"Yeah," he said, nodding. He clenched his fists. "Yeah. You thinking a Transit?"
"Doesn't need to be that big. Didn't Jordan's old man have three bodies in the back of his?"
"That wasn't his van."
She shook her head, exasperated. "But there were three bodies in it, right?"
"Yeah."
"So nick one of those vans, whatever it was. It'll be plenty big enough."
His fingernails were digging into the palms of his hands. "I'll ask Jordan."
"I know a good car thief if you need one. Brother of Arlene's boyfriend."
"Your sister can certainly pick them."
"You can fucking talk."
"He's reliable?"
"He nicks cars to order."
Carlos unclenched his fists, locked his trembling fingers together. "Kids've got too much money these days."
"And we should take a leaf out of their book. Burn the van afterwards."
"Get rid of any evidence? Not a bad idea." He waited, throat dry. "So we're on?"
"I don't know. I don't know, Charlie. This is a step beyond."
"For me too. But it's going to happen, Maggie. With or without your help. I'd like it to be the former."
Say no, Maggie.
"Let me think about it," she said.
Allan Guthrie
Killing Mum
TWO
When Carlos arrived at his mother's flat, she was drinking coffee and Jordan was sitting opposite on the settee with the dregs of a glass of milk on the table in front of him.
"Everything okay?" Carlos said.
"We've been having a lovely chat," his mother said.
Carlos wasn't sure for a second, then saw her lips curl slightly and decided she was being sarcastic. Jordan wasn't exactly chatty at the best of times. Not surprising given what the poor kid had gone through. Course, this whole situation was complex, what with Jordan and Richie's families having pretty much annihilated one another about eighteen months ago. Luckily, with Richie still in prison and likely to stay there for a long, long time, that wasn't a problem.
Carlos didn't feel too bad about it, though. He'd needed someone to replace Richie. And Jordan visited Richie's mother regularly, even now, which was something. Just sat there, neither of them speaking, holding hands. He'd seen them there that first time at the Home. Jordan was a blank. And Richie's mother hadn't spoken in years.
It was Richie's fault that Carlos and Jordan had met. Richie'd asked Carlos to check in on Liz, see how she was coping. Carlos couldn't see the point, wasn't intending hanging around, just dropping off some fresh flowers and scarpering, but when he got there he'd found this kid with her, a boy, barely a teenager, and remembered seeing the picture of them together in the newspaper. Part of the media frenzy. Kid Rescues Brain-Damaged Woman From Inferno. Not to mention the horror show inside the country cottage as body after body was discovered. Fascinating. Then all the speculation. Nobody knew who'd killed who. It was all guesswork. The fire saw to that.
And of the only two survivors, Liz couldn't speak and the kid wouldn't speak. Too traumatised, apparently.
And he wasn't the only one. Richie couldn't handle it. Went berserk in the slammer, killed a guard, which meant that he'd probably never get out now. Anyway, no chance he'd get to visit his mum. Which is why he'd asked Carlos to go see her, and how Carlos had bumped into Jordan.
Carlos had spotted it right away. He'd seen it in the photos. He saw it the minute he saw Jordan in the flesh. The kid was dead behind the eyes. Just like Richie used to be.
"Nice of you to visit," Carlos had said to Jordan. "But why?"
Jordan shrugged.
Carlos cleared his throat, lowered his voice. "You can tell me."
No response.
Carlos said, "Tell me what you did."
Jordan looked him in the eye.
"It can be our secret," Carlos said.
Are you a poof or something? Sounded like a young lad's voice, one on the point of breaking, flitting about like it wasn't sure which register suited best. Carlos hadn't seen Jordan open his mouth, but he was the only kid in the room. Well?
"No." Carlos smiled. "No, no." He waited a moment. "Is it because you feel guilty? Is that why you're here?"
I feel nothing.
"Good," Carlos said. "That's excellent. Anyway, I suppose the bitch got what she deserved."
Jordan looked at him again.
The bitch. Liz's daughter. Richie's sister.
"I thought so," Carlos said. "I know how you must feel."
Jordan stared at his feet, tapped the toes of his trainers on the floor.
"You sorry about what you did?" Carlos asked.
Why would I be sorry?
"You like money, Jordan?"
The kid shrugged again.
"You and me," Carlos said. "I think we'll get along just fine."
And they had done. The kid needed an outlet and spilled everything to Carlos eventually. Run out of bullets or he'd still be there pumping slugs into her, he'd said. Or at least that's what Carlos heard him say. Something had happened with Jordan's dad, too, but he wouldn't elaborate. He claimed he didn't feel anything, but there was something there, something raw that Carlos knew was best avoided.
Jordan was good. Professional. Ruthless. Problem was he could only do local jobs. He lived with his grandmother and she kept tabs on him, protective of him now that her sons were dead. Carlos didn't know what had happened to Jordan's mother, but she was out of the picture. So, while Jordan could sneak out for the night easily enough, he couldn't pop down to London for a couple of days. But that was okay. Carlos had wound down the operation anyway and just the occasional job now and again was fine with him. Once Jordan got a bit older, maybe they'd pick up again.
Anyway, it would appear from tonight's showing that Jordan hadn't said anything to Carlos's mother. Maggie didn't care for him much, found the silences hard to bear, although she'd only ever met him a couple of times to deliver his money to him and claimed that he said, "Clever," when she took the money out of the pram the first time, and thanks the second time. But she conceded that he was good at what he did. Carlos had expected his mother would get herself plastered as usual tonight, give them a piece of her booze-addled mind, but she looked as sober as he'd seen her in ages.
Carlos tossed the bodybag onto the shag carpet. "Hope you like the colour," he said.
"You sure you want to go through with this?" his mum asked.
"It's the only way."
He didn't want to discuss this again. They'd been over it enough times already. They really needed to get moving now. Maggie was waiting outside in the Ford Escort van her sister's boyfriend had nicked to order, trying to keep herself relaxed by listening to her iPod, and Carlos was due to give her a bell once he was done. He promised her it'd be quick. She'd be ringing him to see what the problem was if he didn't hurry.
He didn't hurry. He sat down next to Jordan, shifting the gun tucked down the back of his waistband as it dug into his spine.
She had to ring. She had to tell him to stop what he was about to do. This was her last chance.
"Maybe it wasn't her," his mother said.
"Doesn't matter," he said. Maybe Maggie'd taken out the contract, maybe not. But either way, she should make him stop this craziness. He was about to kill his mother, for Christ's sake. Her silence made her guilty of something unforgivable, even if he couldn't pinpoint it just yet. "Whatever way you look at it, if she doesn't put a stop to this, she's a bitch from hell." And she'd signed her own death warrant.
"I'll give her ten more minutes," he said to his mother. "And then…"
"I'm dead," she said, nodding. "Thanks, Maggie."
They sat in silence, Carlos counting down the minutes, then the seconds, and finally, he said, "If you were looking for a monster, I think you've found one." He took the gun out of his waistband and handed it to Jordan. "You'll be needing this," he said. "It's not pretty but it'll do the job."