Borstal Slags

by Graham, Tom

  Gene peered down at the mangled corpse, wrinkling his nose. ‘This is getting serious.’

  ‘Damn right it is, Guv. This was Donner’s doing. And he’s got Annie with him.’

  Gene’s eyes narrowed. ‘Not for long.’

  They ran on, reaching the end of the corridor. The only way on was through an open doorway and up a flight of steps.

  ‘Annie’s up there,’ panted Sam.

  ‘You sure?’ Gene wheezed back, hungry for oxygen.

  ‘I’m sure. Nowhere else for them to have gone. He’s a chess player, he knows what pieces really count in this game. We know he’s got Annie – and ten-to-one says he’s got McClintock too.’

  ‘Unless Jock McTavish’s come to the same sticky end as his guv’nor,’ Gene intoned. He reached under his camel-hair coat and pulled out the Magnum. Light gleamed along its huge barrel. ‘Time to introduce that slag Donner to Uncle Genie’s favourite nephew.’

  ‘No, Guv! Put that thing away!’

  ‘Put it away? It’s saved your girly arse once already today, Tyler!’

  ‘But not this time! Guv, please, listen to me. Donner’s up them stairs – he’s not going to be intimidated by you waving a shooter about. Annie was right about him: he’s a psychopath. If you start raising the temperature, there’s no telling what he’ll do. This is a game that has to be played psychologically, not with your precious Magnum!’

  Hurt and offended, Gene gave his gun a wounded look and said defensively, ‘I got a licence!’

  ‘Yes, but no sense, Guv! Leave this to me.’

  ‘To you, Tyler? What you gonna do, bore him to death playing your poncy feckin’ prog-rock albums? You try that and I warn you, the first bullet goes straight through your stereo, Tyler, and the second goes straight through you!’

  But Sam blocked his way, refusing to let him past.

  Gene’s face flushed with fury. ‘You want WDC Knockers to get out of this alive? Then get out of the way!’

  ‘You think you can solve everything with that bloody cannon of yours! Gene, stop and think, damn it, just stop and think. We need Donner alive; we need him in one piece. We need to speak to him, keep him as calm as possible, and arrest him.’

  ‘And failing that we plug him!’ Gene barked back, cocking the Magnum with his thumb.

  ‘There’s a little thing you’re forgetting about here, Gene. It’s called the law!’

  ‘I am the law!’ Gene declared.

  ‘No, you are not! You are not Dirty Harry and you are not Judge bloody Dredd and you are staying right here!’

  With all his strength, Sam shoved Gene back. Gene stumbled, his face forming into a complex expression of surprise, confusion, incredulity and sheer bloody outrage.

  ‘Tyler, how bloody dare you—’

  But Sam slammed the door on him and threw the bolt, then went pounding up the stairs.

  Panting and sweating, he burst into an unlocked office, and stopped dead in his tracks. The first thing he saw was Annie, standing nervously in the far corner. She shot a tense glance at him, but remained where she was.

  Then Sam saw McClintock. He was sitting motionless in a chair, his head back and his mouth open as if he were at the dentist’s, a few trickles of blood drying across his cheeks and along his chin. Donner was standing behind him, holding a huge knife from the kitchens; the blade had disappeared into McClintock’s open mouth, the sharp tip pressed against the back of his tongue and making him gag. At the first hint of trouble, all Donner had to do was push down with that knife.

  ‘Nobody move, nobody do anything,’ Donner said flatly.

  ‘I’m not moving,’ said Sam, holding up his hands.

  ‘Me neither,’ added Annie.

  ‘Everyone stays exactly where they are, or this man dies,’ Donner announced, without emotion. He jerked the knife, and McClintock choked and flinched, and a fresh line of blood ran from the corner of his open mouth.

  ‘Annie?’ Sam called softly across the room.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said back.

  ‘Stop talking,’ Donner ordered. ‘I’m in charge here. Everybody has to do what I say.’

  ‘And what is it you want, Donner?’ Sam asked.

  ‘My freedom.’

  ‘You know that’s not possible.’

  ‘Make it possible.’

  ‘I can’t. No one can.’

  ‘I can,’ Donner said, and for the first time Sam caught an inhuman, insane glint in the boy’s eye. ‘I can do anything.’

  ‘At chess, maybe, but this is real life.’

  ‘No difference. I’m brilliant at both. Now – sort out transport and a safe house.’

  Sam slowly shook his head. ‘You’re living in cloud cuckoo land if you think that’s what you’re going to get. The riot police are securing this place even as we speak. It’s all over. Nobody’s going to negotiate and nobody’s going to do a deal with you. Come on, Donner, you’re no fool, you know you’re clutching at straws. Throw the knife away and let’s be done with all this.’

  ‘Like I said, I’m in charge. There’s a telephone on that desk. Ring whoever you have to ring and make all the arrangements.’

  ‘They’ve cut the phone lines.’ Sam edged closer, very carefully. ‘Get rid of the knife. Let Mr McClintock go. And I promise I’ll see you’re treated fairly.’

  ‘Promise, promise, promise,’ mocked Donner, and now a hint of real aggression was creeping into his voice. ‘You’ve promised things to me before. You promised to transfer me if I cooperated with you. I cooperated! And what did I get?’

  ‘Donner, I—’

  ‘I said, what did I get?’ The boy’s eyes flashed at Sam. ‘Empty words. All I’ve ever had, from anyone. The world is shit. You’re all shit.’

  From downstairs came a series of heavy thuds.

  ‘What’s going on?’ snapped Donner.

  ‘It’s my guv’nor,’ said Sam. ‘He’s trying to force the door.’

  Donner frowned. ‘You locked him out?’

  Sam nodded.

  ‘Why did you lock him out?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want him up here. I wanted to speak to you myself.’

  Donner’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  ‘I trusted you,’ said Sam. ‘I believed what you told me. About this place. About Mr McClintock. I believed you, and I stood up for you, and I put my faith in you. But it was all lies.’

  ‘I told you the truth,’ Donner said.

  ‘You murdered Mr Fellowes.’

  ‘He went for me. She saw what happened.’

  Donner jerked his head towards Annie.

  Clearly lying, doing everything she could to keep things calm, Annie said, ‘Yes. Mr Fellowes went for him, Sam. He did.’

  ‘I defended myself,’ Donner went on, ‘just like I’m defending myself now. If I let this bastard go’ – he jerked the knife, making McClintock cry out – ‘– then I’ve got no protection. As long as I’ve got him like this, you won’t touch me.’

  ‘But you lied to me, Donner,’ Sam said. ‘Craig Tulse’s death in the kitchen – it was you who set him alight, wasn’t it – just like it was you who killed Tunning in the cell that night.’

  Donner didn’t react at all. And his total lack of reaction – his blank, expressionless gaze – seemed to Sam the ultimate proof of the boy’s guilt. These deaths meant nothing to him. All he was thinking about was how to play the here and now to his advantage.

  ‘And Coren,’ Sam went on. ‘Mr McClintock didn’t change the work detail, did he. He knew nothing about Coren’s escape until he was reported missing. But you, Donner – you knew. You wrote that letter for Coren, but you deliberately put in the wrong information. It made you feel powerful, didn’t it, knowing that you could control the situation, make Coren’s brother steal the wrong lorry – and all the while, as he thought he was saving his brother, Andy was dying inside that crushing machine?’

  ‘You people owe me,’ Donner declared. He looked sulkily across at Annie. ‘You owe m
e most of all. If it wasn’t for me, the other boys would have had you. They’d have had you, over and over, and then strangled you and left you lying out there in the courtyard. But they didn’t touch you because I was there. They didn’t dare! They saw how I dealt with Fellowes. They knew they couldn’t take me on. You are alive because of me. Because of me!’

  ‘Yes, Donner, you certainly frightened them off,’ said Annie, shooting a glance at Sam. ‘You and your knife, you were certainly – intimidating. But now you’ve got to put the knife down and trust us.’

  Sam could see in her expression that she knew, even as she spoke, that her words were useless, that Donner was beyond reason and rationality.

  Gene’s still trying to get in, Sam thought, hearing another set of frustrated bangs and bashes from downstairs. Perhaps he’s already drafted in the riot boys to help him. I only hope that door’s strong enough to hold. The last thing we need is him and the goon squad storming in here, throwing petrol on the fire. Me and Annie can handle this situation, I know we can – we can get all of us out of here alive – just so long as the Guv doesn’t come steaming in like a caveman!

  As he inched closer, a reflection on the floor caught his eye. It was McClintock’s fob watch. Its chain had broken in the struggle and it had fallen from his waistcoat pocket. Very carefully, Sam reached down and picked it up.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Donner demanded. ‘What have you got there?’

  ‘Something with a history,’ Sam said, almost to himself. ‘Mr McClintock knows about it, deep down – not that you’re giving him a chance to tell us. I know about it too, though I’d be pushed to explain how. We’ll just say I – I saw things.’

  Donner’s face was impassive, but his voice betrayed a hint of unease. ‘Stop talking. Give that gold thing to me.’

  But Sam ignored him. ‘History. I was never much cop at it at school. But recently I’ve become pretty good at it. You could even say history’s my strong point.’ He looked over at Annie and smiled. ‘Your history, my history – even Mr McClintock’s. And all this history, it’s been teaching me things. All sorts of things. Not always easy to put into words what I’ve been learning, but …’ He shrugged. ‘It’s made a better man of me, that’s all I can say.’

  He found his gaze had shifted from Annie’s pale, wide-eyed face to McClintock’s burned hands, which were flexing anxiously by his sides.

  ‘How can I say that I was there?’ Sam said, looking at that pink, smooth scar tissue. ‘How can I say that I felt that pain – the flames, the burning? How can I say that I saw what you saw, Mr McClintock – that night – ten years ago? How can I say that I lived the past that’s embodied in this little pocket watch?’

  What would they all be making of his words? Annie no doubt would be assuming that he was stalling for time, or trying to undermine Donner’s confidence by talking so obliquely. If McClintock could hear him at all, would he be recalling Tony Cartwright’s death, and the fire, and how he failed to defeat Clive Gould? Would he be wondering just how the hell the impertinent detective from CID knew about all this?

  And what about Donner? What would he be thinking? Or was that an impossible question for Sam to answer? Was the broken mind of that poor, ruined psychopathic child too far beyond his understand and imagination?

  And what about me? What am I thinking?

  Sam was thinking about how he had misjudged everything, how he had looked for the Devil in the Dark and seen it manifested in the wrong guise. McClintock wasn’t that murderous monster. Indeed, once he had been a fine copper – upstanding and brave. He may have lost his way since then, but maybe he was damaged, like the boys in his borstal.

  I was wrong about McClintock – and I was wrong about Donner. The System that I need to break, it’s not represented by this borstal at all – and it’s not represented by Donner either. It’s somehow here, in my hand.

  The fob watch sat in his palm, innocently ticking.

  Here is my link to Life itself. A physical object from the world of the living, carried through to this world of the dead. A living relic – and maybe something more.

  This innocuous-looking timepiece had already granted him glimpses of the past – of Tony Cartwright’s violent death, of McClintock’s own demise amid the flames, of the monstrous Clive Gould at the height of his powers. This watch had witnessed so much horror – and, as an object from Life, it brought with it into this afterlife the taint and aura of all that death and betrayal. So powerful was that resonance that Sam had detected it at once, and been transported by it back into the past.

  Here is my link to Clive Gould. Through this, somehow, I can get to him – and then, maybe, I can destroy him once and for all.

  He looked up at Annie and felt an overpowering need to protect her from Clive Gould, no matter what the cost to himself. He had killed her father, then turned his attentions to her, drawing that poor, orphaned girl into his filthy life and into his bed and then, in time, murdering her with his bare hands. Yes, she had suffered enough at his hands already, although she could not remember it. He vowed to himself then and there that she would suffer no more.

  But, before I can protect her, I’ve got a desperate, knife-wielding psychopath to deal with. First things first, Sam.

  Sam slipped the watch into his inside jacket pocket and zipped it up.

  ‘No,’ said Donner. ‘Give it to me.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not listening to you any more,’ said Sam dismissively.

  ‘You will listen. I’m in charge.’

  ‘I trusted you!’ Sam snapped. He felt genuine indignation rising within him. ‘I was the only one out of all of them to take your side, to give you the benefit of the doubt! I stood up for you, do you know that? I saw you as a human being, not just some borstal slag to be treated like filth. I listened to you. But all you were doing was stringing me along!’

  ‘Give me that gold thing you picked up,’ said Donner, his face blank.

  ‘Oh yes, here we go, the dead-eyed-killer routine!’ sneered Sam, and he wasn’t play-acting. ‘The great player of games! The puppet master! The pint-sized Hannibal bloody Lecter, messing with all our minds! But you’re just a kid. A sad, broken little kid.’

  Sam glimpsed Annie’s face, drawn and bloodless, her eyes wide and staring. Her whole body was tensed in anticipation of a sudden move from Donner. What would it be? Would he plunge the knife wantonly into McClintock’s windpipe? Would he attack Sam? Or would he blindside them all with something totally unforeseeable?

  ‘Why aren’t you doing what I say?’ Donner said. ‘I’ll kill this man if you don’t take me seriously. Give me that gold thing you’ve got.’

  ‘Threats,’ said Sam, unimpressed. ‘Violence. Fear. That’s what it all comes down to. That’s what we’re all supposed to be running from. “Oh please, don’t hurt, I’m too weak to defend myself, have mercy, I’m begging you …!”’ Who was he addressing his words to? Was it Donner? Or was he speaking past Donner, to that lurking, brooding, shadowy menace that had been faceless and nameless for so long, but that now he knew to be a stinking lowlife called Clive Gould? Maybe the two had become one, so that, when he confronted Donner, he also – if only symbolically – confronted Gould. Whatever the truth, it felt good to stand up and speak out, to refuse to be afraid, to make a stand. Sam puffed his chest out and planted himself squarely in front of Donner, fixing him with his stare. ‘You’re just a killer, and I’ve met plenty of killers before now, believe me. They’re nothing special. I thought you were something special. I told the others, “This lad could have been prime minister if he’d been born a few doors down the road. His only problem is bad luck. He was brought up wrong, that’s all.” But now I see I was wrong. Sometimes, what’s shit on the outside is also shit at the core. You do your best by someone, you look for the good, you give them every opportunity to prove themselves – and what do they do? Lie, kill, wave a knife around.’ Sam shook his head contemptuously. ‘But even now I’ll bet you think you’re
the only victim in this room.’

  ‘Stop saying things or McClintock dies right now,’ Donner ordered. He held out his free hand. ‘Give that thing you picked up to me.’

  ‘You want it? said Sam. ‘Swivel.’

  Annie pressed herself back against the wall. McClintock’s bulging eyes screwed up in anticipation of a terrible death. Even Donner’s eyes seemed to cloud over for a moment.

  ‘You’ve turned against me,’ the boy said.

  ‘No. You made me turn against you. You’ve given me no choice, you little bastard.’

  ‘You’re playing games.’

  ‘I thought you liked games.’

  Donner thought about this. He tilted his head to one side. The boy was staring at Sam, but he did not make eye contact. He glared at Sam’s mouth, at his forehead, at his jacket, at the space to either side of him, but never into the eyes. He was utterly disconnected, regarding Sam not as a fellow human being but as an object – an object that, for reasons he could not understand, was not behaving as it was ordered. Whatever went on in that brilliant but broken mind of his, it was not reflected at all in his face. And that was why his next move was so completely unexpected.

  Donner pulled the knife from McClintock’s mouth, slicing deep into his upper lip as he did so, and lunged ferociously at Sam. As McClintock tumbled from his chair, clamping his scarred hands to his face to stem the gush of blood, Sam grabbed hold of Donner’s wrist with both hands and wrenched the boy’s arms with all his might. Donner refused to let go. They locked together, fighting for possession of the blade.

  Without warning, Annie rushed in, aiming a sharp blow across the front of Donner’s windpipe. The boy’s blank face hardly changed expression; a flicker of the eye, a slight twist of the corner of his mouth, no more than that.

  But, despite his impassive face, Donner was struggling wildly. He swung a calculated blow back at Annie, catching her hard across the side of her head and sending her crashing into a glass-fronted cabinet, smashing it.