Free Slammer by Allan Guthrie Page B

He spat out a mouthful of blood. A string of it stuck to his upper lip. He wiped it with the back of his hand.
    'He didn't.'
    'Who, then?'
    Mafia rubbed his knuckles. 'My little brother. Called me up, special.'
    Watt was a total bastard. Why couldn't the fucker leave him alone?
    Glass said, 'Well maybe he explained what he's been doing.'
    'I don't care.'
    'Your brother's been threatening me.'
    'He's not my responsibility.'
    'Threatening my family.'
    Mafia shouted, 'I don't fucking care.'
    'Well, I fucking do,' Glass shouted back.
    'You can't do it,' Mafia said.
    'It's done.'
    'Then don't do it again.'
    'What choice do I have? Your brother will hurt my wife. Or, God forbid, Caitlin.'
    Mafia said nothing.
    'He will, won't he? He's not bluffing.'
    Mafia shrugged.
    'He's your brother,' Glass said. 'Tell me I'm wrong.'
    Mafia still didn't speak.
    'Why's it so hard?'
    'That's why you got the gun?'
    Glass didn't answer.
    Mafia said, 'Let's go.'
    'I thought so.' Glass nodded. 'Just one last thing.'
    'Yeah?' Mafia turned and Glass caught him a beauty on the jaw.
     

 
    PART TWO
     
    CONFABULATION
     

 
    MONDAY, 16 NOVEMBER 1992
     
    'Nothing you'd like to talk about?'
    John Riddell still had that strange milky smell about him. And it was a little sour. Glass reminded himself that Riddell was the sort of man who didn't have a single photo to put on his desk. Just that empty frame.
    Glass said, 'I've no more to say now than I did last time I was here.'
    'Tell me about your job.'
    'What do you mean?'
    Riddell scratched his goatee. 'You happier with it?'
    'It's fine.'
    'But are you happy doing it?'
    Glass leaned back in his chair. 'If I wasn't, what difference would it make?'
    Riddell bent forward. 'I don't follow you.'
    'I have to work here, happy or unhappy.'
    Riddell tapped the rubber end of his pencil on his notepad. No pen today. Maybe he was making too many mistakes. 'If you spoke to me about what was making you unhappy, maybe it'd help.'
    'I didn't say I was unhappy.'
    'You asked—'
    '—what difference it would make. I was speculating.'
    Riddell drummed his pencil on the desk. 'So you like the job?'
    'I've had better.'
    Glint of interest in Riddell's eye. 'Like what?'
    'Worked in a cinema once. Didn't enjoy having to push the food and drink, but that's where they make all the money. Free films, though. That was good. I like films.'
    'So why did you leave?'
    And psychiatrists were supposed to be bright. 'Money,' Glass said. 'We don't get paid that much here, but it's a damn sight more than retail.'
    'Apart from the cinema, you ever worked anywhere else?'
    Of course he had. But for a moment, he couldn't remember where. He felt hot all of a sudden and was sure it was connected. Trying to remember was making him feel sick. And then just as suddenly, he was okay. The bakery. Where he met Lorna. But he didn't want to share that with Riddell.
    'No, I haven't had any other jobs.'
    Riddell seemed pleased he'd got a response, though. Pushed for more. 'Would you say you've settled in now?'
    Glass shrugged. 'I know the ropes.'
    'And your colleagues?'
    'Most of them seem to know the ropes too.'
    'No, I meant, how are you getting on with them?'
    'Look, the majority of them are arseholes. I know that. You know that. They know that. But there's no point me sitting here talking to you about it.'
    'Why not?'
    'Because it won't stop them being arseholes.'
    Riddell let that hang for a while. Then he said, 'What have they done?'
    'What do you mean?'
    'What is it they've done to you? Why are they arseholes?'
    'They're just arseholes. You must know. You speak to them too.'
    Another pause. 'You don't want to talk about it?'
    'You got that right.' For a shrink, Riddell wasn't exactly perceptive.
    Riddell smiled. 'You may think that.'
    'I may.'
    'But that doesn't mean you're right.'
    'Shouldn't I be the judge of that?'
    'Of course, I was merely—'
    'Time to go, I have something more important to do.'
    'We have plenty more time, Nick.'
    'You're not