Stuart MacBride - Birthdays for the dead

No problems, Terri.

She leaned back against the wood, gave me a dazzling smile.

Dawson Whitaker s dad must ve been doing better than I thought if he could afford a trophy wife that good.

You didn t really learn about our little operation from Edward, did you. You were having Eugene on. The smile faded a little. I do so hate deception, don t you?

They wouldn t believe me when I told them the truth. I tensed, ready for Ed s fist, but it didn t come.

Terri reached over and took hold of the dust sheet, then whipped it off: as if she were performing a magic trick.

A woman was tied to the chair, in her bra and pants, her torso covered in bruises, swollen mouth crusted with blood. Broken nose and two black eyes. The hair hacked off on one side of her head.

Take Virginia here. Virginia s a post-operative transsexual, she works as an escort: the kind that negotiates optional extras. For a fee you can fuck a woman who used to be a man. Terri ran a finger along the battered woman s collarbone. Virginia flinched

Terri raised an eyebrow at me. Would you like that? Would that be something new and exciting for you?

No.

Only Virginia isn t really a post-operative transsexual, is she? She s just an ugly whore. Terri s hand flashed out and Virginia s head rocked back. Fresh blood dribbled bright red from the corner of her mouth.

Pretending she used to be a man. Conning her clients. Taking their money and lying to them.

Paging Mrs Psycho

Can you believe anyone could be so dishonest? A frown marred Terri s smooth forehead. To lie like that

Virginia hung her head, shoulders trembling, making little gasping sobs.

Oh, stop whining you little bitch, it s your own fault. Kenneth paid you good money for your filthy lies, how could you take advantage of a man IN A FUCKING WHEELCHAIR? Face scarlet, spittle flying.

A thump behind me and a draught of cool air on my back, then Eugene Hairy Hands appeared, holding a sports bag in one paw and a cheap-looking mobile in the other. A burner. Pay-as-you-go. The kind of phone that could be used and ditched. He placed the bag on the table.

Terri straightened up, wiped a hand across her chin. Eugene?

Detective Constable Ash Henderson, Oldcastle Police, used to be a DI but got busted down cos some paedo got killed. And the Birthday Boy really did grab his daughter. My mate says it s all over the jock papers.

Finally. That s what I ve been telling you!

The frown was back, but this time it came with a little pout.

So all that nonsense about a task force and everyone knowing where you are That was a lie.

They wouldn t believe the bloody truth! What was I supposed

A left to the face, hard enough to make the chair groan beneath me. Everything tasted of blood. I spat out a mouthful of scarlet.

Yeah. Hairy Eugene dumped my wallet beside the holdall. And that s not the only thing: he s bent. Works for some local hood called Andy Inglis.

Oh, don t look so glum, Constable Henderson, we re only teasing you. Terri smiled. We ve been expecting you all day. She held out a hand.

Eugene: phone, please.

Eugene handed it over and Terri punched in a number. Waited.

Hello, Maeve? How are things up there in sunny Oldcastle? Yes That s right She looked at me. Yes, he did: thanks again for the tip-off I know He does a bit. Do you want a word? A nod. OK, here you go She handed the phone back to Eugene. Maeve would like a word with our guest.

Eugene grabbed a handful of my hair, then stuck the phone against my ear.

Are ye enjoyin the party I laid on for yez? Mrs Kerrigan.

Fuck you.

Oh now, don t be like that, Officer Henderson. Did I not tell yez I d claim ye, ye little bollox? This is what ye get for stickin a gun in me face. Told yez ye should ve pulled the trigger.

You sent me down here for nothing? The bastard s got my daughter and you re fucking me about, wasting my time in fucking BATH?

Listen up, gobshite: Mr Inglis went out of his way to get that lead for yez. He was doin you a solid. This little hooly yer havin now? That s a gifter from me. Enjoy. She hung up.

Terri smiled. All done?

Whatever she s told you, it s a lie.

I don t think so Eugene?

He took the phone from my ear. Sorry, Haggis. Hammered his fist into my stomach again.

Fuck

Terri unzipped the holdall. Maeve tells me Pitbull sent you all the way down here to talk to my Dawson. Imagine that? And I thought we d got past the whole rat-poison-in-the-heroin thing. So tell me, Constable Henderson, what did Pitbull tell you to do?

I spat another mouthful of blood. I don t work for Andy Inglis. I owe him some money, that s all.

Eugene sucked in a breath, sounding like a car mechanic preparing to bend someone over the service desk. Our mate here s got six hunnerd notes on him.

Constable Henderson: are you holding out on poor Pitbull?

I m not I You heard your monkey my daughter was snatched. Dawson saw the Birthday Boy when Brenda Chadwick was abducted, I need to know

This time the punch was hard enough to send the whole chair crashing over onto its back.

Ahhh. Fuck It was like being stabbed in the ribs with broken glass.

The ceiling was bare joists, and cables, then the floorboards of the room above. Like the one in the birthday cards.

You re awash with lies and deceit, Constable Henderson. That s not good for the soul. You need to perform an act of atonement, like Virginia here.

I coughed. Little droplets of red pattered back down on my face.

I just want my daughter back

Brenda Chadwick was a cheap whore who tried to get her hooks into my son. Only twelve and she thought she could screw her way into my family. Imagine that? Terri frowned down at the table.

You can t believe how delighted I was when Dawson came home and said she d been abducted.

He saw the Birthday Boy

Eugene: how much money did you say Constable Henderson had?

Six hunnerd. Well, five hunnerd and eighty.

Good, that s more than enough. She picked my wallet off the table and counted out a wad of cash. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, and eighty. That s enough to rent a gun for oh, let s call it fifteen minutes.

I blinked. I don t want

Of course you want a gun. You want to be saved don t you? Back into the wallet. Eighty for the gun and twenty for a bullet. But that s not rental you get to keep that.

Oh fuck.

Edward, help Detective Constable Henderson assume the position, will you?

Ed dragged the chair back upright, then cut the cable-tie holding my right wrist to the back of the chair. He grabbed my forearm in his huge scarred hand and hauled it up in the air, as if I was asking to go to the bathroom.

He s all set, Terri.

She reached into the holdall and pulled out a freezer bag, the clear plastic kind with a zip-lock fastener. There was a gun inside, something big and black and deadly. She held the bag out. Eugene, do the honours, will you?

Pleasure. He snapped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves, then took the gun out of the bag. Bul Cherokee: nine millimetre, double action semiautomatic pistol; as used by the Israeli security forces. He drew the slide back and it stayed there.

Weighs seven hundred and five grams unloaded. He pressed a little black button on the black handgrip and the magazine slid out. Eugene caught it in his other huge hand. Magazine takes ten rounds. You get one.

He picked another zip-lock bag from the holdall. This one had a rectangle of black foam rubber in it about the size of a box of kitchen matches studded with little shiny dome shapes. He popped open the bag and dug something out of the foam: a bullet; it glittered like polished gold. Nine-mill Luger, one-twenty-four grain, full metal jacket. He thumbed the thing into the top of the magazine and slapped it back into the handgrip. Released the lock and the slide clacked forwards again. Ready to roll.