Hitch moved swiftly from one body to the other, firing another shot into the head of each man. Into the nape of the neck of the youngest, who was lying on his stomach with part of his spine exposed, the flesh and muscle ripped away by the 9mm bullet.
Hitch jumped back aboard The Abbott and slapped Morton on the shoulder.
'Get us away from here,' he said sharply, and the other man guided the smaller boat away, allowing it to pick up speed.
'What the hell did you kill them for?' shouted McCann.
'They saw our faces,' Hitch said flatly. 'They knew we were with Plummer.'
'That's bullshit,' snapped McCann.
if word of this had got back to Connelly there'd be gang war,' Hitch told him. 'We couldn't have left them alive.'
'Bollocks,' McCann roared. 'You didn't have to kill them.'
Hitch grabbed him by the lapels, pulling him close.
'And what the fuck would you have done with them, hot shot? Invited them out for a drink?' Hitch snarled. He pushed his companion away. 'We leave the boat to float there now. By the time somebody finds them there'll be nothing to link us to the killings.'
McCann sighed and banged his fist against the side of the boat.
'Shit,' he murmured. 'Fucking shit.' He let out a long breath then turned to look at Hitch. 'I suppose you're right.'
Hitch nodded.
Morton was already guiding the boat in towards the quay.
Hitch moved closer to the prow.
'What now?' McCann wanted to know, i'm getting off here. I've got to let Plummer know it went okay. You carry on down to Putney Bridge, get this lot unloaded. You know what to do with the boat.' He looked at McCann then at Morton. 'Sink it.'
Morton nodded.
Hitch was about six feet from the edge of the pier when he jumped, landing with surprising agility. He brushed dust from his sleeve and headed towards the flight of stone steps that led up to the embankment. The boat was already chugging away towards Putney. Hitch smiled and crossed the road to the Lancia, pulling open the door and sliding into the passenger seat.
'Let's go,' he said.
'I heard some shooting,' Scott told him, starting the engine. 'What was it?'
'Nothing for you to worry about, Scotty,' Hitch told him. 'Just get me to a phone, will you?'
Scott started the engine and drove off.
Hitch fumbled inside his jacket and pulled the Beretta free. He passed it to Scott.
'Take it,' he said sharply.
The driver did as he was instructed, slipping it back inside the holster, feeling the slight warmth in the metal.
'Tell me what happened,' he demanded. 'This fucking gun has been fired.'
'I had to frighten one of them,' Hitch lied. 'Fired above his head.'
Scott looked across at his companion.
'You better be telling me the truth,' he said threateningly, 'or I'll use the fucking thing on you.'
Hitch looked at him and saw the anger in Scott's eyes. He had no doubt at all that Scott meant what he said. He persisted with the lie, nevertheless.
'I had to frighten them, Scotty, I told you,' he said quietly.
'I heard six fucking shots,' Scott said. 'Why so many?'
'Just drive,' Hitch said.
Scott pulled the car over to the kerb, his right hand slipping inside his jacket. He pulled the pistol free and shoved it against Hitch's cheek.
'How many shots did you fire?' he snarled. 'Tell me or I'll blow your fucking head off.' He thumbed back the hammer.
'Six,' Hitch said. He reached inside his jacket and pulled his own pistol free. 'Here, take the mag out of my gun, replace it with the one from yours.'
Scott seemed satisfied by this and slipped the magazine free from his own pistol, jamming in the full one he'd taken from Hitch's Beretta. The two men glared at each other for a moment.
'That temper of yours is going to get you into trouble one day, Scotty,' Hitch told him. 'You ever pull that on me again and I'll fucking kill you.'
'You'll have to be quicker than you were a minute ago, then,' Scott hissed and pulled the car away from the kerb.
'Just get me to a phone,' Hitch said irritably.
Scott drove on.
'There.'
Hitch pointed to the pay phone on the corner of the street and Scott brought the Lancia to a halt, watching as his companion walked across to the phone, picked it up and dialled, feeding more money in.
'Ray, it's me,' said Hitch. 'It's done. Yeah, everything. Well, nearly everything.' He smiled. 'Scott's going to drop me off. No, didn't need him.' He listened for a moment, glancing round at his companion in the car. 'Right. I'll call you tomorrow.' He replaced the receiver, scooped his change out of the slot and walked back towards the car, clambering into the passenger side.
Scott drove on.
Ten minutes later he dropped Hitch off close by Clapham Junction Station then drove away, heading home. The traffic was light at such an hour. He might make it back by four in the morning, once he'd dumped the car.
***
Hitch watched the tail lights of the Lancia disappear and headed for the public telephones nearby. He fed more money into the machine, smiling as he dialled.
SEVENTY
He fumbled with the key, trying to push it into the lock, cursing when it wouldn't turn. Finally the door opened and Scott stepped inside. He closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, catching his breath.
He'd dumped the car a mile away and walked back to his flat, passing less than half a dozen other people along the way. He'd gone over the car with a cloth, wiping fingerprints from the steering wheel and the door handles, then he'd tossed that into the Lancia, locked it and hurled the keys away. Scott stood motionless for long moments, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. His body ached mainly through lack of sleep, he told himself, reluctant to admit he was so unfit that a mile walk had drained him of energy. Finally he wandered through into the kitchen, pulled off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. He hastily unfastened the shoulder holster, too, and laid it on the table, then crossed to the fridge, found a can of 7-Up and drank deeply. He carried the can with him into the bathroom where he stripped off his clothes and turned on the shower. He sat on the toilet, watching the spray, waiting for the water to warm up, sipping his drink.
His head was pounding. It had been ever since he'd dropped Hitch off. Scott reached up and massaged his own shoulders as best he could.
He needed someone to do this for him. Someone to soothe away the ache.
Like Carol?
