Dead Man's Gift 03 - Today Read Online Free PDF Page A

Celia?’
    ‘She stabbed the old lady,’ the kid piped up.
    Her face twisted into a snarl, and she went to take a step forward. ‘You lying little piece of shit.’
    ‘Stay where you are and shut the fuck up.’ Frank turned to the kid. ‘Which old lady?’
    ‘She lives next door. She tried to rescue me.’
    ‘And now she’s dead, right?’
    ‘Yes,’ the kid sobbed.
    Frank sighed, caressing the kid’s shoulder. ‘Well, this is all a bit of a mess, isn’t it?’ He gave Celia a cold stare.
    Her eyes widened. ‘Look, don’t –’
    ‘You called me fat,’ said Frank. ‘I don’t like that. And you know what? I don’t like you either.’ He shot her once in the chest, watching as she went down like a sack of potatoes, crashing into the wall before lying in a still heap on the cheap carpet.
    ‘I’m sorry you had to see that,’ he told the kid, who was still crying loudly. ‘Now, can you just do me a little favour and take a few steps forward. We’re going to play a game.’
    ‘Don’t hurt me.’
    Frank gave him a gentle shove. ‘I won’t. Don’t worry. Just a few steps forward.’
    The kid took a couple of tentative steps in the direction of Celia’s body, craning back over his shoulder.
    ‘That’s good,’ said Frank. ‘Stop there. Now look in front of you, shut your eyes and count to ten.’
    The kid drew a shaky breath; his knees were wobbling. ‘Why can’t I just go home? I want to see my mummy and daddy.’
    ‘We’re going to go home right after this.’ Frank raised the pistol so the end of the suppressor was three feet from the back of the kid’s head. He felt vaguely sick having to do this, and he had a feeling it was going to haunt his dreams for a long time to come, but knew he had no choice. He was going to have to make it look like Celia had shot the kid and then turned the gun on herself. ‘Shut those eyes for me, okay? And let’s start counting together.’ His finger tightened on the trigger. ‘One …’

27
    Scope had come in the unlocked back door to the cottage, the gun in his hand, using the sound of the voices in the hallway to cover his approach. He’d heard the two shots when he was halfway across the kitchen floor, followed by the muffled conversation between a man and a child, who he guessed were Frank Bale and Max.
    It was only when he got to the door that led into the hallway that he heard Bale tell Max to shut his eyes and they’d start counting together.
    Scope’s view might have been blocked by the staircase, but he could guess what was about to happen. The problem was that Bale sounded as if he was a good fifteen feet away, and the .22 Scope was holding was going to be inaccurate over distance, especially if he had no time to focus in on the target.
    But he was going to have to do something. He had no choice.
    ‘One,’ said Bale.
    Which was when Scope came out from behind the door, holding the revolver two-handed, finger poised on the trigger, yelling out to disorientate Bale. He had a split second to take in the scene: the body of the woman on the floor; Max standing halfway down the narrow hallway in his school uniform, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he waited for what he must have known was his death; and behind him, the hulking figure of Bale holding out the pistol, ready to fire, his face already registering the shock as he caught sight of Scope.
    Bale swung the gun round as Scope broke cover from behind the staircase, but Scope was already firing. He emptied out all three rounds, at least one of which struck Bale in the upper body. As Bale stumbled and banged into the wall, he got off a round that flew past Scope’s head. At the same time Max, who’d been standing stock-still, finally reacted, diving to the floor as Scope jumped over him and charged Bale, throwing the .22 at his head.
    The gun hit Bale full in the face, making him cry out in pain, but he still had the presence of mind to point his pistol at Scope, who had to dive the last few feet,