Captives

ONE HUNDRED AND FIVE

How easy it would be to turn the gun on himself. To push the barrel of the.357 into his mouth and squeeze the trigger.

End the pain forever.

So simple.

Scott sat behind the wheel of the Rover, his head spinning, his vision clouding. And all the time there was the pain, gnawing away at him like some parasite feeding off his brain.

Take the gun and bite down on the barrel, taste the gun oil and the metal, then fire.

He could picture his own head exploding as he fired. Could feel the blissful oblivion. Could see himself at peace.

Could…

Fuck it.

No. He would not die yet. He refused to give up now. He had come too far, gone through too much to get to where he was now.

He gazed across the road towards the block of luxury flats where Ray Plummer lived. The one at the top. The penthouse flat. The pinnacle.

What had Cagney said in that film? 'Made it, Ma, Top of the World'. And then…

Scott pulled the Smith and Wesson from his belt, worked the slide and chambered a round. Then he jammed the pistol back into his belt and reached for the.357, flipping out the cylinder, checking that every chamber was filled with its deadly hollow-tipped load.

He was satisfied.

So it had come to this. His quest was almost over. He felt like some kind of medieval adventurer, some searcher after a lost treasure who could see that prize just yards away.

His prize was revenge.

It had kept him alive so far. Now he needed to claim that prize.

Scott swung himself out of the car, leaning against it for a moment as a fresh wave of pain hit him.

Keep me alert.

Stop the pain. Just for a while.

If he'd believed in God he might well have whispered a prayer.

Stop the pain.

He began walking, heading towards the entrance to the small block of flats.

Just for a while.

Just until…

He walked with his head down, gazing at the floor, only looking up as he reached the opposite pavement.

Had he looked up he might well have seen Ray Plummer watching him from the top window.

Scott reached the main entrance and slipped inside, pausing as he looked first towards the lift, then the stairs.

Which way to approach the penthouse?

If he took the lift he would be a sitting target as soon as the doors slid open. At least the stairs offered a modicum of cover.

He began to ascend.

Scott moved slowly, to minimise the sound of his footsteps. As he reached the second landing he pulled the 459 from his belt.

The doors on the other landings were closed, shut tightly like the eyes of onlookers at an accident who don't wish to see the carnage.

He reached the third landing.

One more left and he would have reached the penthouse.

He paused.

***

One floor above him, crouching at the top of the stairs, was John Hitch.

He had the Beretta 92S loaded and ready.

He listened as Scott ascended.