The Necessary Death of Lewis Winter (Glasgow Trilogy) by Malcolm Mackay

have heard the word
‘humiliation’. They would also have heard the words ‘last time’. They didn’t, because the words are so badly broken by the time they make it into the open. They fall
from Winter’s mouth and disappear from the world. It sounds like nothing more than a drunken ramble. It’s embarrassing to hear a grown man speak that way.
    Then Winter does something quite unexpected. Despite being apparently unable, he takes a swing at Stewart. It’s limp, pathetic. It misses by a couple of feet. It comes with a guttural
growl that suggests vomit is close behind. Winter falls forward. Stewart reaches out and grabs him by the coat, struggling to keep him on his feet. He looks at Zara. He sees her look at Winter,
look down and pull a face of disgust. Stewart looks down at Winter. He appears to have wet himself.
    ‘Put him on the bed,’ Zara is saying, ‘just put him on the bed and leave him.’
    Stewart is lying Winter down on his back, trying to be careful with him. ‘Will he be okay?’ he’s asking now, as he joins Zara in the doorway.
    ‘That’s his problem,’ she’s saying as she switches off the light.
    They’re downstairs now, in the living room. Stewart is unsure about what happens next. He’s standing in the doorway. Zara’s gone into the living room and across to a drinks
cabinet. She’s pouring out a glass of whiskey for herself, not asking Stewart if he wants one. She downs it in two gulps and then closes the cabinet.
    ‘God, I really need this now,’ she says to him, and pulls her top over her head. As she’s unclipping her bra, she’s nodding for him to come into the room. Stewart starts
to undress, his enthusiasm rebuilding. She’s quickly removed her short skirt and underpants and is moving across the room to help him.

19
    Calum and George are sitting in the car. Sitting in silence. They know what they have to do. It’s a matter of patience now. Calum is thinking it through, time and again,
repeating the possible scenes in his mind. He’s thinking of all the things he might have done differently. All the extra precautions he might have taken. He knows of others who go to such
great lengths. He knows of one gunman who always wears shoes that are the wrong size for him on a job. If the police identify the footprint, they’re not going to identify it as his. That
seems like a good idea. Cops are always looking for shoe prints these days. One of their little tricks. Calum doesn’t use it, though. Seems a touch excessive. Now he wonders.
    George is impatient to start. He wants to say something. He wants to crack jokes to relieve the tension, but he knows that isn’t Calum’s way. They have different ways of dealing with
the tension. That’s okay. Calum’s just sitting there, staring at the house, thinking things through. Fine. He’s the one who has to do the dirty side of the job. George is sitting
there, wishing they could talk. Wishing that the tension wasn’t as high as it is. He doesn’t like it that way. He wants something more relaxed. He wants a bit of a laugh. Probably
because he’s not intending to kill someone. He can afford to relax. He’s there to keep all potential witnesses away from the act itself. His role allows some relaxation.
    It’s ten past one. A taxi turns into the street and pulls up beside Winter’s house. It stops. There’s a little delay. A rear door opens. Two bare legs emerge. Then Zara, in her
short skirt and little top. George inhales slightly. Approval. She walks round to the other side of the car. They’re both hoping that only Winter will emerge with her. She opens the door.
They can see a figure, but he’s not getting out. Then another person gets out the same door she did. Damn! Double damn – it’s a young man. He doesn’t look too drunk. He
looks healthy.
    ‘Know him?’ George asks. It’s a small city. You see people around.
    ‘No,’ Calum answers. They’re both glad they don’t recognize him. They