Killing Mum Page 4

  "Christ's sake," he said. "Don't be fucking ridiculous."

  "Is it?" Maggie said. "I thought long and hard about it. If you can bump off your mother, nobody's safe. Seems fucking logical to me."

  "I'd never hurt Sofia."

  "Right," Maggie said. "But you'd hurt me?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "You don't know how scary you are, Charlie. What you do. And it's bad enough when I'm not involved. But look what you've made me do now. I'm an accessory to murder. You think I like driving around with that thing in the back?" Her chin wobbled. "It fucking creeps me out. You creep me out. I need to protect myself."

  He could tell her the truth. But, he thought, it was too late for that. He reached forward and turned the engine on.

  "Hey," the guy said. "What d'you think you're doing? You're not going anywhere."

  No, but the engine was making enough noise to allow Jordan to get the zip pulled down without being heard.

  "I'm cold all of a sudden," Carlos said. "Just wanted to warm my hands."

  "Turn it off."

  "Just a couple of minutes."

  "Turn it off!"

  Carlos sighed, turned it off. Jordan was out of the bag now, but Carlos needed to keep talking, make a noise so he could get out of the van. "Do you have a name?" he asked.

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "Don't you think I deserve to know the name of the man who kills me?"

  "Should I tell him?" the guy asked Maggie.

  "It's Bob," she said to Carlos.

  "Bob," Carlos repeated.

  "My sister's boyfriend."

  Carlos tapped his fingertips together. It was tough not to look, see if the kid was out of the vehicle yet. But Carlos focused his attention on Bob. "You're the guy who got the van for us?"

  "Yeah," he said.

  "Gave Maggie all that info about burning it?"

  "Yeah."

  "So you're a killer as well as a car thief and arsonist?"

  "Only once."

  Carlos looked him in the eye. The bastard wasn't bluffing. "So what's between you and Maggie?" he asked. "Why would you kill me for her? What'd she offer you? Money? Sex?"

  Bob was about to speak when there was a muscle-clenching bang and something slapped against the side of the van. Carlos made out a dark splotch above Bob's nose, and then Bob swayed, fell forward, bounced off the bonnet and slumped to the ground.

  Maggie jumped back, and when she saw Jordan with his still-smoking gun pointed at her, she ran.

  Carlos said, "No," as he shoved the door open and scooped up Bob's Glock off the road. "No, Jordan," he said. "Maggie, stop."

  She looked behind her, still running, beyond the police car.

  Carlos aimed at her. "Maggie," he said.

  She kept looking at him, stumbling sideways.

  His hand was steady. He squeezed the trigger.

  A flash in his hand and her leg buckled under her. She fell into the grass at the side of the road. "Shit," she said, in a strangled voice. "You fucking bastard. This fucking hurts. Fuck, it hurts."

  That's a bonus, Carlos thought, and slammed his fist into the van door.

  ***

  She started to crawl forward. There was a barbed-wire fence which she might have managed to climb over had it not been for her wounded leg. But she was clearly in too much pain to get to her feet, let alone hurdle a fence.

  Carlos didn't have to walk very fast to catch up with her.

  Once he got there, he strolled alongside her, slowly, as she inched along in the grass, left leg dragging. Looked like the bullet had caught her in the thigh.

  "I never slept with him," she said.

  Carlos didn't answer. He just shivered.

  "Fuck you," she said. She gasped, panted for breath. "Why did you stop Jordan from killing me?"

  "No questions, Maggie. We're beyond that now."

  "You still love me. You don't want me to die."

  "You think?"

  "Charlie, you know this is all fucked up. I thought you'd killed your mother. I didn't realise she wasn't in that fucking bodybag. What were you playing at?"

  "Me, playing?" He laughed, no humour in it. "How do you know I didn't kill her?"

  She looked at him. "Really?"

  "Your lack of faith," he said. "It's worse than your infidelity."

  "I didn't sleep with Bob. I told you."

  "There's more than one way to be unfaithful."

  "Do what you have to," she said. "Just don't give me that holier-than-thou bullshit. Shoot me or take me to a hospital. I'm going to bleed to death here."

  "Yeah," he said. He bent over, and she shrank away from him. He placed his free hand on the back of her head and lowered his lips to her forehead. "It's over." He stepped back.

  "I know."

  "I'm sorry."

  "I almost believe you."

  We need to get moving.

  Jordan had walked over to them without Carlos hearing him. Only now did Carlos notice that the kid wasn't wearing shoes. Must have removed them before he got out of the van. Smart little fucker.

  "Charlie," Maggie said. "It wasn't me. Your mother. I never set her up."

  You going to pop the bitch or what? Jordan said.

  Carlos pivoted, smacked Jordan hard, open-handed, with his left. Caught him full on the cheek.

  Jordan's head jerked to the side. He waited, breathed, turned to look at Carlos. He looked puzzled.

  Carlos stared back at him.

  Jordan raised his gun.

  Carlos raised his.

  Jordan moved his arm to the side, fired two rounds into Maggie.

  Carlos's hand shook. He moaned. Couldn't look at Maggie. Couldn't take his eyes off Jordan.

  The fucking kid stared at him, blank. Hadn't even turned his gun on Carlos, just let it dangle by his side.

  Jordan was daring him. Just like Carlos had done earlier with Bob.

  Carlos said, "Is she dead?"

  Jordan glanced down. Very.

  "Jesus," Carlos said. "You fucking little animal. You fucking..." He yelled, mouth wide open, the sides of his mouth stretched fit to tear. He stabbed the gun at Jordan. Looked away, down at Maggie, her ruined body. He yelled again, shoved the gun against Jordan's head, forced him to step back. Carlos took a breath, arm still held out straight, gun a foot from Jordan's face. Spit dribbled down his chin. He wiped it with the back of his left hand, catching a whiff of sour milk.

  You done? We need to pick that shit up, get it in the van along with the other one. And get the fuck out of here.

  "She's not shit," Carlos said. "You're fucking shit. You're the piece of fucking shit."

  You know what? If I could drive, I'd waste you right now. Jordan grabbed Carlos's hand, moved the gun away from his face. You're a grown man. You need to deal with this.

  ***

  The little cocksucker was right, of course. Just cause they were in the middle of nowhere at half two in the morning didn't mean no one had heard the shots. Or that a car wouldn't come along and snare them in its headlights.

  Carlos needed Jordan's help. He couldn't sort this mess out on his own. There were two bodies now. And only one bodybag. Carlos didn't like numbers that didn't add up.

  He lowered his arm. "I'm a bit fucked up," he said.

  That's okay. But if you point that gun at me again, I'll have to shoot you. Even if it means I have to walk all the way back home.

  Carlos tucked the gun into his waistband, felt the heat still from the muzzle. Felt like it was inside him, glowing.

  "You take the feet," he said, shuffled round, slipped his hands under her armpits.

  Jordan got into position. On three, we'll lift it.

  "Her," Carlos said. "We'll lift her."

  Fine. You ready?

  Yeah, Carlos was as ready as he was going to be.

  Wait a minute. Jordan lowered her feet, picked something off the road. Stretched out his hand to offer it to Carlos.

  "What is it?"

&
nbsp; iPod. Still got the headphones round its -- her -- neck, look.

  Carlos took the machine. It looked okay, no cracks that he could see. He slipped the headphones off her neck and put them round his own. He plugged the end into the machine, selected random play and told Jordan to grab her feet again.

  Strings. Fiddles and double basses, played posh with a bow. Bach, she'd said. It was supposed to be relaxing.

  THREE

  Carlos pulled into a petrol station and got out of the van, checking himself once again for bloodstains. They'd cleaned up with some rags and babywipes that Maggie'd brought along. He'd had a stain on his jumper, probably from Bob, so he'd taken it off. His shoes were pretty bad, and some of the blood had soaked in. But the all-night attendant wasn't going to notice.

  Carlos walked over to him, smiled. He hoped the fucker wasn't the talkative type. "Twenty B&H," he said.

  The cashier grunted, disappeared to fetch the cigarettes, then returned to the window in his kiosk. He muttered something, presumably the price. Carlos slid a ten-pound note to him, and got his change back with a grunt.

  Carlos was about to spring open the packet and light up when he remembered he couldn't do that here.

  He walked back to the van, strapped himself into his seat.

  You going to smoke in here? Jordan said.

  And they'd been getting on so well.

  Carlos drove off, looking for a lay-by.

  They'd had to get along. Decisions had had to be made. They'd abandoned the idea of chucking the bodies in the Forth. There was only one chain, so they could dispose of one of them that way, but the other was going to be a problem. So they agreed that they'd just dispose of the pair of them with the van. By then, Carlos had been able to think more clearly. It didn't much matter to him whether Maggie had her send-off by water or fire. If anything, fire was the cleaner option. And he was pretty sure it didn't matter to her. He'd need to set up an alibi for himself, but that would be easy enough. And with nothing to link him to the van or the guns, the police wouldn't be able to make a case against him. Not that they'd want to. He was pretty sure it'd be obvious to the dumbest of detectives that he was hurting.

  Carlos pulled over. Right under a streetlamp. The sodium light tinted the pavement orange. Or tan.

  He lit a cigarette. Dios, the smoke bit the back of his throat. He spluttered.

  Jordan swore, opened his window.

  Carlos took another drag, coughed again. The smoke seeped into his chest, his lungs, and he felt light-headed. Had to be a nicotine rush. Something he hadn't felt since he first started smoking. Or maybe it was adrenaline.

  He slipped his headphones on. A bit of Bach and a fag. If that didn't relax him, he was beyond help.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, they were driving through town, the iPod in the glove box. Carlos fumbled for another fag.

  The city was quiet as they coasted down Leith Walk. Jordan opened his eyes when Carlos sparked the lighter, made a sleepy sound and closed his eyes again.

  Carlos's pulse hammered in his temples. He could feel it in his wrists. In the insides of his knees. In the soles of his feet. The nicotine, the adrenaline, Bach, he wasn't sure what or who was to blame.

  Jordan was as relaxed as a kitten. We there yet? he mumbled.

  "Won't be long," Carlos told him. He breathed out a lungful of smoke -- felt like he remembered it now, like his body had grown used to the invasion and was at peace with it. He dug out his phone and dialled his mum.

  She answered right away.

  "Thought you might have fallen asleep," Carlos said.

  "As if that's likely. Did you find out what you were after?"

  "Maybe," he said.

  "Just maybe?"

  "I can't talk on the phone."

  "How did Maggie take it?"

  "Not on the phone, Mama!"

  "Okay," she said. "You want me to leave now?"

  "Yep. And stay in your car."

  This time of night it'd be only a ten-minute drive from here to the patch of wasteland they were headed for. Carlos could have driven for hours like this, the whole city to themselves. He rolled his shoulder, his neck stiff, aware that the prickling inside his head wasn't normal.

  ***

  Carlos cruised along to the stretch of wasteland down by the waterfront. The redevelopment round here was a pain. Hadn't been quite the same since the gasworks were demolished. But it was the best place for the job in hand. This was where joyriders came to burn their rides. He veered off the road, onto scrub and hard dirt, the headlights picking out a straggle of stunted bushes.

  He selected his path, turned off the headlights. A few feet on the bumpy terrain and Jordan was jolted awake. Carlos listened to him moan, mutter something about bed.

  "We're here," Carlos said, and the kid snapped to it when he realised where they were and that his job wasn't finished yet.

  He stretched, shivered, and Carlos eased the van to a stop.

  Now? Jordan said.

  "Wait till Mum gets here."

  Carlos climbed out of the van, the darkness smacking him in the face.

  Jordan followed him. He yawned once. What do you think she'll say?

  Carlos couldn't see Jordan, just heard the voice coming from the other side of the van. Carlos stared at the lonely lights flickering in the distance, wondered what their game was, why they flickered.

  Well? When Jordan spoke again, he was just a couple of feet to Carlos's left.

  Carlos's hand crept behind his back, fingered the Glock. He could see Jordan now, just, pale face above a shadowy outline. Carlos said, "Why do you care what she'll say?"

  Maybe I don't. Just wondering what you'll tell her.

  "I don't know," Carlos said. "What should I tell her? Why did you shoot Maggie?"

  Can I have one of your cigs?

  "Thought you didn't like smoke."

  Not in the van. Different outside.

  Carlos offered him the packet.

  Jordan slid a cigarette out, leaned in for a light.

  Carlos lit it, watched Jordan's face glow.

  That night, Jordan said, straightening up. My dad was dying. There was a sword and ... the fire...

  "I know," Carlos said. "Richie's dad took a match to the place, right?"

  That's what everybody thinks. Not true, though. It was my dad who set the place alight. He paused. Then he was run through with his own sword. And set on fire by the blaze he started himself.

  "Tough way to go."

  That's not how he went.

  "No?"

  I couldn't let him burn. He sucked on his cigarette, the end glowing. I shot him.

  Carlos didn't know what to say.

  He was in pain. Stabbed through the middle. On fire. I shot him. I stopped the pain.

  "Sounds like that was --"

  You know how I feel?

  "I don't --"

  No, you don't. Jordan's glowing cigarette butt arced to the ground, the cigarette not even half-smoked.

  "What are you trying to say, Jordan? I'm sorry for what you had to do. But what does it have to do with Maggie?"

  Maybe that's your mother. Jordan pointed towards the headlights approaching along the road that led to the waste ground.

  "Why Maggie?" Carlos said.

  You really have to ask? It needed to be done. And you didn't have the balls to do it yourself.

  "She said it wasn't her who'd taken out the contract on my mother."

  Maybe, but what about our other dead friend? Bob was there to carry out a contract on you.

  "You don't know that."

  It's how it looked to me.

  "Maggie thought I'd killed my mother."

  And that makes it okay?

  The car pulled to a stop. "Better check that's Mum," Carlos said. He took out his phone, his thumb stabbing at the phone to light the display.

  ***

  "I can't make out a thing," Carlos's mother said. "Is Maggie there?"

  "She left
us to it." His mother would find out sooner or later, but Carlos needed to work out what he was going to tell her first. Later was infinitely preferable to sooner. "Not too happy with the stunt we pulled on her."

  "Didn't think she would be. How did she get home?"

  "I don't know. Probably flagged down a taxi."

  "You just let her wander off?"

  "Didn't have much choice."

  "You spoken to her since?"

  "Been too busy."

  "I hope she got home okay. Want me to call her?"

  "Don't worry about Maggie." Carlos paused. "It wasn't her."

  "You mean...?"

  "Yeah."

  "I didn't think so."

  She was always so fucking right.

  "Well," Carlos said. "Better get on with this, I suppose. Be with you soon." He hung up, said, "Come on," to Jordan and together they went round to the back of the van. Carlos opened the back doors, removed a can of petrol and set it on the ground. He took a plain white t-shirt, a can of spray paint, a couple of pencil torches and a box of cooking matches out of the hold-all.

  He handed the spray paint and a torch to Jordan. "Write something," he said.

  What's the point?

  "Make the police think it's joyriders."

  But once it's burnt, nobody'll be able to read it.

  "They will," Carlos said. He remembered what Maggie had told him. Heard her say, "The heat burns the paint into the bodywork or something. Whatever you write, the cops'll be able to read it once the fire's out. So Bob says."

  Fuck, that's weird.

  "Fire's weird."

  Jordan didn't move.

  Carlos turned on his torch, shone the beam at him. "You going to get on with it?"

  What should I write?

  "Use your imagination."

  Jordan moved away.

  Carlos stuck his torch in his mouth, soaked the t-shirt in petrol.

  When he'd finished, he walked over to watch Jordan's handiwork. Jordan had written FIREMEN on the side of the van and was standing staring at it.

  He noticed the beam of Carlos's torch, stepped back. I'm stuck.

  "Suck," Carlos said, around the torch.