“Good luck with that,” replied Falconer. “I think maybe you’ve overstretched yourself this time. Know your limitations, Black. Too late for you.”
“What now?”
“Now you die,” said Falconer. “Not here. We have guests shortly. Blood on the carpet would be a little uncivilised.”
“And not quickly,” added Reith. He gave a ghoulish grin. “I’m going to make you suffer.”
“Looking forward to it,” said Black. “But do it right. Because make no mistake, any chance I get, I will fucking destroy you.”
“What an amazing man,” said Falconer. “Truly. You have no conception of the position you’re in.” He flicked a glance at one of the waiting men. Black sensed a looming presence. A thunderous blow to the back of the head. His world flipped out of focus, then darkness descended.
67
The world was a blur. Shapes, images, nothing made sense. The room spun, the ground beneath him undulated. He was floating on the swells of a great ocean, body succumbing to a sweeping drift. Sounds penetrated his head, voices, or echoes of voices, muffled, stifled. Gradually, he gained focus, the sounds became distinct, the world stopped moving. Two men were talking. Sitting on chairs, both facing him.
He was in a room. An entire wall was devoted to monitors, each showing in sharp clarity the interior of a kid’s bedroom. He was sitting. He tried to move. Both wrists were handcuffed to the arms of a chair; his ankles taped to its metal legs. His head ached. Worse than ached. A drum was banging between his ears, and every beat brought a fresh wave of pain. His movement brought the conversation round to him. He recognised one of the men. The lean, pale face of Reith – High Court judge. Dressed in similar style to Black – dinner suit, bow tie, white shirt. The other he did not know. Wearing what looked like hospital overalls, the type a surgeon might wear. Thin, verging on skeletal, wispy blond hair, darting eyes, chin disappearing into his neck. A ferret, thought Black. The comparison made him smile. Which amazed even himself, given his situation.
“What do you find so amusing?” asked the man.
“I was just thinking,” said Black, licking his lips, trying to find his voice, “how much you resemble a ferret. You are one ugly fucker.”
Reith laughed. “Ignore him, Stanley. Don’t let him get to you.”
The man called Stanley stood. He placed a set of keys on a hook on the wall above a desk, picked off another set. “I have to go and check up on things. Enjoy.”
“I shall.”
Reith turned his full attention to Black, sitting back in his chair, scrutinising him, as if he were assessing a painting, or a sculpture.
“You’ve caused me no end of trouble. Caused us trouble. Look where it got you. We can’t have someone like you running around, like a mad berserker. You create chaos, Black. Chaos in a neat world.”
“Not so neat for the kids.”
“They’re here for our pleasure. My pleasure. I only do what was done to me. The world has to balance.”
“Your world needs to be fucking destroyed.”
Reith put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out a small object, which he placed on the desktop. “Do you know what this is?”
Black gave Reith a stony stare. This had to play out. If anything, it bought him time.
“You have my attention.”
“It’s a Crusader Prince. The detail is exquisite. I can’t remember how I got it. But I do remember playing with it when I was a little boy. I call it the Grey Prince. We played together, Boyd and I. We go way back. We met in a children’s home, over fifty-five years ago. We left, and Boyd went to America with his aunt. She married an American. I stayed in Scotland. But we stayed close. Ever so close. Bonded by our experience. It was always me they picked on. Sometimes Boyd. But I was the smallest. I was sodomised every night, passed about, gang-banged, shared by different men. Countless men. Performed fellatio. They fucked and fucked and fucked.” He leaned in closer. “Now I do the same. I fuck and fuck and fuck. I am the Grey Prince, Mr Black. And I want my revenge. On you. On fucking everything.”
His seat had little plastic wheels. He pushed it across the tiled floor, to the other side of the room, to a small stove, and a gas hob. One of the rings was lit with a blue flame. On it rested the blade of a knife. A large hunting knife, the point sharp, one edge serrated. The blade was red hot.
Reith picked it up, held it before him. He wheeled back to Black, and leant in close. He placed the tip of the blade on the corner of Black’s eye. Black groaned. Suddenly the pain he felt in his head was overwhelmed by the searing pain on his skin. Slowly, Reith drew the knife down, across his cheek, to the side of his mouth.
Reith pushed the chair back, considering his work. He nodded, pleased with himself.
“That’s an appetiser. Talking of which, I have to go upstairs and join Boyd for his dinner party. Some big client he’s trying to impress. But I won’t forget you. You’ll be on my mind. I’ll be down in a couple of hours. To keep you interested, I’ve got plans for you. Big plans.” He wheeled the chair close again, brought his lips up close to Black’s ear. “You know how much I like face masks,” he whispered. “I’m going to use that knife to peel the skin off your face. I want my very own Adam Black mask. Then I’ll let you look in the mirror, before I pop your eyeballs. Then after that… well, that’s when the real pain begins.”
He left, placing the knife back on the naked flame.
Black watched him go. He strained against the handcuffs. No good. He was trapped.
He was a dead man. Unless there
