‘Did you do the property search?’
‘What’s it say?’
Logan smiled.
Richard Knox falls to his knees on the cold hard kitchen tiles. Tries not to cry out. The kitchen’s all rosewood units, green marble worktops and stainless steel appliances. A big enough room, but it’s already pretty crowded, you know?
The gang that snatched him from the Sacro flat are standing behind him – down the end with the cooker, where there aren’t any exits. Matt: a tall, thin man with grey hair; Bruce: pale leather jacket, even paler skin; and a plain, dumpy woman called Ellen.
On the other side of the room are the three people Richard really hoped never to see again. Julie and her pet thugs. Not that she
A breakfast bar juts out of the wall, partitioning the kitchen in two. Danby’s slumped over it. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just lies there, shivering, his legs a deep angry pink. That tartan bag still over his head.
Knox gathers the quilt around himself, hiding his shrivelled naked cock.
Julie smiles at him. ‘Hey, Babe. You miss me?’
Matt steps forward. ‘Look, I don’t know what you think you’re playing at but—’
Neil – the Elvis impersonator – takes a step forward and slaps Matt hard enough to send him crashing against the working surface. A mug shatters on the tiles next to Richard. He flinches, can’t help himself.
Neil grins as Matt struggles upright with tears in his eyes, one hand clutched to his scarlet cheek.
‘Anyone else fancy a go?’
Silence.
Bruce takes a small step forward.
Dumpy old Ellen puts a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t…’
He raises his pale chin. ‘This is my home.’
‘Good for you, Sweetheart; love what you’ve done with the place.’ Julie perches on a stool at the breakfast bar. ‘Now, you all know why we’re here, so why don’t we act like grown-ups and no one else needs to get hurt.’
Bruce balls his fists. ‘He raped my father.’
‘And you want revenge, correct?’
Bruce nods.
‘And you’re going to…what: kick him to death? Have yourselves a lynch party? Batter his brains in with a hammer?’
A voice from the doorway says, ‘We’re going to hand him over to the police.’
They all turn to look at the old man, standing there in his fleece and jeans. Face is a right mess, you know? All covered in bruises. He purses his lips, raises an eyebrow at Julie. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Well, well, well, if it’s not Mr Jimmy Evans. We were reading all about your terrible ordeal in the papers this morning, Babe. Feeling better?’
The old man’s chin comes up. ‘We’re handing him over to the police.’
‘I see…’ Julie smiles. ‘And then what? They believe your trumped-up charges and he goes back to prison for the rest of his sordid little life? That the idea?’
‘They won’t have any choice, he’s—’
‘Oh Sweetie, he’ll be out in six, seven years tops. Then it’ll all start up again.’ She sighs. ‘No, your young friends here have the right idea. Mr Knox needs to pay a much
‘We won’t—’
‘She’s right.’ Ellen looks down at Richard, then backhands him across the face. The blow snaps his head around, smacking his cheek into a cabinet door. Hot stinging pain on one side, dull throbbing on the other.
They’re going to kill him.
Richard bites his bottom lip. Tries not to cry. It’s a test. It’s all a test.
Oh God, they’re going to kill him.
Julie winks. ‘That’s more like it!’
Ellen straightens her shoulders. ‘He raped my grandad. An eighty-year-old man and this piece of shit tied him up in the basement and raped him.’
‘Tell you what, why don’t we make it nice and simple?’ Julie thumps a huge handbag on the breakfast bar – like a leather mop cap with rope ties and big handles – and digs about inside. Four pairs of 3D glasses go on the worktop followed by a big bunch of keys, a packet of tissues…and a moulded leather holster. She unfastens the restraining strap and pulls out a black slab of metal.
A semiautomatic pistol.
Oh God.
