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

don’t want him to be someone in the business.
    The young man goes round to help Zara. She’s obviously in charge. She looks disgusted with something. The young man helps Winter out of the car. He looks dead on his feet. He’s been
drinking more than is advisable. A drunk target. A target so drunk he can’t possibly fight back. That good bit of fortune compensates for the young man being there. The taxi pulls away from
them, leaving the young man to help Winter up the garden path. It’s slow going. They reach the door. They can just see Zara reaching into Winter’s pocket. They’re almost out of
sight in the doorway. She opens the door. They go inside. The door closes.
    They wait. Silence. A light goes on – the downstairs hall. They wait. Another light. The stairs. Wait. The bedroom light. Then it goes off. It’s been five minutes since they went
into the house. Wait. The living-room light. Another three minutes. You never know what you’re walking into. You never know the right time. It’s not judgement, it’s a blind guess.
Calum pulls his balaclava over his head. George follows. Calum pulls on a pair of thin surgical gloves. George follows. Calum opens the door of the car and gets out. He’ll leave the car
unlocked, keys in the ignition. Small risk, possibly a major time-saver. You never know when you might need to save those precious few seconds. George gets out of the car now. They’re
standing on the road. Each with a gun in hand, tucked against their side. Calum turns and nods.
    They walk across the road and up to the door of the house. There’s no sign of life in any other house on the street. Often people are watching. Often people are peering out from behind a
curtain in the dark. The world is nosy. People notice things. A little old lady with insomnia and nothing better to do. No matter. The job has begun. No turning back. Calum knocks on the door. A
steady knock. Loud enough to be heard inside. Not so loud that a neighbour will hear it. Not if they’re asleep, anyway. The living-room light is still on. Nobody comes to the door. They
can’t afford to wait.
    There’s a danger with knocking. People hear the knock and correctly guess who’s there. They run. You can’t give them that much time. No more knocking. Calum nods to George.
They both take a step back from the door. George raises a boot and firmly kicks the door, just around the lock. It shakes violently. He kicks again. The crack of splinters. The door bursts open,
bounces against the wall. They go in quickly. Nobody in the hall. They can see along the corridor to the dark kitchen. A light. The living room. Calum pushes the door open, the gun raised. You
never know what you’re walking into.
    George snorts, then stifles the laugh. Calum stands still, gun raised, checking the room around them. The young man is on his feet, naked, his hands over his crotch, trying to hide something
that doesn’t want to be hidden. Zara is getting up from the couch. Naked too, sweating. There’s a gleam in her eyes, but a grim frown. She understands. She knows what’s going to
happen. Maybe she thinks it’ll be worse than it will. Maybe she thinks they’ll hit her too. The young man opens his mouth, wants to say something. Words can’t make it from his
brain to his mouth. Fear has put up a barrier between the two. A terror has gripped him. He’s close to tears. Zara simply stands and watches, making no attempt to reach for her clothes. Calum
glances at George, and sees his shoulders rocking up and down a little in silent laughter. You never know what you’re walking into.
    Then the young man does something stupid. Naked as the day he was born, he’s trying to run for the door. That’s a stupid move, but it’s easily dealt with. George spends his
entire working life dealing with people who try to run for the door. Admittedly the vast majority are clothed, but that only makes this easier. He has in fact dealt with naked people