Killing Mum_Kindle (4 page)

Carlos didn't feel too bad about it, though. He'd needed someone to replace Richie. And Jordan visited Richie's mother regularly, even now, which was something. Just sat there, neither of them speaking, holding hands. He'd seen them there that first time at the Home. Jordan was a blank. And Richie's mother hadn't spoken in years.

It was Richie's fault that Carlos and Jordan had met.
Richie'd
asked Carlos to check in on Liz, see how she was coping. Carlos couldn't see the point, wasn't intending hanging around, just dropping off some fresh flowers and scarpering, but when he got there he'd found this kid with her, a boy, barely a teenager, and remembered seeing the picture of them together in the newspaper. Part of the media frenzy. Kid Rescues Brain-Damaged Woman
From
Inferno. Not to mention the horror show inside the country cottage as body after body was discovered.
Fascinating.
Then all the speculation.
Nobody knew who'd killed who. It was all guesswork. The fire saw to that.

And of the only two survivors, Liz couldn't speak and the kid wouldn't speak.
Too traumatised, apparently.

And he wasn't the only one. Richie couldn't handle it. Went berserk in the slammer, killed a guard, which meant that he'd probably never get out now. Anyway, no chance he'd get to visit his mum. Which is why he'd asked Carlos to go see her, and how Carlos had bumped into Jordan.

Carlos had spotted it right away. He'd seen it in the photos. He saw it the minute he saw Jordan in the flesh. The kid was dead behind the eyes. Just like Richie used to be.

"Nice of you to visit," Carlos had said to Jordan.
"But why?"

Jordan shrugged.

Carlos cleared his throat, lowered his voice. "You can tell me."

No response.

Carlos said, "Tell me what you did."

Jordan looked him in the eye.

"It can be our secret," Carlos said.

Are you a poof or something?
Sounded like a young lad's voice, one on the point of breaking, flitting about like it wasn't sure which register suited best. Carlos hadn't seen Jordan open his mouth, but he was the only kid in the room. 
Well?

"No." Carlos smiled. "No, no." He waited a moment. "Is it because you feel guilty? Is that why you're here?"

I feel nothing.

"Good," Carlos said. "That's excellent. Anyway, I suppose the bitch got what she deserved."

Jordan looked at him again.

The bitch.
Liz's daughter.
Richie's sister.

"I thought so," Carlos said. "I know how you must feel."

Jordan stared at his feet, tapped the toes of his trainers on the floor.

"You sorry about what you did?"
Carlos asked.

Why would I be sorry?

"You like money, Jordan?"

The kid shrugged again.

"You and me," Carlos said. "I think we'll get along just fine."

And they had done.  The kid needed an outlet and spilled everything to Carlos eventually. Run out of bullets or he'd still be there pumping slugs into her, he'd said. Or at least that's what Carlos heard him say. Something had happened with Jordan's dad, too, but he wouldn't elaborate. He claimed he didn't feel anything, but there was something there, something raw that Carlos knew was best avoided.

Jordan was good.
Professional.
Ruthless.
Problem was he could only do local jobs. He lived with his grandmother and she kept tabs on him, protective of him now that her sons were dead. Carlos didn't know what had happened to Jordan's mother, but she was out of the picture. So, while Jordan could sneak out for the night easily enough, he couldn't pop down to London for a couple of days. But that was okay. Carlos had wound down the operation anyway and just the occasional job now and again was fine with him. Once Jordan got a bit older, maybe they'd pick up again.

Anyway, it would appear from tonight's showing that Jordan hadn't said anything to Carlos's mother. Maggie didn't care for him much, found the silences hard to bear, although she'd only ever met him a couple of times to deliver his money to him and claimed that he said, "Clever," when she took the money out of the pram the first time, and thanks the second time. But she conceded that he was good at what he did. Carlos had expected his mother would get herself plastered as usual tonight, give them a piece of her booze-addled mind, but she looked as sober as he'd seen her in ages.

Carlos tossed the
bodybag
onto the shag carpet. "Hope you like the colour," he said.

"You sure you want to go through with this?" his mum asked.

"It's the only way."

He didn't want to discuss this again. They'd been over it enough times already. They really needed to get moving now. Maggie was waiting outside in the Ford Escort van her sister's boyfriend had nicked to order, trying to keep herself relaxed by listening to her iPod, and Carlos was due to give her a bell once he was done. He promised her it'd be quick. She'd be ringing him to see what the problem was if he didn't hurry.

He didn't hurry. He sat down next to Jordan, shifting the gun tucked down the back of his waistband as it dug into his spine.

She
had
to ring. She had to tell him to stop what he was about to do. This was her last chance.

"Maybe it wasn't her," his mother said.

"Doesn't matter," he said. Maybe
Maggie'd
taken out the contract, maybe not. But either way, she should make him stop this craziness. He was about to kill his mother, for Christ's sake. Her silence made her guilty of something unforgivable, even if he couldn't pinpoint it just yet. "Whatever way you look at it, if she doesn't put a stop to this, she's a bitch from hell." And she'd signed her own death warrant.

"I'll give her ten more minutes," he said to his mother. "And then..."

"I'm dead," she said, nodding. "Thanks, Maggie."

They sat in silence, Carlos counting down the minutes,
then
the seconds, and finally, he said, "If you were looking for a monster, I think you've found one." He took the gun out of his waistband and handed it to Jordan. "You'll
be needing
this," he said. "It's not pretty but it'll do the job."

***

Maggie arrived a minute after he'd texted her. He answered the door, aware of a dull throb behind his eyes when he looked at her.

"Is it done?" she asked.

He turned away from her, led her into the sitting room, pointed at the
bodybag
, filled out,
zipped
up.

"Shit," she said. "You did it."

"Of course I did it."

"Shit," she said again. "Do you feel okay?"

"Fine."

"Really?"

"Yeah.
How should I feel?"

"I
dunno
.
In pain.
Emotional.
Horrible."

"I'm fine," Carlos said.

They stood for a minute, looking at each other, at the
bodybag
, back at each other. "So," Carlos said. "Give me a hand to lift this?"

Maggie didn't move.

"What?"

"How can you be 'fine'?" she asked.

"How many times do I need to say it?"

"I just find it hard to believe —"

"Maggie, we don't have time for this. Help me get the bag onto my shoulder."

"You can't be 'fine'."

"I assure you, I'm just fine.
Por
favor
."
He indicated the bag.

"You're right." She stepped forward. "You're right," she said again.
"Looks heavy.
You going
to manage it?"

"No problem.
Diet of vodka, she weighs next to nothing."

"Dead weight though." She looked at him, realised what she'd said. She laughed. "I'm sorry," she said.

"What for?"

"It's not funny."

"No," he said. "It isn't."

"I'm just nervous. I can't get my head round this."

"Don't think," he said.
"Act."

"I didn't think you'd go through with it."

"Don't think," he said, louder.

"I should have stopped you."

They stared at the bag. He'd thought all
bodybags
were black. But the mortuary only had a spare one in tan.

"Charlie," she said.

"Yeah?"

"You killed your mother."

He grabbed her wrist.
"For Christ's sake, Maggie.
You knew I was going to do it. Why are you acting so surprised?"

"I didn't..." She pulled her arm away.

"You didn't what?"

"Forget it. It's done." She rubbed her wrist.

He spoke quietly. "You wish it wasn't? Maybe you should have talked me out of it."

"Not my call."

He took a long breath through his nose.
Smelled Maggie's face cream.
She was wearing lipstick too. For her, this was just a night out.

"Fair enough," he said. "Are you going to stand there, or are you going to help?"

***

Once Carlos had watched a delivery guy carry a washing machine on his back up three flights of stairs.
Impressive.
Even more impressive, the same guy had taken the old one away with him on the way back down. In comparison, carrying a body down a single flight of stairs shouldn't be too much of a task. Carlos took a couple of steps towards the door, testing out the weight on his shoulders.

Maggie looked at him.

"It's not so bad," he said.

***

He was wrong. He'd only managed three steps and already his legs felt leaden. And he kept thinking he was going to topple forwards. He couldn't balance properly, wanted to put his hand on the rail but knew if he did that the body would slip. Maybe the
bodybag
hadn't been such a great idea after all. This was an extra heavy duty job. Greater 'leakage protection', he was told, after he'd complained about the colour.
Sounded just fine as a sales pitch, but the reality was that the bag weighed more than the standard model.

He considered turning round, walking backwards. Felt like it'd be a damn sight easier, leaning against the slope. But he needed to see where he was going. He'd stumble, fall,
land
on his neck or something.

Mierda
.
At this pace, he'd be here all night. Somebody might come home.
Always a risk, even though it was late.
If they did, there was the wedge under the front door and Maggie poised to stall them. But if someone who was already at home decided to head on out for some reason, there wasn't much he could do.
Couldn't hide.
Couldn't run away.
He'd just have to own up.
Which would ruin everything.