Стюарт Макбрайд - 22 Dead Little Bodies and Other Stories

‘You got a car?’

‘Nope. Walked.’

High overhead, a seagull screamed.

‘Going to take a while then.’ Hadden frowned. ‘We could take my car? Got vinyl seat covers, in case she... You know.’

And Steel ‘you know’-ing was very likely indeed. Plus, the sooner he could make her someone else’s problem the better. ‘Yeah, that’d be good, thanks.’

Hadden led the way with the left-hand side of Steel, while Logan followed with the right. She just dangled in the middle, making burbling noises.

‘I’m really sorry about Chris Browning—’

‘It’s OK. Enough. I get it.’ Logan puffed out a breath. ‘You screwed up.’

‘I know, but—’

‘She was right, it’s a civil law matter, not criminal. If Chris Browning wants to sue you for defamation when he turns up, that’s his business. Hold your hand up and settle out of court. It’ll cost you a lot less than paying for his lawyers and yours.’

A little smile. ‘Thanks.’

They half-walked-half-carried Steel along the road, then left into James Street — another claustrophobic little alleyway that connected Regent Quay to the dual carriageway. Alec Hadden’s rusty Volvo sat at the end, with most of its rear end sticking out over the double yellows.

Logan leaned Steel against the car’s back door. ‘Right, you’d better give me the keys.’ He held his hand out to Hadden. ‘You’ve been drinking.’

‘Yes. Right. Of course.’ He took out the keys, complete with little tartan fob, and passed them over. ‘That’s what I meant.’

‘Good.’ Logan plipped the locks open, and they wrestled Steel into the backseat.

‘Erm...’ Hadden pointed. ‘Think we should put her in the recovery position or something? Just in case?’

He had a point.

Logan rearranged her arms and legs, till it was as close as he could get given the space. She could barf away to her heart’s content and not choke on the chunks. The footwell was going to end up in a hell of a mess, though. ‘OK, let’s get—’

Something hard battered into the back of his head, sending him sprawling, filling his skull with the sound of burning and the smell of broken glass...

A voice in the distance. ‘Sorry.’

Then another thump and everything went—

Steel slumped back against the pillow and groaned. ‘How could you do it? To me ?’

‘How could I?’ Logan reached over and poked her in the shoulder. ‘What about you?’

‘Don’t you even dare.’ She clacked her lips open and closed a couple of times, then shuddered. ‘Tastes like a badger threw up in my mouth...’

He looked around the room: embossed wallpaper painted a vile shade of pale pink. Polished floorboards with a knotted rug. Dresser in the corner with a mirror above it. Flatpack wardrobe. One window, and a door. And, of course, the bed. All shiny and brass with a barred headboard and footboard, little sceptre things on the corner posts. ‘Where are we?’

Steel puffed out her cheeks. ‘Susan’s going to kill me when she finds out.’

The view through the window was nothing but blue sky and clouds.

‘What happened to our clothes?’

‘I mean, bad enough cheating on her, but with a man? With you ?’

‘Will you shut up and focus? We didn’t do this — Alec Bloody Hadden did.’ Logan reached up with his spare hand and ran his fingers across the back of his skull. Winced as a hundred needles tore through his scalp. There was a lump back there that felt the size of a hardboiled egg, the hair spiky and stiff. Probably dried blood. ‘Ow...’

She scowled at him. ‘Who the hell is Alec Hadden?’

‘He was the scumbag buying you whisky last night.’

The expression on her face didn’t change.

‘The Regents Arms? Remember? You staggered in half-cut and tried to pick a fight with Kurt Murison?’

Steel curled her top lip. ‘Kurt “The Mangler” Murison? God, I must have been drunk.’

‘Had to carry you to the car. Then sodding Alec Hadden battered me over the back of the head.’ And when Logan got his hands on him, he’d repay the favour with a stiff boot in the testicles. Hadden was going to come down with a bad case of resisting arrest. There was a second bump, beside the first. More needles. ‘Ow...’

‘Well stop poking at it then!’ She raised her head from the pillow and grimaced. ‘Look at it: pink! No’ even a nice pink — Barbie pink. Who paints a bedroom Barbie pink? What are they, six?’ A sniff. ‘Where’s my clothes?’

‘How would I know?’ He nodded to himself. ‘Right, we need to get out of here.’

‘ Really ? Gosh, whatever made you think of that? You must be some sort of genius!’

‘Shut up and think. How do we get out of the cuffs?’

‘Don’t look at me. Only time I’ve ever been handcuffed to a bed there’s been spanking and safewords.’

‘Yeah, thanks. That’s a lot of help.’ Logan stared at the end of the bed, where their feet poked out from under the duvet. His right ankle was shackled to the bars, but Steel’s weren’t. ‘Why didn’t he cuff your legs too?’

She pulled her feet in, hiding them. ‘Got a verruca. Maybe he’s squeamish?’

‘That, or you’re too short and your legs don’t reach.’

‘I am no’ short! Perfectly normal size for a Scottish woman.’

‘Keep telling yourself that.’ Logan stuck his free leg out of the bed and put his foot on the floor. Pushed. Nothing happened. A second time, harder this time, and the bed frame creaked, then shifted half an inch to the right. Big brass bed with two fully grown adults in it — of course it was going to be a sod to shift. Especially with only one leg.

‘Hoy!’ Steel hit him. ‘Stop shoogling about. Sodding handcuff keeps digging into my wrist.’

Again. Gritting his teeth and shoving.

‘Ow! What did I just tell you?’

He stopped and stared at her. ‘I’m trying to move the bed, that OK with you?’

‘No’ if I end up with a broken wrist, it isn’t.’

‘God’s sake... Fine.’ He took hold of her hand, lacing the fingers together. ‘Happy now? This way it won’t tug at your delicate skin.’ Logan dug his heel in and pushed.

She peered over the edge of the bed. ‘What exactly are you trying to achieve?’

‘If we can get to the wardrobe, there’ll be clothes. That OK with you?’

Another shove. Another half inch. And already the muscle in his thigh was shouting at him. One more shove and it was screaming.

‘Going to take all sodding week at this rate.’ She stared at the window. ‘What time do you think it is?’

‘How should I know...’ A final push and he slumped back, panting, leg dangling. Just have to take it in stages. They’d probably moved about as far as a fun-sized Mars Bar.

‘Supposed to be back on shift at five.’

‘Good for you.’ He dug his heel in and pushed again.

‘Someone’s going to notice we’re missing.’

If anything it was getting harder. ‘Come on you wee sod...’ Maybe the rug was bunching up under the bed’s legs?

‘And then they’ll come running. Batter the door down. Barge in here with their...’ She slapped a hand over her eyes. ‘Nooooo. They’ll see me in the nip. In bed. With you .’

‘How? How will they even know where we are? You were half-cut to start with. They’ll think you’re just hungover and copping a sicky.’

‘I am hungover.’

‘And whose fault is that?’

‘Oh shut up.’

‘You shut up.’

Another push. More panting. One more... and cramp tightened like a fist around his calf, twisting the muscle into a burning knot trying to rip its way free of the bone. ‘Aaaaaagh.’