Kill Clock (2 page)

He turned off the engine, took out the keys. Unclipped his seatbelt and stepped out to inspect the damage.

The front driver's side was caved in, the bumper dangling towards the ground. Steam billowed out of the bonnet and water from the burst radiator dripped onto the road.

Sweet.

The car's owner hadn't moved his shiny wee head.

Pearce lobbed the car keys at him.

Poor sod didn't even bother trying to catch them, just looked at the ground where they fell.

Sirens. Someone must've phoned the police.

Pearce called Hilda over, put the lead back on him and started for home. Didn't want to hang around here trying to explain himself. He'd already had more than enough run-ins with the police for one lifetime.

As he stepped onto the pavement, the group of early evening drinkers outside the pub started jeering at him. The pregnant-looking bloke and his mate with the gammy leg stood at the front, leading a round of sarcastic applause. Pearce noticed that the pregnant one had a ginger moustache, wispy as kitten fur.

"Nice car you just pranged." The pregnant bloke nodded to confirm his own statement, looked around and grinned when he saw some other heads nodding.

Pearce slowed down. "It isn't now."

"Lots of witnesses." The cripple sounded as if he had a heavy cold.

Pearce stepped over to him and bent down so their eyes were level. Smelled the beer on the guy's breath, the smoke on his clothes, the damp off his hair. "You say something about witnesses?" Watched him blink. Saw a muscle in his cheek twitch.

"Nah." He shook his head violently like a dog drying itself, drew his crutch back a few inches. "Didn't see nothing, mate."

"Good." Pearce tugged Hilda away from sniffing the guy's foot. "'Cos if you did, I'd have to come back and break your other leg."

He left them all staring at each other and headed back up the road.

Halfway home, a police car crawled past him. He expected them to stop and haul him off to the nearest station. But they obviously weren't looking for a man in a T-shirt walking his three-legged dog. Not yet, anyway.

He might have bought himself some time with the punters at the pub, but Baldie wouldn't hesitate to give the police a description. And when he did, they'd be at Pearce's front door in minutes. Any excuse. They couldn't seem to leave him alone, no matter how hard they tried.

Someone called his name. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

He turned just as a woman opened the door of her parked car, hung out of it, one strappy wine-red sandaled foot on the ground. She was in her early thirties. Skinny, dyed blonde hair, washed-out pink cardigan with one sleeve rolled up to the elbow.

"You don't recognise me, Pearce?"

He'd never seen her before.

She raised a cigarette to her mouth. Eyes screwed up, lips clamped round the butt, skin pulled tight across her cheekbones.

She shook her head slightly.

Ah, Jesus. He recognised that gesture. It was the hair that made her look so different. Last time he'd seen her, it was jet black. "Julie?"

She grinned. Smoke curled out through her teeth. She never used to smoke either.

Pearce didn't grin back. "Haven't seen you in …"

"Over six years." She shifted about a bit, pointed her toes, took another drag. "Get in. We can catch up."

"What do you want?"

"Come on." Practically fluttering her eyelashes. "I need your help."

He wouldn't normally hop in a car with an ex-girlfriend. At least, not one who'd ripped him off. But it was a good way of avoiding the police. For now, anyway. And it wasn't as if she could con him again. This time he was prepared.

He nodded and walked round to the far side of the car while Julie settled back in behind the wheel. Hilda's ears pricked up, no doubt wondering why they weren't going home as usual. Julie leaned across, pushed the door open. Pearce hesitated, then bent down and scooped up Hilda.

Julie wasn't alone. There were a pair of toddlers in the back, strapped into childseats. Looked somewhere between two and five years old. Hard to tell. A boy and a girl, he'd guess, although even that wasn't obvious. What was clear was how tired and stroppy they looked. Great.

He brushed some sweetie wrappers off the seat and sat down. "What do you need from me, then?"

As soon as Pearce spoke, the kid who looked like a boy started to cry.

Julie turned. "Shut it, Kirk."

Then the other kid started bawling.

Pearce raised his voice. "They yours?"

"Aye." Julie switched her fag into her other hand. "Worse luck." She reached into the back. "You want a smack?"

That made Kirk cry all the louder. Which made his sister cry louder too. Pearce was fairly sure she was a girl now. A couple of dolls and a fairy wand nestled in her lap.

"What did I just say?" Julie raised her hand and Pearce grabbed her wrist. She looked at him over her shoulder. "Still a soft bastard."

"I haven't changed. Have you?"

"I meant that as a compliment." She swivelled back into her seat. "Well, sort of."

He let go of her.

She took a breath and spoke into the rear-view mirror. "You pair zip it or I'll put you outside and you'll have to walk home. What's the noise all about anyway?"

After a second, Kirk said, "The man."

"The man." His sister burped. Sounded like a large frog. "Scusey me."

"What man? This man?" Julie pointed at Pearce. "He's a friend of mine. He's going to help." She looked at Pearce.

Pearce realised she was waiting for him to back her up. "That's right. I'm a pal." He did his best to smile. "
Your
pal. No need to cry, eh? Not as if I'm going to pull your legs off or boil your heads in a big pot or anything like that."

Julie punched his arm and glared at him.

"What? Got them to be quiet." It was true. They'd stopped crying. Didn't know what she was looking at him like that for.

She tossed her fag out the window and breathed out a stream of smoke. "Don't joke about hurting them."

"Just hit them instead?"

"I don't have time for this." She closed her eyes. "Presume you don't have any kids yet?"

"Haven't exactly had the chance."

"Christ," she said. "Look. About what happened …"

"Forget it. I have."

****

Six years ago, but it seemed like yesterday.

Pearce hadn't been out of prison long and he and Julie had only been going out with each other for two weeks. He should have known better. She'd strung him along so easily it was embarrassing. He'd borrowed a stack of money from a loan shark to buy a very expensive diamond ring for their engagement. Yeah, beyond stupid to get engaged after only a fortnight. Deserved everything he got. He knew that. But knowing it didn't help. Once Julie had the ring on her finger, she vanished. He'd spoken to her only once after that. Well, it wasn't really speaking. They'd shouted at one another down the phone.

No point going over all that again, though.

"I should go." Pearce grabbed the door handle.

"Scusey me. Where's the doggie's leg?"

Pearce turned.

"Did you pull it off?" The little girl held out a decapitated doll. "I pulled off Lucy's head. She can't see now." The doll's neck was covered in drool. She pointed it at Hilda. "How does the doggie walk?"

"Easy. Puts one paw in front of the other."

"That's funny!" She giggled.

Kirk said, "Doesn't he fall over?"

"Oh, hardly ever."

"Can he run?"

"Like Linford Christie."

"Who?"

Pearce looked at Julie.

"Yeah," she said. "Who?"

"Doesn't matter." Pearce unclipped Hilda's lead. "Here, say hello." Hilda groaned like an old man as Pearce lifted him over the seats and into the back.

"Fuck me." Kirk's eyes widened. "A real three-legged dog."

"Fuck me," his sister said.

"You two," Julie said. "What have I told you about swearing?"

"Look, Mum. His head's too big."

"Don't fret yourself, Kirk."

"He looks like a sausage."

"Sausage!"

"Would he taste like a sausage, Mum? Can I lick him?"

"Me! I want to lick him, too."

Pearce turned to Julie. "Will he be OK back there?"

"He'll be fine. They're used to dogs." She started the engine. "Though maybe none quite as funny-looking as that one."

Julie's daughter was called Devon – after the place where she was conceived – and Pearce found out soon enough why the kids were used to dogs.

"Sheba went to Heaven," Devon said, out of the blue after they'd been driving for a minute.

"Who's Sheba?" Pearce gave Julie a glance.

She was a good driver. Kept looking in the mirror like you were supposed to. Could have picked up the speed a bit, maybe, but there was no hurry. There was nowhere they had to be.

He still hadn't worked out what she was after. Another thousand-pound engagement ring? Well, just let her try that again.

They were heading out of town, along Portobello High Street.

"Sheba was our dog." Julie lowered her voice. "Border collie. Got run over."

"All stuff came out of her like yucky messy goo," Kirk shouted from the back. "She went to Heaven. Eh, Mum?"

"You bet." Julie dabbed at her eye with the back of her hand. Her red nail polish was chipped.

"Heaven," Devon said.

"Sorry to hear that." Pearce sighed. "Not quite sure how it concerns me, though."

"It doesn't." Julie looked in the rear-view mirror again. "There are people after me, Pearce."

"Yeah?" If she was going to make up a story, you'd think she could rustle up something a little more inspired. Anyway, that explained why she kept glancing in the mirror. Checking to see if she was being followed. Or at least to make him think that. She was overdoing it, though. Hardly the world's greatest actress.

Well, Pearce was happy to play along for a while. He had no idea where he fitted into the scam yet. He didn't have any money, so she couldn't be after his cash. Surely she wasn't going to ask him to borrow money from a loan shark again. "They following you now?"

She gave her head a shake. "Don't see them."

"What do these people want with you?"