Two-Way Split (31 page)

Don said, "Robin, give me the gun."

Robin grinned at him. "Just a minute." He turned round and bent over Pearce. "How's the shoulder?" he said.

Pearce flashed out a hand and grabbed Robin's wrist. Robin yelled as Pearce's fingers tightened. The man's strength was awesome. Robin was going to have to drop the gun. He couldn't hold on any longer. If he could only squeeze the trigger. He felt faint with the pain shooting through his wrist.

If…he…could…just…squeeze…the…

 Pearce bucked and let go. A second red spot stained his t-shirt. Lower down. Central.

Robin let the gun fall and nursed his crushed wrist.

Don picked up the gun. "Where's the money?"

Robin couldn't move his hand. It had seized up. Maybe Pearce had broken it. Well, he'd sorted him out, hadn't he? Given him an extra bellybutton. The bastard was bleeding almost as much as his mum had and making just as much noise about it, too. Don was saying something.

"What did you say?"

"Where's the money you stole?"

Before Robin could answer, Eddie fell sideways. His head struck the wall. His neck bent and his ear stuck to the floral wallpaper. He looked like he was listening to next-door's TV.

Don walked over to Eddie and started rummaging in his pockets.

Robin said, "I think I've broken my wrist."

Don said, "One more time, you fucking hypochondriac. Where's the money?"

Robin glanced at Don. He was easing a wallet out of Eddie's trouser pocket. His face was an unusual colour. He looked a lot like Dad.

"You don't look well," Robin said. Don found a bunch of keys and slipped them into his pocket. "You should sit down."

Don said, "Last chance."

Robin turned away. He watched a bubble of blood pop on Pearce's lips. He faced Don again. "Why do you want my money? I thought we were in this together. I thought we were helping each other."

Don switched the gun from one hand to the other and back again. He scratched his chin with the muzzle. "You're too trusting, Robin. I need the money to get away."

"He's dead." Robin gestured towards Eddie. "You can tell the police how it happened. He killed Carol. You're safe now."

"But he didn't."

"I can back you up."

"You're not listening, Robin. Eddie didn't kill Carol."

Robin hesitated. He heard the words repeating in his head.
Eddie didn't kill Carol.
Not possible. "You're confusing me. You said that Eddie killed her."

"I lied."

The room grew dark. In the silence, Apache war cries whooped through the wall from next door. Robin smelled piss wafting up from his crotch. He looked around him. A dead body sprawled in front of the door, one of its eyes missing. His wife's lover, Eddie. Another body lay at his feet, hands pressed to its bleeding stomach. Robin looked up at the man who had lied to him. Don had the face of a ghost.

Robin spoke quietly. "If Eddie didn't kill her, then it must have been me. Like I thought in the first place. Isn't that right, Don?" He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I came to believe I'd imagined it. It looked like she took a breath, just before I left." He turned his head sharply and opened his eyes. They probed Don's. "I wanted her dead for a while. Now I wish she wasn't. We were married, you know. We made vows to each other." He turned his head away. "Thing is, our marriage was never consummated." He flexed his fingers. Some feeling was gradually returning to his hand. "Yeah. We never fucked, me and my wife." He chuckled. "She couldn't bear to be touched. She couldn't bear for anyone to touch her." He paused. "I know what you're thinking." He shook his head. "One time we were visiting her mum," he said. "Her mum had M.S. Had it for a while. Her eyesight was deteriorating." Robin rubbed his wrist. "She lived with her boyfriend in one of those new houses. Wimpy or Barretts. One of those soulless places. Anyway, the point is, it had stairs, which she found hard to cope with. On this occasion, she got stuck. Scared, I suppose. Scared of falling. If she'd been on her own, she'd no doubt have overcome the fear. Or waited until her boyfriend came home from work. But we were there, so she asked Carol to help. Carol climbed halfway to meet her, then just stood there and called my name. She couldn't do it. Her physical revulsion was so powerful she couldn't bring herself to touch her own mother just to help her get down the stairs. Isn't that messed up?"

"Sounds like my kind of woman," Don said. "I should have talked to her before I strangled her."

Robin's stomach shrank. "For a moment, I thought I was lucid. Are you real? I find it hard to tell."

"I'm as real as you," Don said. "How much money do you have?"

"About thirty grand."

"Lovely," Don said. "Go get it."

"Tell me again," Robin said. He cradled his sore hand in the palm of the other. "About Carol. Then I'll get the money."

Don sighed. "There's nothing to it," he said. "You thought you'd killed her. You hadn't. After you disappeared, she came round. I finished off what you started. That's it."

"You strangled her?"

"Yeah. And I carved LOVE on her stomach."

"But why?"

"It's what I do."

"You?" Robin stared at him. "You don't look like a killer."

"I do. I look exactly like one."

"Why Carol?"

"I wanted to help my little brother. He's a fuck-up, you see. Can't do anything on his own. Listen, you wanted her dead. You tried to kill her. You thought she was dead anyway. What the hell are you complaining about?"

Robin said, "Had you planned on killing her?"

"To be honest, you put the idea in my head. I was actually trying to contact you."

"You mean, I could have stopped you?" Robin paused. "I could have stopped you." He stared at Pearce. His hand rested on his stomach, dripping blood. His eyes were open and he looked confused. "Carol would still be alive and she'd have me to thank," Robin said. "She'd owe me her life. Don't you know what that would have meant?"

"That's not what happened."

"It was a possibility."

"Not in this lifetime." Don grabbed Robin's elbow. "Enough chitchat. I'm a fugitive and I need cash. Fetch the money."

3:42 pm

Pearce read a lot in prison. He read all sorts of rubbish. For instance, he remembered reading somewhere that it was impossible to experience pain in two parts of your body simultaneously. Well, that was bollocks. Right this minute he had proof, if ever it was needed, that you should never believe what you read. The pain in his shoulder was the lesser of the two pains he very definitely felt, but it was still pretty bloody bad. It was as if someone had taken a knitting needle and pushed it all the way through the top of his arm. The pain in his stomach was in a different league. It felt as if he'd swallowed a hot coal, which lay in his gut burning like a bastard.

What bothered him most was the taste of blood in his mouth.

If he didn't get to a hospital soon, he would die.

If he did get to a hospital soon, he might still die. Like Mum.

When Greaves or Don or whoever the crazy bastard was who was talking to himself left the room, Pearce tried to sit up. The pain in his stomach kicked him back. He swallowed his scream enough for it to come out of his lips as a whimper. Okay. Sitting up wasn't an option. He stretched his arm out towards the body by the door. The gun that had shot him in the shoulder lay by the dead man's feet. Pearce's reach fell about three feet short. He fumbled for his mobile, thinking that as a last resort, he could phone the police. He heard a noise from across the room and raised his head. It hurt to hold it there. He let it drop.
One, two, three.
Lifted it once more.

That noise again. Yeah. Someone was opening the window. It slid up with a choked rattle. A leg poked through. A body. A white face.

Pearce recognised him. Kennedy. The kid from
Eye Witness.
He looked like he wished he was somewhere else.

He crept over to Pearce and whispered, "You okay? You don't look so good."

"Neither do you," Pearce said. "I'm dying. What's your excuse?"

The boy looked shaken. "I've got a problem with heights."

"You're here now," Pearce said. "You going to help me or what?"

"I'm here for the money."

"By the door," Pearce said, ignoring him, "there's a gun. Take it and shoot him."

"I'm here for the money."

"Greaves is a psycho and he's very fucking dangerous. I underestimated just how much. If you don't kill him, he'll kill you."

Kennedy stepped over Pearce and picked up the gun. "I've never used one of these before," he said.

 "Neither have I. My advice, get as close as you can before you pull the trigger."

"I told you, I'm here for the money. I'm not shooting anybody."

Pearce licked his lips and tasted blood again. "Give me the gun, then. I'll shoot him."

"I'm here for the money."

"Everybody wants the money." Pearce raised his voice. "Have it. Just give me the gun."

3:45 pm

Don said, "What was that?"

Robin handed him the leather holdall he'd buried under a pile of jumpers behind one of the sliding mirrored wardrobe doors. "I didn't hear anything."

"Shhh. Listen."

Photographs of Carol lay on the floor among broken glass and picture frames. Robin bent down and picked one up. He said, "You killed her." It was a statement, not a question.

"Shut up."

"You had no right to kill her."

"And you did?"

Robin said, "I need a smoke."

3:45 pm

 "I – I don't think so," Kennedy said. "Nobody has to die."

"You can't be as naïve as you look," Pearce said.

3:46 pm

Don said, "Shhh." He shoved the gun into the flesh at the side of Robin's neck and held it there.

Robin moved forward. As quietly as could, he led the way back to the sitting room. Don followed, one hand jamming the gun into Robin's neck, the other gripping the holdall.

The room was freezing. Robin glanced over at the window. It was wide open and a young man stood in front of it.

Robin thought he'd keep his mouth shut. If Don saw the stranger, fair enough. When Robin turned his head, the muzzle of Don's gun scratched his neck. Robin swore.

Don said, "Shut it," and jabbed the gun upwards.