The Point (15 page)

The heft of the pistol sent a surge of power through Brian’s core. But, even armed and dangerous, he couldn’t keep the nerves out of his voice.  “I was just trying to get the milk, you dickhead.”

Here Comes Trouble

O’Rourke stared across his desk at Charlie’s slumped corpse. The dead weakling sickened him. He’d left behind a wife and a kid because he couldn’t manage his gambling. Fucking loser. The world was a better place without him.

He checked his watch and considered calling Owen to see if he’d caught up with Paul. Then he heard the clatter of hurried footsteps and yelling. The commotion came from the yard in front of his building. His front door opened. The footsteps sounded in his corridor. Then Paul burst into the office, screaming with his hands in the air.

“Richard, Richard!” Paul said. “Watch out. They’re trying to pull a move on you.”

“What?”

“No time. They’re coming!”

O’Rourke jumped to his feet and flipped his big office desk on its side. Paul scrabbled around the makeshift cover and hunched down beside O’Rourke.

O’Rourke ripped the Velcro-fastened sawn-off shotgun from the underside of his desk. He pumped it then turned to Paul. Noticed fresh facial wounds and a nasty burn on the side of his neck. He grabbed Paul’s upper arm.

“Who is it?” O’Rourke asked. “The Newry crew?”

“Don’t know. They grabbed me off the street earlier. Tried to get me to lead them to you.”

“Well you’ve done that now, haven’t you?”

“But only so I could warn you. Anybody else would have left you to get fucked.”

The rumble of feet pounding linoleum filled the corridor again. A big yeti in a suit entered noisily. O’Rourke stood up and emptied both barrels. The yeti took one in the chest and one in the face. He went down. Revealed a blood-spattered Woodstock reject. The hippy howled and raised a huge automatic pistol.

He unloaded half a clip. The rounds slammed into the reinforced desktop. O’Rourke, hunkered down and shielded, reloaded his sawn-off.

Warning Shot

Brian held the skinhead at gunpoint. The skinhead took a step forward. Brian thumbed back the hammer. The skinhead halted.

“That’s right,” Brian said. “I’ve seen plenty of movies. I know how to work these things. Now, step back.”

“You won’t shoot, though.”

Brian’s silence was taken as an affirmation of the skinhead’s statement. He took another step forward. Brian jerked backwards. Just wanted a little space. But his sudden movement set the gun off. A good chunk of the skinhead’s ear vaporised. He cupped it with both hands and screamed. Blood seeped through his fingers.

Little black specks floated in Brian’s vision. His knees shook. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself in the moment. “Uh, that was a warning shot,” he said.

The skinhead’s eyes popped wide open. They rolled like cue balls. “Warning? You fucking hit me!”

“I was aiming for above your head. Sorry.”

“I’ll kill you!”

“You sure you want another warning?”

The skinhead shut his eyes. “No. Please don’t.”

Brian thumbed back the hammer again. “Back up. Into the living room.”

He left the skinhead standing in the corner, gagged and bound with socks and Xbox leads.

Out on the street Brian stood by the skinhead’s car with his phone to his ear. “Come on. Answer.” But it rang off. “Bastard!”

Brian pocketed the phone and jumped into the car. He gunned the engine. The valves and cylinders whined in tuned-up ecstasy. Brian set the pistol on the passenger seat and peeled out onto the street, then onto the main road into Warrenpoint.

Last Stand

Paul cowered behind the desk and prayed O’Rourke would save him. Mad Mickey used the wall dividing the corridor and the office as cover. O’Rourke bounced up and emptied both barrels. Paul heard thuds and sharp cracks as the cartridges knocked lumps out of the door frame. Mad Mickey coughed. The sound of a lighter flint sparking cut across the smoky room. Paul couldn’t smell it above the choking stink of cordite but knew that Mad Mickey had just blazed a spliff. The mad bastard. Then five bullets battered the table and the wall behind it. Plaster dust fell like fine snow. Paul’s ears rang.

O’Rourke shook Paul to get his attention then mouthed: “Get your gun out.”

Paul hissed back. “I haven’t got it.”

“Where is it?”

Paul could just about hear O’Rourke over the diminishing ring in his ear.

“They took it when they lifted me.”

“Who the fuck are they?”

Paul shook his head. “No idea.”

Mad Mickey coughed. “Ah, come on, now, Paul. Tell the man who I am.”

O’Rourke glared at Paul. “How does he know...?”

“I told him when he was beating me.”

Mad Mickey snorted and wheezed. “I didn’t need to beat you for that.” He sighed. “Mister new boss. I’m the old boss and that wee bastard owes me a van and a pound of flesh. Just send the fucker out to me and I’ll leave peacefully.”

“He’s lying, Richard,” Paul said. “Don’t listen to him.”

“Well, I’ve nothing to lose by sending you out. Sorry, son. But you’re expendable. I’m not.”

O’Rourke pushed Paul out from the cover of the table. Paul screamed an incoherent protest. Mad Mickey sniggered. He stepped into the office and trained the automatic on Paul. Paul raised his hands. O’Rourke stood and blind-sided Mad Mickey. The hippy-gangster took one in the ribs. He went down. Paul loosed an animalistic sob.

“Sorry, Paul,” O’Rourke said. “I had to make it seem real.”

Paul wiped his running nose with his sleeve. “Jesus. You’re some actor, mate. You had me convinced.” He got his breathing under control and thought about standing. “Bit of a risky move, don’t you think?”

“It was a calculated risk,” O’Rourke said.

“Aye?”

“Yeah, I took myself out of the equation.”

More shots rang out.

O’Rourke’s bulk slammed against the wall. He slid down it, leaving a bloody trail. Paul turned to see Mad Mickey lying down, his gun raised in the air. He wheeled it on Paul.

“Fucking math-humour,” Mad Mickey said. “Unforgiveable.”

Blood foamed on the hippy-gangster’s lips as he cracked a smile.

“Mickey, please. Don’t. Let it go.”

“Let it go? You got me fucking killed.”

Mad Mickey pulled the trigger. It clicked. Empty. His gun hand fell to the floor. He breathed shallowly. Paul went to O’Rourke’s body and wrestled the shotgun from his death grip. Mad Mickey slowly fumbled in his pocket. Tried to snag a clip. His hand came away with one, but it was too late. Paul put him out of his misery.

He wiped his prints off the sawn-off with the tail of his shirt and dropped it by O’Rourke’s side. Thought maybe he could remove himself from the equation. He stepped out the door, stopped and went back for Mad Mickey’s gun and clip. It’d fuck with the crime scene and hint at another person’s presence, but fuck it. The way his day was going he couldn’t risk going without protection. He slammed the clip home before leaving.

Hit and Run

Rachel watched Paul from her daddy’s car as he walked out onto the street. He didn’t look both ways. She cranked the Subaru into first and sank the toe. Paul didn’t see her coming. He was flipped into the air, landed on the bonnet and slid down onto the road. Rachel opened the car door and stepped out. Another car screeched to a stop at the scene. Rachel glanced over at it and saw Brian behind the wheel. He got out. Staggered to the front of the Subaru.

“Jesus Christ, Rachel! What the fuck did you do?”

Rachel tried to wing it. Lied her ass off. “It was an accident! I was coming back here from my place to meet him. All my stuff’s in the car.”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Why wasn’t he with you?”

“He’d gone to O’Rourke’s office to try and get some money. He thought there was a chance the big man would be out looking for him.”

Brian howled like a dying dog. “Stupid bastard.” Fat tears rolled down his cheeks. “Is he dead?”

Rachel looked down at Paul. It didn’t bode well for him. He was bent in places that shouldn’t bend. “I don’t
know.” She spotted something in Brian’s hand. “What’s that, Brian?”

Brian held up a revolver. “He was right. Somebody came looking for him. He’s still at ours. Probably bleeding to death as we speak.”

“You shot him?”

Brian nodded. “Took off his ear.”

“It probably wasn’t fatal.” She looked her boyfriend up and down. He did not look well. “Why don’t you give me the gun, Brian? You’re upset.”

Brian’s tear-filled eyes fell to the heap of broken bones in front of the Subaru. His mouth formed an ‘O’ and his whole body tensed. Rachel froze, sure Brian was about to shoot her. He dove at her. A fraction of a second later a gunshot boomed. Rachel and Brian landed in a heap. Paul groaned and gurgled. He was fucked but still alive, armed and dangerous.

The car provided a little cover from Paul. Brian had dropped the pistol when they hit the tarmac. Rachel reached for it. The Subaru rocked on its suspension. Paul cursed. He was trying to get to her. Rachel stretched another inch and snagged the pistol grip. She fumbled with the gun then slipped a finger into the trigger guard. Paul dragged himself around the car. He raised his gun.

Brian’s voice cracked. “Paul, please don’t. I love her.”

Paul hesitated for a split second. Showed a little love for his wee bro for once.

Rachel shot him in the head.

Brian loosed a stomach-curdling scream.

Off Into the Sunset

Brian sat silently in the passenger seat. Rachel drove. Everything seemed kind of insulated and he wondered if he was in shock. Rachel had set the pistol on the dashboard. The instrument of death that had caved in Paul’s face. Brian shivered but maintained an odd sense of equilibrium. It wasn’t all right that Paul had died. Not at all. And it certainly was not cool that Rachel had murdered him. But he didn’t freak out. Just felt kind of... numb.

Rachel took a hard right and the gun slid across the dash. It landed in Brian’s lap. He sensed Rachel tense.

She sounded nervous and wary as she spoke. “We had to do it, Brian. It was him or us. You get that, don’t you?”

“
We?
”

Rachel reached out for the gun in Brian’s lap. He laid both of his hands over it. Shook his head. He didn’t make eye contact with Rachel.

“Just drive,” he said.

“Where to?”

Brian shrugged, ever so slightly. “Doesn’t matter. Just drive.”

Rachel nodded. Sirens sounded in the distance. Brian watched her check the rear view mirror. She didn’t panic and he guessed they were in the clear. Temporarily, at least. Rachel eyed the gun in Brian’s lap again. He curled a hand around the grip. Thumbed back the hammer then eased it into place again. Rachel swallowed. She returned her attention to the road ahead.