“Well I say you fucked me,” he said, bringing up his gun slowly, holding it between us again.
“Hey,” said Mike, pulling his own weapon stiff to aim it at Richard.
“Calm down, we can sort this out,” I said, not believing a word.
What frightened me the most was that Richard just didn’t seem to care anymore.
“I don’t think we can,” he declared solemnly, wiping a hand across his face. His eyes were incredibly dilated, his whole body jittery. He looked down at the powder stained desk, took a breath in. Then he swung his gun arm sharply to point at Mike’s head. “Boom!” he shouted.
Mike reacted with a ‘click click click,’ the trigger flicking impotently in and out of his gun.
Mike looked down at his gun, anguished. Richard let out a loud throaty chuckle and doubled over, his gun down at his side.
“Jesus Christ, can you do nothing, right? Take the safety off next time, you silly shit.”
I stood there, frozen, I realised my mouth was hanging wide open. Time slowed, creeping along; in contrast to my bounding pulse.
What the fuck?
Mike found the safety and clicked it off. He held the gun outstretched with two arms, a tremor in them both.
Richard turned his glazed eyes upon mine one final time.
“I’m sorry Ivan,” he whispered morosely, his arm rising upwards.
“No, Richard – don’t!” I shouted, reaching out.
The gun was already in his mouth He pulled the trigger, blowing the back of his head off.
50
We didn’t stop running until we reached the car. The burning in my throat, cramps in my legs, tears streaming down my face – none of it slowed me down. The running felt cathartic. There was nothing I wanted to run away from more than what I had just witnessed. Richard had crashed to the ground, blood spurting everywhere. We didn’t escape the spray either. I had screamed and Mike had cursed, both of us in terror and shock. Time slowed to nothing. I almost left my consciousness, staring wide eyed at the newly made corpse on the ground. I dry heaved.
“C’mon Vicky, c’mon,” Mike had said urgently, pulling at my arm. I felt as if I had desperately just swam up for air. Gasping, I moved with him, unable to speak. He pulled me out of the room.
“We should… should we… wipe the place down – our prints,” I mumbled.
“No time, someone will have heard that. C’mon, run!”
Then I did just that, I followed Mike and ran. I ran for my life.
We sprinted back through the house, the way we’d come, grabbed up the bag and closed over the back door. Then we were in the fresh air, running frantically through the stillness of the night. It was no longer still. The fresh air wasn’t as pure anymore either, there was something foul in the air. Darkness was giving way to first light and everything felt worse for it. Soon the morning sun would cast its rays on all we had done. I could hear nothing but the thundering of our shoes, echoing around the streets. I knew that someone somewhere close would be ringing the police. They could already be on their way. I wasn’t so much an empty vessel as barely a vessel at all.
Just keep going.
Then we were back at the car, throwing ourselves inside it and screeching away down the street.
Shooting through the wide East Belfast streets, alone, brought its own uneasiness. I was sure the police would be close and here we were, streaming through the streets like a lone rocket ship on the way to the moon. We had to get away, but it made us look like prime suspects too. My heart danced all over my chest – I thought that surely my heart would just give up soon, saying “Fuck you Vicky!” and it would all be over. As Mike threw the car around the further streets, I noticed the sun trying to push further through the clouds. Shooting along, I glanced around. An occasional house had a lamp on in a bedroom here or there. Belfast was waking up.
Got to get away from here.
Mike turned off down the Newtownards Road, deciding not to go along the open carriageway I assumed. We had yet to speak since getting into the car. Mike gripped the wheel with ferocity, his face set in deep concentration.
Then we heard the first faint sirens.
“Do you hear that?” I whispered, my voice sounding strange, alien.
“Yeah, it’s alright,” he said and swung the car hard around another bend, through a red light.
“Slow down Mike, they might be close,” I hissed.
“It’s okay.”
He made another sharp turn, the wheels screeching.
I caught his eye.
“Alright, okay, okay” he said, easing off the pedal. He took us off down the empty road towards the city centre as the shrill song of the sirens grew louder still. Straining in my belt, I twisted in all directions to find them. I turned right around in my seat as two police cars whizzed behind us, a street way, followed closely by an ambulance. Mike flicked off the lights and pulled over sharply to a stop, the engine idling. We sat stock still, eyes on the mirrors. The sirens grew fainter.
“Alright Mike, let’s go.”
Mike gunned the engine, shooting off, but keeping to the limits.
***
When we were back outside his house, we hurried inside and pulled the thick curtains over – keeping out the hazy morning light. I sat down and wrapped my coat around me.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” he said simply before leaving for the kitchenette, flicking the switch on the kettle and pressing the heat boost. It seemed like such a surreal thing to say.
Let’s
