Slammer (21 page)

After a time, he reached into the medicine cabinet, found a fresh bandage. He needed more than that, but it would have to do for now. What he really needed was medical attention. But he knew what would happen if he went to the hospital not knowing how he'd lost his finger. They'd take him away, lock him up. And then he wouldn't be able to do what he'd planned.

Losing his finger wasn't going to kill him. The wound was cauterised. He had painkillers. The OXYs had started to kick in and the pain was bearable.

He even thought about having a shower but the idea made him feel sick again. As he shuffled past the bath, he noticed that Lorna had left the curtain pulled across. That wasn't like her, but he didn't mind, so he left it. While he took a leak, he wondered if there was any chance of salvaging their relationship. She was so different when she wasn't drinking. Sometimes he still felt that she loved him. She was gone, though. For now. She'd come back after he'd sorted out Watt.

Nothing had changed. Watt was still going to die. But for Watt to die, Glass needed an address.

Mad Will would know it. But Glass didn't think Mad Will would tell him.

No point asking Mafia. He wouldn't rat on his brother, even if his brother made up evil shit about him. Could say there was equally no point asking Caesar. But there was a difference. Glass wasn't prepared to shoot Mad Will or Mafia to get the information. Caesar, on the other hand … well, Glass was almost wishing the fucker would refuse to speak. If anyone was responsible for fucking up Glass's life, it was Caesar.

Whatever happened, this time Nick Glass was going to see it through.

*

In the prison car park once again. Just like last night. Only this time, he took the gun out of the glove compartment. Held it while he made sure he really wanted to go through with it.

A whole day without any sign of Watt. Maybe he'd gone.

Nah, he'd be back. Of course he'd be back.

Glass got out of the car, gun shoved inside the waistband of his trousers and covered with his jacket. He walked towards the gatehouse feeling the gun rub against the base of his spine.

Crogan nodded at him once he stepped inside. 'Feeling the weather?'

'Yeah, bit chilly,' Glass said, looking at his gloves.

'You feeling okay?'

'Bit of a cold coming on.' Glass sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his glove to make it look convincing. Fact was, he'd popped quite a few OXYs and felt great, no pain at all. Found some codeine in his stash, too, so he'd been topping up with those. Had the rest of the OXYs loose in his pocket for later. They'd been making him sleepy, though, so he'd had to compensate with a faceful of bennies. He knew it wasn't the best idea but he had to get through the night so he could do what had to be done. 'You alone?'

'Like I said.'

'So how do we do this?'

'Walk on through,' Crogan told him. 'Easy as that.'

Glass did. When he stepped through the metal detector, it beeped.

'Hang on a tick,' Crogan said.

Glass stopped in front of him.

'You got something there you shouldn't have?' Crogan stared at him.

Glass's stomach squeezed tight. What the fuck was Crogan up to?

'Going to have to search you, Officer Glass.'

Glass said, 'I trusted you.'

'Got to be careful who you trust.'

'Fuck,' Glass said. 'Fuck.'

Crogan grinned. Then he burst out laughing.

'Jesus Christ,' Glass said. 'Jesus fuck.' The fucker was messing with him. Glass felt anger like daggers digging into his shoulders. Wondered for a minute if the painkillers weren't working.

'Should have seen your face,' Crogan said. 'Priceless.'

Glass took a deep breath. Didn't help much. He took another breath. 'Don't piss about like that,' he said. 'Jesus.'

'Go on,' Crogan said. 'Coast's clear. Just don't do anything stupid.'

Jesus Christ. 'I won't.'

'All joking aside,' Crogan said, lowering his voice, 'if you land in the shite, I'm not going down with you. You get caught, then it's a mystery to us all how you smuggled a gun in, but you most definitely did not get it past me tonight. Maybe you brought it in soon after you first started? Probably you bribed a turnkey to let you through. Someone who's on the outside now. Got it?'

Quite a speech. 'Fine,' Glass said. He didn't need this. Really didn't need it. 'How do you know I have a gun?'

'You want to take something metal inside, it's either a shank or a gun.'

That was a fair point. 'So maybe it's a shank.'

'Wouldn't fancy your chances against Caesar with only a shank. Neither would you.'

'If it was a gun, would you be okay with that?'

'It's not going to be pointed at me, is it?' He was grinning again, no clue just how angry Glass was.

'It's not going to be pointed at anyone.'

'You're not going to shoot Caesar? Now I'm disappointed.'

'It's just a threat.'

'Dodgy. If you're not prepared to use it, it's a bit of an empty threat.'

Amazing how many people wanted to offer advice on what to do with a gun. 'I thought you didn't want me to do anything stupid,' Glass said.

'That's right,' Crogan said. 'Don't pull a gun on Caesar if you're not prepared to use it. You won't live long enough to tell me about it. You sure you're okay?'

*

Around eleven Glass calls Lorna.

'You woke me up,' she says. Yeah, she sounds sleepy. Or drunk. Her speech is sloppy.

'Just wanted to make sure you're okay.'

'Why shouldn't I be?'

'No reason.' He thinks about telling her what he's going to do. But no good can come of her knowing. He hopes she'll understand later.

'So why phone and wake me the fuck up?'

She has to ask that? His wife wants to know why he's phoning her. Hoping she'll understand is futile.

'You know what, Lorna? It doesn't matter.'

He hangs up. Regrets it instantly, and toys with the idea of calling her back. Manages to hold off for a minute.

Then dials.

'Lorna, I'm sorry.'

'It's over,' she says. 'Fuck you, Nick. I've had enough. I'm packing my bags.'

When he's thought about her leaving him, he's never imagined it would be like this. He's always imagined she'd find out about the drugs. Maybe find the stash. Or the gun.

But to decide to leave him because he gets annoyed with her on the phone?

She doesn't mean it. She's pissed, that's all. Being melodramatic. She'll fall asleep again right away, forget it ever happened.

He almost dials again just to call her a bitch, tell her to leave, he doesn't care. But he does care, that's the problem. If it was just her, he's not so sure it wouldn't be for the better. But Caitlin? God, no.

Nothing to worry about, though. Just hangover talk. She won't leave him.

*

Actually, at around eleven when Glass called Lorna she didn't answer. Even when the phone was ringing, he imagined her at home in the dark, deciding not to answer because she knew it was him. But, no, she was most likely still at her mum's.

He'd have called her mother's, but there was no point. He'd already called twice. Each time the old witch insisted Lorna wasn't there. Why she couldn't just say that Lorna didn't want to speak to him, he didn't know.

Since he woke up, he'd been praying he'd remember what had made her leave. It was possible he'd said something. Let slip that Watt had visited, maybe, and she'd freaked, taken Caitlin, got on the next train to
Dunfermline
. Back to Mummy and Daddy. And David.

He needed coffee. That'd sort him out. But he didn't want to make coffee. He couldn't face the prospect of finding another little present inside the container.

Fuck it, what was wrong with him? Did he really think he could kill somebody if he was scared of making a cup of coffee?

He strode over to the cupboard, dragged out the coffee, tried to flip the lid. Couldn't with his gloves on. He took off the left one, tried again.

No dead kitten tonight.

He spooned granules into his mug. Hands shaking so badly he almost missed. Poured in milk. Splashed some onto the counter. Picked up a damp cloth, same cloth that'd been used to clean up the sink area since he'd first started. Those were some filthy bastards he had to work with.

After he'd mopped up the milk, he rinsed the cloth, smelled his fingers. They were sour. Left the tap running, held his hand under the water. Let the flow hit the index finger of his good hand.

The tip of his missing finger tingled.

And tingled.

And tingled.

He poured water into his mug. Stirred the coffee, watching the frothy top swirl. Stirred it again, the opposite way.

Picked up the mug.

Sipped.

Clamped his teeth round the edge of the mug.

Burned his lip.

Bit.

Burned.

Bit harder.

Yelled into the mug.

Liquid bubbled.

Let go.

Held it between his teeth.

Till it dropped.

It bounced off the carpeted floor, liquid splashing over his feet, the bottom of his trousers.

He sat down on the floor. Adjusted the gun in his waistband. Stared at the steam rising from the carpet. Smelled the coffee. Listened to the sound of running water.

Sat there while time passed and things happened in his head and he forgot them and then they happened again and he changed what happened because what he saw in his head wasn't right, couldn't be right, wasn't going to be right, hadn't been right. Time passed and he looked back on it and it was all wrong and twisted in on itself and knotted and he knew he had to unravel it and do what had to be done.

He took another couple of painkillers and some more speed to counter the drowsiness.

Twenty minutes later he got up. He had to peg in.

The gun dug into his spine every time he took a step. It was uncomfortable, but it didn't hurt.

He couldn't wait to whip it out, though. Shove it in Caesar's face. Realised he'd have to do it left-handed, so he stopped to practise. It felt odd the first few times, but then it sat in his hand and his finger found the trigger no problem.

He tucked the gun away again and finished pegging.