Slammer (29 page)

A drop of water trickled down Glass's chin. 'What do you have on her?'

'Nothing. She was Caesar's business partner.'

'Jesus.' Glass didn't understand that kind of greed. 'She knew I was involved?'

'Yep. Wasn't all that happy about it, though. Thought you'd lose it and snitch. Like Fox.'

'Fox was a snitch?' Glass said.

'That was his plan. He found out about Ross. Threatened to blab.'

'Jesus,' Glass said again. So that was the real reason Caesar arranged the blanket party.

'So,' Watt said, 'this is fun. But you still haven't answered my question. Last chance. Which one of you killed Caesar?'

'Okay,' Glass said. 'Darko killed Caesar.'

'Oh, my. This is sweet. You think I can't tell when someone's shitting me?'

'It's true. You have to believe it.'

Watt licked his lower lip, sucked it into his mouth, spat it back out. 'I don't think so,' he said. 'If it was true, you'd have told me right away. There'd be no reason for you to protect Darko.'

'I didn't want you to kill him.'

'Crap. You didn't want me to kill him because he's innocent. If he was guilty, you wouldn't have thought twice about giving him up to save yourself.'

'It's not like that. You've got it wrong.'

'Hold this.' Watt placed the torch in Glass's lap so the light was directed at him. Then he bent down, picked up the coil of rope off the floor. 'Who do you love most in the world?' He measured a piece of rope. 'Mafia?' He cut the rope. 'Nah, I don't think so. It's purely sexual with him, isn't it? Maybe you love yourself most.' He looped the rope, formed a second loop, crossed one loop over the other. 'But if you do, cutting your own finger off's a pretty strange way of showing it.' He moved behind Glass, feet scraping on the plastic sheet, and yanked his head back. 'Lorna?' He looped the knot around Glass's exposed neck. The rope fibres tickled Glass's skin. 'Caitlin?' Watt tightened it.

'Leave them alone.'

Watt pulled the ends of the rope and Glass's head snapped back. He started to choke. Watt kept the rope taut. 'I'd advise you,' he said, 'to sit very still. I'm going to tie this off on the chair legs. Once I've done that, there'll be just enough slack for you to keep your head level without strangling yourself.'

'You don't need to do this.'

'You'll just sit there and not try to escape till I get back, will you?'

'It was me. I killed Caesar. I admit it.'

Silence.

Then he felt a sharp tug on his hair and the pressure on his throat eased.

'I'd like to kill you,' Watt said. 'But that would be too easy on you.'

'Do what you have to do,' Glass said, breathing fast. 'But do it to
me
.'

'Cut a few more fingers off? Some toes? Your nose? Your balls? I could do that. All of it. Maybe I will. But first I have to go see Lorna and Caitlin.'

'Don't. I'm begging you, don't.'

'Save your breath.' He let go of Glass and crouched down again.

The rope tightened. 'Please,' Glass said.

'Nearly there.'

The rope dug into Glass's throat, constricted his swallowing. 'Too tight,' he said, his voice sounding different, nasal, a pressure building up behind his nose.

'It's a clove hitch. With this little beauty, the more you wriggle, the more it'll tighten. Wriggle enough and you'll choke yourself to death.'

*

'He's bluffing,' Glass said into the dark room once Watt had gone.

Glass wished Mafia was awake. He needed reassurance. After the momentary relief of seeing the back of his torturer, the realisation of what Watt had threatened took over.

Lorna and Caitlin weren't at home, Glass reminded himself. They were safe. Watt couldn't touch them. They weren't at home. They were at Lorna's mother's. Yep, that's where they were.

'Glad that fucker's gone.'

'Mafia?' Glass said. He was alive. 'You all right?' There was a pause and Glass wondered if Mafia had lost consciousness again.

'I've been better,' Mafia said, finally. 'My head aches. I'm tied to this chair and I've got a noose round my neck. I can't move.'

Glass knew how he felt. 'You been awake long?'

'Few minutes. Thought I'd keep quiet till I worked out what was going on.'

'We have to get out of here,' Glass said. He leaned forward. Immediately the rope tightened round his neck. The pressure behind his nose increased. He could feel it in his cheekbones. He could hear it in his ears. It beat in his shoulder, in his finger.

Maybe he should keep struggling, let himself choke. Maybe Watt was right. It was all he deserved.

The rope dug into his throat. His eyes started to throb. He got scared, let his head go back. The knot didn't slacken. He tried to shrug it loose, but the effort was no good. He'd have to sit here till Watt returned, throat squeezed, hoping he didn't faint.

'I can't move either,' he said, his voice odd. 'We're not going anywhere.'

'Well, maybe we can try to get someone's attention,' Mafia said. 'Maybe someone's around.'

'Maybe,' Glass said. Maybe. It was possible. Just as it was possible that Lorna had changed her mind and come home. That she'd be at home right now. Her and Caitlin. Unaware that Watt was on his way over.

'I'll have a go, then.' Mafia paused and Glass imagined him filling his lungs. Then he shouted: 'Help.' And again: 'He—'. The shout was cut off. 'Jesus,' he said, gasping.

'Keep your head steady,' Glass said, adjusting to the new sound of his own voice. The pressure in his head was harder to get used to. 'Don't lean forward when you yell.' He took a breath and shouted, 'Help.'

The noose round his neck muted the cry. He pretended it wasn't there. Tried again. Loud enough for someone close by to hear.

Mafia joined in.

Together they cried into the darkness.

Then stopped, catching their breath.

Glass felt light-headed. The pulse in his temples beat hard and fast. He waited, hoping he'd hear a reply. Maybe there was a squatter in one of the flats in the building.

But he heard nothing except the thump of his heart.

It was possible that Lorna had changed her mind, yes. More likely, though, the police had been in touch with Lorna's mother and when Lorna heard Glass had been taken hostage, she'd decided to come right on home so she could be there for him when he was released. That wasn't just possible, that was probable.

He yelled again.
'Heeeeelp.'

And again, Mafia joined in.

Started off loud, hearty, enthusiastic. Quickly turned into a series of doleful wails. They kept it up till they were out of breath.

Glass listened to the blood rushing in his ears. If he hadn't been tied to the seat, he'd have fallen off it.

They were alone. No one was coming to rescue them. All this, it was pathetic.

Glass couldn't make out Mafia's face, but he knew how he'd look. Defeated. Glass felt the same. 'Is there nothing you can think of?' he asked. But he was really speaking to himself. He needed to feel angry again. The way he felt in Caesar's peter. He had to take the pressure in his head and use it. 'I need to get out of this chair. I need to—'

'You'll die trying,' Mafia said. 'Just calm down.'

'I can do it. First thing is to free my wrists.'

'My brother knows how to tie someone up.'

If the police had been in touch with Lorna, though, they'd have someone at home with her. Wouldn't they? Would they leave her in the house on her own?

'Oh, Jesus,' Glass said. 'He won't hurt them. Tell me he won't hurt them.'

Mafia said nothing.

'It's a bluff,' Glass said. 'Please God tell me it's a bluff.'

*

It felt as if twenty minutes had passed.

Glass had tried shouting for help again. He'd ripped his throat raw. And he'd made several attempts to free his arms. All he'd succeeded in doing was half-strangling himself and causing new levels of pain in his shoulder and finger.

His head pounded like his heart was where his brain should be.

But he tried once again, fighting against the rope as it cut into his throat, his muscles on fire as he tried to lever his hands off the arms of the chair.

The painkillers had worn off completely.

Watt would be arriving at Glass's house about now. Glass couldn't give up.

He opened his mouth and yelled, even though he knew there was nobody but Mafia to hear him.

*

Exhausted, muscles aching, his fringe soaked in sweat, his throat swollen, his shoulder on fire, blade-like pulse in his finger, a balloon expanding in his head, Glass said to Mafia, his voice a croak, 'Tell me why you were in jail.'

Mafia said nothing.

'Don't blank me,' Glass said. 'Please.'

'You don't want to know.'

Glass laughed as best he could. Sounded like a wheeze. 'Not only do I want to know, I think I deserve to know. What did you do?'

'Now's not the time.'

'Now's the only time. Just tell me. I'm a big boy. I can handle it.'

'I'm not sure—'

'Mafia, I may never have another chance.'

*

Back when Mafia was running with Caesar, so Mafia told Glass, Watt wanted to be part of the action. Mafia wouldn't let him. Watt was bright, could have made something of himself. But he liked getting off his face too much. Managed to stay away from smack, more or less, but he'd take everything else that was on offer. And with Caesar around, there was always plenty on offer. Mafia wanted Watt to stay away from him.

Watt had other ideas. Thought he was a big boy, old enough to decide for himself what he wanted to do, what drugs he could take, what company he would keep. He resented Mafia giving him orders.

He married young, had a little girl soon afterwards.

Like me, Glass thought.

'Just like you,' Riddell agreed. 'Quite a coincidence, don't you think? Carry on.'

'Carry on,' Glass told Mafia.

Well, things weren't working out between Watt and his wife. Watt was getting fucked up too often for her liking. He told her he could stop any time he wanted. Who knows, it might have been true. Problem was, he didn't want to. Denied the drugs were having any negative effect on him. But Mafia could see he was losing it. Showing signs of his head getting messed up. You know, sleeplessness, paranoia, aggression, memory loss, talking to himself, hallucinations. Both Mafia and his wife wanted him to see someone about it. He refused.