The Bullet Trick (43 page)

The old man’s breath was sharp and rasping. His skin was the grey-green of the cancer ward and he was carrying just enough weight to qualify as a hunger artist. His wife giggled. She had a pretty doll-like face plumped up with rouge and jolliness above a stack of quivering chins. Her legs were elephantine, the flesh cascading down into her unlaced sandshoes. Jack and Mrs Sprat. I wondered if they took turns in the chair. Her wobbling along his frailty one day, him struggling with her bulk the next. Love conquering all, except poverty, disease and death.

I ignored Montgomery’s jerk of the cuff and addressed myself to Jack.

'Sorry pal, it’s my stag do, old Monty here’s pinned me to him for a joke.'

'Aye,' the man’s face was turning from green to beetroot with annoyance and high blood pressure. 'Fucking hilarious.'

The old lady tutted at the bad language and Montgomery tried to catch me by the scruff of my neck. I ducked out of his grasp, down towards the woman in the chair.

'Have you got a kiss for a condemned man?'

She laughed and landed me a smacker on the cheek enveloping me in her brandy breath. 'You’re an awfy fella. I pity the poor lass that takes you on. You’ll be the death of her.'

I said, 'If only you knew.' And reached into my pocket, grabbing a tenner. 'Here, have a drink on me the pair of you. For luck.'

'Keep your money, son, you’ll need it yourself.'

The old woman shoved the note back, but Montgomery seized me and our bodies collided. This was my chance. The policeman had replaced his wallet in his inside pocket. His suit hung lower on the right than it did on the left. I guessed that was where he kept his keys. I only hoped that the one to the handcuff’s padlock was amongst them. I dipped my fingers quickly, found the bunch and thrust them swiftly into my own pocket, uncertain whether I’d gained my release or merely access to the pale rooms far away where Sheila Montgomery had spent so many hours grieving for her lost sister Gloria.

The old lady shouted after us, 'Cheers son. And you mind and look after that lassie of yours now.'

The old man shook his head and started to steer her down towards the Gallowgate.

I could feel Montgomery’s unease growing as we climbed the Panopticon’s dilapidated back staircase.

'What is this place?'

'I told you, it’s where I store my gear.'

'What’s wrong with a safety deposit box?'

'This is safe enough, and it doesn’t cost anything.'

Montgomery snorted.

'Bloody Jock.'

I thought I heard the sound of laughter up above us and glanced at Montgomery to see if he’d noticed, but he was shaking his head.

'I don’t like it.'

'I’m not exactly ecstatic myself. There’s a gun at my back, cuffs on my wrist and a couple of sterling threats hanging over me.' I made my voice soft and reasonable. 'Do you not think I’m as eager to get this over with as you are?'

Montgomery stuck the gun firmly into my spine just as another wave of laughter floated through the corridor. He pulled up short.

'What was that?'

'Don’t be so jumpy. It’s the bingo hall down below. Saturday’s their big day.' I grinned at him. 'What’s wrong? Scared of ghosts?'

He shoved me forward.

'Let’s just get on with it.'

I glanced at my watch. 'Aye, let’s.'

And pushed open the door that led onto the stage.

Johnny’s face broke into a mixture of confusion and relief when he saw me walking into the light, making no attempt to hide the handcuffs hooking Montgomery and me together. I nodded and he abandoned the half-hearted joke he’d been playing for time with, raising his hands in the air and shouting, 'Here’s the man we’ve all been waiting for, the magnificent, the magical, William Wilson!'

There was a roar of applause from the audience and Montgomery turned to leave, but the cuffs that had held me prisoner now did the same for him. He put the hand holding the gun into his pocket and I wondered if any of the adults noticed.

I jerked him across the stage; all the months of drink and dreary bedsits falling from me. Energy climbed up my spine along my limbs and crackled on my fingertips. I was home again. I peeled my lips back into a William Wilson grin and shouted, 'Take a good look at this man’s face. His name is Uncle Monty and he’s a terrible villain.'

The audience laughed.

I said, 'Shout, 'Hello Uncle Monty.''

Hello Uncle Monty!

The policeman tried to pull away but I wrenched him back, the wide smile on my face belying the pain jolting up my wrist.

'Look at his grumpy face. I don’t think he heard you, girls and boys, shall we shout a little louder and see if we can get him to say hello?'

The kids knew the drill. They took a deep breath of air, filled their little lungs to the top and bellowed Hello Uncle Monty!

I put my arm round Montgomery, leading him centre-stage, eager as an old dog in the vet’s waiting room and whispered, 'Don’t panic, you’ll get your photo. This way I’ve got a witness or two who’s seen us together.' I raised my voice again and shouted, 'Would you like to see some magic?'

Yes!

The hall was in full pantomime mode now. Montgomery still tried to edge us off stage, but I yanked him with me until we were level with the large bright box I’d borrowed from Bruce McFarlane.

'I’m sorry I was a little late. I had to go to the Magician’s Den, a very special magic shop not too far from here, and buy some magic dust.' I reached into my pockets and sprinkled a handful of the glitter I’d filled them with that morning across the floor. It winked and blinked against the bright lights. 'Do you like that?'

Yes!

They were a very obliging crowd. I grinned and put my hand back in the pocket, but this time, instead of more glitter, I grasped the key and with one flourish unfastened the handcuffs, pulled Montgomery’s jacket from his back and shoved him inside the box, shutting the door quick and latching it tight. I leant over to my props table and grabbed another padlock, fastening it for good effect. A banging came from inside the box.

'OK, boys and girls, mums and dads, aunties, uncles and hangers-on, now I’m going to show you what to do with bad men.' I sprinkled magic dust over the box and tapped it with an oversized wand, reciting a traditional magical incantation, 'Abracadabra!'

The banging continued and Montgomery shouted, 'Let me out, Wilson!'

The crowd cheered and laughed.

'You know what, boys and girls? I think I’m going to need some help. Shout and stamp your feet as hard as you can if you’re going to help me make the bad man disappear.'

The theatre exploded into an unholy din and I put my mouth to the box and whispered, 'Shut the fuck up and go with it or I swear to God, kids or no kids, I’ll empty your gun into the box, pretend it’s part of the act and dump this whole contraption in a loch. Now squash yourself up, it’s about to get cramped in there.' There was no answer but the banging stopped. I turned back to the crowd. 'OK, at the count of three I want you to shout 'Abracadabra!' One, two, three…'

Abracadabra!

'I’m not sure that was loud enough,' I shook my head. 'After all he is a very, very bad man. I think we should try it again.'

I made the kids shout three more times while I secretly slid in place the specially angled mirrored panels that would, if all went well, fling back a reflection of the box’s interior, confusing the audience’s eye enough to think it vacant.

I held my breath, kept the jacket containing the gun within reach and briskly opened the doors to the box revealing an illusion of pristine emptiness. I whacked my wand around inside, careful to avoid appearing in the mirrors myself then smartly slammed the door and bolted it shut. It got a round of applause but whatever the danger involved, making an ugly man vanish never gets the same reaction as making a beautiful woman appear and I thought that for all my efforts the illusion fell a little flat.

Thirty minutes later the show was over, or just about to begin depending on your way of looking at things. I sat on stage in the empty theatre, staring at the box and smoking a cigarette. Regulations probably didn’t allow smoking onstage, but there was no one around to stop me and I was planning on being very careful.

Montgomery had been quiet for so long I was beginning to wonder if he’d escaped. I’d had to abandon the room for a while after my set was through, pretending to leave with the crowd and encouraging Eilidh and John to go to the pub with the rest of the performers, before I could sneak back up into the auditorium.

But the padlock was still in place where I’d secured it and Bruce’s box was undamaged, so the odds were that Monty was still inside biding his time, hoping to jump me when I set him free.

I thought about Sylvie and wondered how far I was willing to go. Was killing a bad man better than killing a good woman? Obviously. Did it matter whether you killed him because he was bad or because you wanted to save yourself? I didn’t know. Could I set myself up as judge, jury and executioner? Maybe, if I was sure I was right. But how often had I been right?

The Panopticon felt eerie. Without the audience it was almost possible to believe in Archie’s ghosts. I sent a small smile up to the balcony then made sure my cigarette was dead and got up and unlocked the box.

I waited by the unlatched cabinet for ten minutes, willing myself not to look inside. My hand had just started to creep towards the door when Montgomery exploded out, bellowing towards me. But he was an old man, confinement had cramped his muscles and he wasn’t much of a challenge.

I shouted, 'This is yours,' threw his jacket over his head and spun him round. He staggered to the far side of the stage then pulled the jacket free and went into its pockets. I held the gun in the air.

'Looking for this? Here, take it.'

I flung the weapon tumbling towards him. He caught it awkwardly and I held up the ammunition clip.

'Mind if I hold onto this for a while? If you get close enough you can always batter me to death with the barrel.' I kept my tone conversational. 'Is that what you did to Gloria? Stave her head in?'

'I never touched Gloria.'

'This photograph suggests otherwise.' I produced the envelope out of nowhere with a quick sleight of hand, then made it disappear again. 'Now you see it, now you don’t.'

He took a step forward.

'That’s mine.'

'Really?' My voice was mild. 'I thought it belonged to Bill Noon.'

Montgomery shook his head wearily.

'They were old Noon’s not his son’s. He had his and I had mine, whoever went first was to see his copy destroyed.'

'An insurance policy?'

'Kind of.'

I’d guessed the ploy when I’d spoken with Drew Manson, but it was good to have it confirmed.

'So neither of you could get a sudden urge to confess or grass the other one up without sticking yourself in it. I suppose it was a good plan until one of you died suddenly and you got greedy and decided to blackmail young Bill.'

Montgomery laughed.

'Is that what he told you?' He looked at me incredulously. 'And you believed him?' He laughed again and shook his head. 'Why not, I suppose?' His voice became serious, like an instructor explaining a basic point to a particularly dull student. 'The night you nicked it I had just paid a lot of money for that picture.' He repeated the phrase, stressing the point. 'A lot of money. All I wanted was to go home and do to that photo what I’d done to my own one as soon as I’d heard Bill’s dad had snuffed it: burn it and get shot of the whole sorry business. Thirty years with that hanging over me, never a day, an hour even, when I didn’t think of it. But Bill wanted to torment me. If he’d stuck me in it I would have understood. She was his mother after all. But he didn’t want that. He wanted to torture me. A big party, the whole squad, strippers and me sitting with evidence of the crime that ruined my life and could still send me down, burning a hole in my pocket. Then…’ Montgomery started to laugh at Bill’s audacity, 'then he stole it back.'