Lee Weeks - Dead of Winter

Digger tutted and shook his head. ‘My new business partner? Of course not. I think we have a big future ahead of us.’

‘Not a past?’

Digger gave a small flutter of his right eye: a nervous habit that had stopped him progressing in the game of poker. He frowned and shook his head pretending not to understand what Carmichael could mean.

‘You recognize me, don’t you? We know one another from a long time ago.’

Digger’s eye stopped twitching, his body began to tense and his shoulders to raise a fraction. His hand went down to the space beside his left leg where he had a revolver hidden in the gap between the cushions.

‘I don’t know you.’

‘I used to be a policeman?’ Digger shook his head just one slow long movement. ‘Yes I did. I came here once and talked to you about an incident across the street.’ Digger feigned surprise. ‘Yeah it was a career that was short-lived for me. I learnt a lot, some of it useful, but I was glad to get out.’ Digger smiled, nodded his head wisely. ‘I mean,’ Carmichael continued, ‘I still have a few contacts in the MET; it’s always a useful thing to have.’ He grinned. Digger laughed until his false laugh trailed into nothing. ‘I need a piss.’ Carmichael stood. ‘Where is it?’

‘The bathroom is round on the left.’ Digger waved his hand towards the corridor that led from the lounge.

As he passed the corner in the hallway and out of view of Digger, Carmichael slipped his hand to his boot and took out his knife. He saw Sim passed out further down the corridor, slumped in a doorway. He walked past the bathroom towards the sounds of the girl. He turned the handle on the door and stepped into the darkness, shut the door fast. Amir had his back to the door, thrusting hard inside Anna, face down on the bed. He reached and pulled Amir back by his hair and slit his throat from left to right. He placed one hand over Anna’s mouth to stop her screaming as the jet of blood hit her back.

Carmichael held out a flat hand in the air and then made a sign for her to be quiet. ‘Stay here.’ She nodded, fast, frantic little movements.

He pulled Amir’s body off her and away from the door as he stepped back out in the hallway. Shutting the door quickly and silently, Carmichael crept further down, looked past him; the room was empty. The lounge had fallen silent. Carmichael slid down the wall and edged towards the corner, took his revolver from the inside of his jacket pocket and listened. No sound of Tyrone chopping or scraping, but he heard the noise of feet on the stairs leading to the flat.

Jock opened the door. ‘Alright, Mr Cain?’

Carmichael was squatting against the wall on his right looking up at him; Digger was in the lounge straight ahead and to his left.

Carmichael motioned him forward with his gun. Jock stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Digger was silent. Carmichael flicked his gun in the direction of the lounge. Jock began moving forward, his arms in the air behind his head. Carmichael stepped in behind him. He felt the bullet as it passed through Jock and stopped when it hit the bulletproof vest he kept as a souvenir from his days in the MET.

He dropped down to one knee just before Jock hit the floor and he fired at Digger. One shot. He didn’t want to kill him. One shot in his stomach.

Tyrone scrabbled under the table.

He held his hand up to Carmichael.

‘Let’s talk.’

‘You know who I am.’

‘The policeman.’

‘The father. The husband.’

Carmichael walked across and pulled Digger up to his feet.

‘Thirteen years ago you were there at Rose Cottage.’ Digger didn’t answer. ‘You raped my wife and murdered my child.’

Tyrone raised his head slightly from under the table. Digger looked up at Carmichael.

‘No.’

‘Yes.’ Carmichael shot him once through each thigh and pushed him into the chair. ‘And you don’t have the guts to admit it. But you have time. There’s a lot of pain between here and dying.’

‘Fuck,’ said Tyrone as he looked at the mess across the wall where Jock’s brains were splattered. He looked back towards Digger, his eyes popping, as he fought for oxygen. ‘We’ve got to get out. Shit man. . we’re dead.’

Carmichael went into the bathroom to wash the blood splatters from his hands and face. He opened the bedroom door and found Anna trying to hide. He pulled her up to the sink in the bathroom. ‘Wash your face.’ He turned her to the mirror. ‘Wash.’

She ran to the tap and splashed water over her face. The basin turned red. Carmichael looked at her hair it was matted with Amir’s blood. He reached across the bath and lifted up the hand held shower, turned it on, and dragged her across to the bath where he held her head under the flow of water until the water ran clear. He turned it off and threw a towel across to her and they went back into the lounge. Carmichael left her there whilst he checked out the other rooms in Digger’s flat and then came back into the lounge.

‘There’s no other way out onto the street. We can get out through the club and through to the clip joint next door. There’s a door that joins them. I estimate we have ten minutes before someone’s going to miss Jock. Pick up everything that might have something of you on it.’ He looked at the girl. She was shaking so violently that he knew she’d give them away.

‘We have to leave her, bro,’ Tyrone said. ‘We might make it; she fucking won’t. You can’t shoot your way out of here.’

‘I’m not leaving her. Here. . put this on. .’ He threw Anna a coat from one of the pegs by the door and a Russian style fur hat that must have been Digger’s. ‘We have to cross over in front of the bar. Just before we get to the floor there’s an exit on the left. We slip in there and through to the clip joint beyond. If we’re lucky we won’t find anyone in there.’

‘We won’t make it, bro.’

‘Yes we will and when we do, I’ll give you enough money to clean up and get out, after you deliver this girl where I tell you.’ Tyrone nodded fast, nervous.

‘Okay.’

‘Let’s go. . no, wait a minute. .’ He went back to Digger, who was still breathing, staring straight ahead, his eyes wide. Carmichael took out his gun and forced it into Digger’s mouth. ‘This is for my wife and child.’ He pulled the trigger. He picked up the towel that Anna had been using to dry her hair and wiped the gun. Then he walked across, got his own coat, opened the door to the flat and stopped to listen. The sound of the club drifted up from downstairs. Carmichael held Anna’s arm as they crept downstairs.

‘I’ll take the girl first. Follow at least ten paces behind and don’t look like you’re going our way,’ he whispered to Tyrone as they neared the club floor.

Carmichael opened the door just enough and drew back the velvet curtain. The music heralded a new batch of dancers coming out. It was prime time for punters arriving. Carmichael held onto the girl’s arm as they slipped out and made their way towards the bar. He didn’t turn to see if Tyrone was following. They walked quickly through the club and through the door that linked to the Crystal Blue clip joint. Carmichael stopped as he heard the sound of arguments. Someone was being asked for two hundred pounds for drinks; the argument was getting heated. Tyrone came up behind them. Carmichael took out the revolver and tucked the girl between himself and Tyrone. He made a sign for Tyrone to follow him.

They walked around the corner into two of Digger’s bouncers and a couple of lads on a stag do in Soho. They turned and looked at Carmichael’s face and then at his gun.

‘Move, lads. . get out.’ The stags scarpered up the stairs. Carmichael heard the Thai woman curse as they knocked past her. One of the bouncers lurched forward. Carmichael hit him with the butt of his gun and pushed them both back.