Slammer (22 page)

*

Horse said, 'What the fuck?'

Light spilled into the cell from the corridor, enough that Horse raised a hand over his eyes to block it out.

Glass showed him the gun. 'Move it,' he said.

Horse swung his legs out of his bed.

His cellmate, a spindly young drug-dealer, looked terrified.

'Keep your mouth shut,' Glass told him.

He nodded.

Horse said, 'The fuck are you doing, Glass?'

'What I should have done a long time ago.'

Horse shook his head. Got to his feet.

He was wearing underpants, nothing else. But the way he was standing, comfortable with his body, you'd have thought he was wearing a fancy bespoke suit.

Glass hated the fucker's confidence. He told him.

Horse stared at him. 'The fuck you been taking?'

'I want that recording of me.'

'I don't have it.'

'Course you do.'

'It's not here.'

'Where is it?'

Horse waited, looked at the gun, 'Why should I tell you?'

'Don't, then,' Glass said. 'Let's go wake up Caesar and ask him.'

Horse stared at him.

'Fucking move your fucking arse,' Glass said. 'You fucking hairy cunt.'

*

Caesar's first words were the same as Horse's. He said, 'What the fuck?'

Jasmine made do with squeaking noises.

Glass steered Horse in front of him.

'Shut up,' Glass said. 'The pair of you, shut the fuck up.' He waved the gun at Caesar and Jasmine.

He was in control now. They had to see that.

Jasmine stopped squeaking, pulled her blanket around her.

Horse said, 'Look—'

'You fucking shut up,' Glass said. 'I told you. I've had all the shit I'm going to take from you lot.'

'What's brought this on?' Caesar made to get out of his bed. 'Do a man a favour and this is the thanks you get.'

'Stay there,' Glass said.

'Or what?' Caesar said. 'You'll shoot?'

'Exactly,' Glass said.

'Ordinarily,' Caesar said, 'I'd be pissed off at being woken in the middle of the night. But on this occasion, I really don't mind.' He chuckled. 'You're a real comedian, Nick.'

Prick, prick, prick. Fucking prick.
'This isn't a joke.'

'Oh, I think it is.'

'You think so?'

'I think so. What do you think, Horse?'

'I think so too.'

'I don't give a shit what you think. Either of you.' Glass looked at Jasmine. 'Any of you.'

'Bet that's not even a real gun,' Horse said.

Glass pointed it at him and pulled the trigger. Nothing. Felt awkward. Thought he hadn't pulled it hard enough. Then realised what the problem was.

'See?' Horse said. But now he didn't sound too confident.

Glass flicked the safety as Horse took a step towards him. Pulled the trigger again. In the confined space of the cell, the noise bounced back through his bones.

Horse collapsed onto the floor. And he did collapse. The kind of fall that had to hurt even if the bullet hadn't.

'I'll be fucked,' Caesar said.

Jasmine started squeaking again.

'You shot him,' Caesar said. 'You actually shot him.'

'I'll shoot you too.'

'The fuck's wrong with you?'

Jasmine was screeching now. Really painful ear-splitting horrendous noise she was making. Like a bag of cats somebody'd set alight.

And along the corridor, the shouting and banging had started from the other cells. They were awake. Heard gunfire. And the only thing they could do to let anyone know they were in danger was to start making a racket.

The officer at the gatehouse had probably heard something, too. It was quite a distance away, and the duty officer often had the radio on. But even if the sound had travelled, the response would take time. Time to decide what the noise was, what to do about it. Help would take time to arrive. That was the nature of help, especially in a place like this where nobody could go anywhere in a hurry. Glass would be okay for a while yet.

Anyway, he couldn't rush this. Had to be done properly. Couldn't concentrate with this racket, though.

'Shut up!' he yelled at Jasmine.

She screeched at him.

He pointed the gun at her and shot her too.

She shut up.

The relative silence was beautiful.

'The fuck did you do that for?' Caesar said.

'If she'd shut up she'd still be alive.'

'You're a sick man.'

Had to hand it to Caesar. He was remarkably cool. Just had two people shot right in front of him and although he had to know he was next, he wasn't even breathing hard. Not that Glass could see.

Glass almost burst into tears, he was so impressed by Caesar. Thought about handing over the gun, telling him he deserved it.

Wished he was as fucking cool.

And, you know, dying was a way out. Problem solved. All problems solved. Well, they weren't solved, they became someone else's. But that was tempting too.

Glass didn't like too much responsibility. Caitlin was more than enough. But he didn't want to die just yet. That was too easy. 'Horse and Jasmine wanted to escape,' he said. 'There. They've escaped.'

Caesar shook his head.

Glass supposed that meant something but he wasn't sure what.

'What do you want?' Caesar asked.

'That tape recording.'

Caesar nodded. 'It's gone. Smuggled out. Watt has it.'

'That's handy. I want to see him anyway. Where can I find him?'

Caesar looked up. 'I give you Watt, you'll kill me.'

'Maybe I'll kill you anyway.'

'You're fucked, Glass. You just killed two people.'

'Yeah, I'm fucked,' Glass said. 'My wife and kid left me. Because of you. And Watt. So you're both fucked too. We're all fucked. Ask Horse and Jasmine.'

Caesar said, 'I gave you Fox.'

'Yeah, thanks. You set me up with your little note. Very nice of you.'

'You didn't think that was funny? Problem with you, Glass, you've no sense of humour.'

'You think? I'm having a laugh right now.'

'I can see that. You like killing. Feels good, doesn't it?'

'I didn't say that.'

'I think you'd like to cut off Horse's head, play football with it.'

Glass glanced down at Horse and noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. When he looked up again Caesar was rushing at him, a flash of steel hurtling his way. A big fucking flash. A blade. Glass dropped to the floor, rolled, slid in some of Horse's blood.

A clang as the blade struck something hard, something close to his body.

Glass twisted, got his hand up and fired.

Caesar looked at his arm. The bullet had ripped a hole in his bicep. He dropped the blade. It looked remarkably like Peeler's machete.

'Where did you get that?' Glass said.

Caesar was holding his arm, teeth bared, blood dripping through his fingers. 'Fuck you.'

'You couldn't have brought it in. Couldn't have got it through the metal detectors.'

'Fuck you, Crystal, you dopey cunt.'

'So how come?'

'Fuck you.'

'A con couldn't have …' Course a con couldn't have. Had to be an officer. But who? Only officer who was in the machine shop at the time was Glass. Until Fox arrived. Fox and Ross. 'Fox? Fox gives you a machete and you pay him back with a blanket party?'

'Fuck you.'

Glass shot him in the knee. 'Fuck
you
.'

Caesar buckled. Yelled. Kept yelling.

'Was it Fox?'

Caesar roared. Pain or rage or both. Then: 'No.'

Then it had to be: 'Ross?' What a bitch.

'Fuck you.'

That was that.

Caesar was a constant moaning sound, the roaring gone.

There was banging from the peters all the way down the corridor now.

Glass had to hurry. He picked up the machete, tucked it under his arm. Big fucking bastard of a thing. How the hell had Caesar managed to hide that in his cell all this time?

'Think it'd be funny if I cut your head off?'

Caesar said, 'You're fucking mental, you twat.'

Glass shot him in the stomach.

*

Glass knelt, laid out Caesar's hand on the floor, palm down, fingers spread.

The racket the cons were making was ricocheting around in Glass's skull. Could hardly hear what he was doing, the sound making him dizzy.

He lined up the machete. Had to strike in the right place, as close to the knuckle as possible.

Difficult with his left hand.

Caesar wasn't dead yet — Glass saw his chest rise, fall. But he wasn't saying much, and his eyes were closed.

So, aye, okay
.

Ignore the noise
.

Here goes
.

He swung the blade down as hard as he could. It cut through Caesar's index finger all right, and also half of his middle finger and the tip of the next one.

Caesar opened his eyes. His eyelids flickered. Then closed again.

Glass dropped the machete, picked up the finger. Squeezed blood out of it. Nice clean cut. Only question was whether it was going to fit.

He held it alongside his existing index finger. Looked a good match. Even in the dim light he could see that the skin colour wasn't ideal — Caesar's was much darker — but the length was good. First thing he'd have to do was trim the nail. Caesar's grooming left a lot to be desired.