How a Gunman Says Goodbye (26 page)

He knew what he would do about ten minutes after Fisher left the house. It was actually liberating. It’s the first time since he woke up on the floor of Scott’s corridor that he’s known exactly what to do. First time since then that he’s felt in control. It’s nice to have your focus back, even if it might not last long. He’s in work mode now. Thinking about everything he’ll need. Plotting, considering, playing out eventualities in his mind. If this was life, then everything would be okay. This he can do, and do well. He doesn’t need a lot of equipment for this job. The only thing that’s taken any amount of time to find was his passport. Frank, like Calum, is a very neat person. Everything in its rightful place. Things should never be hard to find. It’s a useful mindset, always being able to reach out and grab whatever you might need. Only his passport wasn’t in his bedside cabinet under his never-used cheque book, as usual. It was still in the side pocket of one of the bags he took to Spain with him. Recovering in the sunshine at Peter Jamieson’s expense.

It’ll be Calum. No great mystery in that. Peter will show enough respect to send his best man. Technically his only man, but he could have hired a freelancer. Young will have Frank’s replacement lined up. Probably Shaun Hutton. That’s the obvious one. He was clearly the Scott leak, looking to ingratiate himself with Jamieson. He’ll get the gig when the time’s right. Wouldn’t be Frank’s first pick. Too flaky. Never held down a position before. Besides, they need someone who can work with Calum. When they’re done with Shug, they’ll be aiming at bigger targets. There will be jobs that require more than one armed man willing to pull a trigger. Frank’s done a couple of those in his time. If you don’t trust the other guy, it can be an unpleasant experience. Waiting for them to say or do something wrong. It could be hard to find another gunman that a guy like Calum will work with. Frank’s smiling to think of Calum. All moody and silent. Just a little bit superior. Other gunmen aren’t going to enjoy working with him. They’ll accept it, though. They’ll accept it because he’s good.

It’s because Calum’s good that Frank needs to be better prepared. He’ll come in the back. Logic says he won’t use the front for a target like Frank. Too much risk. You knock on a target that doesn’t expect you. They open the door and you barge inside. A good way of getting in without breaking doors or windows. Calum will realize that Frank is on high alert. He’ll come in the back. Maybe wedge it with a crowbar; it is a thin, old door. A key. Jesus, of course. They’ll have made a key up. Young will. That clever little bastard will have done it years ago, on a day when he knew Frank wasn’t at home. Something a lot of the big organizations do. Make sure they have easy access to their own people. Frank’s at the back door. Clearing everything away. Making preparations. Making sure it looks like a house that’s been abandoned by someone with no intention of return. Making sure his departure won’t appear as sudden as it will actually be. Wiping surfaces, tidying everything away. Gathering up the few things that a man who wants to disappear should take with him.

Back upstairs to the bedroom. Not the best place for it to happen – it’s just creating more work, being this far away from the back door, but it’s where Calum will expect him to be. It’s a small house, so there aren’t many better options. The back door opens into the kitchen. That would mean firing on sight, and a gunshot with the back door open is out of the question. Better not to do it in a front room. Frank wants a little light to work with. More people could see light from the front. So the back bedroom. He’s taking a spare pillow from the cupboard, placing it at the bottom of the bed. His passport, cheque book, credit card, wallet, mobile phone, driver’s licence, coded contacts books and a few old photos he’s placing neatly on the dresser opposite the bottom of the bed. Everything where it can be grabbed quickly and swept into a bag upon exit. The last thing to do, before the waiting. The curtains are closed, but, thick as they are, he’s not going to risk putting the light on. He wants some light, though. He’s pressing the head of his anglepoise bedside lamp downwards and switching it on. Not a lot of light escaping. Enough to see with, not so much that it can penetrate the curtains and be seen outside.

That’s it. That’s all the preparation done. It’s not even midnight yet. Calum won’t arrive until around one at the earliest. It would usually be after two – that’s the busy hour for gunmen. Much less likely to bump into random drunks and lost souls if you leave it just a little later. They’ll be planning a removal, though. This isn’t a murder to send a message. They’ll have a vehicle to move him in, a burial place planned. Frank’s sitting in the chair beside the wardrobe, facing the open door. It’s an old cushioned chair. A wreck of a thing, he’s had it near thirty years, but it’s the comfiest seat in the house. A good place to sit and contemplate things. With a removal, they’ll come early. Desperate to make sure the burial is finished and everyone’s back home before the sun rises. They’ll be cursing the rain. Frank’s thinking about a lot of things, a lot of people. Most of them involved in the business. It’s been his life for so long. That and nothing else. He met some interesting people, did some things he can hardly believe now. There’s a little smile on his lips as the clock goes past one o’clock.

He’s in the back door. Hasn’t made a sound yet. Closing it behind him, slow and careful. Breathing low and slow. Through the kitchen and into the hall. No lights. No sound. No movement. He’s gently pushing open the living-room door with his left hand, gun in his right. Nothing in there. Moving slowly across to the downstairs bedroom. Empty. In all likelihood he’s in his own bed, but you have to check. The nightmare is getting to the bedroom, only to have Frank creep up on you. Leave no enemy standing behind you. Onto the stairs now. Pressing each downward step against the edge of the stair on the wall side. Stairs creak, more so in the middle. Even with this precaution they’re creaking gently with each step. The first noise he’s made so far. Grimacing slightly as he reaches the last few steps and turns the corner at the top of the stairs. Too much noise when you’re trying to surprise a man like Frank. Now that he’s round the corner he can see that it’s much too late for that.

Frank’s sitting in a chair opposite the door, looking out into the corridor. There’s light, but not much. An old man, sitting in the gloom, staring back at him. He has a sad look on his face. Calum’s raised the gun. First instinct, get him in his sights. Frank’s smiling now, and raising his hands.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ he’s telling Calum. ‘Come in.’

Calum isn’t moving. Still pointing the gun, trying to judge this. Frank will know it’s him, balaclava or not. What trap does he have in there? Might be safer to shoot from here, make sure that part of the job is safely done. He has a clear shot to take. There could be someone behind the door. Not likely. Frank wouldn’t hire someone else. Not his style. Too much of a risk. Can’t rule it out, though. A dangerous and desperate man. Clinging onto the edge of the cliff, hanging on by the last finger. Calum’s stepping forward. It’s two forms of caution clashing. His instinct to shoot, beaten by his instinct not to rush a job. He’s in the doorway now. Can’t see a trap.

Frank’s getting up from the chair, hands still raised. Calum’s risking a quick look round the door. Nothing there. Looking back at Frank. The low light. The vital belongings on the cabinet. He’s starting to realize what this is. He’s looking at Frank, puzzled. Even in the gloom, and with his face covered, Frank can see the disbelief.

‘It’s the end,’ Frank’s saying. He’s getting up and moving to the foot of the bed, turning round. Now dropping to his knees, putting his hands behind his back. Making it as easy for Calum as possible. Being down on his knees already means he won’t have far to fall. Should prevent, or at least reduce, blood-splatter when he goes down. Calum’s seen the pillow. Frank’s done everything to make this as clean and simple a job as possible. He really has given up. This is suicide by hitman.

Everything’s there for him. The belongings Calum can take that’ll make it look like a disappearance. The pillow that can both muffle the gunshot flash and reduce blood-spray from the entry wound. He feels he should say something, but he won’t. Professional instinct. The moment arrives and you must take it. He’s picking up the pillow. There’s a twinge in his hand, the effort bringing his injury alive again. Standing behind Frank now. Pressing the pillow against the back of his head. Complete silence. Pressing the barrel of the gun into the pillow. Using his left hand to pull one side of the pillow around the gun. Pulling the trigger. A muffled whoosh. No blood-spray. Frank falling forward. Hitting the floor. Calum’s automatically kneeling down beside him, pressing the pillow tightly against the wound. Not even thinking about it. Not processing that it’s Frank who’s just died. That it’s Frank they’re about to remove. Just thinking about the job. Thinking about how much he hates it now.

It’s only a couple of minutes later when a wary George emerges at the top of the stairs. Calum, still holding the pillow tight, is glancing at him.

‘Bring in the bag,’ he’s saying quietly, ‘and a carrier bag for his stuff.’

George is standing there, looking at them. Looking upset. He’s nodding, turning and going back down the stairs. Another one Calum can’t trust. It could only have been from George that Emma got wind of his true profession. There’s no one he can trust. Before, when he was freelance, he didn’t have to trust anyone. A luxury then, a necessity now. Now he has to trust others, and he can’t. You can’t survive this way. It always catches up with you. Takes longer for some than for others. Frank lasted longer than anyone. Nobody lasts all the way to the end.

Calum’s kneeling beside him, looking at the body of the man who used to do his job. Looking at his future.