Borstal Slags (25 page)

‘They’re ripping the place to shreds up there!’ Chris grizzled. ‘There’s millions of ’em!
Billions
of ’em!’

‘No way out, Boss! Our only hope is to hole up in here, lock the door, and wait for reinforcements!’

‘Where’s Gene?’ asked Sam.

‘And what about McClintock and Fellowes?’ put in Annie.

At that moment, a figure in a billowing camel-hair coat came pounding up the corridor, his face red and shiny with sweat. Hot on his heels roared a furious mob of boys, hurling debris and howling for blood.

‘Keep moving, you nonces!’ Gene bellowed at them.

At once, Sam grabbed Annie and pushed her towards the punishment block, where Ray pulled her though the gate. But when Sam turned back he saw that Gene had halted and was reaching under his coat.

‘Guv, let’s go!’

Gene ignored him. He drew the Magnum. The huge barrel glittered dully. The horde of boys clattered to a sudden, chaotic stop and stared at the monstrous firearm aimed at them.

‘Now then, kiddiewinkies,’ Gene intoned. ‘Say hello to Uncle Genie’s big bad boom-stick.’

The boys filled the corridor, but they neither retreated nor advanced.

‘You wanna rush me?’ Gene challenged them. ‘Then rush me.’ He cocked the hammer with his thumb. ‘That’s right, lads. Grown-up toys.’

Keeping the Magnum levelled at the boys, Gene backed up along the corridor. Out of the corner of his mouth he hissed at Sam, ‘Move.’

‘Where’s McClintock and Fellowes?’ Sam whispered back.

‘God knows, we lost ’em in all the fun and games.’

‘We can’t just abandon them, Guv!’

‘I don’t think we’ve got much say in the matter, Tyler. Now, don’t just stand there, dopey bollocks, shift yourself! Now!’

Together, Sam and Gene turned and ran. The borstal boys came crashing after them. Sam felt Gene thrust him through the open metal door that sealed off the end of the corridor, and then bundled in right after him. They slammed the gate.

‘Lock it!’ Gene ordered.

‘With what?’ Ray yelled back, bracing the door with his own body.

‘We ain’t got no key!’ Chris howled in despair.

A barrage of missiles rained down and crashed against the bars. Ray fell back, pelted with chunks of broken furniture. Chris threw himself against a wall and covered his head with both hands. Sam positioned himself in front of Annie, ready to die to protect her if that was what it took – and, at the same time, he cursed himself, over and over, for having brought her here, for not seeing the danger where it really lay, for letting himself be lured into a trap.

Gene strode forward and pointed the Magnum, but, without warning, a huge metal filing cabinet crashed against the metal bars like a battering ram. The gate burst open with a resounding clang, slamming into Gene’s hand and sending the Magnum skittering away along the polished floor. All in a split second Sam glimpsed Gene stumbling back against a wall as the boys poured in. He saw Ray swinging a punch, and Chris howling in terror. Annie turned to Sam, her face ashen, her eyes wide.

I’m so sorry, Annie, I was wrong, I was wrong.

And then something large and heavy crashed down on him with a shuddering impact. Sam lost his footing, fell, slammed into the floor – but at that very moment he felt strong hands pulling him up again.

‘Don’t damage him!’ a youthful voice ordered. The tones were familiar.

Sam felt himself being gripped tightly, his hands forced up his back, an arm clamping itself around his neck.

‘Easy!’ the young voice said. ‘This is Mr Gould’s new purchase. He doesn’t want it broken before he’s had a chance to play with it.’

The clamour of the riot had stopped. Cool night breeze brushed across Sam’s face.

Oh, no – oh, no, not again!

The realization of where he was struck Sam suddenly, right in the guts, making his stomach heave and lurch as if he were in a suddenly plummeting aircraft. That was Perry’s voice he could hear – and those arms clamped around him were not the arms of borstal boys on the rampage, but two huge, bald bouncers dressed in immaculate 1960s suits. In front of him stood an open doorway, with a staircase plunging down into darkness. Above him shone a sign that said: ‘H
OUSE OF
D
IAMONDS
’.

He tried to call out to Annie, but a huge, hairy hand was clamped over his mouth. Other hands gripped his arms and pinned them behind him. He couldn’t move or speak.

Idiot,’ Perry muttered, shaking his head. ‘What did you think you were playing at just then? We’re all on the same side now, Mr McC. You’re just going to have get used to that fact.’ Then, with a sigh, he said, ‘Right, let’s go. Can’t keep Mr Gould waiting.’

Perry strolled away along the dingy alley, while Charlie and Lewis, the two bouncers, hauled McClintock along behind him, dragging his feet along the ground. They moved through a brick arch into a gloomy courtyard that seemed to be used for motor repairs. Several cars were parked in the shadows, waiting to be fixed. As Sam passed by, he caught a reflection of himself in one of the perfectly polished windscreens. It was House Master McClintock’s. Younger, smoother, less grey, less lined, with a bouncer’s hand clamped over the mouth, but unmistakably McClintock.

Perry patted him on the back.

‘Don’t fret yourself,’ he said with a wink, and ushered him along. ‘It’s not
you
who’s for the chop. PC Cartwright on the other hand …’

They came to a large building with tall metal doors. The bouncers let go of McClintock and shoved him roughly inside. There were tools, old tyres, engine parts, bottles of engine coolant, and all the usual paraphernalia of a working garage lying about.

But there was something else, too.

Wrapped in chains, hanging by his ankles, and ready to be lowered head first into an open barrel of congealed sump oil, was Tony Cartwright. His face was flushed and red, his bloodshot eyes bulging with terror.

‘Jim! Get me out of here!’ Tony Cartwright cried. ‘I’ll do what they say! I’ll do anything they say! Tell ’em, Jim, tell ’em I’m on side with Gould!
Tell ’em!
’

McClintock spoke up in a strong, clear voice. He said, very firmly, ‘Get that man down from there. Do it at once.’

Nobody moved.

McClintock turned angrily towards Perry. ‘You heard what I said, Laddie, now get that man down!’

He’s standing up to them,
thought Sam.
Have I misjudged McClintock? Is he no Judas at all? Is he being a copper – a
real
copper – trying to do the right thing from himself and his partner despite all the odds against them?

‘I gave you an order, laddie,’ McClintock intoned.

But Perry just winked at him. The two bouncers took up position in the open doorway, folding their arms and fixing McClintock with an implacable stare.

And then, emerging slowly from the shadows, came Mr Gould himself. He was dressed in a Nehru suit which, for all its fine tailoring, failed to disguise the broad, thuggish body lumbering beneath it. Jewellery flashed on his fingers. At his wrists glittered solid silver cufflinks.

I’ve seen that man before,
Sam thought. And then, in horror, he corrected himself.
I’ve seen that
suit
before – with a mouldering corpse inside it.

It was the same figure he had glimpsed in the ghost train of Terry Barnard’s fairground, back when they had pursued tattooed bare-knuckle fighter Patsy O’Riordan in there. Disoriented, confused, Sam had found himself blundering about amid the cotton-wool cobwebs and plastic skulls – all of which had, at that moment, not felt fake at all, but genuinely grotesque and menacing – and he had glimpsed in the shifting, coloured lights a figure dressed in a Nehru suit identical to this one. But, as it turned, it had revealed a cadaver’s rotting face, the eye sockets alive with maggots, the grinning skull teeth caked with grave soil.

That monstrous dead thing and this man in front of me now are one and the same. They are both Clive Gould. This is the Devil in the Dark.

Gould sauntered forward a few more steps, then stopped. He tapped his expensive, patent-leather Chelsea boot on the hard floor, and let the echo die away.

‘The time has come,’ he said, ‘for us all to draw a line under this tedious business concerning Philip Noyes. And you, Mr McClintock, are going to help me.’

He smiled, and as he did he revealed a chaotic jumble of huge, yellow, uneven teeth. It was the same snaggle-toothed face Sam had seen tattooed on Patsy O’Riordan’s belly, and leering out of the dark at him after Carol Waye of the Red Hand Faction had clubbed him unconscious with the butt of her pistol.

‘Philip Noyes was a close friend of mine,’ Gould said. ‘We were business rivals, that’s true. And we had our ups and downs. But his sudden and tragic death was a terrible personal blow to me. Wasn’t it, Perry?’

‘A terrible personal blow, Mr Gould,’ piped up Perry. ‘I can vouch for that.’

‘You saw what happened that night, didn’t you, Perry?’

‘I did, Mr Gould. He left the road and went into the canal.’

Gould paced towards where Tony Cartwright was hanging, but his attention was fixed on Sam. Or, rather, on McClintock.

‘He should have bought his motor through
me
,’ Gould said. ‘I’d have seen that the brakes were properly checked.
And
the steering. But he insisted on buying Italian.’

Gould shrugged. Casually, he felt into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a delicate gold chain. From it hung a fob watch. Sam saw it, and knew it at once. It was the very same gold-plated fob watch that nestled in the pocket of House Master McClintock’s uniform.

‘Philip Noyes died in an accident,’ Gould announced. ‘That’s the truth. That’s what happened. Except certain people who should know better think otherwise. Isn’t that so, Cartwright?’

Tony stared back at him, his eyes wide and terrified.

‘Certain people have forgotten they’re on the payroll,’ Gould went on. ‘Certain people have got it into their nutty heads that I’m somehow responsible for Noyes’s death, and that this here gold watch once belonged to him, and that I took from it just before I had him killed. As if I would do a thing like that!’ He dangled the watch on his finger, letting it sparkle, and said, ‘Certain people think this watch links me to the murder of Philip Noyes, and, not only that, but they can use it as evidence to convict me. Now who on earth would think such a thing!’

‘Not me, Mr Gould,’ put in Perry.

‘And not our friend Mr McClintock,’ said Gould. ‘Which only leaves …’

Gould reached up and nudged Tony’s shoulder, making him spin slowly on his chain, first one way, then the other.

‘Mr Gould, I’m sorry,’ Tony said, his voice now strangely calm and level. He was pleading for his life, but his tones were those of a man apologising to his boss for a minor misdemeanour. ‘I made a mistake. An error of judgement. You can’t blame me, Mr Gould, I’m a police officer, it’s in my nature. But I see now I did wrong. And there was no harm done. You’re in the clear for Philip Noyes’s death; we can’t touch you for it. And killing me, Mr Gould, it’ll cost you money. Think of all the bribes you’ll need to pay out – to my fellow officers, to my superior officers, to the coroner …’

‘Oh, it’s not about money!’ Gould smiled, waving his hand dismissively. ‘There’s more to life than that, Tony. There’s things that
really
matter. Loyalty, trust, that sort of thing.’

‘And you’ve got those things from me, Mr Gould, I swear to you.’

Gould pulled a theatrical wince. He shrugged, drew in breath, slowly shook his head. ‘The thing is, it don’t work like that. The way a fella behaves, the choices he makes – these things define him. And some things, once they’re done, stay done, you know? You can’t unring the bell, Tony, you hear what I’m saying?’

All at once, Tony’s manner changed. He strained his scarlet face towards Gould and screamed at him, ‘I got a wife! I got a daughter! Think of them!
Think of them!
’

‘I am!’ Gould told him, grinning. ‘Believe me, I’m thinking of them. Especially your daughter.’

Sam felt revulsion and fury rise up like bile from the pit of his stomach. He stared at Gould’s flat, broad face, at those cruel eyes, and that snaggle-toothed mouth. With Tony Cartwright dead, Gould would take Annie for himself.

Without warning, McClintock lunged forward, grabbing hold of the watch and snatching it from Gould’s hand. He stumbled back, holding the watch aloft.

‘Listen to me, Mr Gould!’ McClintock’s voice bellowed into the harsh space of the garage. ‘I’ve got Noyes’s watch here. It links you to the murder of Philip Noyes, just like my colleague PC Cartwright says. It’s evidence, Mr Gould. Evidence I can use against you in a court of law! You’re implicated, and I will see that you go down for life.’

I got McClintock all wrong
, thought Sam.
He’s a copper. He’s the real thing.

But Gould was unimpressed by McClintock’s display. He laughed. Perhaps he thought it was all a joke.

McClintock thrust the watch into his inside pocket and stood firm. ‘You will not bribe me. You will not intimidate me. You will let down my colleague unharmed
right now
, or, so help me, I’ll see you put away for the rest of your miserable life!’

‘Don’t, Jim!’ Tony Cartwright cried. ‘Please! Mr Gould’s the boss, just do what he says!’

‘Silence!’ McClintock snapped back at him. ‘You are a serving police officer, as am I. You will not grovel to scum like Gould, nor will you cut deals with him. You will show respect not to
him
, but to the law that you have made it your duty to serve!’

‘Jim, please,
please
, I’m begging you, think of my wife and kids!’

‘Silence!’ McClintock ordered fiercely. ‘Respect! Duty!’ And turning to glare at Gould he added, ‘And, as for
you
, you’re under arrest. I suggest you give me no trouble.’

Gould looked at him, his face expressing disappointment. He sighed, said, ‘Back in the day, coppers had a sense for business.’

He shrugged, and gestured to one of the bouncers. Lewis obediently picked up a blow torch and ignited the flame. Calmly, like a man with a chore to do, he strolled towards McClintock.