Стюарт Макбрайд: Now We Are Dead

...

But it didn’t.

All that happened was his bitten wrist ached a bit harder.

Vaguely-Familiar Richard cuffed him over the back of the head. ‘Sit still, you wee fanny.’ He pulled out a Stanley knife and slid the blade out. Turning it under Tufty’s nose, so the edge caught the light. Gleaming and shiny. ‘Want me to start cutting bits off you? Cos I will .’

Ah... Right.

Wallace picked a book out of a leather holdall and turned back to Steel. ‘One thing you can say for prison: gives you lots of time to read.’

She stared at him. ‘If you let Susan go, we can talk about this.’

‘They had this in the prison library.’ He held it out to her for a couple of beats, then read from the cover. ‘“Take it a Mile”, subtitled, “How a Detective Inspector went from chasing serial killers to making blockbuster movies.” “A fascinating and heart-rending book...” says the Scotsman . “I can’t recommend this book highly enough.” Daily Mail . “Completely and utterly magnificent.” William Hunter.’

Steel cleared her throat. Put on that faux-reasonable voice she sometimes used to get around DCI Rutherford. ‘I mean it, Jack. Let Susan go.’

‘He was a colleague of yours, wasn’t he, this DI Insch guy? Ooh, you should see the things he says about you in here. Tsk, tsk.’

‘Susan had nothing to do with it. This is just between us.’

‘Oh! Nearly forgot: I’ve marked my favourite bit.’ A wink. ‘You’ll like this.’ He opened the book. ‘“Then Ken Wiseman said the most horrible thing I’d ever heard in my life. He was going to take my little girl, my Sophie, and sell her to paedophiles. That they would train her. That they would do whatever they liked.” Oooh...’ He shut the book. ‘That’s harsh , isn’t it?’

Baldy McFatface shuffled his feet. ‘Can we move this along, Jacky? Only I’m getting a bit... you know. Keen.’

Wallace didn’t even look at him. ‘Keep it in your pants for two minutes. We’ve plenty of time.’ He squatted down in front of Steel, looking up into her face. One hand on her knee. ‘See, thanks to you , they locked me up with all those sex offenders. And the funny thing is: paedophiles? On the whole, they’re pretty nice guys. Well, other than the shagging little kids thing. And here’s you with two beautiful baby girls.’ He let go of Steel’s knee, running his gloved finger up the inner thigh of her dungarees instead. ‘How much do you think I’ll get for them?’

Susan roared behind her gag, thumping against her ropes and chair, making it rock. The chair legs bounced and skittered off the rug and onto the floorboards.

Richard marched over and backhanded her hard enough to send the whole chair tipping over backwards. It crashed to the ground.

Susan grunted. Something splintered.

He rubbed at his knuckles. ‘And bloody stay down, you manky dyke bitch! You’ll get your turn.’

Wallace took hold of Steel’s face, turning it away from Susan and back to himself. ‘All that time you wasted chasing me. But it was never just me, was it? Nah, it’s a team sport. One of us on the pitch, the other three on the bench, being their alibi.’ He pointed at Mr Bloodstains. ‘Terry’s the one did that teacher while her kid watched. Lovely work, Terry.’

Terry scowled at Tufty, voice all wet and slurred. ‘That bastard cop knocked out half my teeth...’

Good.

‘So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to have some fun. Then you and your little friends are going swimming. With breeze-blocks chained to your ankles.’

Baldy McFatface grinned. ‘Terry’s got a fishing boat. And I’ve got this.’ He clutched a hand to his crotch and squeezed the contents. ‘Oooh, yeah.’ Rubbing himself through his trousers. ‘I know you lezzers are just gagging for a real man. Nice bit of cock to get you on the straight again.’

Wallace stood. ‘See? Told you we were going to have fun. Eric is on sloppy seconds, Richard’s on tacky thirds, and Terry’s on filthy fourths. Which means I get first dibs.’ He unzipped his trousers and pulled out his erection. Waved it in Steel’s face.

Eric — Baldy McFatface — whooped. Clapping his hands as Wallace got closer. ‘Go on, suck it you wrinkly old bitch. You know you want to. Suck it!’

Steel flinched her head away.

‘Hoy!’ Eric pulled out a six-inch hunting knife, serrated along one edge, gleaming sharp on the other. ‘Suck it or I’ll carve your frumpy lesbian bitch wife like a Sunday roast!’

Wallace gave his hips a twist, setting things swaying. ‘He’s not joking either. The mess Eric can make of a woman, it’s quite something. Your dignity’s not worth that, is it? Your pretty lesbo wife all slashed up?’

Tufty had another go. Shrink. And snap, LIKE — A — NINJA!

Straining.

Teeth gritted.

The muscles burning up and down his back...

Nope.

He collapsed again with nothing more than a creak to show for it.

Steel hung her head. Sniffed. Shuddered out a long breath. Then nodded and opened her mouth.

Wallace grinned. ‘There we go! I knew you were gagging for it.’ He took his cock in one hand, the other grabbing the back of her neck so she couldn’t retreat. ‘Now: here comes the aeroplane...’

Steel’s head flashed forward teeth snapping shut with an audible clack . Tearing from side to side.

Wallace staggered back a couple of paces, staring at her blood-drenched chin, then down at himself as more blood pulsed out. A high, sharp, whistling noise scraped its way out of his mouth, then the screaming started. He hit the rug like a sack of tatties, rolling around between the two sofas, clutching his groin, bright red pulsing out between his clenched fingers. ‘AAAAAAAAAAARGH! GOD, GOD, GOD, GOD!’

Steel spat the severed chunk out onto the rug at her feet. ‘Was it good for you, darling ? Thought you liked it rough!’

Richard slid out the blade on his Stanley knife again and lunged for her.

Oh no you don’t!

Tufty snapped his foot forward, kicking it hard into the side of Richard’s knee. Making something inside go pop !

He crashed to the floor, just short of Steel, shrieking, clutching his freshly deformed leg. The Stanley knife skittering away under the piano.

Steel jerked her left boot up and stamped the heel down on his face. Once. Twice. Three times. Bones snapping and crackling under every blow.

Two down, two to go.

Wallace rolled and screamed. Legs kicking out as he curled up even tighter. ‘AAAAAAAAAAAARGH! JESUS, GOD, CHRIST, AAAAAAAAAAAARGH!’ Painting the rug scarlet with his blood.

‘You’re dead, bitch!’ Eric shifted his grip on the hunting knife, making little figure of eights with the tip, snarling his way towards Steel. ‘Dead!’

Tufty raised his own foot, slamming it down and back into the leg of the chair he was tied to — the crack of battered wood muffled by Wallace’s screams. Again. The leg snapped and the chair collapsed sideways onto the rug, the whole frame creaking as it hit. He thumped forward and back against the ropes.

Ha: it was working! They were getting looser. Just take a second more and he’d be—

Oh crap.

Terry loomed above him, ruined teeth bared: bloody stumps and ragged gums. He took a little run up and slammed a kick into Tufty’s stomach. Flipping him and the chair over onto their backs.

A thousand burning spiders scuttled through his guts, burrowing, scorching. He wheezed in a broken-glass breath, fanning the flames.

Then Terry was squatting over him, knees on his chest, hands around his throat. Squeezing . ‘Think it’s funny slamming people’s heads in fridges, do you? Think it’s funny?’