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“Are you ready?”
Noddy took the gun from his pocket. “I dunno. Is this the safety? Is that on or off?”
Morag looked. “That’s definitely the safety.” She flicked it. “There. Now I think it’s off.”
“What are you doing? Somebody could get hurt.”
She realized they were crouched and whispering, stood up straight. “It’s a gun. That’s what it’s for.” She got the keys ready in her hand. “If we run into trouble, don’t be afraid to use it.”
“Wait. What trouble? You said...”
She unlocked the door and threw it back against the inner wall, knocking a hole in the plaster. Then they were inside, Morag running from room to room in the tiny flat while Noddy kept the barrel of the gun pointed at the ceiling in the lounge.
“Not here. Fuck.” Morag threw a hospital gown at Noddy’s feet. “We must have just missed him. Probably a back door on the other side of the building.”
Noddy put the safety back on. Then he took it off again, to check he’d done it properly the first time. “Yeah, there is. Dirk’s flat is on the first floor, right above the back entrance. But he used to just jump over the balcony and walk through the garden. Said it saved time.”
“That’s why I don’t remember the back door. We all used to jump off that balcony. Fuck.”
Noddy sat on the edge of a green plastic chair, one of a pair that joined a tattered couch and a compact hi-fi as the only furniture in the room. Morag went back into the bedroom. Banging drawers and slamming cupboard doors kept her company.
“You thought he was still here.”
Bang. Slam. Thud.
“What’s that?” Morag came back into the lounge, a battered leather briefcase in her arms.
“Mick. You wanted to find him here, didn’t you?”
She sat down carefully and opened the briefcase. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I want to see him again?”
Noddy walked to the double doors leading to the balcony, turned the key already in the lock and opened them up. He needed some air.
This flat was on the opposite side from Dirk’s. Less of a view, despite being several floors higher. It looked out over dusty rooftops, two carparks, and the back of the Chelsea Underground, if you squinted in the right direction at the right time of day. Nothing but concrete and brick.
“I saw your psycho bird earlier. He wanted to teach me how to fly. Away from all of this. But I wouldn’t listen.”
Noddy turned back into the room. Morag was cutting white powder on a tiny mirror.
“I thought you’d quit?”
It was a long moment before she looked up at him, a sad smile on her face. Her voice came from a long way away, as if she was forcing herself back to the here and now to respond. Out of loyalty. Friendship. Perhaps something more.
“Let’s just say I’m having a bad day. Okay?”
“Is that why we’re here? Where’s the money?”
She leaned forward, sniffed, and again, before raising her head, eyes closed.
“No money. He must have taken it. But we’ve got a briefcase full of coke.”
“Shit. Janine won’t let us take a bag of drugs with us, all the way to the coast.”
He stepped closer. Whatever he was going to say next was lost when he saw a trickle of blood run from her nose. He watched it drop to the filthy brown carpet and melt away as if it had never been, except where it had brushed against the inside of her bare thigh on its way down.
He searched in his jacket pocket, found a serviette. “Here. Your nose is bleeding.”
She reached out blindly and took the serviette, opening her eyes slowly as he turned and walked back to the balcony. She dabbed at her nose. A couple of spots, nothing serious. Then she looked down. She licked her finger, used it to wipe the dried crusted blood off her thigh. She opened the serviette and saw the lipstick kiss on the other side.
Noddy stood with his back to her, scanning the street outside. “Look, we’ve been here too long. We need to leave.”
She laughed quietly. “Don’t be silly. We’re never getting out of here.” She smiled, folded the serviette carefully, tenderly, and slipped it into her pocket. “Did you ever love me? Even a little?”
He turned, eyes wide. “What?”
She shook her head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer that.”
He glanced back over the balcony. “Morag...”
“It’s better not to care, you know? About anything. Then they can’t hurt you.”
“Look, we need to go. Now.” His eyes scanned the room. There it was, in a corner of the ceiling. A red light, flashing slowly but steadily. “Fuck. There’s a silent alarm. Come on.”
She laughed again, this time with genuine amusement. “I saw it earlier. One of us is still on top of her game.”
He stepped across the room, dragging her to her feet and towards the door. She held onto the ancient briefcase with her other hand. Noddy pressed his ear against the door. “Shit.” He reached for the chain and the sliding bolt next to it, slamming them both into position before looking around frantically. “Sounds like two of them, but I’m sure I saw three people outside. Not security guards. Mick’s people.”
She shrugged. “Mick doesn’t care. About anything.”
The door handle turned slowly. Noddy rushed across the room to the balcony, looking for a way down. There was a trellis attached to the wall on either side of the balcony, where ivy sprawled lazy in the afternoon sun, lush green and brown and red against the tired dark bricks.
“Except his coke. His business.”
Something slammed against the door from outside, crashing against the bolt and the chain. They held, but a screw bounced across the room.
Noddy waved his arm for Morag to join him. “Come on.” He climbed over the black wrought-iron railing, edging towards the trellis.
Morag took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She smiled.
“See you in Valhalla.”
Then she opened her eyes and with two quick steps she leapt onto and over the railing, past Noddy’s outstretched hand, arms wrapped tight around Mick’s battered leather briefcase.