Smoke by Nigel Bird

Author:Nigel Bird [Bird, Nigel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: novella, crime fiction, tartan noir, literary noir
ISBN: 9781908688293
Publisher: Blasted Heath Ltd
Published: 2012-09-25T00:00:00+00:00

Carlo

Instead of its usual hum, Carlo's wheelchair screamed out like a food-mixer in overdrive.

Its balance may have been perfect, but carting an extra hundred pounds of tranquilised dog extended the motor to the limit.

Kidnapping the Ramsay's pride and joy in the middle of the tournament seemed like a stroke of genius.

Soon as Mikey and Kris discovered the body of Leo's minder with his brains decorating the walls, the shit was going to hit the fan.

Only thing in Carlo's favour was that he had the length of the second semi-final to put distance between them.

When he'd faced up to Mulligan twenty minutes earlier, Carlo's hand had been shaking and so had the gun. Couldn't get it to stop. Was worried that he'd miss the target. Head shot they'd said on The Wire. Just to make sure.

From further away, aim at the body.

He'd been so close to Mulligan that he could have shot the hair off the end of his nose and left the skin intact. Daft bugger should never have gone to sleep with his I-player on full blast.

And now Carlo had Leo and Mulligan had eternal life.

The wheelchair eventually made it to the top of the hill and Carlo knew he was going to make it. He stopped to have a swig from his flask. Savoured the peaty dram mixing with the metal taste of the container and looked out over the Firth. The water was the colour of the greying sky, making the container ships look as if they were floating in mid-air. Dominating the skyline were the chimneys of Cockenzie's power station, pointing up as if protecting the earth from invaders. Not that any intelligent life was likely to pick Scotland as a landing spot. The chimneys pumped their smoke into the air like it was their divine right.

The whisky relaxed Carlo's body. Warm ripples of well-being travelling up to his head and down to his toes.

He took out his phone and expertly thumbed the keys as he entered his message.

"Who's the daddy, now?" Very clever, he thought.

He put the phone away, pushed the button on the wheelchair panel and set off through the maze of passages through the town.

Passing the statue of Jackie Crookstone, he smiled.

There she was, all bronze. Still trying to save the kids who were burying their faces in her skirts. 1797 it had been, the last time there'd been a massacre in that neck of the woods. He wondered if they'd erect a statue of him to commemorate the one he was about to carry out.

***

Behind the undertaker's fence, headstones were being sold off at half-price.

Who in their right mind was going to buy themselves a headstone, Carlo wondered. Better to die and leave all that financial crap to the children to sort.

The night was chilly with a hint of mist in the air, the sort of weather that went straight to the bone. The blanket over his lap and the whisky helped him keep his insides dry.

Leo lay at his feet, his tongue stretching limply from his mouth.

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