He lowered his arm. 'I'm a bit fucked up,' he said.
That's okay. But if you point that gun at me again, I'll have to shoot you. Even if it means I have to walk all the way back home.
Carlos tucked the gun into his waistband, felt the heat still from the muzzle. Felt like it was inside him, glowing.
'You take the feet,' he said, shuffled round, slipped his hands under her armpits.
Jordan got into position. On three, we'll lift it.
'Her,' Carlos said. 'We'll lift her. '
Fine. You ready?
Yeah, Carlos was as ready as he was going to be.
Wait a minute. Jordan lowered her feet, picked something off the road. Stretched out his hand to offer it to Carlos.
'What is it?' iPod. Still got the headphones round its — her — neck, look.
Carlos took the machine. It looked okay, no cracks that he could see. He slipped the headphones off her neck and put them round his own. He plugged the end into the machine, selected random play and told Jordan to grab her feet again.
Strings. Fiddles and double basses, played posh with a bow. Bach, she'd said. It was supposed to be relaxing.
THREE
Carlos pulled into a petrol station and got out of the van, checking himself once again for bloodstains. They'd cleaned up with some rags and babywipes that Maggie'd brought along. He'd had a stain on his jumper, probably from Bob, so he'd taken it off. His shoes were pretty bad, and some of the blood had soaked in. But the all-night attendant wasn't going to notice.
Carlos walked over to him, smiled. He hoped the fucker wasn't the talkative type. 'Twenty B amp;H,' he said.
The cashier grunted, disappeared to fetch the cigarettes, then returned to the window in his kiosk. He muttered something, presumably the price. Carlos slid a ten-pound note to him, and got his change back with a grunt.
Carlos was about to spring open the packet and light up when he remembered he couldn't do that here.
He walked back to the van, strapped himself into his seat.
You going to smoke in here? Jordan said.
And they'd been getting on so well.
Carlos drove off, looking for a lay-by.
They'd had to get along. Decisions had had to be made. They'd abandoned the idea of chucking the bodies in the Forth. There was only one chain, so they could dispose of one of them that way, but the other was going to be a problem. So they agreed that they'd just dispose of the pair of them with the van. By then, Carlos had been able to think more clearly. It didn't much matter to him whether Maggie had her send-off by water or fire. If anything, fire was the cleaner option. And he was pretty sure it didn't matter to her. He'd need to set up an alibi for himself, but that would be easy enough. And with nothing to link him to the van or the guns, the police wouldn't be able to make a case against him. Not that they'd want to. He was pretty sure it'd be obvious to the dumbest of detectives that he was hurting.
Carlos pulled over. Right under a streetlamp. The sodium light tinted the pavement orange. Or tan.
He lit a cigarette. Dios, the smoke bit the back of his throat. He spluttered.
Jordan swore, opened his window.
Carlos took another drag, coughed again. The smoke seeped into his chest, his lungs, and he felt light- headed. Had to be a nicotine rush. Something he hadn't felt since he first started smoking. Or maybe it was adrenaline.
He slipped his headphones on. A bit of Bach and a fag. If that didn't relax him, he was beyond help.
Twenty minutes later, they were driving through town, the iPod in the glove box. Carlos fumbled for another fag.
The city was quiet as they coasted down Leith Walk. Jordan opened his eyes when Carlos sparked the lighter, made a sleepy sound and closed his eyes again.
Carlos's pulse hammered in his temples. He could feel it in his wrists. In the insides of his knees. In the soles of his feet. The nicotine, the adrenaline, Bach, he wasn't sure what or who was to blame.
Jordan was as relaxed as a kitten. We there yet? he mumbled.
'Won't be long,' Carlos told him. He breathed out a lungful of smoke — felt like he remembered it now, like his body had grown used to the invasion and was at peace with it. He dug out his phone and dialled his mum.
She answered right away.
'Thought you might have fallen asleep,' Carlos said.
'As if that's likely. Did you find out what you were after?'
'Maybe,' he said.
'Just maybe?'
'I can't talk on the phone.'
'How did Maggie take it?'
'Not on the phone, Mama!'
'Okay,' she said. 'You want me to leave now?'
'Yep. And stay in your car.'
This time of night it'd be only a ten-minute drive from here to the patch of wasteland they were headed for. Carlos could have driven for hours like this, the whole city to themselves. He rolled his shoulder, his neck stiff, aware that the prickling inside his head wasn't normal.
Carlos cruised along to the stretch of wasteland down by the waterfront. The redevelopment round here was a pain. Hadn't been quite the same since the gasworks were demolished. But it was the best place for the job in hand. This was where joyriders came to burn their rides. He veered off the road, onto scrub and hard dirt, the headlights picking out a straggle of stunted bushes.
He selected his path, turned off the headlights. A few feet on the bumpy terrain and Jordan was jolted awake. Carlos listened to him moan, mutter something about bed.
'We're here,' Carlos said, and the kid snapped to it when he realised where they were and that his job wasn't finished yet.
He stretched, shivered, and Carlos eased the van to a stop.
Now? Jordan said.
'Wait till Mum gets here.'
Carlos climbed out of the van, the darkness smacking him in the face.
Jordan followed him. He yawned once. What do you think she'll say?
Carlos couldn't see Jordan, just heard the voice coming from the other side of the van. Carlos stared at the lonely lights flickering in the distance, wondered what their game was, why they flickered.
Well? When Jordan spoke again, he was just a couple of feet to Carlos's left.
Carlos's hand crept behind his back, fingered the Glock. He could see Jordan now, just, pale face above a shadowy outline. Carlos said, 'Why do you care what she'll say?'
Maybe I don't. Just wondering what you'll tell her.
'I don't know,' Carlos said. 'What should I tell her? Why did you shoot Maggie?'
Can I have one of your cigs?
'Thought you didn't like smoke.'
Not in the van. Different outside.
