Christ, he’d been shot.
Through tears of agony he heard the roar of the Molotov cocktail as it went up. Pardew erupted in flames, a human torch. Rufus heard the screams, smelled the barbeque scent of cooked flesh. Pardew was sorted, done. Rufus crawled to his feet and staggered away from Pardew’s car, which had been half-concealing him and Pikey.
He looked at Pikey.
Or what was left of him, anyway.
Like Pardew, he was well alight, and he wasn’t going to live to tell the tale. He wasn’t screaming any more: he couldn’t. His face was gone, the flames had seared his features into one smeared covering of cooked skin.
That’s Don’s fucking nephew. Boy am I in the shit now, thought Rufus.
There was only one thing to do.
Run.
Stumbling, bleeding, he turned and did so.
Rory’s old lady Megan took one look at Rufus bleeding and swaying in the doorway, and flipped. Five months gone in her pregnancy, she wanted no intruders in her nest. She started on about doctors, ambulances.
‘You crazy?’ snarled her husband as Rufus sat sheet-white at their kitchen table. ‘That’s a bullet wound – you want the Garda in on this? Fetch some towels, don’t be a daft cow.’
Rufus knew he had done right in coming here. If there was one person he could always trust in this world, it was Rory.
His strength ebbing away with the blood pouring out of him, he let himself be half-dragged, half-carried up the stairs to the back bedroom. Agonized, he lay helpless on the bed as Rory stripped off his jacket and shirt.
‘It went straight through,’ said Rory, eyeing the wound, going a bit green around the gills. ‘Shit, I think you’ll be OK if the loss of blood don’t kill you. How’d it happen?’
Rufus was half-fainting with the pain. Megan came haring in with a face like a hatchet to press towels to the wound. Rufus looked at her, then at Rory.
‘I’ll see to him,’ said Rory, taking the hint, and she retreated.
Rory closed the door behind her.
Rufus lay back and tiredly recounted the evening’s events to his pal.
‘Holy shit. That twat Pikey, he was never going to shape up.’
‘He won’t get the chance to now.’
‘Don’s nephew! Holy shit.’
‘I just fecking ran. Didn’t know what else to do.’
‘What else could you do? He’s not going to come over all understanding, not him.’
Rory was dabbing the wound. The bleeding was slowing up, thank God.
‘Thirsty,’ said Rufus faintly.
‘I’ll fetch water,’ said Rory, and opened the door. Megan started away from it, going red in the face.
‘You been listening in?’ demanded Rory.
‘No, I…’
‘Well don’t. Go and get some water, he needs a drink.’