doglegging around to the left. A white glow seeped out from beneath the other doors lining the corridor, making it look as if the place had been fitted with trendy mood lighting. He tried a handle, and it swung open on the surface of the sun. .
Harsh light jabbed into his corneas, followed by a wash of heat that tried to squeeze the air from his lungs.
He stuck one hand up, shielding his eyes, and the room slowly faded into view. Two rows of lights hung from the ceiling, blazing down on a sea of chest-high cannabis plants, their dark-green five-fingered leaves gleaming. A walkway snaked between the aisles of growbags, lengths of black plastic tube looping from plant to plant. The walls were papered with tinfoil, bouncing the glaring light around the muggy room.
The other two downstairs rooms were the same, the only difference being the colour of the light bulbs.
Whoever it was, they’d gone from stealing the McLeods’ to growing their own.
Back to the hallway.
‘OK,’ Logan pointed over his head, ‘on three, we-’
A loud bang and chunks of plaster exploded out from the wall by his head.
Back into the nearest cannabis hothouse. Rennie went crashing through a stand of plants, Sim slithered to a halt on the other side of the door.
Slivers of tile erupted from the floor, then twice more as bullets turned them into shrapnel.
Logan dropped to his hands and knees and peered around the doorframe.
A man in boxer shorts and a long black bathrobe stood at the top of the stairs at the end of the corridor, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, a semi-automatic pistol in the other. White socks on his feet. A thick joint stuck out between his bared teeth, smoke curling through his patchy beard and long black hair. Eyes narrow and bloodshot. He wobbled from side to side, then raised the gun and squinted one eye shut.
It wasn’t, was it? It
BOOM — the noise reverberated back and forth from the walls as another chunk of plaster erupted into dust. Nowhere near where they were hiding. Too drunk and stoned to hit the side of a bus.
Could it?
Logan had to shout over the ringing in his ears. ‘Anthony? Anthony Chung? ’
The gun wobbled around again, barked twice, tearing twin holes in the door opposite.
Rennie scrambled back through the cannabis plants, five-fingered leaves sticking in his hair. ‘But Anthony Chung’s dead!’
BOOM — another floor tile exploded.
‘Yeah, well, as ghosts go, he’s not taking it lying down, is he? ’
‘You said his dad ID’d the body!’
BOOM, BOOM — one in the doorframe, one in the wall.
His dad was obviously a lying bastard. Not only was Anthony Chung very much alive, there wasn’t a tribal tattoo on the left side of his neck.
Sim wiped a dribble of blood from her eyes. ‘We can’t just sit here like a bunch of lemons.’
BOOM — the ceiling got that one, dust drifting down and shining in the light from the open growing-room door.
Rennie licked his lips. ‘We rush him. His aim’s crap, right? We all run at him at the same time and. .’ He stared at Logan. ‘What? ’
‘You’re an idiot. We are
BOOM — another floor tile.
Logan stuck his head around the door again. Anthony Chung had one eye squeezed shut, holding the gun up in front of his face — moving it backwards and forward as if that would help get it in focus. The slide was racked all the way back, the round barrel protruding a good three inches, smoke curling from the hole.
He staggered back a step, then his eyebrows shot up and he dropped the Jack Daniels bottle. Reached for his dressing-gown pocket.
Logan charged, the shattered tiles gritty beneath his feet.
The bottle of bourbon hit the stair carpet and bounced, amber liquid spraying from the open neck.
Anthony Chung’s hand disappeared into his pocket.
The bottom step creaked as Logan launched himself up the stairs, taking them two at a time, arms and legs pumping.
The hand reappeared with a huge chrome-plated semi-automatic.
Three more steps.
The gun came up, pointing right between Logan’s eyes.
Too slow. .
Anthony Chung grinned. ‘Bye, bye.’ And pulled the trigger.
49
Logan blinked. Stood there in silence. Then let out a huge breath, blood hammering in his ears. Oh thank
‘No, is. .’ Anthony stared at the gun in his hand.
Then Logan slammed an elbow into his face, lifting him off his feet, sending him thumping back into the wall, arms out. The revolver clattered onto the tiles below.
In the interests of Health and Safety, Logan gave him a swift boot in the testicles as well. Anthony Chung curled up like a foetus, one hand clasped over his broken bloody nose the other wrapped around his battered bollocks.
Then Logan bent over and clutched his own knees, holding on while the room swirled around his head.
‘Guv? ’ Sim patted him on the back. ‘You OK? ’
‘Cuff him. Please.’
‘Right, you little sod: Anthony Chung, I’m arresting you for the attempted murder of three police officers, possession of illegal firearms, and a horrible dog.’ She dragged his hands behind his back and slapped the handcuffs on. ‘And I am
Come on: still hadn’t found Chalmers. Arse in gear.
Logan took another deep breath and straightened up. Then clambered up the stairs with Rennie panting along behind him.
The landing at the top was covered in red-and-brown swirly carpet, coming away from the edges. One door hung open on a bedroom with black sheets and a Ring Knot painted on the ceiling. Piles of clothes heaped up on the floor. A couple of open pizza boxes with grease stains on the cardboard marking out their ghosts.
Two more doors.
Rennie pointed at himself, then the one on the left.
Logan nodded and took the other, wrenched it open and froze on the threshold.
It was a bathroom, built in what looked like an extension, the ceiling covered in blooms of damp and mould. Yellowing tiles with dirty grey grout. A roll-top bath streaked with rust and full of water. And Agnes Garfield.
She was kneeling by the bath, holding something under the surface. Something face down that struggled and wriggled, two bare feet sticking out, ankles tied to the taps.
Chalmers.
‘Let her go!’
Agnes looked up at him. Freckles stood out like bloodstains on her porcelain skin, her bright-red hair tied back in a ponytail, so much black makeup around her eyes that she looked like a corpse. She bared her teeth. ‘I’m saving her soul.’
‘Let — her — go!’
A shrug. ‘As you wish. .’ Agnes stood, her hands out, palms up.
Chalmers’ naked back rose to the surface, wrists bound behind her. The struggling got worse.
