I Love My Smith and Wesson (2 page)

Billy stole another backward glance. The stranger had gained on him. It now looked like a tall man, in a long, dark flowing coat.
So what?
Billy told himself. Lots of people wore long coats.
Like who?
Billy could only think of one man. He caressed the gun in his pocket and quickened his step. The only thing that prevented him from fleeing for his life was a very English fear of looking foolish.

The towers of the Skene Castle Hotel appeared over the rim of the cliffs. Above them, the clouds raced darkly. Almost safe. Billy looked over his shoulder. His pursuer was even closer now, a mere twenty paces away. Billy stopped and stared. It was him. Unmistakably. There were the lean face, the dark eyes, the long stride and straight back that Billy remembered so clearly.

Rawhead.

With one hand on the gun in his pocket, Billy started running.

So did Rawhead.

Salt spray blew into Billy's face as he lunged forward, feet sliding in the sand. When he realized that it was hopeless, that Rawhead would always be stronger and faster, Billy stopped and pulled the gun. But before he could turn and take aim, Rawhead barged into him, knocking him off his feet. The gun skidded across the beach. The two men scrambled on the ground, kicking up sand.

Before Billy had time to retaliate, Rawhead gripped his shoulders and spun him round. Now he was flat on his back with Rawhead sitting on his chest. It was an exact replay of the way their first ever fight had ended, back at Manchester Grammar School two decades before. “Are you ready for eternity?” said Rawhead.

“By Calvin Klein?”

Rawhead laughed and got to his feet.

Billy just lay there, staring, chest heaving.

Rawhead picked up the Smith & Wesson and opened the cylinder. “Nice piece. Pity it isn't loaded.”

“What? The guy who sold it me swore it was loaded.”

Rawhead laughed. “You mean you didn't look?”

Billy looked sheepish. “I didn't know how to work it.”

Billy remained horizontal, looking up at Rawhead.

“What're you doing down there?” said Rawhead.

“If you're going to kill me,” said Billy, “you might as well do it while I'm lying down. Saves me the trouble of falling over.”

“Kill you? Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you're a murderer?”

“I wouldn't kill you.”

Unconvinced, Billy stood up and brushed the sand off his clothes.

Rawhead looked fit and tanned, as if he'd just returned from holiday. His eyes shone with that strange light that Billy associated with junkies and visionaries. His head was shaven—the only evidence of hair was a dark shadow covering his scalp. And everything about him, from the jutting bones of his face to his brutal, neatly polished shoes, promised broken teeth and bereavement.

“Sorry I haven't been in touch, Bill. Dead bodies kept getting in the way.”

Billy stood and stared, wondering if he was being mocked.

Rawhead turned away, staring far out to sea. “I suppose you went back to writing books?”

Billy nodded. His heart was throwing itself against his rib cage like a deranged prisoner. He was afraid to speak in case his heart came bursting out through his open mouth.

Rawhead picked up a pebble and skimmed it over the waves. It bounced four times before sinking. “Tell me something. If you're still an author, how come you can afford to get married here?”

“I had a bit of luck,” said Billy. His voice, strangled by nerves, came out sounding thick and slurred. “A movie director wants to film one of my books.”

Rawhead skimmed another stone. “Which one?”

“George Leica. He made
Feeding Frenzy.
”

Rawhead turned his head slowly to give Billy a faint sardonic smile. “I meant which book.”

“The first,” answered Billy.

“That's my favorite.” Rawhead spit on the sand. “This director, is he American?”

“As American as the electric chair.”

“They must be true, then. These rumors I hear about you.”

“What rumors?” said Billy. His mouth was so dry that he could barely swallow.

“That you've given up on horror. That you've turned into a whore.”

Billy coughed in an attempt to mask his fear but only succeeded in looking like a scared man with a cough. “The bit about being a whore is true,” he said. “But I haven't given up on horror.”

“I hope not. Because that'd be like betraying your soul. Graveyards, monsters, and death. That's our world. That's what you should be writing about.”

“Listen. I've been fuck-poor, so poor that I only had fifty pence left in the world and didn't know whether to buy a tin of beans or a loaf of bread. Because if I bought the bread, I couldn't have any butter on it. And if I bought the beans, there'd be no fucking toast with it. What's fucking more, I will not be lectured on whoring by a man who kills people for money.”

“It was never the money, my friend. Thought you understood that.”

“I understand more than you might think.”

Rawhead scratched his nose and saw Billy flinch. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Only you don't seem very pleased to see me. You're sweating and you've gone a strange color.”

Billy said nothing.

“I've been taking life a little easier.” Rawhead held out his left arm. The back of his hand was a shiny pink mound of scar tissue. “I had a close encounter with the dark angel, Billy. Almost got burned alive. Remember my caravan? I must have left a spliff burning, because I went to sleep and when I woke my bed was on fire.” He made a noise between a snort and a grunt. “Would have been ironic, wouldn't it? Half the hard men in Manchester fail to take me out, but a fag end shows me no mercy.”

Billy kept staring, unable to believe his luck. Was it possible that Rawhead didn't realize Billy had started the fire? Either that or he was the most stunning actor Billy had ever seen.

“Of course, you knew nothing about it. You'd already fucked off by then. Run back to that precious life you seemed to like so much. Knew you would. Always knew you'd be off, first chance you got.”

Billy pretended to look abashed. Rawhead put his arm around Billy's shoulder. “I do understand, you know. You'd never make the grade as a criminal. You talk too much.”

Rawhead glanced at Billy's right hand. “Where's your ring?”

When the boys were teenagers, they'd both bought tacky skull rings as a symbol of their friendship. Billy had thrown his ring away shortly after discovering Rawhead was a mass murderer. Now, with Rawhead's eyes upon him, Billy shrugged.

Rawhead reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box, lined with black velvet. He passed it to Billy. “Here.”

“What's this?”

“Call it a wedding present.”

“Wedding presents are supposed to be for the bride as well as the groom.”

“Why would I buy a present for your wife? I don't even know her.”

Billy opened the box. In it was a brand-new ring, an exact replica of the cheap original. ‘Twenty-four-carat gold. See the eyes? Rubies.”

“I don't know what to say,” said Billy.

“Don't say anything,” said Rawhead. “Just try it on.”

Billy slipped the gift onto his ring finger, where it glittered coldly. Rawhead held out his right hand, which bore an identical ring. “It's a sign of the vows we've taken, Billy.”

“What vows?”

“The vows we swore when we mingled blood. Don't tell me you've forgotten?”

Billy shook his head gloomily.

Rawhead glared at him coldly. Then smiled as he handed back the Smith & Wesson. There was studied contempt in the gesture, as if Rawhead doubted Billy's ability to pull the trigger, let alone hit anything.

“Where are you staying?” said Billy, trying to sound casual.

Rawhead yawned and stretched. “Nearby.”

“Great. Fantastic.” Billy swallowed noisily. “I hope…”

“You hope what?”

“Nothing.” Then came a lie so enormous that Billy could scarcely give it utterance. “Just that you'll be around for the wedding?”

“Oh, I'll be around, Billy.” The waves crashed. The dark morning grew darker. Rawhead placed a hand on Billy's shoulder and looked directly into his eyes. “I'll always be around.”

*   *   *

Billy and Nikki were having a quiet nightcap in the hotel bar when Rawhead walked in. He was dressed conservatively, in a dark suit with a white silk shirt open at the neck. He nodded and smiled at them, ordered a drink, and remained at the bar.

Billy had already told Nikki that an old friend from school had turned up, neglecting to mention that he was a professional murderer who dispatched people he didn't know for money and killed people he didn't like free of charge.

“Why don't you call him over? He looks OK,” said Nikki.

“Oh, he's a real barrel of laughs,” said Billy darkly.

Nikki wasn't listening. She was slightly drunk. She walked over to Rawhead, shook his hand, linked her arm through his, and brought him over to their table.

“I don't understand,” said Rawhead innocently. “It's your wedding tomorrow. I thought you'd both be having girl and boy parties.”

“As if I'd have a party and not invite you,” said Billy sarcastically.

“We don't go in for that kind of crap,” said Nikki. “Tomorrow's going to be long and noisy. Tonight we just want to be peaceful.”

“Fine. As soon as you want me to go, just say the word,” said Rawhead.

She reached out and touched his sleeve. “
No.
You must stay. I want to know all about you. I don't even know who you are.”

Rawhead told her.

Nikki was astounded. “Steve Ellis? Steve the best friend?”

“That's me.”

“Billy, this is amazing. Why didn't you tell me he was coming?” She turned to Rawhead. “You won't believe how often he's talked about you.”

“Nothing bad, I hope,” sneered Rawhead.

“Well, I know you went to prison. But that was a long time ago.”

“Drugs were my downfall,” lied Rawhead smoothly. “And when I came out of prison, I saw I had a clear choice. Either I could continue along the path of crime and substance abuse, or I could do something positive. So I studied hard and went to medical school.”

“Wow,” enthused Nikki. She turned to Billy, whose face was in his hands. “Billy, why didn't you tell me any of this?”

“I didn't know,” Billy said sourly.

“As soon as I qualified as a doctor, I decided to specialize in the treatment of drug addiction. I opened my own clinic, which I still run. The rest of the time I work as a traveling ambassador for the World Health Organization.”

“That's an incredible story.”

“I just wanted to put something back.” Rawhead raised his glass to Nikki and smiled. “So tell me: do you think you'll feel different when you're married?”

“No,” said Billy and Nikki simultaneously.

“Then why do it?”

“We wouldn't have bothered,” explained Nikki, her eyes suddenly turned dark and hard, “but then Billy started making money, we bought a house, and if our relationship goes down the pan, I want to make sure I get my share.”

Rawhead laughed.

“Isn't that the most romantic thing you've ever heard?” said Billy.

Rawhead regarded Nikki appraisingly. She was a handsome woman, with dark, knowing eyes. “If that's your attitude, why get married in a castle?”

“That was William's idea,” she said. “He wanted us to be like Guy Ritchie and Madonna.”

“Except they got married in a real castle,” said Billy.

“You may as well live while you can,” said Rawhead, raising his glass to them both but looking only at Billy.

*   *   *

It snowed that night. The woods beyond the hotel glowed white in the darkness. When Billy and Nikki were in bed with the lights out, the room was filled with silence and a blue icy glow. They lay in each other's arms, huddled together because of the cold. When Billy was drifting off to sleep, Nikki asked him a question.

“Tell me the truth. He's nothing to do with the World Health Organization, is he?”

Billy sighed. “No.”

“Did you invite him to the wedding?”

“God, no.”

“So how did he know where to find you?”

“It's a long, long story and I really don't feel like telling it now.”

“Just tell me this: have you and him been having a gay relationship?”

“No!”

“Well, why does he look at you that way?”

“What way?”

“As if he owns you.”

“Do you mind if we have this conversation tomorrow?”

“This isn't a conversation, Billy. We don't
have
conversations. Because you won't talk about anything.”

“Why are we getting married then?”

“It beats me.”

Billy said nothing. But in his head, he thought,
Fuck off. I'm leaving you; the first offer I get from an ugly woman and I'm out the door.

He could hear Maddy snoring softly in the next room of their suite. Billy lay still for a long time, until Nikki's breathing became regular. When she was obviously asleep, he relaxed enough to doze. It was now almost one o'clock. All the creaks, footfalls, and lavatory flushes of a large hotel gradually died away. The silence grew profound, as if the blizzard had moved indoors.

Then he thought of Maddy and wondered if she was warm enough.

Billy got out of bed and walked into the next room. As he stood over the cot and his sleeping daughter, he glanced to his right and saw Rawhead sitting in a chair by the balcony window. He was wearing his overcoat and there was a shotgun across his knee. The curtains were open, bathing him in the blizzard's pale glow.