but I wanted him alive—and that put me at a disadvantage, because Richard wanted me dead. He fell back spitting blood, raising his right arm to try to shield his head and body from my punches while he shook his left hand free of the jeans. Both the kids were cowering now on Kelly’s bed, screaming, but still no one came.
“Run, you two!” I roared at them. “Go get help!”
My sheer volume snapped them out of their terrorand they scrambled down Kelly’s bed, crying as they ran for the door. Seeing his last chance disintegrating, Richard threw himself at me, swiping and slashing wildly with the knife, while I fell back, ducking and dodging to stay out of range, and failing—the razor point parted the skin on my chest like a scalpel, so cleanly I barely felt pain, but forcing me to step back, square onto a lump of Lego that crunched into the bones of my foot.
Richard glanced over my shoulder and paused in his crouch, wavering, with the knife still primed and ready. I kept my eyes locked on him, and felt rather than saw McGovern’s heavies piling into the room behind me. Richard smiled, then laughed, then straightened up. He held his hands wide open in surrender, but he didn’t drop the knife; instead he gritted his teeth and held his breath, and with one swift movement drove the point into his own throat.
Blood spurted across Bonnie’s bedclothes, and Richard staggered and collapsed in a heap. With a yell of anger and frustration I dived on top of him, grabbing Kelly’s jeans and clamping them against his jugular where the knife still protruded, visibly twitching in time to his fading pulse. Nobody offered to help: his former comrades-in-arms stood aroundwatching, probably figuring out who was going to cop the blame when the Guvnor heard about this. Soon the blood had soaked through Kelly’s jeans and was staining my hand; it was spreading across the carpet—I could feel its warm stickiness under my knees. In less than a minute Richard stopped twitching and the light faded from his eyes.
—
Cherry was practically sleepwalking; she was still stoned and half drunk when she went to fetch the first-aid kit, and I told her not to bother trying to patch me up—I’d sort myself out. She didn’t argue, but took the kids up to her bed to comfort them while I taped the slash on my chest shut with surgical tape. Without stitches I was going to end up with a spectacular scar, but I didn’t think McGovern would let me go to the emergency room. It was too late for Victoria, the nanny. When I’d led the Guvnor’s crew down to Richard’s room we found her wide-eyed and staring, her golden hair matted with blood.
The Guvnor had arrived about an hour later, and went up to check on his wife and kids while I sat there waiting in their showroom kitchen with its granite worktops and hand-painted oak cupboards. I was too tired to go back to bed, anyway. I sat therecursing myself for not saving Victoria, even though I knew if I’d stopped to help her the kids would be dead. It didn’t make me feel any better. OK, she was one of McGovern’s employees, but she hadn’t signed up for a war, any more than I had. She’d loved Bonnie and Kelly, and they’d loved her. I wondered how McGovern would get rid of her corpse. Bury it in the garden? No—they’d want to lose the body and make sure it could never be connected to the Guvnor. They’d smash her face and hands and teeth so she couldn’t be identified, and dump her body in water somewhere to destroy any forensic or DNA evidence. Suddenly my stomach heaved, and only the burning pain of the cut to my chest stopped me from bending over and spewing.
Footsteps came striding down the hall: the Guvnor entered, looking scruffier than usual—he must have thrown his clothes on in a hurry—then stopped and peered at me with his chilly gray eyes. Steve was at his shoulder, pale and shocked, and behind them Terry filled the doorway.
“I was wrong about you, Finn,” said
“Run, you two!” I roared at them. “Go get help!”
My sheer volume snapped them out of their terrorand they scrambled down Kelly’s bed, crying as they ran for the door. Seeing his last chance disintegrating, Richard threw himself at me, swiping and slashing wildly with the knife, while I fell back, ducking and dodging to stay out of range, and failing—the razor point parted the skin on my chest like a scalpel, so cleanly I barely felt pain, but forcing me to step back, square onto a lump of Lego that crunched into the bones of my foot.
Richard glanced over my shoulder and paused in his crouch, wavering, with the knife still primed and ready. I kept my eyes locked on him, and felt rather than saw McGovern’s heavies piling into the room behind me. Richard smiled, then laughed, then straightened up. He held his hands wide open in surrender, but he didn’t drop the knife; instead he gritted his teeth and held his breath, and with one swift movement drove the point into his own throat.
Blood spurted across Bonnie’s bedclothes, and Richard staggered and collapsed in a heap. With a yell of anger and frustration I dived on top of him, grabbing Kelly’s jeans and clamping them against his jugular where the knife still protruded, visibly twitching in time to his fading pulse. Nobody offered to help: his former comrades-in-arms stood aroundwatching, probably figuring out who was going to cop the blame when the Guvnor heard about this. Soon the blood had soaked through Kelly’s jeans and was staining my hand; it was spreading across the carpet—I could feel its warm stickiness under my knees. In less than a minute Richard stopped twitching and the light faded from his eyes.
—
Cherry was practically sleepwalking; she was still stoned and half drunk when she went to fetch the first-aid kit, and I told her not to bother trying to patch me up—I’d sort myself out. She didn’t argue, but took the kids up to her bed to comfort them while I taped the slash on my chest shut with surgical tape. Without stitches I was going to end up with a spectacular scar, but I didn’t think McGovern would let me go to the emergency room. It was too late for Victoria, the nanny. When I’d led the Guvnor’s crew down to Richard’s room we found her wide-eyed and staring, her golden hair matted with blood.
The Guvnor had arrived about an hour later, and went up to check on his wife and kids while I sat there waiting in their showroom kitchen with its granite worktops and hand-painted oak cupboards. I was too tired to go back to bed, anyway. I sat therecursing myself for not saving Victoria, even though I knew if I’d stopped to help her the kids would be dead. It didn’t make me feel any better. OK, she was one of McGovern’s employees, but she hadn’t signed up for a war, any more than I had. She’d loved Bonnie and Kelly, and they’d loved her. I wondered how McGovern would get rid of her corpse. Bury it in the garden? No—they’d want to lose the body and make sure it could never be connected to the Guvnor. They’d smash her face and hands and teeth so she couldn’t be identified, and dump her body in water somewhere to destroy any forensic or DNA evidence. Suddenly my stomach heaved, and only the burning pain of the cut to my chest stopped me from bending over and spewing.
Footsteps came striding down the hall: the Guvnor entered, looking scruffier than usual—he must have thrown his clothes on in a hurry—then stopped and peered at me with his chilly gray eyes. Steve was at his shoulder, pale and shocked, and behind them Terry filled the doorway.
“I was wrong about you, Finn,” said
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