One of the other hired hands stepped forward passing him an assault rifle.
“No!” Victor butted it away. “This is a mark of respect. We only execute those deserving with this.”
The guard lowered the AK47 nodding.
“Go and find something more appropriate. Something you might normally shoot a pig with.”
The man shuffled away and left Giles to think about this. It wasn’t something he’d done before. It wasn’t something he thought he’d ever have to do. But was it something he was prepared to do? Were there any other options? He could run, but no, they’d find him. This was the only way. The boy would never live anyway. The guard returned with a shot gun, conveniently sawn off half way down the barrel. He recognised this though, felt vaguely comfortable with it from pheasant shoots years before.
The guard clicked it open, finding two dusty looking cartridges. “You know how to use?” He asked, handing it over.
“Of course,” Giles replied. There was always some feeling of security to be had putting someone down. The shot gun was the weapon of choice for his kind of people, not like the AK used by despots and terrorists the world over.
He snapped the gun shut, lock, stock and what was left of the shortened barrels in unison, feeling lighter in his hands than he was used to, less heavy at the business end obviously but nevertheless, substantial.
He closed the giant door. He didn’t want an audience for what he was about to do. He walked purposefully towards the kid. He had to get this over with. That was all. Then on with the rest of his life, no more screw ups.
The boy seemed asleep. Maybe that was the saving grace in all of this. Maybe. He weighed up the gun again. This was a side by side, the barrel set on the horizontal. He’d used an over and under last time. It was unlikely he would miss at point blank range. No need to think about the adjustments to be made for that. He wasn’t a long range sniper trying to take the head off a diplomat at two miles. He was shooting a sleeping fish in a barrel.
There would be a recoil of course. Would it be more or less than a normal one? Would be get powder burns from the shortness of the barrel? It was going to be loud. That much he knew.
He took one last breath, looked over the gun again, lifted it decisively to his shoulder, then back to his waist when he wondered if that might be better.
And then the boy looked up and Giles’s heart skipped a beat.
Andy had heard the weasel coming. The footsteps of his short arsed gait were unmistakably close together. He had considered that he might not have the bottle, but looking into his eyes now he knew that wasn’t the case. This guy hadn’t got by on looks and charm. He must have some kind of nasty streak about him.
He looked shifty, moving the gun up and down his body, unsure whether to shoot from the hip or the shoulder. His face betrayed the shock when Andy raised his head, unprepared for there being an audience. He’d more happily have shot him in the back, should have thought of that really. The suit’s expression turned to one of righteous indignation. His jaw shot out, making him look as though he only had two chins and Andy felt the anger rising. The man moved the gun up to his shoulder again thrusting the end of the barrel into Andy’s face but stepping back slightly as his body language gave away his reluctance.
“You can’t shoot me,” Andy said, shaking his head in as dismissive a way as he could manage.
The man scoffed but seemed to twitch slightly. “And why would you think that?” he asked defiantly.
“Some things we just know round here,” Andy replied with a smirk. “It’s in the blood you might say.”
“The only thing that’s about to be in your blood is a lot of lead.”
“That so? You’re confident then?”
“Oh I am. You can pull all your mind tricks, try to guilt me about the fact that you’re just a boy and I’m, what? A big bad criminal?” He laughed a bit too hard.
“Bad criminal maybe,” Andy said, eliciting a frown and a further steely gaze from his executioner.
“We’ll see,” he said, as he took aim again. “Any last requests?”
“None. You?”
“I have to hand it to you, you do rather know how to talk a good game, but this isn’t like talking me out of beating you in a golf match. I’m not bottling it sunshine. This isn’t one you can win.”
“You still can’t shoot me,” Andy replied, starting to laugh.
“I’m glad you think that,” Giles said. “It makes this much easier.”
And then he pulled the trigger.
The tank made short work of the front gate. “Security schmuecurity,” Big Al said, as he ploughed through the thing at about thirty miles an hour. He miss-judged it slightly. It launched into the air and they clung on for dear life as it lurched back towards the ground and landed with an almighty clatter.
The diesel engine roared once more, belching noxious fumes into the atmosphere as the powered towards the main building. “Full steam ahead,” Davie yelled sitting on top of the monster, feeling every inch the general as they pulled off the ultimate ram raid. He stoked up a B&H and reflected that you should never really fuck with someone who has access to a tank driving school. The decommissioned Russian hulk was followed by a Toyota Hilux under whose canopy was concealed eight angry men with baseball bats, iron bars and whatever else they’d got their hands on. Game on.
“What the fuck?” Edwards blared into the microphone making everyone else’s ears sing. “What’s this?”
He’d choreographed this with the guys on the ground. They were doing one last circle before preparing to move in and now it looked like all hell was about to break loose.
“Go! Move in now,” he screamed. “They’ve got a… a tank.”
Below they could see the tank move in and the bodies on the ground scrambling like ants.
“Looks like a rival gang.” Edwards squawked to his crew on the ground. “Proceed with extreme caution. It looks like they’re armed.” He turned to the pilot. “Can you set this thing down?”
The nose of the chopper dipped accordingly then rose up again as the ground got closer. They moved along the runway sideways and came to a halt near the abandoned control tower, followed by the second air unit which then broke away and circled round the other side, towards the shore. As they descended, they could see both prongs of the police attack coming in from either side of the complex in a blue flashing pincer movement.
Giles heard the crash outside just after he pulled the trigger. It threw him. It wasn’t the sound he’d expected to hear and it didn’t come from the right place. It took his brain half a second to catch up.
He’d forgotten the safety catch. That was the advice he’d ignored when the gun was handed over. No matter. He fumbled with it, watching the grin spread across the kid’s face and once ready, took aim again, allowing himself a grin of his own.
He could hear the commotion outside now but in here it was quiet. In here it was just the two of them. All he wanted to do was finish this, blow that smile away.
He took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger once more, willing the gun to go off, to blast lead through skin muscle bone and brain. Nothing.
The boy looked relieved for the briefest moment before smiling again and letting out the most primitive animalistic sound Giles had ever heard, pitching forward and hurling himself, into a somersault that shifted all the wooden pallets attached to his back into the air.
Andy lay on the floor face down, listening to the noise outside. He had undoubtedly broken one of his arms, and painful though it was, he was glad to be able to feel something. He knew what he had to do now and prepared himself. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself forward, with everything he had left, untwisting his arms with an agonising surge of pain he would never know again and landed on his back. As he drifted into what was probably shock, an immobilised Giles Heriot-Watt beneath him, he thanked whatever bank robber had taken such fastidious care of their sawn off shot gun, even making sure they stored it with dummy cartridges to protect the firing pins.