Free R.I.P Robbie Silva by Tony Black Page B

thought about Jody and then I couldn't look at the sky anymore. As I pulled my gaze away, it fell on the light-bulb dangling above my bed and I rose and unscrewed it.
    The glass bulb smashed easily as I tapped it against the wall. I selected the largest shard and stuck it into my wrist; the blood flowed freely and I repeated the process with my other wrist.
    As the blood spilled I wanted to get away from it; I didn't want to have any of my father's blood in me. It was foul, tainted.
    'You killed her, you bastard.' I said this over and over to myself. I wanted him back, so I could kill him myself. If I had killed him, it might have saved Jody; I knew she blamed herself for his suicide and she just couldn't live with it. I could have got by with her hating me for killing him, but I couldn't get by with her hating herself.
    When I woke my wrists were bandaged and they had me in a straitjacket; I was pumped full of tranquillisers. I felt gutted to be alive.

    * * * *

    The flop was a deserted farmhouse on the edge of Midlothian. The place looked like it hadn't been lived in for years. Silva seemed quite pleased with himself to have found it, but Gentle Ben was shivering and snivelling, complaining about the cold and Gail was complaining about the smell.
    'What is it? I've never smelt anything like it!' said Gail.
    'It's the smell of fucking poverty, gel,' said Silva. 'And the reason you haven't come across it before now is I've fucking silver-spooned you.'
    I looked away. Ben was poking at the grate in the fireplace. 'I think I'll get a fire on.'
    'Think again, cuntybaws,' I said. 'You want to send a smoke signal to the filth, do you?'
    He threw down the poker and stomped out the room.
    Silva was sparking up a tab, running his fingers through his Brylcreemed hair.
    'We need to have a little chat,' I said. He looked nervous; I didn't need anyone nervous on this job.
    'Yeah, yeah ... all right, through here.' He nodded me through to the next room, the kitchen. On the table was a large Lotto sports bag. He walked over to it, unzipped. 'Take a look in there.'
    I wandered over to the table, stuck a hand in the bag. I saw the wooden handle of a gun. As I reached for it I saw there were two more of the same. I took out the shooter; it was an old hammer-cock shotgun. It looked ancient. 'The fuck is this?'
    Silva looked scoobied. 'Guns, innit?'
    'I said I wanted decent shooters ...' I held up the hunting weapon; it had a single barrel that looked about three-foot long. 'How the fuck are we going to manoeuvre with these?' I had visions of Gentle Ben tripping on his at the moment of truth.
    ' Hang about. ' He reached in the bag, removed a small handgun; it was a snub-nose Colt. 'I got this for the girlie. We ' ll be mustard.'
    I shook my head in disbelief. ' We can ' t use these shooters. They ' re a fucking joke. '
    Silva stirred, pointed a finger. ' Now look. '
    ' Don ' t fucking look me – you ' ll have to saw the stocks off. '
    ' We haven ' t got fucking time, or a fucking saw. '
    I opened the gun; it was empty; I threw it on the table. I knew a bloke in Leith that would hire you old shooters for a ton-a-time. They were manky old things held together with gaffer tape but I ' d have sooner had them on the job than this lot.
    ' Let me call a pal. '
    ' No! ' Silva roared. ' Not on my job! '
    I tilted my head. ' I thought this was my job. '
    ' I said you could plan it. '
    He ' d changed his tune, but it was too late to argue. ' Well I ' m planning to have different guns. '
    He seemed to find some calm. ' Look, I know these guns like the back of my hand, and so do the kids – I taught them how to shoot with them. They ' re mustard! Trust me. '
    I felt time ticking along, I sensed this was not a battle I was going to win, said, ' I ' m not happy with this. '
    ' The guns look the part, that ' s all that matters ... they ' re for putting a scare out. '
    I took a deep breath, picked up the shooter and put it in the happy bag. ' Call the others.