Adrian McKinty - Dead I Well May Be

I had no glass cutters and I was no alarm guy. I’d searched Marley for keys, but I knew he wouldn’t have any. The indoor man let the outdoor man in and out. My plan was to go in the garage door. If the garage door was alarmed I’d have to abort, but I didn’t think it was. It wasn’t an automatic door, and I’d seen them come in late when the house was alarmed, and when the garage had opened, nothing had gone off; but another time, when they’d opened the house door first: flashing lights, whoop, whoop, whoop . But still, that wasn’t exactly proof, and if wishes were horses we’d all have a ride, as the Scotch boy used to say. But what else could I do? It was the garage door or nothing. I slipped around the side of the house. I found the garage door and jemmied it up with the screwdriver. It was aluminum and bent easy, and I made just enough space to slide underneath. I was so busy doing stuff I didn’t notice that the alarm hadn’t gone off until I was in.

The garage was connected to the house by a door that not only was not locked but did not lock. Hubris, if you ask me. I went inside through a room that contained the washer and dryer. Little night lights everywhere, and I saw that I wouldn’t need the flashlight. I crouched on the floor and listened, but it was quiet. It was the night before Christmas and all through the house, nothing was stirring, not even Darkey or Mouse.

I walked into a large, airy kitchen with marble counters and many appliances. I looked for a dog bowl or cat bowl or any evidence of annoying pets, but I didn’t see anything. I walked into a hall and listened again. The floor was carpeted, the central heating was quietly humming, faint sounds were coming from a room at the end of the hall to the right. I walked down there and listened. Someone was watching TV. The other guard? I spent a minute turning the handle and then I opened the door very slightly. The guard was in front of a small TV set. Jimmy Stewart on the screen. The guard engrossed. His back was to me, turned three quarters away from the door, which made me think that Providence was on my team, for otherwise I would have had to rush him and stab the fucker in the heart or neck, making no end of commotion. I slipped quickly over and put a hand on his mouth and the barrel of the pistol in his ear.

Who? he managed, before I silenced him by pressing in with hand and gun.

Father fucking Christmas. Now hear me. You don’t have to die. You don’t have to die, but if you make one sound or one move that upsets me, I will blow your brains out. Do you understand? If you do, do not nod your head; I don’t want you to move at all, in case I blow your fucking head off by mistake. I’m a jumpy fuck, you see. So instead, indicate that you understand by making a gentle humming sound once.

A frog was in his throat, but he managed a hum. I kept the gun in his ear and went round to take a sideways look at him. A ginger bap, freckly, young. I didn’t want to kill him. He was wearing a T-shirt and baggy jeans. There was a duffle coat on a desk beside him. I frisked him and he was clean. I took the duct tape out of my pocket and told him to take his shoes off very slowly using only his left hand. Then I told him to duct-tape his ankles together with both hands, but in slow motion. He was sweating and clumsy, but he did it. His back was to me the whole time, but I didn’t particularly care if he saw me or not. On the whole, I suppose I preferred not.

What’s your name? Whisper an answer, I said softly.

J-John.

Ok, John, now listen to me. I’m going to wrap your wrists in duct tape, behind your back. I will need both hands to do this for about one minute. Therefore, I will need to put the gun down; however, it will be beside me and if you make any sudden moves at all, instinctively I will grab the gun and shoot you in the head. Do you understand? Hum if you understand.

He hummed. He put out his wrists, and I wrapped them in duct tape behind his back. I picked up the gun again and blindfolded him with the tape. I tilted the chair.

John, I’m going to roll you on the floor; I’m going to do it gently so as not to make any noise. I need you to go limp and cooperate, ok? You can nod now.

He nodded and I laid him on the floor.

Now, John, listen to me carefully. I have business upstairs and there need not be any unnecessary deaths. I will, however, make sure that I fucking kill you if you raise an alarm or make any move at all from this position. Can I trust you not to be stupid? Nod your head if I can. He again nodded.

Good, now first tell me in a whisper when the next shift change is supposed to be.

H-half an-an hour.

Ok, good. You’re doing well. Do you wake them?

Yes.

Tell me in whispers where exactly Darkey and Bridget’s room is and where exactly the other two guards are sleeping. There are only two other guards in the house, aren’t there?

Yes.

He went on and told me where his mates were sleeping and where Darkey and Bridget were. I gagged him with tape and enjoined him not to move one inch from this cozy spot on the floor. I left the TV on quietly and went outside the room. The stairs were carpeted and curved round in a thirty-degree angle. You could see the whole house from here and it looked quite nice, a bit busy and overdone, but that would be Darkey, not Bridget. I went upstairs and paused at the top. This was the only moment of indecision I had the whole night. Darkey’s room was down the landing to the left. The guards’ room was the second door on the right. They had bunk beds and slept in the one room, John had said. (Bunk beds indeed, Darkey being a tight bastard, no doubt.) Now the smart thing would have been to go in to the guards’ room and cut their throats. But I’d already made a wee promise to myself in the outside that if I could, I’d let them sleep and live. I mean, I thought I didn’t care much about finesse, but clearly I did. Even so, just because I said I wouldn’t kill them didn’t mean I’d jeopardize the whole mission over it. Jesus. What could I do? I couldn’t very well have them wandering about the house while I was still in the process of executing their employer. Hmmm. I hesitated. I wondered what would happen if I went into their room and gave them each a hefty blow on the head with the blunt end of the screwdriver. It sounded so plausible, but wouldn’t the first blow wake the other guard?

All this went through my brain in a second, and I decided that I would take the bloody chance. It was stupid, but you have to make a decision one way or the other.

I inched up to the guards’ room and spent another minute opening the door. There were bunk beds on opposite sides of a small room. The guards were both asleep in the one to my left, one man in the upper bunk and the other in the lower, which again was lucky.

Here goes, I thought, crept over to the lower bunk, and clubbed the guard behind the ear with my screwdriver. I didn’t wait to see if it bunned him; instead, I got up immediately and thumped the other guy. I pulled out the Stanley knife to cut their throats, but it wasn’t necessary. They were both out of it. I found a lamp, turned it on, and worked fast. I hog-tied both of them with duct tape, blindfolded, gagged them, and stuck them in the recovery position. It was hard because they were unconscious, but it was all done in under ten minutes. I was proud of myself. I hadn’t topped them. A regular Mother Teresa, I was. Sparing the innocent.

I walked down the corridor to Darkeys bedroom. I opened the door and made sure there were two persons in the bed. Yes. I felt around for weapons, got one, listened for weird sounds. Nothing. Darkey snoring, Bridget snuffling. It was all as smooth as silk.

I turned the bedside light on.

Bridget, her hair down, beautiful. A rock on her left hand that could have sunk the QE2 . Darkey, sleeping soundly, tanned, relaxed.