She leaned forward and patted his arm. ‘Sometimes we all have to do things we don’t like.’
But not you, he thought. You like this. You love it. And you’re not the one who has to do the dirty work.
‘So you’ll do what’s right,’ she said. ‘Won’t you, lad?’
Ronan took a final swig of his orange juice. Not exactly the Dutch courage an executioner needed.
49
This was turning into a bit of a routine.
Standing here at the top of the hill, watching the other man trudge towards him. Each time, Scott Timpson looked more weary than before. More broken.
The sky was clear now, but it had rained solidly for hours earlier, and the field was sodden and slippery. Ronan could see that Scott kept stopping to free his feet from the clinging mud. The effort seemed to drain him a little more each time.
Ronan could also see that Scott was carrying a weighty sports bag.
How the hell did he manage that? Ronan wondered.
But, as he’d told his mother, Scott had a family. It was amazing what strength you could find when you needed to protect the ones you love.
He wondered if his own mother would kill to save him. She was certainly capable of killing, but he thought of her as more of a reaction killer – murder committed in revenge. Would she kill to save him if it meant putting herself at risk? Say, for example, she had the choice of taking a million pounds and flying off to Mexico, or killing a man to save the life of her son, knowing that she’d go to prison for it.
He suspected her choice would involve a sombrero and a hammock.
He looked down again at the approaching figure. The poor guy was probably feeling pretty relieved that he’d almost reached the end of his ordeal. Of course, he had no idea what that ending would involve.
Ronan reached around his waist and touched his fingers to the Colt tucked under his belt. It saddened him that he would have to put it to use. It also irritated him that he hadn’t seen this coming. Once again, his mother had been one step ahead of him.
Still, he thought, we are where we are.
He stepped out from beneath the canopy of the old tree, switched on his torch. Ahead, Scott halted.
‘Come a bit closer,’ Ronan commanded.
He watched the man continue his struggle up the hill.
‘That’s enough. So, you got the money.’
Scott looked at the bag in his hand, then back again. ‘I got it.’
‘I’m proud of you. To be honest, I didn’t think you could do it.’
‘Neither did I.’
‘How’d you manage to pull it off ?’
‘A bit of desperation, mixed with some ingenuity.’
Ronan smiled. ‘A side order of violence?’
‘Some of that, too.’
‘How does it feel? Barrington Daley was a tough opponent for a first match.’
Scott shrugged. ‘It’s always nice when the underdog wins.’
‘You cover your tracks?’ Ronan asked. The answer didn’t matter. What mattered was that Scott believed he’d be going home.
‘I think so. I’ll take my chances.’
Ronan nodded. ‘Toss the bag over.’
Scott heaved the sports bag into the air. It thudded onto the grass just a couple of feet away from Ronan. It was a good throw, but Ronan saw how the effort sent Scott into a spasm of pain. Scott clutched at his sides, then thrust his hands into his coat pockets and shivered against the cold.
This will be like putting down a sick dog, Ronan thought. A mercy killing.
‘You looked inside?’
‘Yes.’
‘Take any out for yourself?’
‘No. It’s all there.’
‘I believe you. How much?’
‘I didn’t count. A lot. It’s all yours. I’m not interested in the money.’
