Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

‘Porn film. Film . You said “flim”.’

‘No didn’t.’

‘Yes did.’ He covered his mouth as a smoky belch rattled free. ‘What do we do... with the bottle?’

‘Forty-nine... thousand pounds.’ She gave it a shoogle. ‘Never drunk whisky that... spensive before.’

Logan lurched to his feet. ‘I’ll get the... Balvenie.’

The floor was a bit wobbly beneath his feet, but he planted them wide apart and rode it out, lurching through the kitchen. Cthulhu hunched over her mat in the corner, crunching on cat biscuits.

‘Hello, sweetie. Hello. Who’s Daddy’s... special kittenfish? Hmm? Who’s Daddy’s love?’

She kept eating.

‘Be like that then.’ Through in the lounge the phone rang. Ringity ring, ring, ring. Logan picked the new bottle off the table, taking care in case it was as wobbly as the floor.

He made it as far as the lounge door, before the ringing stopped and the sound of his own recorded voice burst out of the machine. ‘ Hi, this is Logan. I’m not answering the phone right now, but leave a message and I’ll try to get back to you soon as I can. ’

Steel was licking the inside of the Glenfiddich bottle again.

‘ Sergeant McRae? ’ Oh great, that central-belt accent could mean only one thing. ‘ It’s Detective Superintendent Harper... It’s Niamh. ’

‘Oho!’ Steel stopped suckling and winked at him. ‘Niamh. Told you: she loves you. Smoochie smooch-smooch.’

‘Shut up.’ He lurched across to the answering machine, still clutching the Balvenie. ‘What do you want, Harpy woman?’

Silence from the machine.

‘ Logan, I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot. Clearly you’re a capable officer. ’

Maybe Steel was right?

The wrinkly wreck pulled herself upright. ‘Going for a pee. If she... if she propositions you, let me know.’

‘ I think we need to talk. Tomorrow, when you get into work, let me know. We have things to discuss. ’

A grin from Steel. ‘Like rubbing each... each other all over with marmalade and licking... licking it off.’ The doorbell rang and she blinked at the wall. ‘I’ll get it.’

‘ I may not have been entirely fair with you. So. Yes. Well. ’

She lurched from the room, singing away to herself. ‘Lazarus and Niamh, up a tree, H — U — M — P — I — N — G.’

‘ Anyway. We’ll talk tomorrow. ’

Bleeeeeep .

OK, that was... odd. She should’ve been shouting the odds, berating him for telling her to sod off. So this afternoon she complained about him to Professional Standards, and now she was calling him up to try and mend bridges and build fences? Or was that the other way around?

Out in the hall, Steel was still going strong. ‘ First comes sex, then comes sneezes, then there’s itching cos you’ve caught diseases. ’

Maybe opening the Balvenie wasn’t the best of ideas?

Probably.

The front door clunked, and her voice took on its usual smoky growl. ‘Aye? Are you—’

A clatter.

A thump.

A muffled grunt.

Logan dumped the bottle on the couch and sprinted out into the hall.

Steel lay on her side, curled up in the foetal position, arms covering her head as a big bastard in a grey boilersuit and blue ski mask stamped on her ribs. Groaning every time a boot landed.

‘GET OFF HER!’ Logan grabbed at the equipment belt — still hanging over the end of the newel post — fumbled at the catch holding the extendable baton in place, and dragged the length of metal out.

Ski Mask stopped laying into Steel and lunged at him instead.

A flick of the wrist and the baton clacked out to its full length but not fast enough. Ski Mask barrelled into Logan, sending them both smashing back onto the stairs, the treads stabbing into Logan’s spine.

Hands grabbed at his head, shoving his face into the treads.

Another pair of hands. Ski Mask had a friend.

Logan swung the baton, but the friend grabbed his wrist, twisting the arm up behind his back. Red hot nails hammered into the shoulder joint, prising the bone and muscles apart. ‘AAAARRRGH!’

The pair of them dragged him over onto his front. Forcing his other arm round to join the right. Piling on the pressure until lines of burning wire tore their way from Logan’s wrists to his shoulders. The baton tumbled from his numb fingers and clattered against the laminate floor.

They hauled him upright, the pair of them pulling him around so he was facing the front door and Steel — struggling to her knees by the coat rack.

Her voice was thin and shaky. ‘Laz? Laz?’ Blood covered the lower half of her face, more pulsing out of her battered nose. Dripping from her split lip. ‘Unnngh...’ She wobbled there, eyes fuzzy and unfocused.

Logan whipped his head forwards, then back again — hard and fast, looking to connect with one of the bastards’ face. But they weren’t stupid enough to stand that close.

The pressure on his arms increased and those burning wires forced a growl out between gritted teeth. Made his legs sag. ‘Get off!’

The big guy laughed. ‘Aye, right.’ The voice was familiar: Smiler. The chatty one from the back of the Transit van.

His wee friend stepped in front of Logan. That would be Captain ABBA, with the stupid sideburns and ponytail, both hidden behind a black ski mask. ‘Either you hold still and shut up, or I’m gonna slice you open, understand?’ An eight-inch blade gleamed in the hall light, then came down to rest against Logan’s throat.

He froze.

‘Good boy.’

The front door opened and number three came in. Thin and slightly hunched as if all that time playing on a Nintendo DS had curved his spine. Mr Teeth. He closed the door behind him. Nodded at Logan. ‘Aye: in case you’re wondering, like, this is by way of a warning.’

He grabbed a handful of Steel’s hair then battered her head off the wall hard enough to dent the plasterboard. Did it again.

Mr Teeth let go and she slumped to the floor.

Logan struggled forward and a sharp line clawed at his throat.

‘Oh no you don’t.’ Captain ABBA twisted the blade, making the line sting. ‘You stand there and you watch .’

His mate knelt astride Steel, one hand wrapped in her hair, the other coiled into a fist that snapped forward and battered her head back. Again. And again. Thud. Thunk. Thud .

Then Mr Teeth let go of Steel’s hair and sat back. ‘There we go.’

Her head lolled to the side, blood dripping onto the floor.

Smiler leaned in close. ‘You do what you’re told, McRae. Cos if you don’t: what happened here tonight? That’s going to look like a Christmas party at your nan’s house. OK?’

Mr Teeth nodded at his mates. ‘We done?’

‘Almost.’ Captain ABBA lowered the knife, then hammered a fist into Logan’s stomach, taking his legs out from under him as fire and ice rippled through the scarred muscle.

Smiler let go and Logan slid down the balustrade, hauling in great jagged gasps of air. The world screamed, like a million wasps had gone off at the same time.

Thump . The hallway twisted through ninety degrees, leaving him lying on his side on the laminate floor with tiny black dots circling around the ceiling. Getting bigger. And louder. And then...

Darkness.

... sounds. Grunting...

Dots swirling around the swinging lightbulb overhead...

... muttered voices too faint to make out...

An engine starting...

UP. GET UP AND HELP HER!

Logan forced himself over onto his front.

Gritted his teeth and pushed himself up onto his knees.

Flecks of snow twisted in through the open door.