Crime

handrail with the other. — I’m warning you, asshole!

Lennox looks at Johnnie with his now deliciously half-shut eyes, feeling the throb of power in his constrained limbs. — You know what I want. Because you know that I’m like you and there’s only room for one of us.

Chet’s shoulders bristle and his back stiffens as he grips the wheel. When he turns, his eyes have the protrusion and burn of the death’s head. — What in hell’s name are you saying…?

Johnnie gazes in stupefaction at Lennox, then there’s a spark of interest.

— When I stumbled on your little nest of vipers I was so excited, Lennox expounds in a low lisp, his senses now merely a conduit to the voice of another: someone hated. — You see, I’d been emailing back home to my own organisation, trying to get in contact with like-minded souls in America. But no luck. I was prowling freelance when I met her, by accident. The mother. I could smell it off her; you always can. And the girl. You know what they called me back in Britain, Johnnie? Mr Confectioner. But I never tempted a child with candy. Their mothers though, oh, they could be bought off with a few drinks and some sweet talk.

He can see his own ugliness reflected back in Johnnie’s eyes. Like he did looking at Horsburgh.

How he’s marked me, how they always mark you.

— A dopey, negligent woman with low self-esteem, and a delightful little nymphet, taught how to give pleasure and say nothing. I was making my move when you, Johnnie, he tersely nods at him, — you almost ruined everything with your ham-fisted approach. But really I should thank you. It was your action that delivered her into my care. I had a wonderful night in that hotel room, Johnnie. That was a result, and much appreciated.

— You’re full of bullshit, Johnnie says, both hands white on the rail, but his weak sneer can’t conceal his entrancement.

— Shut up, Chet barks. — Shut up, you fucking perverts, and he disintegrates into an agonised howl. — I’ve had enough of this. All your fucking blackmail! IT ENDS NOW!

Johnnie looks from Lennox to Chet. — If I tell Dearing about this, you are fucking finished, old man!

— So to the victor the spoils, Lennox gasps, pulling Johnnie’s attention back to him. — She’s yours and I’ll never know the beauty of a hairless minge again.

— We saw her first, you fuck: we staked that dumb-ass bitch of a mother out for months… you think I enjoyed balling that stretch-marked hag? He points at the pole dancer on his chest. — I’m into young pussy, is all. I did the fucking dirty work and then Dearing breezes in… Johnnie stops, as if realising he’s said too much.

— Fair enough, Lennox says as Chet moans something he can’t make out. — So fuck it: throw me to the fishes. I like young pussy too; in fact, I can’t live without it. It was a good run while it lasted!

Johnnie’s head wobbles with vigour. — Nobody’s goin to no freakin fishes—

— But Lance is calling the shots. He’ll want rid of me, then he’ll destroy you, long before you need to go down, Johnnie.

— You know nuthin about us—

— I know from what you’re saying that you’re doing the dirty work and he’s getting the pay-off.

Johnnie stiffens, puts one hand on his hip. — Damn straight, he acknowledges.

— And I know that I could give you more options than this. Lennox looks out over the dark, still waters. — America’s finished, Johnnie. It’s crawling with Feds and DEA agents. Drugs, terrorism, illegals: all this crippling paranoia about borders. Over my way, we bring in some really beautiful girls: East European, Asian. The border controls are limited, the terror alerts almost zero. Most of them can’t even speak English. Those Thai girls, Johnnie, he says as his adversary licks his lips, — they are something else. They come from nothing so they’re happy to get anything. Not MTV-saturated brats who expect stuff; they’re silent and obedient, just the way we like em, right?

A hatchet grin cleaves Johnnie’s doughy face in two.

Lennox fights to return the complicit smirk. — I could get you sorted out, Johnnie.

— Sounds finger-fuckin good to me, Johnnie says. Then his face tightens again. — But Dearing—

— Forget Dearing. He’s a cop. If you start getting rid of bodies, and it looks like this whole thing is going to shit, then who’s going to carry the can? The cop or the stooges? He shouts over at Chet: — What about you, Lewis? You aren’t a killer. Are you going to let Dearing lead you up the garden path?

— SHUT UP! SHUT UP, YOU FUCKING TWISTED PERVERTS!

Johnnie turns and looks at Chet. — Fuck you!

— Get onside with me, Johnnie! Lennox shouts, — and I won’t let you down!

Johnnie nods in dim complicity, and Lennox can’t believe it. The fucking simpleton. And now he’s reaching behind Lennox and is cutting at his twine bounds with a serrated knife. He’s no right in the heid. As his face is squashed into Johnnie’s flabby breast, he almost feels sorry for Dearing, stuck with such a blundering sidekick.

— I could sure use a little help, Ray. Things have gotten a bit out of control. Dearing thinks he knows it all but—

Johnnie gasps as his eyes expand then roll in his head and he slumps forward, crushing Lennox, who vainly tries to slide out from under him. Standing above, holding a fire extinguisher, is Chet. Lennox is immobilised with Johnnie’s stunned, heaving bulk on his lap, unable to free his wrists from the last of the twine. Disordered by fury, Chet keeps the extinguisher poised. — You fucking scumbags! I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU ALL! He raises the metal cylinder above his head, as Johnnie slides off Lennox, rolling on to the deck with the slap of a landed fish.

— STOP! Lennox screams. — I’m NOT what you think!

Chet pauses, wobbles, but keeps his balance, as Lennox realises nobody is operating the boat.

— I made that shit up to buy time with that arsehole. He looks down at the groaning Johnnie.

— Nobody playing fucking fair, Johnnie wheezes deliriously, — only ol Johnnie here tryin to play fair…

Chet won’t relinquish his hold on the extinguisher. — I’ve had enough bullshit and deceit—

— CHECK! For fuck’s sake, check my ID in my wallet. I’m a cop! Lennox screams. — Tianna’s safe, she’s with my fiancee, Trudi. I’ve a number in my wallet with my ID, you can contact her there!

Chet finally lowers the canister. His powerlifter’s mitt grabs Lennox’s neck. — I should… he starts as Lennox feels his throat constricting, but the sailor’s other hand is pulling the wallet from his pocket. He unleashes the grip and reads a card as Lennox rasps an intake of air. — Lothian and Borders Police? What the hell is that? That isn’t even Alaska… or Utah… you have no jurisdiction here! What the hell has this got to do with you?

— Nothing, Lennox heaves, struggling to fill his lungs. — Absolutely fuck all. I’m a cop on holiday with my fiancee. We’re planning our wedding. We had a big fight and I went off in the huff and met Robyn and her friend in a bar. Then, well, you know the rest. He nods at the moaning Johnnie, still spangled on the deck.

Chet looks at him for a few seconds. — I believe you, he says finally, — I’ll cut you free and then—

But Johnnie suddenly springs up, the blood cascading down his back, grasping the blade from his belt. He swings it at Chet and misses, — YOU FUCKIN IDIOT! COULD’VE FUCKIN KILLED ME!

Chet shrieks and runs up on to the top deck, with Johnnie in pursuit. — Dinnae run away fae that fat cunt, you’re a powerlifter: break ehs fuckin neck! Lennox roars. Then an irresistible, clattering halt, and he shoots off the seat under its impact, as he sees Chet and Johnnie vanish from the deck like magician’s assistants. There’s no time to work out what’s happening; still trussed up, he’s propelled across the lower deck, slamming back-first into the steps that lead up to the bridge.

Things slow down after that jarring loss of momentum; Lennox shakes his head to try and clear it. A wrenching racket from the engines, like a food mixer amplified through a sound system, tells him the boat has run aground. He tries to catch his breath. He can’t determine Johnnie and Chet’s fates as propulsion mechanisms continue to snarl and wheeze in impotence, but it seems likely that the impact has thrown them both overboard. He pulls himself along towards the steps that lead down into the cabin, letting his legs swing over. It’s a steep fall and he’s bound at the ankles, but he’s no choice. Swallowing hard, he takes a deep breath to drain himself of everything superfluous to the jump. His body seems to leave his essence behind as it falls the distance, but they reunite as Lennox hits the deck feet-first before crashing on to his side, a brutal signal of agony making him believe he’s broken his arm. Forcing himself up against a kitchen worktop, he hops into position, sticking the fishing twine that binds his wrists into the teeth of the electronic can opener. Unable switch it on, he saws crudely. As it snaps free, the pain in his arm almost causes him to black out. Balancing himself with his pulped right hand, Lennox breathes in deeply, trying to force down his heart rate. Then he rummages through the opened drawers,