Going to be tight. The ferry sailed at seven whether you were on it or not.
I let myself in, snapped on the light, shut the door behind me, then stuck my head into the lounge. No sign of Parker, for once. Maybe the shiftless bastard had finally buggered off and got a job?
As if I could be that lucky.
Upstairs.
A wheelie case sat on top of the wardrobe. I took it down and chucked a few pairs of socks inside, some pants, the washing kit from the bathroom, a pair of jeans from the pile in the corner, all the Naproxen, Diclofenac, and Tramadol from the bedside cabinet, and a random dust-furred paperback from the windowsill.
Anything else? Shetland in November: jumpers. There was that cable-knit monstrosity Michelle s mum gave me for Christmas.
It wasn t in the chest of drawers. Where the hell did I
A noise behind me. I froze.
Goin somewhere, like? A man s voice: low-pitched, coming from the little landing at the top of the stairs.
I pulled the zip on the wheelie case, shutting everything inside.
Your mum never teach you to knock?
Cos it looks to me like yer plannin on doin a runner there.
I turned, nice and slow, keeping my hands in plain sight. You got a name?
The man on the landing smiled, showing off a set of yellowed teeth. His face was lopsided, angular, lumpy and twisted; covered with pockmarks and scar tissue. He was bloody huge too. Ye can call us, Mr Pain.
Seriously? Mr Pain?
The corners of my mouth twitched, but I got them under control.
So tell me, Mr Pain, this a social call, or an antisocial one?
He took one hand from behind his back. There was a two-foot length of metal pipe in it, the end swollen with washers nuts and bolts stuck out at random angles. The modern equivalent of hammering a couple of nails into a baseball bat: a plumber s mace.
Definitely not a social call.
Been a naughty boy, haven t ye? Missed another payment.
You re wasting your time. I shifted my weight, moving closer to the bed. Going to take me a while to get the money together.
No my problem, is it? The length of pipe flashed through the air, spines quivering.
I dropped one knee, pitching sideways. Something tugged at my left shoulder, then the bedside lamp exploded into ceramic shrapnel. I snapped my foot out, but Mr Pain wasn t there.
I hit the bed and kept going, rolling right over it as the mace whomped down on the mattress, making the springs sing. I dropped onto the floor on the other side, looked up
The pipe whistled towards my face.
I flinched, the back of my head slamming into the wall as the mace swept past, its spines ripping the air less than an inch in front of my nose.
Jesus, the bastard was fast.
A backhand swing. Splinters flew from the windowsill the mace carved straight through the wood and into the plaster where my head would ve been if I hadn t moved.
Fast and strong.
Another swing and the collection of paperback books burst into flight, paper wings fluttering as they spiralled to the floor.
I dived left, grabbed a handful of clothes from the pile of dirty washing in the corner and hurled it at Mr Pain. Socks and pants, a T-shirt, not exactly deadly weapons, but if they distracted the big bastard even for a couple of seconds
The T-shirt snagged on the mace s spines, the fabric crackling like a fire as the thing smashed down on the bed frame.
I was on my feet like a sprinter, charging straight into Mr Pain s stomach, sending him battering back into the wardrobe. The pipe would be useless at this distance. Ha, not so clever now, was he? Dancing about at arm s length from the bastard was going to get my head caved in, but up close? Different matter.
That was where experience trumped a big dod of metal.
I grabbed Mr Pain by the throat and slammed him back into the cracked MDF again. He stank of garlic and raw onions, breath like curdled shite. Left fist uppercut to the floating ribs, putting my shoulder into it, driving hard, ignoring the broken-glass scream of my swollen knuckles. Once, twice, three times. The satisfying soggy-feeling as his ribs cracked and bucked. With any luck a sharp end would puncture the bastard s lung.
A knee slammed into my thigh probably going for the balls, but this wasn t exactly my first bare-knuckle fight.
Mr Pain jerked his head back, then forwards. Shite. I ducked my chin into my chest and a dull thunk reverberated around my skull, a harsh ringing in the ears. The carpet lurched and buckled like the deck of a ship.
I let go of his throat, staggered back a couple of steps.
Blood bubbled from the flattened mess of Mr Pain s nose, little scarlet droplets flying from swollen lips. Fucker! The mace flashed up for another blow.
What the hell was he made of?
Sod this. I turned and ran, leaping the wheelie suitcase, out the bedroom door pulling it shut behind me. Hauling on the handle to keep it that way.
Get to the bathroom. Rip the front panel off the bath, grab the gun And then what? It wasn t loaded, the bullets were in a separate box. Was it even in one bit, or did I take it apart for cleaning? Shite I did. It was in half a dozen pieces, each stored in a separate zip-lock freezer bag for extra freshness.
Fuck.
OK, think, think, think, think
BANG. The jagged end of the pipe carved through the bedroom door, chunks of fibreboard and cardboard insulation burst out into the little landing. Cheaply built shitey council houses
I grabbed the pipe, below the nut-and-bolt spines, and yanked.
I grabbed the pipe, below the nut-and-bolt spines, and yanked.
Something large and ugly slammed into the other side of the door. Then the hinges gave way, tearing out of the frame as the whole thing cracked down the middle and Mr Pain toppled out. Eyes wide. Blood dripping from his chin. Hands grabbing at thin air as he kept on going.
He blundered straight into me, shoving me back into the handrail. The wood bent, cracked, snapped with a BANG.
We clattered into the stairwell, a second of freefall and then THUD. It was like being kicked between the shoulder blades by an angry horse. All the breath rushed out of my lungs, taking a groan with it. Then I was tumbling down the stairs, arms and legs tangled with the big smelly bastard. Grunting and swearing.
CRUNCH.
The floor slammed into my chest. As if it wasn t already hard enough to breathe
Jesus, that hurt.
Get up. Get up before he starts swinging that bloody pipe again.
GET UP!
I dragged in a breath, coughed, gritted my teeth, and shoved till I was on my knees.
The hallway was a mess, the carpet littered with bits of door and snapped balusters, a smear of blood on the curling wallpaper. Mr Pain was lying on his back by the front door, groaning, his left arm twisted and bent the wrong way at the elbow.
Looked sore.
Good.
I dragged myself up the wall, swayed on the seasick carpet for two deep breaths, then staggered over and stamped on the joint.
The big man didn t scream. He lay there, eyes wide, mouth working up and down, then grabbed the arm and clutched it to his chest. Agghghhhhh
Served him right. He could
The kick came from nowhere, pistoning up into my stomach, lifting me off my feet and sending me smashing back into the wall. The plasterboard cracked, a faint dusting of powdery white drifting out into the air.
My knees buckled, fire blazing through my guts as I scrabbled to stay upright.
Mr Pain grunted his way to his feet and stood there, swaying back and forwards, blood and spittle dripping from his open mouth. And then he started to laugh.
I grabbed what was left of the stairs for support. What What the fuck are you are you on?
The big man cricked his neck from side to side, voice all bunged up and soggy. You ve been a naughty boy. Gotta take yer spankin. The left arm dangled limp at his side, but the right ended in a huge fist.
He lowered his head and charged.
Chapter 13
His right shoulder caught me in the chest his head jammed underneath my arm as we slammed backwards into the wall. The plasterboard erupted in jagged shards, dust swirling out in a cloud.
A fist hammered into my stomach.
Breath hissed out between my teeth, taking a little spray of spit with it.
Of course the bright thing to do, the safe thing, would be to wrap my arms around the big bastard s neck. Ride out the blows and keep squeezing until there was no oxygen getting to his warped Neanderthal brain Unless the spiky-pipe wasn t the only weapon Mr Pain had brought to the party. It was a lot more difficult to ride out a knife in the guts.
Another punch, same place, twice as hard.
Go for the arm.
I grabbed his left bicep and forced the arm back and up reached across that broad, stinking back with my other hand, caught hold of his forearm and hauled. A grating, popping noise sounded somewhere inside.
The next punch was barely a pat. Mr Pain dragged in a huge breath, but there wasn t a scream to follow it. Instead he dropped to his knees, panting, right arm held out horizontally to his body, the fingers splayed, as if he was waving to the devil all the way down there in hell.
I kneed him in the face.
A grunt and he rocked back. I let go of the buggered arm and took a handful of hair at the back of Mr Pain s head, then introduced the front of it to the third step from the bottom.
Thunk.
One s a wish
I pulled him back up, and did it again, putting all my weight behind it.
Thunk.
Two s a kiss
Blood spattered across the stairs.
Three s a disappointment.
THUNK.
He went limp.
I let go and staggered back a couple of steps, panting. Should ve done done your homework, you thick bastard, and brought a few friends I was kicking kicking the shit out of arseholes like you back when back when
Ah fuck it. I slumped against the wall.
The hall was completely trashed, the staircase ruined, the carpet covered with bits of shattered wood and blood, the air reeking of plaster dust, copper, and rancid-oniony sweat.
His plumber s mace glinted in the corner, by the coat rack.
I wobbled over, bent down, and grabbed it. The world waltzed when I straightened up again, something pounding inside my skull, threatening to pop my brain out through my ears.
Lean on the kitchen door for a bit. Get my breath back. Try not to throw up.
OK.
Any minute now.
Deep breaths.
Ow Adrenalin was a great anaesthetic, but see when it started to wear off? The knuckles of my left hand pulsed and throbbed, my shoulders felt as if they d been wrapped in hot barbed-wire, the small of my back stung, my stomach burned, and everything else ached.