‘What do you mean, gone?’
‘You know.’
‘No, I don’t know. What do you mean, gone?’
‘Gone,’ he says quietly. ‘Dead.’
His dad’s face drops. ‘You killed him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wha— why?’
He frowns. ‘The money.’
‘The money?’
‘Remember we talked about it. About keeping it.’
‘You killed him for the money?’
‘For us.’
‘Don’t bring me into this.’
‘Dad…’
‘Don’t you dare bring me into this.’
‘But you wanted to keep the money. To take care of Al.’
‘You offered to talk to him, not kill him.’
‘Dad, I thought that’s what you wanted.’
‘I wanted you to talk to him, to reason with him.’
‘But you told me—’
‘I told you to talk to him.’
‘You told me to kill him.’
‘What? Are you out of your mind?’
‘You told me to do it.’
‘What the hell were you thinking?’
‘I was the one who said I didn’t want him dead.’
‘What the fuck were you thinking?’
‘You wanted him dead, Dad. I did this because you wanted it done. I did this for you. And now you’re trying to deny you ever said it.’
‘I never told you to murder him.’
‘You di—’
‘No! Just shut up for a minute and think about what you’ve done. Have you any idea what you’ve done? You shouldn’t even be here. You should be running for the bloody hills.’
‘What?’
‘Where’s Al?’
‘You want me to run?’
‘Where’s Al?’
‘In the car park.’
‘At the strip club?’
‘You want me to run away?’
‘At the strip club?’
‘Yes.’
‘You just left him there?’
‘Of course I left him there.’
‘Bloody hell. What have you done?’
‘You want me to run?’
‘What do you suggest?’
He looks at his dad, then backs away, out of the kitchen and into the living room.
‘You’re just going to turn your back on me.’
‘Find a place to stay.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Lay low for a while.’
‘Lay low?’
‘Let it blow ov—’
‘Why should I lay low? You’re as much a part of this as me. You talked about wanting him dead. You talked about taking the money. Why do you think I did this? I did this to save you and Mum. I did this to save our family.’
‘What you did was wrong.’
‘You’re turning your back on me.’
‘What do you expect?’
‘What do I expect? I expect your protection.’
‘You killed someone.’
He still has the car keys in his hands. He feels for them, runs a finger along the ignition key, feels the grooves against his skin. Now he only has the car.
‘I won’t come back.’
‘Let it blow over.’
‘No, Dad. If I go, I don’t come back.’
His dad looks at him.
‘That’s it?’
‘What do you expect me to say, son?’
He turns and heads for the front door. Then he remembers something. He looks back over his shoulder at his dad, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
‘Al told me something tonight.’
‘You need to go.’
‘Were you ever going to tell me?’
‘What?’
‘Were you ever going to tell me?’
‘Tell you what?’
‘About the brother I never knew I had.’
They stay like that for a while: Malcolm staring into space, his eyes glistening in the light from the kitchen; and Alex opposite him, a tear rolling down his face.
Then, finally, Alex turns and leaves.
PART FIVE
40
When I came round, Legion was to my right. He was standing on top of the ladder, holding the bigger nail level with my right hand.
And there was a noise.
He was staring off, behind me, to another set of doors. I heard them open inwards, and the noise became louder.
It was an alarm.
‘What’s that?’ Legion said.
‘The Red Room alarm,’ a voice replied.
It was Andrew.
‘Why’s it going off?’
Silence. No reply.
Legion didn’t move. He was still poised, the nail pressing against my palm, the hammer in his other hand, ready to strike.
‘Why?’ he said again.
‘We must have a break-in.’
Legion glanced at me, then back at Andrew. Anger flared in his eyes.
‘I’m finishing this.’
‘Later,’ Andrew replied.
‘No. We don’t let him go again.’
‘Later,’ Andrew said again. ‘Someone’s set the alarm off, and it’s not one of us. We sweep the compound and then you finish.’
‘Who would break into the Red Room?’
Legion stared at Andrew and then — briefly — flicked a look at me. They think I’m working with someone. They think, whoever it is has set off the alarm.
‘Let’s go.’ Andrew again.
Legion moved the nail away from my hand and leaned into me again, the mask brushing against my cheek.
‘This just makes it worse for you,’ he whispered.
He climbed down the ladder, dropped the nail and hammer on to the trolley and disappeared from sight. The doors slammed shut. The alarm was muffled now. Outside I heard voices — arguing — and after that there was nothing.
Just the alarm.
I moved my right hand. The handcuffs were locked tightly around my wrist. I could feel the metal binds and imagined they’d rubbed a couple of layers of skin away. I tried to concentrate on that, tried to imagine how the skin might look — speckled red, like a graze, maybe some purple bruising — because the pain in my back, in the fingers on my left hand, in my neck, in the top of my legs, was immense. It raged, like thunderous, violent tidal waves.
I closed my eyes again.
Blackness and silence. Then it felt like I was turning around and suddenly, in front of me, was a door.