Page 166 of Beautiful Scars

The address Helen gave me is an apartment in the city center, not that far away from Cole’s. Probably an AirBnB. An old tenement with massive Georgian windows. It’s on the second floor, shops on the ground floor.

Bus level.

Hundreds of people passing by every few minutes with greedy eyes. We’ll have to be careful.

“Our options are somewhat limited.”

“What we got in the back?”

We’re in a white van. Unmarked, but a lot of trades vans are.

Because guns are so rare, and gunshots even rarer, you have to be a bit more creative when it comes to an arsenal. You learn at a young age what everyday household objects can be used as weapons.

It’s been years since we’ve had to carry out business like this, but the old sealant-stained gray sweats and white T-shirt still fit perfectly.

“You grab the hold-all with the tools in, I’ll take the bench and the drill-bits.”

Derek nods as we exit the van and head around the back.

Cars and buses have to maneuver around us because we’re double-parked, but real tradesmen wouldn’t give a shit about that so it just adds to the authenticity. Still, the quicker we get this done the better.

We cross the road like the pair of joiners we are.

Kitchen fitters, specifically.

There’s an intercom on the front door, so I call one of the apartments two levels up and explain we’re here to fix the back door. The foreign accent and broken English give them away as a tourist, and they let us in no bother.

The hallway leading to Alex’s room stinks of kebabs and cigarette smoke. One of the doorways we pass is ajar, and when I happen to glance inside, I see a snotty-nosed kid wearing dirty clothes sitting in the middle of the floor, wide eyes staring back as he thumps a disheveled Barbie doll against the carpet.

I stop walking.

“What are you doing?” Derek murmurs, his toolbox clanking as he shifts it from one hand to the other. “He’s down the hall.”

I hold up a finger, listening. Then I hear the snores. Whoever’s supposed to be looking after the sprog must be passed out on the couch. I pull the door closed, turning my scowl on Derek as I wave at him to keep walking.

Some pricks don’t deserve kids, but that’s not why I’m here.

I’m here for Meisie.

Alex’s door is the last, which is more than I could have hoped for. These walls look thin and, judging from the murmur of television sets and people talking audible out here in the hallway, everyone can hear everyone.

Derek knocks while I turn my back a little as if something down the hall’s caught my attention. There’s the clatter of a chain being put in, and then a lock turning. Alex opens the door a crack and peers out at Derek through the gap.

“Ja?” he asks. “What’s it?”

Derek rams the door, throwing his full weight into it. The pathetic door-chain snaps, but luckily that’s the loudest sound. Before Alex can cry out, Derek grabs him and slams his head into the wall beside the door.

He goes down without a sound.

I step over Alex’s body and peer down the hallway before silently closing the door behind me.

* * *

Alex comes to with a splutter when the bucket of water hits his head. Mouth gaping, he flicks hair out of his eyes and pins me with a malicious stare. “You.”

“Aye. Me.”

He looks down, and then reality seems to sink in for the first time, because he squirms against the ropes lashing him to the chair. He’s naked, now soaked.