Stephen Leather - The Double Tap

‘Yeah? What’s he want?’

‘We’re to lie low. He heard we were out last night and he’s not happy. We’re to stay at home until we hear from him.’

‘He’s mad at me, isn’t he? He heard I was pissed. Shit. I’m sorry about last night. I was out of order.’

‘Yeah. You’ve got to be careful what you say, Paulie. We’re not kids any more. Big boys’ rules, you know?’

‘Yeah, I know. It won’t happen again, that’s for sure. At least it wasn’t a complete loss, though. You got your hole, right?’

Davie grinned lecherously. ‘That’s for me to know and you to dream about,’ he teased. ‘Did you get Noreen’s number?’ he asked.

Paulie shook his head. ‘I wasn’t really interested,’ he said. ‘She wasn’t my type, you know?’

Davie smiled at his younger brother. Eighteen years old and still nervous with girls. ‘I’ve got her number,’ he said. ‘She wants you to give her a call.’

Paulie beamed. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Sure. She liked you. God knows why.’

Paulie put the comic down on his chest and stared up at the ceiling. Davie could see that he had something on his mind. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

Paulie wrinkled his nose. ‘What happened yesterday. With the American kid. And his dad.’

‘It wasn’t our fault, Paulie.’

‘Yeah, but we killed them. They’re dead and we did it.’

Davie rubbed his chin. He hadn’t shaved but his skin was still smooth, with only a hint of stubble. ‘We didn’t kill them, Paulie. They were driving on the wrong side of the road, for fuck’s sake. And if anyone’s to blame it was Pat for grabbing the steering wheel.’

‘I guess,’ said Paulie. He didn’t sound convinced.

Davie stood up and went over to the window. ‘Look, Pat did everything he could. He called an ambulance for the woman and she’s okay. The guy and the kid were dead, there was nothing anyone could have done for them. It was an accident, Paulie. If it hadn’t been us on the road it could have been anyone else. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ Davie put his hands on either side of the window and craned his neck to look down.

‘What is it?’ Paulie asked.

‘Cops,’ said Davie.

Paulie went to stand by his brother. Down below he saw three grey armoured Landrovers. A couple of housewives in thick wool coats and headscarves watched them drive by. In the days before the ceasefire, the RUC Landrovers would have been accompanied by rifle-carrying troops and the air would have been filled with the sound of crashing metal as the women in the area banged dustbin lids on the pavement, sounding a warning to the Catholic community that the army were coming. Now the police passed through the area without incident.

‘The bastards are out in force,’ said Davie. ‘Wonder who they’re after today?’

‘It’s us, isn’t it?’ Paulie said anxiously. ‘It’s us they want.’

Davie leant on the windowsill and peered down. ‘Relax, there’s no reason they’d be looking for us. They could be after anyone.’ The first two Landrovers sped by the building, and Davie breathed a sigh of relief. But he caught his breath when all three screeched to a halt and RUC officers wearing bullet-proof vests fanned out, guns at the ready. They rushed across the strip of grass in front of the block of flats and towards the entrance. Paulie backed away from the window. The comic fell from his hands, forgotten. ‘It is us, Davie. I know it is.’

Davie smiled reassuringly. ‘Nah, there’s lots of flats. There’s no reason for them to be after us.’

‘Yeah, but. .’

Davie interrupted him. ‘There’s no reason for them to be after us,’ he repeated. ‘Remember that.’ He was about to say more when he heard footsteps pounding up the concrete stairs, followed by the crash of a boot against the front door.

‘Oh Jesus, it is us,’ said Paulie. ‘They’ve come for us.’ His face had gone white and his hands were shaking.

‘It’s okay, we’re clean,’ said Davie. ‘Just don’t panic.’ Downstairs, their mother was screaming. The front door was kicked again, harder this time.

Paulie knelt down and pulled out an old tartan suitcase from under his bed, his hands trembling. Davie frowned as Paulie flicked the latches and opened it. Inside was his comic collection. Davie was on his way to the bedroom door when Paulie threw a stack of comics onto the floor and took out their father’s revolver. Davie stopped in his tracks. ‘Oh fuck, no,’ he said.

‘I was going to throw it away, Davie, honest I was.’

There was the sound of splintering wood, more screams from their mother, then urgent male voices telling her to get out of the way. She screamed again, but the scream was cut short. Heavy boots tramped up the stairs. Something smashed to the floor.

Paulie was sitting on the floor with the gun in his hands, staring at it as if he didn’t know what it was. Davie looked at the revolver, then at the window. He had to get rid of it, somehow. Maybe he could throw it up onto the roof, hide it in the guttering, do something, anything, before the police burst into the bedroom. He grabbed the weapon from Paulie and dashed to the window. His heart was racing, the blood pounding in his head. He pushed the sash window up but before he had it fully open he heard the door crash behind him. He whirled around, holding the gun up to show that he wasn’t going to use it, his mouth open to shout that they weren’t to shoot, but before he could get the words out he realised it was too late. Time seemed to freeze. The policeman standing in the doorway couldn’t have been much older than Davie, he had acne on his forehead and a mole with hairs growing out of it on the side of his nose. His handgun was centred on Davie’s chest and Davie could see his finger tightening on the trigger. Behind the young policeman stood another man with a gun. He shouted that Davie was to drop the weapon. Davie wanted to explain that the revolver wasn’t even loaded, but the words wouldn’t come. He felt his bladder empty and he was suddenly ashamed that he’d wet his pants like a frightened child. Paulie’s hands were up in the air as if he was surrendering on his brother’s behalf, his eyes wide and unbelieving.

Davie knew what was going to happen but he was powerless to do anything to stop it. The young policeman’s gun jerked up and Davie felt the bullets thud into his chest as he staggered backwards, his head slamming into the window. He heard the glass shatter but didn’t feel the shards tear into his scalp. He slid down to the floor, his hands clutched to his chest, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

Cramer was towelling himself dry when there was a knock on the bedroom door. ‘Yeah?’ he called, wrapping the towel around his waist. It was Allan, holding a large pair of scissors. He clicked them, a mischievous grin on his face. ‘What are they for?’ asked Cramer suspiciously.

‘Got to make you look decent,’ said Allan. ‘Colonel’s instructions.’

‘Yeah? What part of my anatomy are you planning to remove?’

‘Short back and sides,’ explained Allan, motioning for Cramer to sit on the bed.

Cramer sat down. ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’

‘Not really, but I’m willing to give it a go.’ He clicked the scissors menacingly.

‘You’ve got to be joking.’

‘Come on, Mike. How difficult can it be? Just keep still, that’s all.’ He move towards Cramer, the scissors held high.

Cramer put his hands over his ears and lay back on the bed. ‘Keep those things away from me, you mad bastard,’ he shouted.

Allan roared with laughter and pulled open the door to reveal Mrs Elliott standing there. ‘Afraid of a little snip.’ He handed her the scissors. ‘Mrs Elliott here’ll be doing the business.’