Slammer (6 page)

'I'm going to be nice today,' the supermarket guy had said to her, 'so there's no need to get upset.'

She'd tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he'd squeezed her till she hurt. He was strong. She thought he was going to break her ribs.

She stamped on his toes, raked her heels down his shins.

He laughed at her, switched her hands behind her back, locked his grip on them. Like wearing a pair of handcuffs, she said.

'Keep struggling,' he'd said. 'I like it.'

At which point Lorna feared the worst.

He forced her into an armchair. She sat up again as soon as he let go, ran at him, screaming. She wasn't going to let him touch her without a fight. She managed to hit him with her elbow. He absorbed the blow without so much as a grunt.

'Shut up.' He wrapped his arms around her again.

She kept screaming.

'You want me to gag you?'

Looked like he meant it. She quietened. Her breathing was rapid, though, heart beating like crazy, echoing in her ears. She asked him what he was going to do. Was he going to kill her?

'Just sit down,' he said. 'Relax.'

She sat down. Her arms trembled. Couldn't keep them still.

'Mind if I put the TV on?' he asked her.

She couldn't believe this. She was dreaming. A nightmare. She didn't respond.

'No?' he said. 'Okay, now which is the remote?'

She made a run for it. Didn't make it to the door. For a moment she hung in mid-air, legs kicking.

He'd caught her round the waist, lifted her, turned her round.

He threw her towards the chair.

She fell over the arm, sprawled into the seat.

'Try that again,' he said, 'and I will get nasty. Now sit still and watch some TV with me.'

She sat still, as best she could, and watched
Take The High Road
, the supermarket guy having first asked if that was all right. After five minutes, she said, mouth dry, 'Why are you here?'

'Can't I come round to visit?' He didn't take his eyes off the screen.

'I don't know you.'

'I'm trying to remedy that.' He gave her a quick look, flashed his teeth at her.

'Why?' she said. 'What do you want?'

'It's not about what I want, Lorna. Ask your husband. He'll tell you.'

'What do you want with Nick? What's he done to you?'

'You should speak to him yourself. Not my place to tell tales.'

'Okay,' she said. 'I will. Would you please go now?'

'I'm watching this.'

'Please.'

He looked at her. Sighed. Turned off the TV. 'You want me to pick up Caitlin for you?'

She yelled at him: 'I don't know you and I don't want you in my house and I don't want you within a hundred miles of my daughter. Now get out.'

'Hey,' he said, 'that's not a nice tone of voice.'

'Get the fuck out. Get out. Get out.'

'Just offering to help,' he said. She didn't think he'd go, but he got to his feet and said, 'I'll see myself to the door then.'

First thing she did once he'd gone, she phoned the school. Got them to check that Caitlin was okay, told them on no account to let her get in a car with anyone other than her mother.

Then she went to pick her up.

Only once Caitlin was safe did she phone Nick. He told his S.O. that Caitlin was ill and came right home.

Caitlin was safe in her room now, playing, while Mummy and Daddy talked downstairs.

'So who is he?' Lorna asked. 'And don't lie to me this time.'

'I don't know his name,' Glass told her. And then he told her about Caesar. About what Caesar wanted Glass to do.

'You think he's behind this?' she asked once he'd finished.

'I'm sure of it.'

'We have to call the police. Put a stop to it.'

'The police can't do anything.'

'They can arrest the bastard who put his hands on me.'

'I don't know.' Glass shook his head. 'Lorna, these guys are heavy-duty.'

'Even more reason to involve the police.'

'Let me tell you what Caesar's like. How he ended up in jail.' He looked at her and she nodded slowly. 'Caesar was caught red-handed. Out of his gourd on a cocktail of drugs. Playing football in the street.'

'Doesn't sound so terrible.' Her lips tried to hold a smile.

'The football,' he said. He swallowed. 'It was somebody's head.' He swallowed again. 'They found the body in Caesar's house. In his bath.'

'Jesus.' She sat down. 'Sweet Jesus.' Looked at him, her fingers plucking at each other. 'So this guy, Caesar, he can fuck us up. Even though he's in prison. That's what you're telling me?'

'He doesn't have boundaries.'

'Good for him. I'm calling the police.'

THURSDAY

Catch him when he's vulnerable.

Caesar was taking a dump, couldn't
be
much more vulnerable.

Glass couldn't sneak up on him without being seen, though. The cubicle doors were cut away at the top and bottom, leaving only the middle of the body covered.

Glass could see Caesar's head and feet, but Caesar could see all of Glass.

And Glass couldn't see Caesar's hand, didn't know if the rummaging around was him scrunching up toilet paper or pulling out a hidden shiv.

Earlier today, an inmate had attacked another with a piece of sharpened pork chop bone. Luckily, Glass had been in the library at the time. The attack wasn't that serious but it had resulted in a lockdown till ten minutes ago.

Which was why Caesar had been holding on to go to the toilet. Didn't want to go potty in his peter unless he absolutely had to. Would have had to live with the smell, which was something nobody enjoyed. Some of the cons regularly wrapped their excrement in paper and lobbed it through the bars of their peters and out the window. It lessened the stink, but if they got caught they'd get reported, could get sent to the Digger or lose remission.

'Been thinking about what we discussed?' Caesar asked, over the top of the mini-door, casual as anything.

'Oh, yeah,' Glass said. 'Just a bit.'

'And you've decided you still won't do it, haven't you?'

He could tell from Glass's face?

'That's a shame,' Caesar said. 'Cause Watt really likes your wife.'

Ripped flesh, blood on the floor.

Peeler.

His machete. Which had gone missing.

The fingers dripping blood belong to Caesar, though. Joined his wrists, his tattooed arms.

Peeler had tattoos too.

Their names weren't that different. Peeler. Caesar.

Did Caesar have the machete now?

It still hadn't been found. There'd been a cell search for it but that'd been a waste of time.

It couldn't have been taken into general population. The only way back inside from the machine shop was through the metal detectors and although there were ways of sneaking smaller objects through, a machete would have been a bit of a challenge.

Nah, some bastard had hidden it, somehow, in the workshop. Either that, or it had been disguised as a large shoehorn.

Why was he thinking about the machete now?

Caesar was staring at him. Had he said something?

God, yes. About Lorna. About Watt really liking her.

Watt?

Watt was Mafia's brother. According to Darko, Watt was somehow the reason Mafia and Caesar hated each other. Watt worked for Caesar?

Well, that information might have made a difference when he and Lorna had spoken to the police. They'd been no help at all. Lorna had opened the door to the supermarket guy, she didn't have any serious injuries, and all the cops had to act on was a description. The police might as well have said, 'Don't waste our time.'

Glass didn't want to think about this. He wasn't going to think about it. He'd think about something else, anything else.

Shit, though, they had a name now. He could hand Watt to the police gift-wrapped.

Caesar said, 'Watt
really
likes her. I think he's in love.'

Glass could have kicked the door, whacked the bastard on the face. Would have been oh so very rewarding. But Lorna was right. The answer was to let the police deal with it.

'Saturday,' Caesar said.

Glass opened his mouth but didn't get a word out.

'No, you're not working. I checked your shift rota.' Caesar leaned forward, placed his hand on the top of the door. 'Four o'clock. Castle Esplanade. Don't be late.'

'Which castle?' The words were out before Glass could stop himself.

'Edinburgh, you tit. And don't worry about recognising him,' Caesar said. 'He knows what you look like.'

*

On the way home from work Glass popped into the local police station, spoke to the desk sergeant, gave him Watt's name. The policeman scribbled in the file, ignoring the constant barking that had been coming from a room along the corridor ever since Glass had set foot in the building.

The desk sergeant looked up. 'Not mine,' he said. 'Collie. Running amok on the golf course. Had to bring him in cause he was stealing folks' golf balls.'

'What do you think'll happen?' Glass asked.

'His owner'll be in touch, probably. If not, there's this woman, Mrs Carrick—'

'Not the dog. What'll happen with Watt?'

'Of course.' The policeman nodded. 'We'll be in touch about that.'

'Maybe I can help. Find out his address for you.'

The policeman frowned. 'Best stay out of it. Let us deal with it.'

'Will you?'

The policeman's lips tightened.

'Be honest with me,' Glass said. 'I'm a prison officer. I deal with these types all the time.'

'Truth is, I can't say for sure, sir.' The cop looked at the notes. 'If he's done something, then we'll have a word with him.'

'He's threatened my family, scared my wife.'

'I understand that. But, you know, the law … It's difficult, and I understand your concern. Problem is, he hasn't actually committed a crime, you see.'