Widows

‘I’ll put everything in your pocket. The fake ones will be waiting for you when you’re ready; the real ones you can put under your pillow for the tooth fairy.’ Fuller smiled and he swore that the old man’s eyes creased slightly. It could have been a smile; it could have been a flinch of pain.

Taking his coat off and gently draping it over Resnick’s shoulders and chest, Fuller said kindly, ‘Don’t want you getting cold, do we? I’m so sorry, George,’ he went on. ‘You’re a fucker of a man to work for, but this isn’t right in anyone’s book. And I’m sorry. I’ll get him for you. Whoever did this — I’ll get him.’

Resnick’s breath rattled; the blood dripped from his mouth and nose as he tried to turn his head toward Fuller. He gasped and lifted his broken hand, the fingers black and blue, the blood seeping down inside his coat sleeve. He pointed to his left breast and tried to speak, but Fuller couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. Resnick managed to lift his hand a little further, to his left breast, and patted it twice.

‘Is it your heart? Are you having a heart attack?’ Fuller asked.

Resnick pulled Fuller’s jacket down from his shoulders and pointed with his finger to inside his coat. Then, from sheer exhaustion, his head slumped to one side and he passed out.

Fuller searched Resnick’s inside coat pocket and took out a crumpled sheet of paper. As he started to read it, he saw the ambulance crew running toward him with a stretcher. Fuller moved out of their way, pocketing the paper at the same time. At the other end of the street, Saunders gave the thumbs up for everyone to move toward the Rawlins house.

Harry stood behind Bill as, shovel in hand, he dug down into the soft earth beneath the willow tree. None of them had noticed the bamboo cross which had fallen flat on the soil and was now covered by Bill’s clumsy digging. Before too long, Bill hit a white lace table cloth. ‘Trust a bird to neatly wrap a million in cash before she buries it!’ He laughed and tore at the cloth, desperately trying to get to the contents.

As Bill got closer, Eddie suddenly realized what was buried in the cloth and backed away. ‘Oh, fuck!’ Bill shouted as he broke through the cloth and the stench hit him smack in the face. He leapt to his feet, hands covered in soil and crap.

Harry picked Wolf’s body up by the scruff of his neck and held him up toward Eddie, fury filling his eyes. ‘Look what you made her do! You made her bury her baby! AGAIN!’ Harry thrust Wolf toward Eddie’s face, wiping dog shit across his cheek. Eddie backed off, heaving and vomiting into the shrubbery.

Suddenly, they heard the sound of the front door being struck with a sledgehammer. ‘POLICE — OPEN UP!’ Bill raced toward the kitchen to try and fight his way to the BMW. Eddie froze and then hurtled after Bill.

Harry didn’t panic. He moved quickly to the far corner of the garden and inched his way behind the blackberry bushes. He scratched his body with every step, the trailing thorns cutting into every part of exposed skin, but he remained silent. He stood by the seven-foot wall and looked up, raised his hands, lowered his weight and jumped. As his palms gripped the shards of glass he’d cemented into the top of the wall years ago, the pain ripped through his body. He wanted to scream but he hung there with his forehead against the bricks and his eyes screwed tight shut.

Behind him, Eddie suddenly reappeared, running down the garden. Harry knew the police would be right behind, so he pulled himself upward, grimacing through the pain. Eddie saw Harry as he reached the top of the wall. ‘Harry!’ he screamed. ‘Harry, help me!’ Eddie, looking up his cousin, didn’t see Wolf’s body on the ground. He tripped over the little dog, fell into the mud and the police were on him.

From the top of the wall, as Harry silently maneuvered round as much of the glass as he could, he glanced down at Eddie, barely visible under three uniformed officers. He looked at Wolf’s body and smirked to himself. Revenge is sweet, Wolfie boy... Harry disappeared over the wall and into the darkness of the alleyway behind.

Outside in the street, Bill had slipped his knuckleduster on and was fighting for his life. He had too much to lose: there was no way he was going to roll over and just let himself be caught. He kicked and punched for all he was worth, keeping two officers easily at bay. Even when they were joined by two more policemen, Bill stood his ground. Eventually one of them got in a lucky hit to the side of Bill’s head, dazing him for long enough to allow the others to take control. The next moment, Bill was on the ground, curled up into a ball with his arms above his head, as four truncheons rained down on his head and body.