The Blood Road

by Stuart MacBride

  Up on the walkway, the guy in the grey mask leaned on the handrail. ‘Well, Dragon? The bidding now stands at fifty-three thousand pounds.’

  The woman in the sort-of-crocodile mask nodded. ‘Fifty-four thousand.’

  Snake put her head on one side. ‘Fifty-five thousand.’

  ‘Sixty!’

  Gasps from the other Animals.

  Now, while they were all busy, where was Danielle Smith?

  There – the woman in the Number Six mask, standing by a stack of wooden pallets. Logan waved at her.

  Grey Mask clapped his hands. ‘We have sixty thousand pounds! Do I hear any advance on sixty thousand pounds?’

  Silence.

  Logan pointed at Number Six, then at himself, then hooked a thumb over his shoulder towards the equipment shed.

  She didn’t move.

  Why could nobody do what they were told?

  ‘Sixty thousand going once. Going—’

  Snake nodded. ‘Sixty-two thousand.’

  Logan had another go. She’d definitely seen him – she was looking right at him, for God’s sake – so why wouldn’t she… Finally. Number Six gave a small shake of the head, then scuffed across the straw-covered floor towards him.

  ‘Dragon, Snake bids sixty-two—’

  ‘Sixty-three thousand, three hundred and seventy-five pounds!’

  Come on, come on, hurry up.

  Number Six stopped right in front of him. ‘What?’

  Logan jerked his thumb at the door again, turned, and walked into the equipment shed.

  Grey Mask’s voice echoed through from the cattle court. ‘Snake?’

  ‘I’d like to contact my client for guidance.’

  ‘You know that’s not possible.’

  Number Six followed Logan into the room and shut the door behind her.

  She stood, staring at the open crates. ‘What the—’

  And that’s when he cracked her over the head with his crowbar. Not a full-on baseball bat swing, but a firm enough clunk to make her knees buckle and send her crumpling to the floor. And keep her there.

  Logan dropped Number Five’s broken mask. ‘Not so funny when someone does it to you, is it?’

  He peeled her mask off – yup definitely Danielle Smith. Checked for a pulse – still alive. Gritted his teeth, took a couple of deep breaths, then dragged her behind the crates in the far corner. Stopped for a grimace and some panting as the fires reignited. Braced himself against the wall while the world pulsed and hissed like waves on a stony beach.

  Do not pass out. Do NOT pass out…

  OK.

  Come on. Not finished yet.

  The gloves were too thick to work the cable ties, so he stripped them off and struggled one set around her wrists and another around her ankles, the plastic tacky in his sticky red fingers.

  A strip of duct tape across her mouth, and she was done.

  Meaning Logan could go rummaging through her pockets.

  ‘Where are you, you little…’ A hard, L-shape weighed down the left side of her leather jacket. Logan slipped the semiautomatic pistol free. ‘Ah, there you are.’

  It was an ugly black slab of a thing. Heavy. But it would do.

  Now, did she have a phone?

  Sod. No, she didn’t. And, like Number Five, no wallet or ID either.

  So much for Plan A: call for help. Time for Plan B: the gun.

  The magazine slid out into his palm with a quick push of the release. Ten bullets. He pulled the slide back and checked the breech: empty. Right. He slapped the magazine in again and racked a bullet into the chamber. Clicked off the safety.

  Here we go.

  Logan put on Danielle’s Number Six mask and flipped up his borrowed hood.

  Too late to chicken out now.

  Deep breath.

  He opened the door and stepped into the cattle court.

  Snake and Dragon were still facing off, the pair of them looming over Aiden MacAuley. Poor little sod. Paedophiles fighting over him.

  Grey Mask had his arms out, preacher style. ‘I’m going to have to press you, Snake. I have sixty-three—’

  ‘Sixty … five thousand.’

  One of the Animals whistled. ‘Bloody hell.’

  Logan limped his way along the wall, gun arm tucked behind him.

  Dragon turned towards the man on the walkway. ‘I’ve got more money in my account: the twenty-eight thousand that Horse owes me for Rebecca Oliver.’

  The Animals shuffled their feet and looked away. Some hissing breaths. A couple shaking their heads. Clearly uncomfortable.

  Grey Mask shrugged. ‘Ah… No. Firstly there’s a twenty percent sales commission, and secondly those funds can’t be released until the end of the evening.’

  She stomped her foot. ‘This is the end of the bloody evening!’

  ‘I don’t make the rules, Dragon. I just enforce them.’

  Him: Grey Mask. He was the one to take down. Break him and the whole twisted organisation would collapse, begging to be arrested.

  Yup.

  Logan limped on, towards the walkway.

  You keep telling yourself that.

  Dragon turned to Snake, voice cracking. ‘Please. Please, let me have Aiden! I have to have him. You don’t know how important it is. Please.’

  Snake held up a hand. ‘I’m sorry, but the people I represent were very insistent about his ownership.’ Then in a softer tone, ‘There are plenty of other children out there you could have.’

  ‘You don’t understand! It’s…’ Looking around for support. Getting none. ‘How about I buy Aiden from you? After this, when they give me the twenty-eight thousand?’

  Grey Mask held up a hand. ‘Less sales commission.’

  ‘That’s…’ Dragon twitched the fingers on one hand. ‘Eighty-six thousand pounds in total!’

  Snake shook her head. ‘Eighty-five thousand seven hundred and seventy-five.’

  ‘Please: you go home with a huge profit and you don’t even have to do anything!’

  ‘It’s one thing to be beaten, honourably, at auction. It’s another entirely to accept bribes. No. It’s out of the question.’

  The plus side to all this haggling was that no one paid any attention to Logan as he scuffed his way through the straw along the edge of the walkway.

  Dragon dragged in a ragged breath, her voice choked. ‘Please! You have to!’ She threw back her hood and ripped off her mask. Dropped it to the ground. Followed it up with a blonde curly wig.

  Oh … fuck. Dragon was Sally MacAuley.

  The other Animals retreated a couple of steps, putting a bit of distance between them and what was clearly an inexcusable breach of the paedophiles’ sacred code of anonymity.

  ‘He’s my son!’ Sally fell to her knees and held her arms out. Sobbing. ‘Aiden … Aiden it’s me! It’s … it’s Mummy. I’m so … I’m so sorry…’

  Aiden stood there, face slack, as if there was nothing behind his eyes.

  Grey Mask climbed down from the walkway. ‘Well, well, well…’ Getting closer as Snake slithered off to join the other animals. ‘You know, in all the years I’ve been doing this, I’ve only ever once had a family member try to buy their own child back. A fisherman. Didn’t end well for him.’

  ‘Aiden? Aiden it’s me! Don’t you remember Mummy?’

  ‘You lied on your application form, Dragon, and that’s a disciplinary offence.’ He stopped, six foot away. ‘We take discretion very seriously at the Livestock Mart. Can’t have you waltzing out of here with Aiden then clyping to the authorities, can we?’

  ‘Aiden!’ She stretched towards him, all tears and snot.

  Grey Mask dipped into a pocket and produced a semiautomatic – completely wrapped in what looked like clingfilm. He gestured at the Animals. ‘You see the things I do for you? You should—’

  ‘ARMED POLICE!’ Logan stepped out onto the straw, holding Danielle’s gun in one hand and clutching his side with the other. ‘DROP THE WEAPON AND MOVE OVER THE
RE! AWAY FROM THE OTHERS! SLOWLY!’

  ‘Gah!’ Grey Mask stared at the ceiling for a moment. ‘You see?’ He pointed his gun at Sally MacAuley’s chest. ‘This is what happens when people don’t follow the rules!’

  ‘Don’t.’ Logan took off his mask, the air cold against his skin. A dribble of sweat itched its way down his cheek. ‘I’m having a really crappy day and I will shoot you.’

  ‘Even if you do, then what? There are … seventeen of us – not counting this lying bitch – are you going to shoot everyone?’

  ‘I’ll shoot you.’

  Sally was still on her knees in front of Aiden, only a few feet between them, but it might as well have been miles.

  Grey Mask turned to face Logan. Stared at him for a while, head on one side. ‘Is that blood I see?’

  ‘Sally: take Aiden and get out of here.’

  She didn’t move.

  ‘Looks nasty. Let me guess, Number Five introduced you to his knife? He’s very fond of it.’

  The world washed in and out again, hissing against the stones.

  Logan blinked. Shook his head. ‘Sally: take Aiden!’

  She stared at him, bit her bottom lip, then shuffled forward on her knees and wrapped her son in her arms. Buried her face in his neck and breathed him in.

  ‘Sometime today would be spectacular!’

  Grey Mask took a step towards Logan. ‘I think you’ve lost a lot of blood already. Feeling weak? A bit light-headed?’

  ‘SALLY!’

  She flinched. Seemed to remember what the hell was actually going on, and scooped Aiden up, holding him there.

  ‘How long before you pass out, Officer?’

  She wiped a hand across her eyes. ‘Sorry, I—’

  ‘Sally: focus!’ Logan tightened his grip on the gun. ‘I need you to go out the back door, pick a direction, and run. Get Aiden to safety.’

  She just stood there.

  ‘MOVE!’

  Finally.

  She half stumbled, half ran through the straw towards the equipment shed door.

  Grey Mask raised his voice, watching her go. ‘We’ll find you, Sally MacAuley. We’ll find you and you’ll both be disciplined.’

  She shoved through the door, thumping it shut behind her.

  And now everyone turned to stare at Logan.

  ‘Well, well, well, Officer. Alone at last.’

  A large woman with the number two on her mask inched closer.

  ‘Stand still!’ Logan gestured with the gun. ‘Everybody on the floor. Now!’

  Grey Mask lowered his weapon. ‘It’s sad really. Kind of pathetic.’

  ‘I SAID: ON THE BLOODY FLOOR!’

  A fat man in a chicken mask lowered himself towards the straw.

  ‘Don’t.’ A gloved finger. ‘Think about it, Rooster: he’s a police officer. What’s he going to do, shoot unarmed men and women? Really?’

  Rooster stood up again. ‘Sorry.’

  Danielle’s gun was getting heavier. ‘It’s over. The kids are miles away from here by now. They go home to their families and you … you go to jail.’

  ‘Their families?’ A laugh. ‘God, you cops are so naïve, aren’t you?’ He pointed at Captain Chicken Mask. ‘Who do you think sold Ellie Morton to Rooster in the first place? Her stepdad. You think she’ll be safer with him?’

  Great. The old man with the stinky dog had been right.

  ‘Face it: you’ve lost.’ He stepped closer. ‘All sales are final, Officer. So we’ll … acquire Aiden again and make his mother pay for bringing you here. Then we’ll recapture the rest of tonight’s stock and deliver them to their rightful owners. No child left behind.’ Another step. ‘But first we’ll take care of you.’

  Logan backed up. ‘You said it yourself: I’m a police officer. They’ll hunt you down like…’ He looked at Snake and Horse and Rat and Goat and Monkey and all of the other freaks. ‘Animals.’

  ‘Really? Because I don’t remember them hunting me down when I forced all those pills and booze into Detective Sergeant Chalmers, then tied a noose around her throat. Don’t remember that at all.’

  ‘You killed her?’

  ‘And now it’s your turn.’ Grey Mask snapped his gun up.

  Too slow.

  Logan’s semiautomatic roared out across the cattle court, echoing around the metal roof and breeze-block walls. Roaring and bouncing and roaring and bouncing until it finally faded away.

  Grey Mask stared down at the fresh hole in his hoodie. A dark-red patch spread out across the fabric. He dropped the gun. Looked up at his Animals. ‘I don’t…’ Then crumpled to the ground. ‘Oh Jesus! Aaaaaaaaaargh! AAAAAAAAARGH!’ Curling around his stomach, screaming.

  Everyone froze as Logan limped forward and picked up the fallen semiautomatic.

  He used both guns to gesture towards the corner of the byre, away from the equipment shed door. ‘All of you, over there where I can see you.’

  ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!’

  They shuffled through the straw, hands up, someone repeating, ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God,’ over and over to themselves.

  If one gun weighed a ton, two weighed about eight times as much. Could barely keep them pointed at the inhabitants of the world’s worst petting zoo and the numbers one to four. And seven. ‘Keep moving.’

  ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! OH CHRIST, THAT—’

  Logan kicked him. ‘You want me to take your pain away? Because I’ve got a lot more bullets!’

  The screams faded to a sobbing whimper instead.

  ‘Better.’ Logan limped backwards, till the walkway stopped him. ‘Listen up, people: here’s how this is going to work. You’re all going to lie facedown on the ground.’

  Nobody moved.

  Then Number One stepped forward. ‘You heard the Auctioneer: he’s not going to shoot us.’

  Dog shuffled behind Rooster. ‘He shot the Auctioneer!’

  ‘All we’ve got to do is wait till he passes out and—’

  Logan put a bullet in the wall above Number One’s head. The boom reverberated around the shed as Numbers and Animals all scrambled for the ground. ‘Hands on your heads!’

  They didn’t need a second telling this time.

  ‘Anyone who moves gets a free bullet, are we clear?’

  No reply.

  ‘ARE WE CLEAR?’

  A ragged chorus of ‘yes’s, partially muffled by them all having their faces buried in the straw.

  ‘Good.’ He slumped against the wall, sliding down it till his backside hit the deck. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. More stinging his eyes – he wiped it away with his sleeve. Glanced down at the glistening dark stain that reached out across his stomach and down his left leg.

  The world did its waves-on-a-beach trick again.

  Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

  Why was it so cold?

  Could kill for a pint of beer as well. Mouth was dry as a litter tray.

  Logan rested Danielle’s gun against his knee, propping it up. ‘Now we’re all going to sit here quietly till the police come…’

  47

  Oh, this was bad. This was very, very, very bad. Stan sneaked a look, keeping his blue mask touching the damp straw, trying not to draw attention. Or a bullet.

  Everyone on this side of the cattle court lay on their fronts, the guys working the auction and the perverts as well. Nobody moving. Probably all trying to figure out how the hell they were going to escape before the cops descended.

  And the only thing stopping them getting up and just walking out of here was slouched against the walkway, with that big red smear – where he’d slid down the brickwork – glistening behind him. Face pale as suet. The gun limp in his lap.

  The one silver lining to this total shitstorm was that the bitch, Dragon, didn’t have any car keys. She’d have to walk to the nearest farm, call it ten minutes away? After that, the cops would be here in what, fifteen, twenty minutes tops? So they had half an hour, max.

  One of the kiddy fiddlers, Monke
y, raised his head and stared at the copper. ‘Is he…?’

  ‘You!’ The copper raised the gun in one shaky hand. ‘Get your head down before I blow it off!’

  Yeah: they were all completely and utterly screwed.

  This was all the Auctioneer’s fault. A journalist and a cop? One turning up would’ve been bad enough, but both? How could security be that lax?

  Stan risked another peek.

  The copper was still slumped against the concrete, but he’d tilted over to the left a bit. Arms limp at his sides. Eyes closed. Was he even still breathing?

  The Auctioneer wasn’t moving either. Good. Served him right.

  Someone shifted on Stan’s left: Rabbit. Raising himself up off the straw a couple of inches, mask fixed towards the copper. Then further. And further. And finally he was sitting up, the long white ears wobbling.

  Nothing happened. No threat. No gunshot. Nothing.

  Rabbit eased himself to his feet and crept towards the main door, pausing to nudge Snake with his foot on the way past. She got up and sneaked out too, followed by Tiger and Ox and Rat and Horse, and soon everyone was tiptoeing their way to freedom.

  Stan picked himself up and crept across the cattle court, following Number One through the door and into the night.

  Rain misted down, glowing in the farm lights. Making everything look slick and yellow, like it was infected.

  They gathered in a clump by the door.

  Number Two poked his head back into the cattle court, then out again. ‘I think they’re dead. Do you think they’re dead?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’ Number One paced away a couple of steps. ‘If they’re not now, they soon will be.’ He pulled a Zippo lighter from his pocket. Flicked the lid open and thumbed the wheel, setting up a wee shower of sparks that turned into a wobbly flame. ‘Going to be DNA and all sorts in there.’

  Snake marched over and poked him in the chest. Voice all hoity-toity, and sharp. ‘I want my clients’ money back, this auction has been a farce!’

  ‘Calm, OK?’ Number Three shook his masked head. ‘Nobody’s getting their money back till we’re out of here.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Pig put his hand up. ‘Can I have my car keys, please? I’d really like to go home now.’

  Snake squared off with Number One. ‘Do I need to remind you that the people I work for—’