Bad Men (22 page)

"Hello, Dirk," she said to the knife.

Brian. Shit. She missed him, especially now that Joanne wasnae speaking to her. She'd love to have shown him Dirk. She opened her handbag and took out the poem he had written for her when she told him she was pregnant. She'd found out that he'd written lots of poems, but this was the first one he'd ever shown anyone. She read it for the hundredth time. He may have done a runner like a total wanker once Wallace found out about them, but he was good at spelling and could make things rhyme. And it was sweet that he was so sure she was going to have a boy. She wondered where Brian had pissed off to. She was mad at him, of course, but she couldn't help hoping he was happy, wherever he was. The fucker.

Wallace ran his
fingers over his chest, then peeled back the corner of the final wax strip. Quickly.
Aaaah
.

Inevitably, most people would view him as a head case. Wallace knew that and he didn't care. In fact, he liked it. Lots of hard cases were also head cases. Always helped your rep if people thought you were a psycho. He wore glasses, and hard men didn't wear glasses, so he had to work twice as hard to maintain his rep. Anyway, rep aside, he had reasons for what he did. Reasons which lay outside the grasp of the ordinary intellect. Okay, that was unfair. The ordinary intellect may well grasp the reasons, but it took a special sort of person to understand and an even more special one to sympathise. He'd thought May had understood. He thought they'd clicked. Soulmates. All that shite.

Anyway, it was all May's fault, all this. Shagging that wee fuck he'd just crucified. And then getting fucking pregnant with that arsehole's kid. For Christ's sake. Wallace didn't want to dwell on that, cause it just made him angry and he didn't want to get so angry he killed her before she'd had a chance to see what he'd done to her boyfriend. And Pearce. What was Wallace going to do with him? Not much choice but to dispose of him as well. Couldn't very well let him go now. So that was May's fault too, in a round-about way. He hoped the bitch was proud of herself.

Wallace dumped the wax strip in the bin, confident he was looking good. Well, sure, he looked beaten-up, Pearce having got in a couple of lucky blows, but the bruising made him more attractive, if anything. He wondered if he should call May. Just to find out where she was. But he knew she'd be at home. That crazy-arsed family of hers wouldn't let her out of their sight.

Wallace started to button up his shirt. Stopped. Stared at the wedge-shaped white patch on his stomach. So big it had to be a birthmark. But it wasn't. That, folks, was a scar. And mighty proud he was of it, too. Proving a point to a friend of his.

Held a scalding-hot steam iron there for thirty seconds without flinching.

Only downside, these days hair didn't grow there, so he had to wax the surrounding area and he always did his chest too. Right. Splash on some aftershave and then off to get May.

Jacob returned from
the toilet. When he stepped over the kitchen threshold, he saw a vivid image of Rodge screaming in agony. No, it wasn't so much a picture. It had been dark that night when he heard the scream and his visual memory had thrown him the outline of a blurred figure, but that's not how it was. He didn't so much see Rodge as hear him. The scream. Deafening. Stunning. Even from the bedroom. But maybe it was the sound of the gunshots. Whatever it was, it was painfully loud. The combination. He could hear it now. Or was that the sound of blood rushing into his eardrums? Jacob felt as if someone was scrubbing his eardrums with a tiny cheese grater. He felt faint.

He must have looked it too, cause Norrie asked him, "You okay, boss?"

Cold sweat down his back now. Clammy forehead. The stale smell of scones from yesterday suddenly turning sickly. Felt like he'd eaten a dozen and he was faced with the prospect of having to eat the same again. Or what? Eh? What was he asking himself – what was – the sound of each shot blocking out Rodge's screams, there, and again, there, and he was waiting to hear the next one to cut off that demonic yelling once and for all, a final shot to the head, and there it came and Rodge was silent. Aye, that's how Jacob found him.

Switched on the kitchen light and there was his son, unconscious in a pool of blood. But Jacob could still hear him, that yell gushing out of him.

Of course, that final shot never came.

"Stop it!" Jacob said. "Stop."

But Rodge wasn't listening. Or maybe he couldn't hear because of the noise he was making.

"Stop."

No, this wasn't the way it had happened. Rodge had lost consciousness. The pain. His screaming. Not much pain.
Liar
. Okay. Lots of pain. Enough to – not for long, then. He'd lost consciousness. He'd lost consciousness. He'd lost. He'd. Lost. Lost. Oh, God.

Norrie said, "You having a turn, Jake?"

"I'm not," Jacob said, fighting to get the words out of his mouth, "having a turn." Whatever a turn was. "I'm fine." Said that easier. And Rodge's cries were fainter. "Just need to sit down a minute." Aye. Couldn't hear Rodge screaming now. He'd gone. Passed out.

Rodge was in hospital, for goodness' sake. Safe in hospital. And Flash had just gone to visit him. His boys were safe.

Where was May?

Jacob sat down heavily at the table.

Norrie stared at Jacob and said, "You sure you're okay?"

Jacob breathed through his nose. Once. Twice. "Don't worry about me." Heart attack. Couldn't help but think it. The older you got, the more susceptible you were, and the more aware you were of your susceptibility. And he'd already had a scare. But there was no pain. Not in his chest. Not in his arm. He was okay. He wasn't going to die today.

He was able to observe Norrie frowning, then saying, "You're really pale. You been this bad before?"

Jacob raised his voice, or at least he tried to, but it didn't come out as loud as he'd intended. "Stop worrying about me." A bit of a whisper, in fact. He reached for his fags.

"What did you say?"

Jacob tried to speak again, but the effort was too much. He shook his head instead, lit a cigarette.

"You should lie down. Shouldn't be smoking."

"I'm alright." And, come to think of it, he was pretty near okay. A quick draw on his tab and he was even better. Couldn't hear a thing from Rodge. Just a roaring in the ears. No gunshots. No screaming. The light-headedness was disappearing. "Don't need to lie down. Probably just too hot. It's warm in here." The roaring was fading to a pleasant murmur. He'd just needed a smoke, probably.

Norrie got to his feet and opened the window. "I'll run a cloth

under the cold tap."

Norrie's mobile phone started to ring. A trendy tune. Norrie liked to keep up with the kids, but it was all lost on Jacob. Norrie's hand dipped into his pocket and he took out his mobile and said, "Hi, May."

May? Where was she? She shouldn't be out of their sight. Jacob asked Norrie.

"In her room," Norrie said.

Jacob couldn't believe kids these days. May was phoning Norrie from her room. Couldn't be bothered to walk to the kitchen.

Norrie said, "Okay," and hung up. He looked at Jacob. "She found out about Wallace. Flash told her."

That's why Flash had left in such a hurry. Something hard lodged in Jacob's throat. He didn't want May to get involved in this. On the other hand, she might be safer now she knew she was in danger. "I suppose it was bound to happen," Jacob said. "How did she take it?"

"She says Wallace is a dead man."

They sat in silence for a minute. Then Norrie said, "So, no word from Pearce?"

Jacob shook his head. "Flash called him. His phone's off. Tried him at home. Answering machine. Something's happened. Flash called Wallace's work to speak to him. He wasn't there. Tried him at home and he picked up."

Repeating this really forced it home: one way or another, Wallace had taken Pearce out.

"You think Wallace killed him?" Norrie asked.

"From what I know of Wallace," Jacob said, "that's a distinct possibility."

A slight breeze
tickled the back of Wallace's neck as he stood at the Baxters' front door wondering whether he should knock or go right ahead and kick the door in. Did it matter? Bunch of fuckwits inside wouldn't know what had hit them either way.

He didn't know for sure who was inside, but he was prepared for May, her dad (Wallace's father-in-fucking-law), maybe that old retarded arsehole, Norrie, he hung around with, and probably Flash.

Wallace took a deep breath, feeling the gun press against his spine.

Okay, he'd made a decision. He'd knock. Break the door down and maybe a nosey neighbour would call the police. And whoever was inside didn't know he was here. He'd parked in a space a few doors down, which could be to his advantage.

He had a good mind to kick the door in anyway, though. They didn't have a doorbell. And he hated fuckers who didn't have doorbells. How hard was it to get one fitted? Fuck them. He took the gun out of his belt, rapped on the door with the butt.

An age later, the old man's friend, Norrie, answered the door and Wallace grinned at him as he showed him the gun.

Wallace said, "Step back, Grandad."

The old guy did as he was told and Wallace followed him inside. Wallace closed the door. Heard a voice from the kitchen saying, "Who is it?" Sounded like Jacob.

Wallace whispered, "Tell him it's a pair of Jehovah's Witnesses. And that they're just going."

Norrie passed on the message.

Wallace continued to whisper, "Where's May?"

Norrie whispered back, "In the kitchen."

Wallace stared at him. "If you're lying to me, I'll put a hole in your head." Wallace reached out and pressed the muzzle of the gun between the old guy's eyebrows. "Right there. Can you feel it?"

Sweat rolled down Norrie's cheek. He whispered, "She's in her bedroom."

God, he was pathetic. Wallace had a good mind to blow the old git away right now. Fucking halfwit. Apparently him and Jacob had been pissing about at the factory, seeing who could load a stack of dough-filled trays the highest, and Norrie had slipped on the wet floor, and cracked his head off a giant mixer. Knocked himself out. Never been the same since. Anyway, Wallace would have got rid of him, but whilst there remained the possibility of getting May out of the house without anyone knowing, he wanted to try. It would make life so much easier. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with her old man yet. And he was sure May wouldn't come without a struggle. But this was all part of the fun.

"Who's in the kitchen?" he asked Norrie.

"Just Jacob."

"Where's Flash?"

"Hospital." Norrie gave him his version of the evil eye. Wallace almost burst out laughing. Norrie continued, "Visiting Rodge."

Wallace calmed himself. "Tell Jacob you're going to the toilet."

Norrie shouted down the hall. Baxter shouted something in reply.

"Lead the way, Grandad."

"What if I refuse?"

"I'll kill you."

"Aren't you going to kill me anyway?"

"Only if you keep asking questions."

The old nutter shut up and Wallace shepherded him to May's old room.

"What now?" Norrie said as they stood outside the closed door.

"Open it."

Norrie turned the handle, stopped part way. "I can't just walk in," he said. "She might be in ... decent."

Jesus. "Knock on the door. Tell her you want to speak to her."

Norrie knocked, said, "May, can I speak to you?"

Wallace whispered, "Tell her it's about Wallace."

"It's about Wallace."

They heard May scrabbling about inside her room and moments later the door opened.

And that's about when things started going wrong.

Propped the slanted
cross against the
so
maybe if he wriggled
egg-carton wall
it'd
topple over
. Wasn't
but
wriggling
it would
though
hurt
. Bloodstained palms, bloodstained
he'd not looped
feet
rope round his wrists
.