Spares. Michael Marshall Smith

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СКАЧАТЬ It had been a first thought and an in-between thought. I'd been trying to make it an ex-thought, but something inside me gave up.

      The bill came to nearly sixty dollars. I had no obvious way of getting hold of any more cash, and I couldn't use my ownCard without setting off a large flashing sign saying, ‘Anyone interested in bringing unhappiness into Jack Randall's life will find him right here’. But most of the food was concentrate, and we were going to have to eat wherever we went. Running out of money would simply bring the inevitable on a little sooner. I paid the man, picked up my bag, and made for the door.

      ‘Lieutenant.’

      I froze. It was very dark outside, and I could see flecks of cold rain hitting the cracked glass, cutting lines across it.

      ‘Don't remember me, do you.’

      I turned slowly. The man was still standing behind the counter, arms folded. Something almost like life had crept into his eyes when I wasn't looking.

      ‘Should I?’

      ‘You put me away.’

      Oh shit, I thought. I briefly considered facing him down, but the look in his eyes killed the idea almost before it was born. He'd made me. I looked away and then back, and in that moment realized that the last five years were apt to blow away to nothing, and that in some sense I'd never been away.

      ‘I probably had a reason.’

      ‘Three years. That's a long time.’

      ‘I'm surprised I don't recall the circumstances.’

      ‘You never met me. I was just a mule.’

      I stared calmly back at him, trying to work out how I was supposed to play this. It was the last thing I needed. The very last thing. We looked at each other for a while and I could hear the blood pumping through the arteries in my head. It stepped up a notch when I realized that I was holding the grocery bag in front of me with both arms. He could have had me in pieces before I got my hand anywhere near my jacket pocket.

      ‘You've bounced back nicely,’ I said eventually.

      ‘I took someone's fall, and they looked after me. They still do.’ ‘I'm not The Man any more,’ I said, abruptly. His face changed then, as a broad vicious smile spread slowly across it.

      ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Guess we all heard about that.’

      ‘You want to say something funny?’ I asked, and his grin dropped. The light went out of his eyes and they went back to looking like two very old coins pressed into dirty white Plasticine. Like so many of his kind his face looked far away and unformed, as if imperfectly glimpsed through a layer of water.

      I smiled faintly, nodded, then left. The wind had picked up outside and the rain was turning to sleet. As I stepped out of the store I heard his voice again.

      ‘Lieutenant,’ he said. I didn't turn round but kept on walking, and the rest of his words were blurred by the sound of the wind and a siren in the distance. ‘Be seeing you.’

      When I was round the corner I picked up the pace, swearing dully and repetitively. A quick glance behind showed that no one was following, but that was no consolation. A phone call would be all it took, a phone call from a man so far down the food chain that plankton probably made fun of him behind his back.

      All I'd wanted was to sell the RAM and get an hour by myself. It should have been so easy. Most people manage it, just walking around, without bringing grief into their lives. But now we'd been in town less than three hours and trouble was already taking a bead on me. Trouble's always a good shot, and in my case it's got a fucking laser sight. A run-in with an ex-wiseguy and a five thou contract hovering somewhere over my head. Great going, Jack.

      Time to get out of town before I slept with God's wife.

      The door on the first floor of Mal's building was open, allowing the music from within to really let itself be heard. Two guys were conducting a drug deal in the hall. They glanced quickly at me as I passed, but I shrugged to show I was harmless.

      I was wearily trudging up the second flight of stairs, grimly anticipating getting the spares moving again and wondering whether I could impose upon Mal to look after them a little longer while I went to buy a vehicle, when a shot sang through the air past my ear and smashed the shit out of a wall panel behind me.

      I dropped to my knees on the stairs, spilling the groceries, fumbling for my gun and trying to work out whether the shot had come from above or below. Another cracking sound and half a yard of banister disappeared, my question answered: the shots were coming from above. My gun finally out, I cranked a shell up into the breach. Footsteps clattered down the stairs and I stepped quickly and quietly back away from them, round the corner – trying to work out what to do, and hoping Mal would hear the shots and come out to help me.

      There was a moment of silence, the shooter listening for what I was doing. I poked a foot forward and deliberately pressed a loose board. There was a creak, and then another shot gouged a trail of soggy plaster out of the wall.

      I decided what the fuck, ran forward and turned spraying shots upwards as I ran.

      Two went wild, another close enough to send the guy back up the stairs. I pressed the advantage, leaping the stairs three at a time, feeling a wavering sight on the back of my neck and brazening it out. I slipped on a wet stair and slid into the wall, saving my life – another shot spanged past and buried itself in the woodwork. I hauled myself up with one hand and turned to see a man leaning over the banister on the next floor, gun already raised, finger tightening. I realized I didn't have time to move or much to lose and just unloaded the gun at him.

      The first shot caught his shoulder, sending his wide; the second parked in his lungs and sent him stumbling backwards. I leapt up the stairs still shooting, piling shots into the darkness, the gun jumping and bucking in my hand.

      After the seventh shot he was no longer firing. I saved one and ran in a crouch up the remaining stairs, being careful when I turned the corner but opening out on seeing him twisted on the floor against the wall.

      When I reached him I kicked the gun out of his hand and yanked his head up. The face was unknown, one eyelid fluttering and his breathing ragged. The body below was a mess which wasn't going to survive. I slapped the guy across the face and leant in close to him.

      ‘Who sent you?’ He just stared at me, eyes glazing. I slapped his face again to keep him perky. ‘Give me a name.’

      ‘Fuck you,’ he said eventually. ‘You're dead.’

      ‘Not yet, I think you'll find, and not nearly so close as you. Who sent you? SafetyNet?’

      His lips managed a smile. He said nothing.

      ‘Last chance,’ I said. He tried to form the words ‘Fuck you,’ but it was too much of an effort. I looked in his eyes, and knew he wasn't going to tell me. I respected that. So I dragged him by the throat to the banister and swung him into the slats as hard as I could. They broke, he went through and tumbled down the stairwell.

      His legs hit the banister going down, twisting his fall so his head caught it the next time round. When he landed far below he hit the earth like a bag of wet sticks landing in a shallow pool.

      Mal's door looked shut, СКАЧАТЬ