‘What happened?’ asked Johnny, eyes wide.
‘You mean, why am I still here? I took a bullet in the gut and one in the leg. I was in hospital for six weeks and the cunts still charged me afterwards. I got fourteen years for armed robbery and attempted murder, because I managed to hit one of their fucking blokes as well. My only regret about the whole thing was that I didn’t kill the bastard.’
To be honest with you, I wouldn’t get too carried away about Kalinski’s role in the gunfight at the OK Corral. From what I’d heard, he’d only ever fired one shot in anger during his long criminal career, and that had been into a sub post office ceiling. And he wasn’t exactly Papillon either. According to what Joe had told me, he’d only ever done a couple of short stretches inside, which was another of the reasons we’d hired him. It showed he was careful. Something smelled a little fishy, and it wasn’t just Tugger’s curry.
Johnny sighed and put his head in his hands. ‘What am I fucking doing here?’ he said to no-one in particular.
‘Being gutless,’ snarled Kalinski.
‘Give him a break, Mike,’ I said. ‘The poor sod’s had a bad week. His missus is bisexual.’
‘What the fuck’s wrong with that?’ said Tugger. ‘Nothing better than a bit of three-in-a-bed experimentation.’
‘Not if the third one doesn’t want fuck all to do with you.’
Tugger patted him on the back sympathetically. ‘Shit, Johnny, is that right? Does her lover not swing to the beat of the phallic drum?’
‘Look, fuck off, will you?’ said Johnny, brushing off Tugger’s hand. He turned and gave me the evil eye. ‘That was private what I was telling you, Max.’
‘I had a session with a couple of lesbians once,’ said Kalinski. ‘Porn stars they were, American. Candy and Brandie they was called. Brandie’s been in loads of stuff.’ He shook his head in awe. ‘They knew what they was fucking doing, I can tell you. Could have sucked ballast through a straw, both of them. Did it in a penthouse in the Savoy.’
If Kalinski had been Pinocchio, he’d have had my fucking eye out. This bloke could bullshit for England.
I got up from the table. ‘I’d better give Krysy boy something to eat.’
Kalinski glared at me. ‘Fuck that, let him starve.’
‘I tried him this morning,’ said Joe, ‘and he told me to fuck off. So I did. We’re releasing him Sunday morning. If he wants to lose weight in the meantime, let him. He’s had some water so he won’t die.’
‘He’s been here nearly two days and he hasn’t touched a thing. I’ll just check on him.’
‘You just want a chance to give him another kicking,’ said Joe, with something close to a smile.
Which was partly true, I did. Krys, like Johnny, had been a pain in the arse from the start. When we’d dragged him out of the van and into the farmhouse on the first night, he’d gone absolutely apeshit, kicking like a donkey and screaming all sorts of uncalled-for insults. Me and Kalinski had been forced to give him the beating of his life, just rewards for past wrongs, Kalinski taking particular pleasure in stamping repeatedly on his bollocks until Joe pulled us both off, fearful we’d kill him. When I’d tried to feed him the following morning, he’d spat in my face and told me I was a dead man, which had been a pretty fucking stupid move on his part and had cost him a broken nose, but he still resisted any effort at co-operation and in those increasingly rare moments when his gag was removed he was full of bluster and threats. In the end, I had no choice but to award him a grudging respect. He was a champion arsehole and about as pleasant as a skidmark, but he was no coward. It made me think, too, that this was a much better way of dealing with him than shooting him outright. This way we broke him down, humiliated him, but we didn’t kill him in cold blood. I’m not a bad lad, to be honest with you, and I don’t think I’m capable of just executing someone outright without them having a chance to fight back. Plus, this way we made money out of it, so it seemed to me to be a pretty decent sort of revenge all round, really.
‘At the moment, Joe, he’s the most valuable thing we’ve got and it’s in all our interests to keep him that way. At least if we give him back alive, one day the Holtzes’ll forget about what happened. If he turns up dead, we’ll have them on our backs for ever.’ I picked up a couple of pieces of bread from the kitchen top. ‘Look, I’m not exactly giving him the lavish stuff.’
I went out of the room, through the hallway, and over to the door under the stairs that led down to the cellar. I unlocked it, switched on the light, and walked slowly down the wooden steps.
Krys was strapped to a chair which was in turn secured to the bare brick wall. He was wearing a shirt and piss-stained trousers with nothing on his feet. He had a black blindfold round his eyes and masking tape securing his mouth, and his face was covered in bruises. Dried blood had formed a crusty trail running from his nostrils, where I’d delivered the nose-breaking blow, down to his neck. Another badly healed cut wound its
