Part 29 (2/2)

The padlock opened easily. Behind the door was a sheet of gla.s.s, bordered by a metal strip, in the top corner of which a small red light winked facetiously. Behind the gla.s.s, an array of, even to Sarah's eyes, ancient-looking guns.

'These should be in a museum,' Michael said.

'Of course they should. I'm a collector, not a psychopath. And working handguns, these days, are very much against the law.' He looked at Sarah. 'Interesting friends you have.'

'This isn't a game.'

'That doesn't mean there aren't rules. Are you seriously planning on shooting people?'

'Somebody tried to kill me.'

'And wound up with their blood on your floor.' He nodded at Michael, still studying the rows of weapons. 'I suppose Superman had something to do with that.'

Michael, busy tracing a finger down the metal strip round the window, ignored him. As they watched, he drew his arm back suddenly, as if to slap a fist into the gla.s.s.

'I hope he does that,' Gerard said. 'My money's on the gla.s.s.'

Michael lowered his fist.

'Wired into the alarm, too.'

'They're antiques,' Sarah said. 'It's a waste of time.' She should have known: why would Gerard even Gerard collect lethal weapons? These were simply expensive items of violent history.

'So who was he then?' Gerard asked. 'This Rufus?'

'If I was you,' Michael told him, 'I'd mind my own business.'

Gerard glanced at him with contempt. 'I may be a physical coward,' he said, 'but I have no intention of grovelling before implied threats in my own home.'

'He wasn't threatening you,' Sarah lied. 'Gerard, I know you don't like me but '

'If I didn't like you, you'd know about it. I'd have set the dogs on you the moment you arrived.'

'Dogs?' said Michael.

'Figure of speech. Can I bring you a comic or something? A rubber ball?'

'You want to keep those teeth?'

'You should have him on a leash, Sarah.'

Why didn't they just drop pants and compare? 'Are you finished?'

Michael shrugged; Gerard nodded a short apology. Behind his back, Michael mouthed a word. Kitchen.

'Do you think,' she asked, 'I could have a cup of tea?'

If the switch fazed him, he didn't show it. 'If you don't mind bags. I've never mastered this leaf business.'

'Gerard, it's the twenty-first century. n.o.body minds '

He gave her his superior smile. If wrongfooting were an Olympic event, he'd be drowning in sponsors.h.i.+p money.

He led them to the kitchen, filled the kettle, switched it on. Michael picked a mug from the draining board, and filled it with water from the tap.

'Help yourself,' Gerard invited him.

Michael set the mug on the bench by the kettle, and stood there with his arms folded. Looking at him, Sarah remembered boys she'd known, in her teenage years. The ones who turned encounters with her parents into embarra.s.sment-endurance ordeals; not actively offensive, just obstinately sullen, as if their presence were the only favour you'd ever get.

'This isn't just about Mark, is it?' Gerard was saying.

'Well, hardly '

'You were caught with drugs, weren't you?'

'They were planted.'

'By, er, Rufus?'

'Yes!'

'Who then tried to kill you.'

'Look, I know it sounds '

'It sounds absolutely b.l.o.o.d.y ridiculous, Sarah. Which is the only reason I'm prepared to hear you out. Because you're intelligent enough to concoct a better story than that if you needed to.'

This was hearing her out?

The kettle began breathing steam. Gerard opened a cupboard and pulled teabags from a box. 'Wanting a gun, though, that's absurd. I'm hardly going to let you leave with one even if I had one you could use. A cup of tea, that's different. You certainly look like you could use it.' The kettle snapped off even as he spoke and, plucking it free of its lead, he poured hot water into the teapot. In the sudden blush of steam, neither realized what Michael was doing till he'd done it: picked the lead up, still jacked live into the socket, and dropped the end in his mug of water. A blue bang tugged at the hair on Sarah's neck. Then the fridge hiccuped off, along with the overhead light.

Gerard said, 'What?' But Michael was already leaving the kitchen, Sarah tagging at his heels.

The light on the gun cabinet's metal frame had stopped blinking; was a dead red eye fixed on nothing. Michael was aiming a chair when Gerard arrived. Another two seconds, and he'd have breached security the hard way.

'Don't bother,' Gerard said.

He lowered the chair.

'Lateral thinking,' Gerard said. 'He'll be doing long division next.'

'Give him the key,' said Sarah.

Not a key but a piece of credit card-shaped plastic with a pattern punched into it: when Michael slid it into a slot on the frame, the window swung open. Michael reached in and pulled out an ancient pistol; probably a musket, Sarah thought. It didn't look any younger than the Civil War, that was for sure.

Gerard said, 'Now, I'd like you to be very very careful with '

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