Slammer (19 page)

Authors: Allan Guthrie

'Your wife and kid?' Is that what he meant? Glass looked into Watt's eyes, past the gun. His expression looked genuine. Nothing but pain and anger. Glass asked, 'Did something happen to them?'

Watt leaned forward, whispered: 'You think you know everything.'

'No, I don't—'

'Shhh. Just listen. Do you know why Mafia's in prison?'

'For murder.'

'And do you know who he murdered?' Watt's face screwed up for a second, like he'd just been shocked.

'Mafia would never do that.' Glass couldn't believe what Watt was suggesting. Mafia killed Watt's wife and kid? 'No way.'

'Ask him. Ask him what he did.'

'You're crazy.'

'Caesar warned me,' Watt said. 'Said Mafia was going to flip. You know, Caesar's never let me down. He's the one who was there for me, the one who behaved like a real brother. I asked him not to hurt Mafia and he hasn't. Well, not much.' He patted Glass's hand and Glass pulled it away. 'I understand you. He said you really loved Mafia. Cute little prison romance, he called it. But I know what it's like. I feel like that about Caesar. Nothing gay about it. Is there?'

Glass ignored him. 'I don't believe you. Mafia's not a killer.'

'Hurt like you've no idea to think that my brother could have done that. But these days I'm more philosophical about it all. I've thought a lot about death. And you know what I've concluded, Nick? Anybody can be a killer. Circumstances, you know. Shit happens. You put your head down for a while. When you look up, somebody's dead. You know how it is.'

'No, I don't.'

'I think you do. You never dreamed of killing Lorna or Caitlin?'

'Course I haven't.'

'Funny thing,' Watt said. 'I have.'

'Get out. Get the fuck out.'

'I will. But I want you to have this.' He turned the gun to face the other way. Offered it to Glass.

Glass made no attempt to take it.

'Go on.'

'Why would you want to give it to me?'

'Cause I'm bad and I think you should shoot me. Before I do something I regret.'

They'd been here before, the first time at the Castle. Glass wasn't going to be dragged into this again. Maybe he
should
just shoot the fucker.

'You shouldn't be here,' Glass said. 'Caesar said he'd give me time to think.'

'Am I stopping you thinking?'

Glass reached for the gun. Watt didn't pull away. Glass's fingers wrapped round the grip. Watt's hand flopped down onto the bed. Glass's finger slid inside the trigger guard. The gun felt lighter than he remembered.

'Go on.' Watt wasn't smiling. He meant it.

'Leave,' Glass said. 'Leave us alone.'

'I don't know that I can do that. I've missed you.'

'You having fun? You enjoying this?'

'It's been a long time since I've enjoyed anything.'

Glass raised his hand.

'That's it,' Watt said. 'Shoot me. It's the only way to protect Lorna and Caitlin. Trust me. I should know.'

Glass's finger pressed against the trigger. So tempting. So very tempting.

'Did you check the safety?' Watt said.

Glass stared at him.

'Turn it off. Won't work otherwise.'

And Glass remembered Mad Will telling him that, too. Or had he imagined it? He flicked the switch with his thumb.

'At this distance,' Watt said, 'I'm going to make a real mess. Bits of brain all over the nice clean bedclothes. Can't be helped, I suppose.' He smiled. 'You going to do it, then? Or are you a ball-less mong after all?'

Glass pulled the trigger.

There was a click. No explosion.

Watt shook his head. 'Nick,' he said. 'You're just like me.' He got off the bed and walked towards the door. As he passed the dresser, he put his hand in his pocket. Took it out, and moved it over a bowl where Lorna kept bits and bobs for her hair. Watt opened his hand, and dropped in the magazine. 'Lucky I checked the chamber, too.' He dipped into his pocket again, pulled out a single bullet and let it clink into the bowl. 'I'll see you in your dreams, if not before.'

'Why are you dressed?' Lorna said when she got back.

'Couldn't sleep.' He'd loaded the gun again the minute Watt left. Slid the magazine back into the grip. Racked the slide to load a bullet into the chamber. Flicked the safety on. Tucked the gun in the back of his waistband.

While he waited for Lorna, he checked his stash in the garage. Watt had left it alone, like he'd said. He was full of surprises. Glass popped a couple of bennies. Needed to be awake now. Needed to think about what had happened and what he was going to do about it. He had to make them stop.

He wanted to tell Lorna everything, but he knew if he did, she'd leave with Caitlin. He couldn't go with her, give everything up, let Watt win. And he couldn't face life here on his own. She'd get back with David. Glass would be fucked. Some other bastard would bring up his child.

He'd come to a decision.

He'd tried to shoot Watt once. Next time he'd make sure the gun was loaded.

First step was to find out where the fucker lived.

'Everything okay?' Lorna asked.

'Yeah.'

'Then why are you crying?'

She put her arms around him and the warmth and shape of her reminded him how good things used to be.

Glass had thought about hiding the gun again before heading off to work, but where was he going to put it? Couldn't leave it in the usual place for Watt to find again. He finally decided to put it in the glove compartment of the car. For now, at least, till he could think of somewhere better. During the drive, he thought about relocating his stash too, but decided that if Watt had wanted to nick it, he'd have done so already. Glass had never seen Watt so much as take a drag of a joint at Mad Will's. Seemed totally disinterested. Maybe it interfered with the porn. Or maybe he was a recovering junkie.

After he'd parked and started the walk towards the gatehouse, Glass almost turned back to the car. He'd love to take the gun into the Hilton with him, blast the fuck out of Caesar and Horse. Problem solved. Well, partly. There would still be Watt to deal with. But the problem would be reduced, at least. Course, he'd never get the gun through the metal detector.

He walked on, unarmed.

Inside, Crogan was on duty alone, looking bored. But as Glass approached, his face grew more and more animated until he looked as if someone was standing on his toes.

Glass said, 'Something the matter?'

'Some people want to see you. Shaw's office.'

'Who?' Some people wanted to see him? This time of night? That didn't sound good.

'I'll let them know you're here.' Crogan turned and picked up the phone.

In S.O. Shaw's office, Shaw said, 'It's what they call a blanket party.'

'Never heard of it,' Glass said.

He looked at the pair of suits sitting next to Shaw, chairs pulled at an angle round the desk. One of them looked about fifty and was taking delicate little puffs on a Meerschaum pipe. The other was twenty-five years younger, continually scanning the room as if he expected a lorry to come crashing through one of the walls any minute just so he could say, 'I knew that was going to happen.'

They'd introduced themselves when Glass stepped into the office: Detective Sergeant Fitch and Detective Constable Richmond. Said they just wanted a little chat. So far, though, they hadn't said anything, let Shaw do the talking.

There was a small package on the desk. Wrapped in gold paper. Exactly the kind of paper Watt used when handing Caesar's drugs over to Glass.

'No,' Shaw said, glancing at the detectives. 'Fortunately blanket parties don't happen too often.'

'So what happened?' Glass said. 'And' — looking at the cops — 'why do you guys need to speak to me?'

'No need to get defensive.'

'I'm not.' He wasn't. But he hadn't slept much and it was hardly surprising he'd be a little irritable. He'd have to be careful how he responded. He needed to find out what a blanket party was, and what he had to do with it.

And why these policemen wanted to speak to him. And what was in that package on the desk.

Fuck it. He needed to calm down. He shrugged. Hoped he looked the picture of nonchalance. He breathed in a lungful of smoke and coughed. Hoped his sore eyes weren't going to start watering. That was all he needed.

Shaw continued: 'Fox is in hospital.'

Glass's first thought was that maybe Fox had been struck by a virus. A particularly nasty one, of course, to have hospitalised him. Or maybe he had appendicitis. Or kidney stones. Something like that. But then he realised that Shaw wouldn't be talking in quite this manner if it was something so straightforward. And the police wouldn't be here either.

Shaw said, 'He was beaten up.'

A moment of elation, Glass thinking,
just what the bastard deserves.
He had to hold a smile in check. 'When?' he asked.

'This afternoon,' Shaw said. 'By some of the inmates.'

'Who?'

Shaw shrugged. 'We don't know. A blanket party. What they do, they sneak up on the victim and cover his head with a blanket. Somebody holds it there while the rest of them — pardon my French — beat the shit out of him. The victim has no idea who his attackers are. He can't rat on them afterwards.'

'What about the cameras?'

'Fuckers picked the right day.' Shaw looked pained. 'Cameras were off.'

'Oops,' Glass said. 'So you've no idea who might have done it?'

'Course I do,' Shaw said.

'But that's speculation,' D.S. Fitch said.

Glass coughed again, cleared his throat. 'Is Fox very badly hurt?'

'Bad enough,' Shaw said. 'Broken ribs. Broken wrist. Lots of bruising. Lost some blood. But he'll live.'

Shaw stared Glass in the eye for so long that Glass had to look away.

'How do you feel about that?'
Richmond
said.

'Glad he's going to make it, of course,' Glass said.

'Of course,' Fitch said. He moved his pipe into the corner of his mouth. Placed both hands on the package on the desk.

Glass's face flushed. The temperature in the room seemed to have cranked up several notches.