The Make

driver and the murdered boy and I thought, enough, I can’t do this any more, if he kills me then he kills me, I just can’t go on with this. I’m a mother,’ she cried in anguish. ‘That boy he hit with a shovel, he had a mother too. That woman’s never going to see her son again because of Deano and what Lefty did. I couldn’t go on with it, do you see that?’

They nodded.

Mona wiped at her eyes and gave a tired sigh. She paused, collecting herself.

‘So I thought, what the hell. I tried to get Alfie out of there, but Deano smashed in my car window and pulled him out. Then Lefty tried to grab me and I wound up the window, but he wouldn’t let go, he wouldn’t. I didn’t know what to do. If he’d got hold of me then he’d have killed me, I knew it. So I drove. I was terrified. I drove until I saw the police station, then I stopped, and it was then that I realized . . .’

‘That Lefty was dead,’ said the male police officer.

Mona nodded.

‘I just panicked. I ran for home, and we were going to go up North, hole up somewhere, I don’t know. We just knew we had to get out.’

The officer stood up. ‘Take a breather, Mona,’ he said, and beckoned his fellow officer to follow him out of the room.

Once they were outside in the corridor, he said: ‘Get her another coffee and get back in there and talk to her, get any more info you can. I’m going to get Deano Drax pulled in, see if we can’t get that boy back before . . .’

He didn’t finish the sentence. The female officer nodded. She didn’t want to hear that sentence finished, either. She understood. She went off to the coffee machine, thinking about the dross that was wandering around on the streets and wishing she knew a lot less about life than she did.

Christmas Day

Chapter 61

Harry was feeling very tired, and very cold. He was also in a lot of pain. And now the man was back, leering over him with his big head and his cruel eyes. And this time, as if it mattered, this time the man had a gun in his hand.

Oh just shoot me then you fucker and be done with it, thought Harry.

Harry had heard about old people actually wanting to die, and he had never understood it. To Harry, life had always been sweet, to be savoured. But now, he understood those old people: infirm, filled with pain, just downright bloody tired. Life got thin, he could see that now. Life became too much. And then . . . well, was death so terrible, really?

An end to the pain.

An end to the torment and the fear.

No, not so terrible.

And now the git thought he could frighten Harry by pointing a gun at his head? What a laugh.

‘You ever played Russian roulette, Harry?’ the man was asking him.

It was an old gun, Harry could see that. This was no fancy Russian piece, no RK whatever. This was an old thing with a blued barrel and a six-cylinder. A revolver, his weary brain supplied. That was it.

Harry shook his head tiredly. No.

The man had a box of bullets on top of the big chest freezer. He flicked open the six-cylinder chamber on the gun and he held up one gleaming bullet for Harry to look at. The man smiled broadly, and inserted the bullet into the gun. He snapped the chamber closed and pointed the gun at Harry’s head.

Em, thought Harry.

He looked down the barrel of the gun.

But Em didn’t want him; she despised him. Em was lost to him forever. He was weary, filthy, beyond hungry, beyond anything but this tiny, cramped, crippling world of pain. He’d had enough. So what if this bastard shot him now. So what?

‘It’s Christmas Day, Harry, and this is my gift to you. A little excitement to brighten your dull days. What do you think of that? You put one bullet in the chamber,’ the man was saying. ‘And then – guess what, Harry? – you just pull the trigger and you hope, Harry, that the bullet isn’t in that particular chamber, because it’ll blow your brains to fuck. That’s Russian roulette, Harry. What do you think of that?’

Harry shrugged. Like I care.

The man’s smile faded. He liked his victims terrified, babbling, begging for mercy. He didn’t like them like this – beaten, beyond hope. This was no fun. No challenge. Angrily he placed the muzzle of the gun against Harry’s forehead, grinding the cold metal against Harry’s shrinking flesh.

‘Say goodbye, Harry,’ said Deano.

He pulled the trigger.

Harry flinched.

Nothing happened. Just a click. The chamber rotated. Was this new chamber empty or full? Harry slumped there, uncaring.

‘You’re a brave man, Harry Doyle,’ said Deano, almost admiringly. He put the gun aside on top of the freezer. ‘That’s the first, though, Harry, and there are five more spins of the wheel. You like this game?’

Harry nodded tiredly. Love it, hate it. Who gave a shit?

‘Back soon,’ said Deano, and left the garage.

Harry sat there, listening to the whir of the freezer motor, not even thinking any more about the food that must be in there. He was beyond hunger. Beyond thirst. Beyond the need for anything except for this to end. And end it would. Five more chances. One of them would be lethal. He didn’t care.

Not any more.

Em was lost to him anyway.

Chapter 62

The snow was coming down thicker and faster as the heavy drove himself and Gracie toward Deano Drax’s place. The car was struggling, the back wheels spinning sideways as they went off the main drag and on to the country lanes that would lead them to Drax’s hideaway.

‘We’re never going to make this,’ said the heavy, wrestling with the wheel as the car spun wildly on another sharp turn. The wipers were whooshing across the screen, the snow coming down so hard and fast now that they were barely coping.

Gracie looked at him. He had a big bald head, a sharp pecker of a nose, fleshy cheeks pockmarked with teenage acne scars, and hazel eyes. He didn’t look as if he was enjoying this any more than she was.

‘You got a mobile on you?’ she asked.

He patted his pocket. ‘Yeah, but I’m not sure how much battery I have.’

Shit, thought Gracie. If that’s flat, we’re out here in the middle of nowhere with no means of communication.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

‘Paul.’

‘Shouldn’t you be at home with your family, Paul?’