Slammer (34 page)

His eyes were wet. His cheeks were wet, too.

He heard voices. He sat up, listened to them. They came closer, stopped outside his room.

Then the door opened and the light clicked on. He blinked several times, peered through narrowed slits at half a dozen white-clad figures.

He didn't want them here. This was
his
room.

'Get out,' he shouted, his voice as bright as their clothes.

They looked at one another.

'Get the fuck out.'

They made a decision, moved towards him. He saw the flash of a needle.

He dug under his pillow. His fingers touched something solid.
Quick. Before they get too near.
He clasped the grip in his fist, pulled the gun out, aimed it at the ceiling. Give them one last chance. 'I'm warning you.'

They froze. Not sure he'd use it.

He pointed the gun at them, eyes wide now, absorbing the light. 'Don't fucking doubt me.'

They backed up a couple of steps, looking at one another. One turned, then they all turned, scurried away.

Glass breathed in the still air. Tucked the gun back under the pillow. They wouldn't be back any time soon.

They'd left the light on. He knew when he'd woken up in the dark that this wasn't home. He couldn't get familiar with this room no matter how long he was here. It wasn't his. He was just visiting.

This wasn't his bed.

He didn't want to stay in it any longer. He didn't want to stay in this room.

It wasn't his room. They could have it.

He should leave. Let them take over.

He should call them back.

Why didn't he? What was stopping him?

He couldn't remember.

He levered his legs out of the bed.

On the floor, by his feet, an open suitcase. Jeans, blouses, a hairdryer, all neatly packed.

The spike slammed into his skull again. It hurt to turn his head, but he forced his neck around, tendons groaning.

Lorna was sitting a couple of feet to the side of the suitcase, propped against the leg of the bed. Opposite, Caitlin was slumped against the wall, milk from her tumbler spilled on the floor, turned sour.

He stood up. Took a few steps. With each one the spike bored deeper. He dropped to his knees.

Lorna stared at him. He saw Watt in her eyes.

'What did he do?' he asked her.

'It wasn't Watt,' she said.

He looked at Caitlin. 'Caitlin, babygirl.' He kissed her cheek. Her skin felt hard.

'This is what he did?' he asked her.

'No,' Lorna screamed. 'He never touched us.'

It was cold in the space between Lorna and Caitlin.

Glass grabbed the spike with both hands, yanked it out of his head. Threw it at the wall. It bounced off, twanged onto the floor, clattered. He stayed there, on his knees, until he felt his heels ache.

Then he got to his feet, climbed back into bed. He took the gun out from under the pillow and stuck it in his mouth.

Thumb inside the trigger guard. He pulled the trigger.

No pain.

Death was just like life.

No difference at all.

THURSDAY

'When do we get to watch TV?' Glass asked Riddell. They were thirty minutes into the session, going over the same old ground. Only today, there was a TV and video recorder on a stand against the wall.

'Let's try something first.' Riddell fanned out the sheets of paper on his desk. Absent-mindedly touched his photo frame. A different one from the one he'd had at the Hilton. This one was wooden and had a family portrait in it. Glass had caught a glimpse of it a couple of times. Riddell, his wife, two girls. 'Let's imagine that only one prisoner took you hostage.'

'You serious?'

'Never more so.'

'You all set on demonstrating that you're as crazy as the rest of us?'

'Humour me. Just one prisoner. Okay?'

'Okay. But there were two of them.'

'Just imagine that Mafia decided to stay in his cell.'

'Why would he do that?'

'Remember what you said when I asked you why Mafia killed himself?'

'Not exactly.'

Riddell looked at his notes. 'You said that as long as Mafia was alive, he'd protect his brother.'

'That sounds about right.'

'So if that's how Mafia felt, don't you think it's strange that he'd have offered to lead you right to Watt?'

'He said he had unfinished business. Stuff he should have sorted out with Watt a long time ago.'

'And he did that by killing himself?'

'I don't know. Things didn't exactly go according to plan.'

Riddell opened his desk drawer. Took out a jiffy bag. He drew a videotape out of the bag and waved it in front of Glass like a fan. 'Know what this is?'

'A tape. Porn?'

'It's a copy of the security tape from the Hilton. From the night you were taken hostage.' The shrink placed it on the desk. Pushed it across to Glass. 'You want to see it?'

'You think I want to watch myself get shot?'

'I don't imagine so.' Riddell picked up the tape. 'But it's curious. I think you'll find it interesting.' He walked over to the TV stand, switched on the TV, slid the tape into the video machine. Pressed a few buttons.

And there it was. A grainy black-and-white picture. Glass recognised the Hilton. The corridor leading to the main gate. Saw himself. Staggering along, a gun on him.

'What's missing?' Riddell asked.

Glass watched. 'Jesus.'

'Or should I say,
who
is missing?'

Glass kept staring at the screen. Couldn't believe what he was seeing.

On the TV, there he was. And there, next to him, was Darko. But where was Mafia?

'Stop it,' Glass said. 'Stop the fucking thing. You're messing with my head now.'

Riddell pressed the pause button, freeze-framed Darko and Glass, arms around each other. It was just seconds before Darko shot Glass in the shoulder.

'I'm not lying. Mafia was there.'

'Here's the thing, Nick. It's not that I don't believe you. Or should I say it's not that I don't believe you think you're telling the truth. I completely believe you think Mafia was there.' He nodded at the TV. 'But the evidence suggests otherwise. Darko took you hostage. He was alone. Just you and him. Look at the screen.'

'No, the tape's been doctored.' Glass lifted his right foot off the floor, rotated his ankle, placed his foot back down again. He did the same with his other foot. Right foot again. He could do this all day. Someone had erased Mafia from the tape. That's all there was to it. No big deal.

'Nick?'

'Yeah?'

'It's not just the tape. There were eyewitnesses …'

Glass put both heels on the floor. 'They're liars.'

'Not just them. Darko told the same story.'

'He's been caught?'

'Yes. But let's get back to the—'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'I didn't think you were ready to discuss this.'

'But you do now?'

Riddell frowned. 'I think so. I hope so.'

'Well, let me talk to him. I'll get him to tell you the truth.'

'I don't think that's the answer.'

Why was Riddell insisting on playing these stupid games? 'You feed me this pile of crazy drivel with your so-called evidence on doctored videos and … and you won't let me show you how wrong you are?' The spike sank deeper into Glass's brain. He wiped his forehead. Felt his armpits prickle.

'Like I said, Darko was caught,' Riddell said. 'Quite some time ago.'

Glass could see the spike, wedged there, and recognised it. The cons had made it in the machine shop, thrown it at him. They hadn't missed this time.

He didn't like the idea that he could see inside his own head.

'About five days after he escaped,' Riddell said. 'With you. Just you. Just the pair of you.'

'Stop saying that. The fuck do you hope to gain by lying like this?'

'I'm trying to help you, Nick.' He pointed the remote at the TV, turned it off. 'Mafia never left his cell that night.'

'You can help me if you stop talking shite.' Glass winced as the spike throbbed.

'Are you okay?'

'I am. But just now and then …' He shrugged. 'I'm fine.'

Riddell stared at him for a while, then pursed his lips, walked back to his seat. 'Let's move on. To the hotel room. Darko said he had to leave you there. He thought you might die if he dragged you any further with him.'

That was sort of true. Glass put his hand to his shoulder, remembering. No pain there now. He'd healed fast. He lowered his hand, felt its heat through the leg of his trousers. 'He did leave me, but I wasn't alone. Mafia was there too.'

'Nick, I think it best we do this now.'

'Do what?'

'There's someone here to see you.'

Glass bent down, pressed his face into his hands, breathed, pushing his fingers into his eyeballs. He ignored the steady pounding of the spike's heart in his head.

'He's just outside.'

Glass massaged his forehead with his fingertips, looking up at Riddell through the gap between his hands. 'Darko's a con. Lying's second nature to him. He left me in that hotel room with Mafia, I'm telling you. God's honest truth.' He sat back, folded his arms. 'I swear it.'

Inside Glass's head, the spike vibrated. He shivered. He couldn't figure out Riddell at all. He sounded genuine, like he really believed what he was saying. But he had to be lying, or playing a game. Trying to provoke a reaction,
testing the subject
. Maybe Riddell had doctored the video himself. Glass wasn't so easily fooled, even if he was drugged stupid. 'What about Watt? He saw Mafia all right.'

'No, he didn't.'

'He shot him!'

'Watt says he fired the gun in the flat, yes. But not at anyone. There was no one there but you.'

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck off.
'Mad Will, then. He saw Mafia in the hotel room. Drove us to the flat.'

Riddell shook his head. 'Mad Will said you were alone all the time. Delirious. Talking to yourself.'