Capital Punishment Read Free

late.’
    ‘Pike didn’t say anything about ... help.’
    ‘I know he didn’t, but I couldn’t carry her on my own and she went nuts when she came round.’
    ‘Where is she?’ asked Skin.
    ‘In the back room.’
    ‘How
is she?’ asked Dan.
    ‘Haven’t looked for the last fifteen minutes,’ said the cabbie. ‘She was asleep.’
    ‘Did you use chloroform on her?’asked Dan.
    ‘I had to. She went nuts. Must be claustrophobic or something.’
    Dan kept glancing up the corridor at the two illegals, who were talking.
    ‘I’m going to have to call Pike,’ said Skin.
    ‘Fucking hell,’ said Dan, under his breath.
    Skin pulled Dan out with him, made the phone call, had a muttered conversation, Dan waiting, looking as if he wanted a piss. Skin hung up, drew a finger across his neck. Dan felt his guts shudder, mouthed: ‘Fuck’.
    They eased out the silenced hand guns from inside their black coats, went back into the house, holding them down by their sides.
    ‘What the fuck is this?’ said the cabbie, seeing them immediately.
    ‘Wake the girl. Get her ready,’ said Skin, taking him by the arm, pushing him up the corridor.
    ‘Ready for what?’
    ‘To go. What do you think?’
    ‘What are you going to do with the guns?’ he asked.
    ‘You didn’t follow the fucking instructions,’ said Skin, red lips from within the black cloth hole. ‘Now we’ve got our orders. Wake the girl.’
    ‘For fuck’s sake,’ said the cabbie.
    ‘Just do it,’ said Skin, and pushed the cabbie towards the bedroom door.
    The illegals turned and stood as Skin and Dan came in, to have their expectations suddenly reduced to a small black hole in a fat barrel, which kept coming until it was the eye’s whole universe. White latex hands collared them, hauled them away from their chairs. They kicked the illegals to their knees, denting the undulating lino floor, the fat barrels pressed hard into the fuzz of their shorn heads. The illegals looked up, eyes desperate, lips drawn bloodless across their teeth, breathing quick as they realised their true value in the system that had brought them to the black, glittering mouth of the insatiable metropolis. Skin and Dan pulled the ligatures from their pockets, slipped the guns back inside their coats and looped the cords over the shorn heads of the men kneeling before them, tightened them around their necks. The cabbie closed the bedroom door behind him.
    Alyshia was still asleep. The noise from the next room woke her. The fear came alive in her as soon as she saw the cabbie. The whites of her eyes quivered at the edges as she looked at the door. The animal noise of a terrible struggle came through it. She started as something thudded against the other side. The cabbie held onto his head with both hands, looking at the ceiling.
    ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, her voice barely audible.
    The cabbie didn’t answer. Through the grunting and gasping of effort came the noise of heels clawing against lino. Then a rigid, pent-up silence, followed by a collapse. The cabbie let his hands drop to his sides, shook his head. Alyshia, back against the wall, stared unblinking at the door. No sound.
    ‘All right,’ said the cabbie, who couldn’t wait any longer. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’
    He opened the door. The room had filled with a shocking stink.
    ‘Not yet, you fucking moron,’ said Skin.
    Alyshia saw the hooded men, looked down at the dead illegals’ swollen faces, their new horror masks. She vomited. The cabbie pulled her back into the room.
    ‘Get her cleaned up,’ said Skin. ‘Got anything we can roll these two up in?’
    ‘In the garage,’ said the cabbie. ‘There’s some plastic tarps.’
    Dan left the room, staggered to the garage, dazed by what he’d just done. He came back with the tarpaulins. They rolled the illegals into them, secured them at both ends, coughing against the stink in the room. They took them into the garage. Dan went out the back and down the