King of Swords

Crying relieved him. And with it came another kind of relief. His bladder went too. He pissed a long, uncontrollable jet in the water. He positioned his legs and crouched over a little so his mother wouldn't see and the piss made only the most ambiguous of ripples on the surface.

Thank God for Dettol, he thought, which would kill the germs before they could infect the wounds on his back.

I iva had smelt and tasted the stench of fear on Carmine so strong she'd known the little fuck was bluffing. He didn't have the balls to stand up to her. All she had to do was bark and stamp her foot and his spine crumbled.

She saw him pissing himself and trying to hide it. She wanted to laugh.

She smelled the tears running down his face. Tears were

like sea water and fresh water mixed together. When they were sad tears they were heavy on the salt, and that's the way Carmine's were. Crying for his pathetic useless little self. And his daddy. And that bitch whore Lucita. If only he knew what had happened to Lucita. She'd show him the pictures one day. Maybe. She'd told his father's killers to make sure they all got a piece of Lucita before they killed her. And they had.

She scrubbed away at his back and shoulders, drawing up a pinkish lather as the blood from the opened cuts mixed in with the froth. She was still mad enough at him to beat him some more. She had half a mind to.

Then she smelled something familiar but totally unexpected coming off the side of his head. She put her nose close to the spot and inhaled deeply, tasting what she'd caught in the back of her throat. Metal, oil, smoke - guns! She always smelled it strongly on members of Solomon's crew, sometimes weeks after they'd carried out hits or been in shootouts.

What was it doing on this pathetic son of a — son of a lowdown scumbag? She smelt the spot again, breathing in so deep it stung her nostrils. Definitely guns. On Carmine} Couldn't be!

She rolled the taste around her mouth. She detected a hint of the just curdled milk flavour of confusion.

'Who did you shoot?' she asked him.

The little fucker almost jumped out of the tub, splashing the floor, teary-eyed, lips trembling.

'I — I dinn shoot anyone!'

He was wide-eyed with terror.

She just couldn't imagine him pulling a gun on anyone, let alone pulling the trigger. He didn't have the nerve. You needed steel in your soul to kill. He had nothing but shit in his.

'I smell guns on you. Why? And don't even think of lying to me, boy!'

Lies smelled like the sweetest perfume but tasted like shit, and the odour was coming off him.

She glowered at him. He was petrified and she liked it — liked having him here, all wrecked, in the palm of her hand, a fish skewered on her hook.

'I — I was messin' around with one of Sam's guns and — and the thing went off. I swear thass what happened.'

'So, if I call Sam he'll tell me that?'

'Yeah, sure.'

'Get out of the bath.'

He was too broken up inside to hit the streets that night.

Besides, his head was so bruised and swollen it looked like he had most of his hair back.

He lay down on his bed and closed his eyes.

He wished he'd never wake to see another day again.

But he did wake up. And when he did his mother was standing over him.

'Who's Risquee?' she asked.

42 'Don't be angry, be thankful,' Sam said.

'Thankful! You damn well sole me the fuck out, man!'

Carmine shouted and slammed his palm on the marble cutting slab, his voice echoing around the basement.

'It wasn't like that. She knew something was up.' Sam stayed calm. Eva had called him in the early hours of the morning, asking him why her son smelt of gun smoke and panic. Sam had told her about Risquee and the shooting near the shop and said the whole situation had probably been preying on Carmine's mind.

'She knew something was up,' Sam continued. 'You know that gift she has. If you'd just let me take care of it from the start, none of this would've happened. But you had to go play the big man. See where that got you? Anyway, the problem's solved. She's put Bonbon on it. Who did you tell her Risquee was?'

'Some bitch I tried to turn, freaked out on me.'

'Exactly what I said to her,' Sam said.

'For real?'

'Absolutely,' Sam said. We must've had telepathy. Or else been really lucky.'

Sam had, of course, told Eva the truth about Risquee, and Eva had laughed.

'What if Risquee talks to Bonbon?'

'That animal won't let her. And, say she manages to say something, he won't listen. Listening's not his thing,' Sam said, almost feeling sorry for the poor bitch when Solomon's hitman caught up with her. And he would, for sure. Bonbon had never once failed his masters.

'Did you tell my mother 'bout our thang?'

'No.' Sam shook his head. 'Of course not'

'You sure?' Carmine was searching his face.

'Positive,' Sam said. 'We're both alive, aren't we?'