Cold Death by Michael Fowler Page B

the black soft leather. He spun around. “Come on Rab, get your arse in gear he’s back.”
    They crossed the field hugging the bushes, Billy leading, his Crombie flapping in the wind. Rab had to put in a jog every couple of paces to keep up with him. Twenty yards from the rear of the bungalow Billy halted and pushed himself into the hedgerow. He stared intently and listened. There was only the sound of the wind and the rain lashing against the tops of the trees.
    “Right remember what we rehearsed?” Billy questioned in a hushed gravelly tone.
    “Sure”
    “Okay let’s do the business.”
    Rab brushed droplets of rain from the front of his jacket and tip-toed towards the door. Billy never let his eyes off him. He watched Rab knock and a few seconds later saw the door open. The man who answered it had put on a good couple of stones over the years and the hair was thinner and greyer but he knew this was the guy they were after.
    Billy reached the opening as the man was asking for Rab’s ID and had got a foot in the gap before he had time to react. “Mr McNab – long time no see.” He grinned lopsidedly.
    The surprise on Ross McNab’s face was a picture.
    Billy slammed a clenched fist into his pudgy belly. It dropped him to the floor and as he was about to deliver a kick he caught movement through the open door, which led into the lounge to his right. A woman whom he immediately guessed was Mrs McNab stood open-mouthed only a few yards away. He caught the terror in her eyes. He reacted quickly pushing through into the room and before she had time to scream he had a hand clenched around her jaw.
    “Rab get the fat bastard up and get him in here!”
    Mrs McNab jerked her head and pushed out with her hands, trying to get free of Billy’s grip. He responded by digging his fingers deeper into her mandible and then smacked her across the ear. He felt her jaw pop and she let out a wail as she sank to the floor. She fell away from his grasp; she had collapsed from the pain.
    Rab locked onto Ross McNab’s arm and was forcing it up his back hoisting him forwards, hustling him into the lounge.
    “Put him there Rab,” Billy said pointing to a mahogany oval dining table with a seating arrangement of six chairs.
    Rab manhandled McNab towards the table, kicked out the nearest chair and slammed him into the seat.
    Ross was fighting for breath and beads of sweat appeared on his brow.
    Billy checked on Mrs McNab; she was out of it. Then in two strides he was at the side of Ross McNab pulling back his fist before delivering a vicious blow to the man’s head. He flopped sideways almost taking the chair he was seated in with him. Rab grabbed him and pulled him back upright.
    “Right you fucking bastard do you remember me?” Billy hissed.
    The man groaned and brought his hand up to his reddened cheek. “Course I do, how can I forget you?  Billy Wallace the bastard who murdered Morag McCredie and her wee bairn,” he paused. “For nothing.”
    Without any warning Billy found himself suffering another flashback. They were becoming far more frequent of late. His mind had transported him back to that night; re-living the horror when that junkie slag had ruined his looks. And as if it was happening there and then he felt a sharp sting across his nose and cheek and it caused him to reach up and stroke the outline of the ugly irregular leathery skin scar, which snaked across half of his face.
    “And you’re one of the fuckers who helped put me away,” he growled.
    “And you’re going away again for this you bastard. If I was ten years younger…”
    Before he had time to finish the sentence Billy smashed his fist into Ross’s face instantly breaking his nose.
    “Grab his hand,” ordered Billy.
    Rab Geddes snatched hold of Ross McNab’s wrist and forced his hand flat, palm downwards onto the table. He tried to resist but wavered under the dizziness of pain.
    Billy removed something from the inside pocket of his Crombie. “Now