‘I’ll find it.’
‘There are some flats opposite the playground. He’ll be in number 46 on the fourth floor. Be there with the money. You’ll buy a package. Don’t worry – the guy handing it over is sound. Bring it straight back here to me, and I’ll buy it off you with the four grand.’
‘I thought you didn’t have that kind of money.’
‘I don’t. It won’t be my money. That’s my side of the deal, and you don’t have to worry about it. Now, you still want to do this?’
Scott thought for a few seconds. It was as he’d decided earlier: in for a penny, in for a pound.
‘Yes. I want to do it.’
‘Sweet. Welcome to the club.’
38
He wasn’t the most accomplished of actors, and Gemma had known him long enough to see through it, but he went through with the charade anyway.
‘Okay if I go out for a couple of hours later on?’ he asked.
She turned from her position at the stove, where she was boiling potatoes. He saw the flash of suspicion in her eyes.
‘Where to?’
‘I asked Gavin about doing some extra hours. You know, so I can build up our savings again. He said we should talk about it over a drink. I couldn’t really refuse.’
‘Have we got enough money left for you to go out drinking?’
It was a loaded question. Combative because of their financial situation, the emphasis on it being their money. In better times she would have thought nothing of his request. But he knew also that she was refusing to challenge him explicitly. She was allowing him the opportunity to tell the truth, while letting him know that it was a limited-time offer.
‘I won’t be long,’ he said, his voice weak. ‘I’ll just have a couple.’
‘Fine,’ she said, and buried her face in a cloud of steam, cutting him off until he decided to become her husband once more.
He pulled the car up in front of the railings alongside the playground, and cut the engine. It was five minutes to eight, but at this time of year it was already dark. Dense clouds had rolled in across the moon, and most of the streetlights here were broken. This was a rough area; he wouldn’t have felt safe even in full daylight.
He looked across the street at the characterless slab of flats. Four storeys high. Balconies running the length of each floor. A few windows lit up, but most tightly curtained against passers-by. One man silhouetted in front of his open door, smoking a cigarette.
Scott waited for the man to disappear into his flat before leaving his car. He locked up, then dipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket. Two grand. The other thousand was now in his glove compartment.
Let’s do this.
He took a deep breath and crossed the street. To the left of the building, a narrow concrete staircase led up to the first floor. He started to ascend, the rusting metal bannister cold and rough against his palm. Sounds of domestic life leaked from windows above: rock music, a child’s cry, a drumkit.
A figure stepped out in front of him at the top of the stairs. Scott’s first thought was to move to one side to allow him past, but the figure stayed put.
Scott looked more closely. Saw it was a man in a hoodie. Saw the plastic pig mask over his face. Saw the huge knife glinting in his hand.
Scott turned to go back down. Another hooded male stepped into view at the bottom of the steps. A cow mask this time, but also armed with a knife.
Scott did the only thing he could to get out of there, which was to side-vault over the bannister. He hit the concrete floor hard, and felt something go in his ankle. He wanted to head back to his car, but cow-man had already cut him off. His only escape route was in the opposite direction, along a narrow channel between the building and a brick wall. He ran, spears of pain shooting up his leg, the pounding of footsteps getting ever closer behind him.
And then the way ahead was suddenly blocked. A sheep and an unusually tall goat. They just stood there in his way. Behind, the first two did the same.
And then all the farmyard animals began slowly closing in. They had no need to hurry now.
‘Help!’ Scott shouted. ‘Help me!’
The only answer he got was the distant barking of a dog.
He ran at the brick wall. Jumped. His fingers just managed to find the top edge. He clung on, his feet scrabbling for purchase.
But then they were on him, clutching at him, dragging him back down. He swung wildly with his fists and managed to connect, resulting in a satisfying crumple of plastic. His reward was to be tossed heavily onto the unforgiving floor, and then all he could do was pull himself into as tight a ball as possible, his arms cocooning his head as the men punched and kicked and stamped, launching blow after blow into his ribs, his back, his legs, until he felt his body had been turned to mush and he was just one big bag of pain.
He was barely aware of what came next – of the hands on him, probing and searching, and then the dwindling echoes of leisurely paced footsteps – but when he finally unfurled he knew what had happened. He didn’t need to check his pocket to know that his money had been taken. This was no random mugging.
He’d been set up.
Four assailants, one much taller than the others. Undoubtedly Biggo’s compatriots. Biggo would be waiting back at Erskine Court. Preparing his speech about how he’d pulled a lot of strings to broker this deal and how it was such a massive disappointment that Scott had fucked it all up by losing the money.
And what made it all so unutterably worse for Scott was that it was entirely his own fault. He had approached them. They had acted according to their nature, and he had encouraged it.
God, how easily he had swallowed the lies, the hyperbole. Double my money? Thank you very much, I’ll take that. All done and dusted in a couple of hours? Fantastic, where do I sign?
Why hadn’t he taken more precautions? Why was he such a fucking idiot?
Why, why, why?
An urge to weep overwhelmed him, and he let it come.
