Ian Rankin: Doors Open

Mike was impressed. He could see Calloway calculating all the possibilities and permutations in an instant. And when he made his move, it was lightning fast, too. Hate had turned away from him to face the line of hostages again, trying to decide who would be first to die. He didn’t hear the snooker cue being lifted from the table, didn’t feel the change in air pressure as it was swung at the back of his head. The force of contact snapped the wood in half with a crack, splinters falling into Mike’s lap. Alice screamed, and Laura gave a little yelp. The giant stumbled and almost fell on top of Mike, but he didn’t go down, not quite. Calloway started raining blows from behind, yelling for his henchmen to come and help him. The door opened and one man ran in.

‘Johnno!’ Chib commanded. ‘Whack him hard!’

‘About fucking time,’ Johnno snarled, joining the fray. He got a good kick at the doubled-over Hate, blood spurting from the giant’s nose. But Hate was already fighting back, heaving Calloway halfway across the room with a shoulder charge. Mike realised that Alice was screaming again, but not in horror at the events unfolding right there in front of her – she was shouting for help, struggling against her bonds. Mike saw why: she was staring wide-eyed at the open door, beyond which lay the outside world, so reassuringly unchanged and unthreatening. A pavement, a lamppost, the roadway… Anyone passing would be bound to notice and fetch help. Maybe a passenger in a car, or a cruising cab-driver… It had dawned on Westie, too. He wrestled with his chair until it tipped over. He started wriggling, using any purchase he could find, slithering and jerking his way towards anywhere that wasn’t here.

‘Don’t leave me!’ Alice yelled at him.

‘I’ll get help,’ he gasped, the heel of one shoe squeaking against the floor. As he moved, he left a slight trail in his wake and Mike was reminded – suddenly and absurdly – of a snail beginning some epically slow journey. He turned his head to check on Laura, but her eyes were on the wrestling match in front of her. There were flecks of blood on her cheeks, nose and forehead – Hate’s blood.

As for Jimmy Allison… his shoulders were heaving with a crazed species of laughter at the unfolding spectacle as Johnno launched himself on to Hate’s back, one arm around his throat. Calloway was upright again and preparing to charge. Mike was still impressed by the fluidity of the man’s thinking. An ally had become an enemy in the blink of an eye. He couldn’t be sure, though, whether Hate’s demise would necessarily lead to the group’s salvation, which was why he started working away at his own bonds. Westie was halfway to the door now, and Alice was still crying out for help. Calloway had a question for Johnno.

‘Where the hell’s Glenn?’

‘Thought he was right behind me.’ The reply came from between gritted teeth, as Johnno continued to squeeze the life from Hate. But then the giant powered himself backwards into one of the tables. Mike thought he could hear a sharp cracking sound – not dissimilar to the snapping of the cue – as Johnno’s spine connected with the table’s wooden rim. The arm fell from around Hate’s neck, and as Hate stepped away, Johnno slumped to the floor, face twisted in pain. Calloway meantime had aimed a kick where it hurts most, reminding Mike of school playground tactics. But it seemed to have little effect, and Hate swiped his gloved fist hard across the gangster’s jaw. The follow-up punch felled Calloway, knocking him unconscious to the floor. Hate took only a couple of moments to gather himself. Bubbles of blood appeared at both nostrils and his breathing was ragged. His face was near puce from the attempted strangulation. He staggered towards the door and slammed it shut, then bent down to drag Westie away from all hope of freedom. Westie screamed in agony as he was pulled along the floor by his hair. Hate hauled the chair upright again between Laura and Alice. A clump of Westie’s hair fell from his gloved hand as he removed it. Alice was yelling obscenities at the giant, but he ignored her. Instead, he reeled back towards Calloway and Johnno, assessing any level of threat they might still present. Satisfied, he turned his attention towards Mike and the others.

‘I’m going to kill you all,’ he spat, his voice hoarse. ‘And then I’m going home.’

‘Your employers won’t like it,’ Mike said coolly, ‘if you don’t take them their money. Remember – I’m the guy who can deliver it.’

But Hate was shaking his head. ‘A photograph of the corpses will suffice.’

‘You don’t think the police will show an interest?’

‘I’ll be long gone.’ He looked around him again. ‘Calloway has to die, and there can’t be witnesses.’ Hate pointed towards Mike. ‘I’ll be saving you till last, my friend.’

‘Does that make me the weakest?’

‘You’re all weak! This whole city is weak!’ Hate threw his head back ceilingwards and gave a little groan – not, it seemed to Mike, of pain, but rather of dismay at the blunt stupidity encountered so far on his adventure. ‘Someone like Calloway… he’s an idiot, and yet somehow he gets to be in charge? You’re fools, the lot of you.’

‘You might have a point.’

‘Oh, I do.’ A grin spread across the blood-smeared face as Hate reached behind him, into the collar of his shirt. Slowly he pulled out a slender, gleaming knife and started to survey his kingdom. Calloway, unconscious on the floor, blood trickling from one ear. Johnno in a heap, conscious but wishing otherwise, moaning in agony. And the five trussed figures in their chairs.

‘Best thing you can do,’ Mike stated, ‘is walk away from here before Glenn comes back with the cavalry.’

‘Glenn?’

‘Calloway has two bodyguards, remember. You might not have much time.’

‘He’ll find his boss dead, along with the rest of you.’

Mike came to the conclusion that at long last he had run out of options. His only hope was to charge at the man, try ramming his head into his stomach. He knew it was hopeless, but what else was there? Hate himself seemed to realise this and gave a soft chuckle. Mike turned towards Laura. She was trying hard to hold back the tears.

‘Not exactly how I’d hoped things might work out for the two of us,’ he apologised.

‘As second dates go, I’ll admit I’ve had better.’

Westie, who’d started struggling against his bonds again, had keeled over on to the floor for a second time. Alice wasn’t far off joining him. Allison was still chuckling to himself, eyes screwed shut, sanity evaporating. And all of this for a few paintings, Mike thought. All because I was bored, pampered, infatuated, and greedy.

And tricked by the greater villain – Professor Robert Gissing.

It galled him to think that Gissing was dodging all of this, enjoying his retirement surrounded by however many masterpieces. Cocktails on the patio and lazy days in the sun…

‘One last thing,’ he said, gaining the murderous giant’s irritated attention. ‘I’ve told Calloway and now I’m telling you – Robert Gissing is the man who conned all of us. Find Gissing and you’ll have your hands on an art collection worth millions. Remember to tell your client that when you get home.’

Hate thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘Thanks for the tip,’ he said. ‘And to return the favour, I’ll make this quick – not painless, maybe, but quick…’

He placed himself in front of Laura, leaned down a little towards her, and drew back the knife. Laura’s scream drilled into Mike’s ears. He squeezed shut his eyes, straining one last time at his bonds. But then there was another sound, that of a door being kicked in. He opened his eyes to the sight of figures streaming through the doorway, dressed in black stab vests and some of them wearing visored helmets. On each chest, the word POLICE was picked out in white lettering. The officer at the front had dropped to one knee, and Mike realised he was pointing a pistol at Hate. Hate froze for a moment, the knife poised. Laura’s mouth was still gaping, though her screams had been silenced by the arrival of the cops. Hate turned his head so his eyes met Mike’s. The look was worth a thousand words. The officers were barking out a repeated order and eventually the giant complied. The knife fell to the floor with a clatter and he raised his arms above his head, kneeling down as instructed, sliding his hands slowly around to the back of his head, awaiting the restraints.