly, ‘Shove that torch in his face, Lewis.’

  Dredging up a wild and desperate strength from somewhere, McClintock kicked out with both feet simultaneously. Sam felt McClintock’s boots strike Lewis, good and hard, right in the crotch, and then he felt himself and Charlie tumbling chaotically to the floor.

  There was a sudden whoosh of noise and a blaze of light. Lewis was tumbling heavily into the barrel of oil in which Tony had been submerged, but now the barrel was blazing furiously, ignited by the blowtorch. It was burning, and so was Tony.

  McClintock went crazy, lashing out wildly, driving blows into Charlie’s face and windpipe, and then he found himself back on his feet, grabbing a crowbar and glaring about. He saw Perry, standing there in the light of the exploding oil barrel, staring in mixed horror and fascination at Tony Cartwright’s burning body. The boy seemed oblivious to everything except that spectacle of horror. Sam lunged at him and brought the crowbar down on the back of his skull. Perry pitched head first against the blazing barrel, overturning it. A torrent of flaming oil swept across the garage floor.

  McClintock grabbed one of the chains suspended from the ceiling and hung on, lifting his feet clear of the inferno beneath him. He saw the rolling wave of fire engulf Charlie, who rose up from amid the flames and ran, screaming and flailing. Lewis, also ablaze, came floundering towards him. They collided. The two bouncers rebounded off each other and fell back, consumed by fire.

  The chain McClintock was hanging from was red hot now. Sam could feel the skin of his hands burning. But still he hung on, keeping himself clear of the lake of fire beneath him. Agonized, he turned his head and saw Tony Cartwright hanging as a piece of charred meat suspended amid blackened chains. Perhaps, for him, the fire had been a mercy. Perhaps he had died far more quickly then he would have done in the filthy black ooze.

  Where was Perry? Presumably he was already dead, lying face down in the burning oil, his skull cracked like an eggshell.

  Gould! he thought, gritting his teeth against the searing pain in his hands. Where’s Gould? Please let me see him burning – please let me see him dead. Please!

  Through the fire, he caught sight of Clive Gould, standing in the open doorway of the garage, very much alive. His face was lit manically by the leaping flames, his eyes glaring, his teeth bared. Did he see McClintock clinging like a monkey from his chain? Or did he see only Tony Cartwright, who had escaped the worst of the punishment owed to him? Did he see only the burning bodies of his minders? Did he see only the loss of Perry, his youthful driver and runaround, who’d need to be replaced? Or was it just the loss of his garage that this cold, evil bastard mourned?

  Whatever ran through his subhuman, reptilian mind, Sam could not read it. Billows of black smoke blinded him for a moment, and in the next instant, he looked and saw that Clive Gould was gone.

  I still have the evidence. That fob watch – it’s in my pocket.

  And then he corrected himself: It’s in McClintock’s pocket – right now, as McClintock dies – and it will still be in his pocket years from now, in the life after this one.

  There was a riddle here, a riddle Sam felt on the brink of solving, but he was unable to think any further. More smoke swept across him, engulfing him, choking him, smothering him in total blackness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY: LIKE CAMPING BUT WORSE

  The black smoke blinded him. It filled his lungs. He gasped and spluttered for breath – and then found himself being hauled and heaved about.

  My God! One of those damned bouncers is still alive!

  Feebly, utterly disoriented, he tried to fight back.

  What if it’s Gould? What if he’s that damned Devil in the Dark?

  ‘I’ll kill you!’ Sam choked, thrashing blindly. ‘I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you!’

  ‘Only through the boredom of your company, Tyler,’ a familiar gruff voice growled back. ‘Even so, I’m moderately glad to see you ain’t quite snuffed it yet.’

  Sam looked about him – and saw nothing. Blackness. Void.

  ‘Gene?’

  ‘Who else, dum-dum?’

  ‘I’m blind!’

  ‘No you’re not, you twonk. We’re in the punishment cell that ain’t got no windows. I got us both in here and slammed the door. It was either that or a lynching.’

  ‘The Black Hole? We’re locked inside the Black Hole?’

  Sam felt about in the darkness. His fingers brushed against the Guv’s face.

  ‘Naff off!’

  He ran his hands over himself. He felt his shirt, his jacket, the familiar contours of his face.

  ‘I’m me,’ he breathed.

  ‘Oh, God, he’s gone Tonto again,’ Gene muttered.

  Sam groped about and found a wall. He could feel the rough texture of the carvings and graffiti.


  ‘Annie!’ he cried. ‘Annie, can you hear me!’

  ‘Knock it off, Tyler!’

  Sam’s head was spinning with the terrible things he had witnessed: Tony’s death, the fire, McClintock’s agonizing demise in the flames. But, more than that, his mind was branded with the ugly, hard face of Clive Gould, the man who would take Annie as his own, brutalize her, murder her.

  He felt an overwhelming need to find Annie, to put his arms around her, protect her from the terrible things of this world. But she was alone, somewhere out there in the murderous madhouse that was Friar’s Brook in meltdown, while Sam was trapped in the dark.

  ‘We got to get out of here, right now! Right now, Guv!’

  ‘Well I ain’t stopping you.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Gene, they could be raping her, they could be killing her, they could be—’

  ‘I said it weren’t no place for a dopey bird!’ Gene barked from out of the darkness. ‘I didn’t want her along. You wanted her along.’

  ‘She’s one of the team, she’s one of us!’

  ‘She’ll never be one of us, Tyler, ’coz she don’t drink pints and she don’t stand up when she takes a wazz.’

  ‘What the hell’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘In this game, Tyler, it’s got everything to do with everything! And before you say “no, it ain’t”, tell me why you’re more worried about drippy-knickers right now rather than our boys? You know as well as I do, Tyler, that this were a job for blokes. Bringing a bird in here, it was asking for trouble!’

  ‘This isn’t the time for this argument, Guv!’

  ‘I’d say it was the perfect time. There’s stuff all else to do!’

  ‘Annie is out there, Guv. God knows what’s happening to her. We need to get that door open and find her.’