Shaun Hutson: Warhol's Prophecy

A nice soak would ease away the aches.

Caroline looked at the screen, reread what she’d written.

One more paragraph should do it.

She decided to finish it while the bath was filling up.

THE GUN METAL felt cold against his hands.

The weapon was heavy as he hefted it in his fist, admiring the sleek lines of the pistol.

The Steyr Model GB.

Nearly six inches long and weighing over twenty-nine ounces, the entire gun was constructed of steel, even the grip plates.

He checked the eighteen-round magazine, thumbing several more of the hollow-tip rounds into the slim steel frame. Then he worked the slide and laid the pistol inside the case, alongside the four spare clips.

The Scorpion machine-pistol, the CZ68, was only slightly larger, but infinitely more lethal. Capable of spewing out over eight hundred 9mm rounds a minute. It had been chambered to take the same kind of slugs as the Steyr.

Like the rounds he’d loaded into the pistol, the bullets he’d fed into the six spare magazines of the Scorpion were also hollow-tipped.

When fired, they would be travelling in excess of one thousand feet a second, but when they struck their target they would explode.

The Scorpion also had a folding shoulder stock and a silencer, but he doubted if he would need either.

The Heckler and Koch MP5SD3 featured a telescoping butt, should he require it. But, again, he didn’t expect the need to arise. Both of the machine-pistols could be held in one fist, if necessary. The MP5’s thirty-round magazines were capable of firing six hundred and fifty shots a minute.

It was a beautiful gun and he couldn’t resist running his hands over the frame before he slid it into the case with the other two weapons.

The Sig-Sauer P225 was, like the other weapons, a 9mm. Eight-round magazine. Capable of putting a hole in a brick wall from close range.

He studied the pistol a moment longer, then laid it alongside the others.

Before he sealed the small carrying case, he looked almost lovingly at the awesome array of firepower before him. Then, smiling, he fastened the two combination locks of the case.

The time had come.

103

HAILEY COULDN’T HELP but think how lacking in genuine VIPs the VIP stand was.

There were lots of music-industry people, friends of James Marsh, business associates, local dignitaries – but precious little to satisfy the hordes of celebrity-spotters who had gathered close to the rear of the stand, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone even remotely recognizable.

As another limo drew up and disgorged its faceless passengers, Hailey saw one watching girl shake her head in irritation.

The area behind the makeshift stand had been roped off, its perimeter patrolled by enormous men in yellow jackets with SHOWSEC stencilled on them. Hailey had watched the desultory dribble of nobodies entering the VIP stand, and thought that the security men might be better employed elsewhere. It didn’t seem likely that the arrival of two more local councillors was going to test their crowd-handling abilities.

Hailey smiled dutifully as she showed the two councillors to their seats in the makeshift stand, hearing the older of the two men complaining about the sound from the stage.

One of the support bands was in the middle of its set, and was meeting with nothing short of indifference from the waiting crowd. Still, Hailey reasoned, indifference was better than the hail of urine-filled plastic bottles that had accompanied the departure of the first support band. The lead singer had dashed back and forth across the stage looking for hands to slap, but had received only an apple core on the back of his head for his trouble.

The joys of being in a support slot, thought Hailey.

She gazed across the stand itself, which was already three-quarters full.

Rob and Becky were sitting in the front row, Becky mesmerized by the sight of the huge crowd and by the spectacle before her.

Rob spotted Hailey and waved. Then he pointed at Becky and held up one thumb.

Hailey waved back.

She saw several more cars approaching, and went over to meet them.

Nicholas Barber stepped out of the first. The MP nodded a greeting and sniffed the air.

‘The smell of the great unwashed,’ he sneered, and looked around at some of the main crowd.

‘Good of you to come, Mr Barber,’ Hailey said, trying to disguise the irritation she felt.

She showed him quickly to his seat, and returned to greet the next two cars.

At last the watching celebrity-spotters raised a few cheers. Jenny Kenton climbed out of the first car, closely followed by three other young women.

All wives and girlfriends of the band, Hailey assumed. One of them, the bass-player’s girlfriend, had just been given a job on an early-morning TV show and she was revelling in her new-found fame.

Hailey thought how easy it was for these women: famous, rich partners and a jet-set lifestyle. They were famous themselves for nothing else other than the fact they were sleeping with celebrities. It was either amusing or nauseating, depending on your view.

‘It’s a bit tacky, isn’t it?’ said Jenny Kenton as she climbed the stairs to the platform.

‘Well, it’s not the Hollywood Bowl, but then Water-hole aren’t the Beatles, are they?’ Hailey said, smiling. ‘As much as they’d like to think they are.’

Jenny Kenton glared furiously at her.

‘You’re the one who does the publicity for Marsh, aren’t you?’ she sneered. ‘His personal assistant?’

‘Nice to see I made an impression,’ Hailey told her.

Jenny Kenton pushed past her towards the seat Hailey indicated.

‘Bitch,’ Hailey whispered under her breath.

The other women followed and seated themselves.

Hailey heard a great roar and looked up to see that the support band were now leaving the stage.

She checked her watch. Another forty minutes and the helicopter carrying Waterhole would begin its first swoop over the crowd.

The guest cars continued to arrive.

104

IT WAS BECKY who spotted them.

She turned in her seat to look around at the array of faces in the VIP stand. They registered expressions ranging from boredom to indifference, bemusement to excitement.

The little girl pulled at Hailey’s arm and pointed excitedly.

‘There’s Auntie Caroline,’ she said, ‘and Adam’s with her.’

Rob looked round and saw them both, but his attention was drawn to Walker, who was still gazing towards the stage.

‘What the fuck is he doing here?’ Rob rasped, leaning close to Hailey’s ear. ‘Did you invite him?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Hailey said, not looking round. ‘I gave Caroline two invitations. I didn’t instruct her on who she could or couldn’t bring with her.’

‘So, he’s screwing her now, is he?’ Rob hissed. ‘I wonder how she compares to you. I wonder if he’s been taking notes on you both.’

Hailey glared at him. ‘Not here, Rob, please,’ she said through clenched teeth.

Becky was still looking round excitedly. She waved in Walker’s direction but he didn’t see her.

‘Did you know she was bringing him?’ Rob persisted.

‘I just told you: I gave her two guest passes. That was it.’

‘So he’ll be at the party with her, too?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’m sure you’ll want to speak to him. You might want to talk about old times.’

‘I didn’t ask Caroline to bring him. It was none of my business who she invited. She could have turned up with Lord Lucan for all I care. It’s nothing to do with me.’