Authors: Allan Guthrie
Savage Night (37 page)
It was too late. She knew it was too late. It couldn't be too late.
It had happened so quickly.
Savage's cries made her bones vibrate.
There was nothing she could do. Not for him. Not for her dad.
Had to save Mum.
Effie looked away. The kid was there, couple of feet to the side. Pointing a gun at her. Struggling to hold it steady. Choking. Eyes streaming.
"Don't shoot me," she said. "Shoot him."
The kid looked at her, eyes wide, uncomprehending.
"If you love your dad," she said again, "shoot him."
Through the sound of the fire, Savage shouted. It sounded like he said, "Grant."
Jordan looked at her once more, turned the gun towards the flames.
And fired.
Savage carried on screaming.
"Again," she said. "Closer."
Jordan moved towards the heat, free hand over his mouth. Fired again.
His dad stopped screaming.
A real bonfire going on now. The bodies burning, the whole bed ablaze.
"We have to get out of here," she said. The kid didn't respond. Kept staring at what was left of his dad. Well, sod the little bastard. She didn't have time to dawdle.
She staggered towards the door. The kid turned, pointing the gun at her, tears cleaning twin paths down his dirty cheeks.
She choked out the words: "We need to leave."
"You'll kill me."
She didn't have time to argue. "Suit yourself." She left the room, lurched along the landing towards Mum's room. Grabbed the door handle.
"Hey." The kid's voice.
She turned.
"You killed my brother," Jordan said. Smoke puffed out of the doorway behind him. "And you killed my Dad."
"Actually, you killed him."
"You stuck a sword through him."
"True. But that didn't kill him."
His gaze dropped to the floor. "I had to do it."
She turned the handle.
"You told me to," he said. "He was burning. I had to. Didn't I?"
"Yeah." She coughed. Spat blood. "You did the right thing. He was in pain. You put him out of his misery."
She pushed the door open, peered inside.
Mum was in a chair looking at the wall, something tied round her mouth. Her hands and legs were bound to the chair.
Effie stumbled over to her, said, "We need to get out of here, Mum," panting, fumbling at the scarf knotted round the back of her mother's head.
Jordan stood in the doorway. Raised the gun.
"You want us to end up like our dads?" she asked him. She pulled off the scarf. Started on the next one. "Help me," she said to Jordan.
As Jordan shuffled towards her, she freed her mother's wrist, started on the other one. "Untie her ankle," she said.
He stared at her.
And she knew what he was going to do.
"Come on then, you little bumshite," she said.
Maybe the chamber was empty.
She saw his finger move, heard the explosion.
Maybe not.
***
EFFIE WAS SITTING outside on the grass, having trouble breathing. She stared at the van, wondering how she was going to make it over there to Martin. She'd rested for a while, but she needed to get moving again soon. Jordan would help.
But she heard the sirens close in and knew it was too late. She raised her hands. Didn't know how long she could keep them there, though. She wondered if an ambulance was coming. Not for her—there was no point—but for Jordan. Smoke inhalation. He was coughing like a sixty-a-day-for-life man.
Behind her, the house burned. Effie hoped Old Mrs Yardie wasn't going to be too upset when she returned from her sister's.
"I'm sorry," the kid said. He was sitting next to her. He'd put his hands up too.
A cop car nosed into the driveway, briefly lighting up the van as a figure leaned back in the passenger seat.
"What for?" she said.
"Telling Dad you were going to kill me."
"That's okay," she said, trying to make out who was in the van. Saw nothing but shadows, though. "Come closer."
He edged over till they were touching. He was warm and smelled of smoke.
"I didn't want to be on my own," she said.
He nodded. "I know how you feel."
"Where's your mother?"
"South Africa. Went there with some dick called Russell."
Effie thought of her own mother. Couldn't come to terms with the fact that her son was a hitman. Got too much for her, and she tried to drown herself. Nearly succeeded. Starved herself of oxygen for just long enough to leave her brain damaged, not long enough to do the job properly.
Effie said, "Don't you have anybody, Jordan?"
"My nan."
"I never knew mine."
"Why not?"
"One died in an accident before I was born. The other died of cancer when I was a baby."
"That's a shame," Jordan said. "I was thinking, maybe you could come visit. Afterwards."
"I don't think so." If she survived, it'd be a long time before she got out of prison. Maybe she wouldn't ever get out.
The door of the van opened and Martin shouted to her: "I have to go. You coming with me or what?"
***
EFFIE OPENED HER eyes and she was back in Old Mrs Yardie's, on the floor in her mother's room, searing pain in her chest, between her shoulder blades. She slumped onto her side. Jordan stood above her, pointing the gun at her, pulling the trigger, again and again. Nothing happening, each time just a dry click. Buzzing in her ears. Stench of burnt toast in her nose. She could hear the roar of flames. Through the open doorway, she could see smoke billowing along the landing.
She couldn't move. Frozen again, as if those fat men were sitting on her limbs. The feeling would pass. It always did.
Jordan tossed the gun onto the floor. It slid across the floorboards, rattled to a stop against the back leg of Mum's chair.
Slowly, Mum reached down, untied the scarf round her ankle. Sighed. Picked the knot on the other one. Then eased herself out of her chair. Got to her feet.
Effie tried to speak.
Mum was staring at Jordan. "Is that you, Richie?" She held out her hand. "Let's go, son."
He stepped towards her, took her hand.
"Mum?" Effie managed to say.
Her mum looked down at her. "Too much blood," she said.
"I know," Effie said. "Go."
Mum bent down, touched Effie's hair.
"Get out of here," Effie said. "Hurry."
Nobody moved.
Effie closed her eyes again, a chill breeze caressing her face. Lights from police cars shone through her eyelids. "I can't visit you, Jordan."
"Well," Jordan said. "Maybe your Mum could."
"Yeah," Effie said. "I think she'd like that. Wouldn't you, Mum?"
***
About the author
Allan Guthrie is an award-winning Scottish crime writer and co-founder of digital publisher,
Blasted Heath
. His debut novel, TWO-WAY SPLIT, was shortlisted for the CWA Debut Dagger award and went on to win the Theakston's Crime Novel Of The Year. He is the author of four other novels: KISS HER GOODBYE (nominated for an Edgar), HARD MAN, SAVAGE NIGHT and SLAMMER and three novellas: KILL CLOCK , KILLING MUM and BYE BYE BABY, a Top Ten Kindle Bestseller. When he's not writing and publishing, he's a literary agent with Jenny Brown Associates.
Visit Allan's website at:
Visit Criminal-E, Allan's ebook crime fiction blog, at:
