The gun was empty. On the floor, neither Raymond nor Matthew moved. I took a step backwards and suddenly a second gunman burst in. Knowing where my shots had come from, he crouched down and unloaded a volley of fire in my direction. Dropping the gun, I dived for cover and rolled round the other side of the staircase and temporarily out of range. I heard him running towards me and with every last bit of strength I had left I wriggled over to the MAC 10, grabbed it, and rolled round.
He was coming round the side of the staircase, gun outstretched in front of him. He fired as soon as he saw me, the first bullet ricocheting off the expensive cream carpet, not far from my head. Two more bullets flew past me, equally close, and I pulled the trigger of the MAC 10.
The whole world seemed to explode in noise. A hail of bullets ripped through my attacker, sending him dancing in a ferociously manic jig as his body seemed to burst open. Ornaments, furnishings, glass … everything seemed to shatter as the bullets tore apart their target and flew off in all directions, stitching an angry blood-splattered pattern right across the wall. A dozen small wounds blended together and became a gaping hole in his midriff, exposing pale lumps of fat and the first writhing coils of intestine.
The magazine emptied in the space of a couple of seconds, the spent shells forming a pile on the carpet. For a moment, the gunman kept his feet, stumbling awkwardly about like a blind man, both hands clasping his guts and trying to put them back where they belonged. But I think it must have dawned on him that it was a futile exercise, and he fell to the floor and lay there moaning weakly.
For a couple of seconds, I didn’t move. My head was pounding and I felt an intense tiredness. But I knew it was nearly over. All I had to do now was make sure Raymond was beyond help and make my getaway. Then I would have done what I’d set out to do, and I could sleep for as long as I wanted.
I got to my feet and looked over at Raymond and Matthew. Both were lying motionless in a heap by the door, their faces red with blood. Out in the porch I could hear the sound of someone moaning, presumably the other gunman. At the same time, the other car – the one that had been carrying Illan’s assassins – reversed and turned round in the drive, before pulling away.
I approached the door and gingerly put my head round it. The gunman was lying on his front and a pool of blood had spread out below him. He still had hold of the gun, but his grip looked weak. He was trying to crawl towards the front door but didn’t seem to have the strength to make it. I stepped towards him, leaning down to pick up the gun.
And then, for the second time that night, I heard a noise behind me. I swung round, eager not to get caught out again, just as Raymond, bellowing like an angry bull, charged me. He threw a punch, but I managed to read his intentions and dodged it, although I was unable to get out of his way as he ran into me head on, and I toppled over backwards under his weight.
I landed heavily on the back of the gunman, who let out a weird high-pitched squeal as the air was forced out of him. The gun fell from his fingers with a clatter. Winded myself, I desperately tried to parry the blows Raymond rained down on me. I managed to catch him on the chin with a punch of my own, but it wasn’t enough to cause any real damage. He hit me back in the the spot where Kover had caught me the previous night, my already tender right cheek, and I felt something break.
Sensing that I was fading, he reached across me and went for the gun. And that was when I thought of Molly Hagger and the anonymous, gruesome death she must have suffered. Only thirteen years old. Still a fucking kid. And I knew I couldn’t die without making Raymond Keen pay for his crimes. With a strength born of pure rage, I shot upwards, knocking him off balance, and headbutted him bang on the bridge of the nose. I heard the bone snap with a hideous crack and he screamed in agony. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him bring up the gun, but his grip had loosened with the shock of my blow and I ripped it out of his hand, smacking him on the side of the head with the butt at just the moment he punched me again, knocking me backwards.
But this time I kept hold of the gun, and swung it round so it was pointed straight at him. His eyes widened and he froze. I sat back up, and this time he made no effort to resist. With one hand, I grabbed him by his thick mane of hair; with the other, I pushed the barrel against his eye.
‘Now, now, Raymond. Easy does it.’
I pushed him backwards and got to my feet, still holding the gun tight against him. When we were both standing up, I gave him a shove and walked back into the inner hallway with him retreating in front of me. Blood poured liberally out of his damaged nose.
‘Look, Dennis, I’ve got money. Plenty of it. We can come to some arrangement.’ This time there was no mistaking the fear in his voice.
I stopped in front of him, keeping the gun trained on his face. Five feet
