Stuart MacBride - Birthdays for the dead

I m sorry. I really, genuinely am. A small shake of the head.

And then a hand landed on my shoulder. Big hairy one, attached to a mountain of muscle in an expensive-looking suit. Sunglasses, bullet-shaped head with a crew-cut and a diamond earring. This bloke botherin you, Dawson?

Genuinely sorry. The kid backed away a couple of steps. I have to get back to practice. He turned and jogged away on an intercept course with the rest of the team.

I curled my hands into fists. Move your paw, or I ll break every finger on it.

You hear that, Ed? Haggis here s gonna break my fingers for me.

A rumble, like a bear in an echo chamber. Don t think so. Ed stepped in close. His face was a knot of scar tissue tied around a boxer s nose, hair greying at the temples.

Shit two of them. What was the point of taking the gun all the way to Bath and leaving it in the bloody car?

Up above, the sky turned the colour of blood, shadows stretching across the playing field like claws.

One last try at being civilized before the violence started.

I just want to know what the boy saw, that s all. I don t give a toss about your boss.

A third voice. Yeah, well, he gives a toss about you.

They frogmarched me across the car park to a Range Rover with blacked-out windows.

I tried a couple of steps towards my manky Renault. Need to get something from the car.

Don t be fuckin stupid, Haggis. The one with the hairy hands plipped open the Range Rover s locks. Now, you gettin in nice and quiet, or do we have to traumatize the little kiddies by stompin on your head?

I don t

Either way, you re gettin in the car.

Chin up, head high. I climbed into the back of the Range Rover. Hairy Hands got in behind the wheel. His mates piled into the back, one on either side of me. The throat-catching reek of aftershave was almost overwhelming.

The car drifted out through the gates, onto the main road.

Where are we going?

Shut it, Haggis. You talk when I tell you to, understand?

Five minutes later we were parked on a tree-lined country lane surrounded by scrubby green-and-brown fields. Not a single house to be seen.

Hairy Hands turned in his seat, and looked me up and down. Smiled.

Ed?

A fist slammed into my stomach, fast, hard, sending shockwaves of fire rippling through me. I folded forwards, the air hissing from my lungs as the ache spread. Couldn t breathe in again. Should ve been ready for it God

Search him.

Hands fumbled through my pockets.

Ow

Ho, ho, what we got here then?

Warrant card: our jock really is a cop. Fuck me, thought you bastards would be smarter than that.

Nice chunk of cash in here too. What s that look like to you: four hunnerd? Five?

Finally, air rushed back into my lungs.

Hairy Hands pocketed my wallet. You re well off your patch, Haggis. Hasslin Mr Whitaker s son, pokin your nose into stuff what doesn t concern you, causin trouble. Not very bright, are you?

A gurgly laugh from Ed. Not very bright.

Yeah, they were probably right.

The Range Rover s engine changed pitch we were slowing down. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of my face. It was hot in here, under the black hood, the fabric puffing out with every suffocating breath.

Blood pounded behind my eyes, swirled in my ears. Keep breathing. Deep, calm breaths.

The Range Rover purred forwards, bumped over something, then came to a halt. They killed the engine, leaving nothing but the whine of an electric motor, then a clunk. Here we go, Haggis, home sweet home.

Someone yanked the hood off my head.

I blinked. Coughed. Dragged in a lungful of cool air.

It was a double garage, big enough for the Range Rover and an Audi R8 stone walls, shelves of stuff in boxes, and a flickering strip-light.

Hairy Hands turned and grinned at me. We ready?

Why don t you go and

A sharp, stinging pain exploded across the back of my head. The world went yellow, black rushed in from the corners in jagged waves.

Gllk

Couldn t move my arms and legs. Nothing worked.

Ed dragged me out of the car, holding me up so I wouldn t fall and make a mess on the garage floor. He was talking to Hairy Hands, but the words were all jumbled and out of synch.

Don t be sick. Don t be sick

They hauled me down a flight of stairs: bare wooden beams on the ceiling, more buzzing strip-lights, the smell of damp and mould.

And then everything

Gah Cold water rushed down my throat, spilled out the sides of my mouth and soaked into my shirt.

There we go. Feelin better, Haggis? Thought Ed d lamped you a bit hard there for a minute.

I blinked, spat, coughed every convulsion was like someone inflating my brain with a bicycle pump full of burning oil.

Why couldn t I move?

Shite. I was sitting in an ancient-looking wooden dining chair, ankles cable-tied to the legs, arms behind my back, fastened to the supports. So this was how Steven Wallace and Ethan Baxter must have felt: completely screwed.

It was a windowless room with a dirt floor, bare walls, and a single light bulb swinging from the ceiling. Looked as if I wasn t the only one getting screwed in here a grey dustsheet was draped over someone sitting in another wooden chair, a single bare foot poking out from the folds. The skin scuffed, bruised and filthy. The dustsheet was flecked with brown stains dried blood.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck

The dining table that went with the chairs was against the wall, right in front of me the surface stained and scratched. Hairy Hands settled back against it and folded his arms. You know the rules here, right? Or do you need me to repeat them?

I know the rules.

A nod. Why you poking about in Mr Whitaker s business?

I m not. I told you: I don t give a toss about your boss, I just want to know

Ed s fist slammed into my stomach again. At least this time I had time to clench. Still stung like a bastard though.

I wheezed in another breath.

Hairy Hands tutted. Said you knew the rules, Haggis. No porkies. Is there an investigation goin on? That why you re down here from He pulled out my warrant card. Where the fuck s Oldcastle?

The Birthday Boy s got my daughter. I need

Another punch drove the air from my lungs, set fire to my stomach muscles, made me retch.

Ghhhh Will you stop doing that!

Ed grinned. Not very bright.

So come on, Haggis, what they investigatin? Someone been talkin, have they? Tellin stories out of school?

The Birthday

My head snapped to the right. Blood roared in my ears, pins and needles spreading across my cheek. Like being stung by a six-foot-tall bee with a face like a dog s arse.

Not buyin it, Haggis.

The Birthday Boy s got my daughter. He got Dawson s girlfriend. Dawson saw him. He

Back to the stomach again. I curled up as far as I could and let it wash over me, breathing through gritted teeth. Call the call the station and ask.

Nah, this is much more fun.

I nodded. OK, OK. I ll tell you the truth. I m part of a special task force investigating drug trafficking in the area. The local cops are compromised so we re using out-of-towners. My movements are being monitored and they know where I am right now. The whole building s wired.

And who told you about us?

I glanced at Ed, and back again. Licked my lips. I can t tell you that.

A slow clap came from somewhere behind me. Oh, bravo. A woman s voice, soft and flowing. I loved the bit where you looked at Edward. Like you were trying not to drop him in it? Very smooth.

She walked over to the table. Tall, elegant, wearing a black dress and high heels, long brown hair spilling down to the small of her back. High cheekbones, eyebrows plucked to a delicate line, dark-red lipstick on a small delicate mouth, diamond earrings. A plain gold wedding ring on her finger. Eugene, be a darling: take the gentleman s credentials away and check them out. Oh, and while you re there, let s have the party starter kit.