Brute Force

126

She began to come round.

I eased myself off the bed. The pain in my right thigh had begun to register in my brain. It seemed that these deep, clean cuts really were every bit as painful as any other kind. Blood oozed from the dressings. It was going to be hospital time very soon. I'd have to go in and complain about these drugged-up muggers who not only took all my cash, but also seemed to take pleasure in slicing me up.

I couldn't kneel because of the pain. I had to stoop, one hand on the edge of the steel frame of the bunk as I leant down.

I pulled open an eyelid. The pupil reacted. She could hear me all right.

'It was Richard Isham.'

She took a big, involuntary breath and sobbed.

'Yeah, you know, the one who's always been up for the cause, the local hero, ready to fight to the death. But you know what, he was on the make, just like everybody else.' I leant a bit closer so she didn't miss a word. 'He saw what was coming and made sure he was one of the survivors. What would your dad think of that? But he can't think anything, can he? Because while Richard is sitting behind a big fat desk with an expense account to match, your old man is dead.'

She kicked out her legs.

'It's a fucker, isn't it? But you know what? I agree with you. A traitor is a traitor, in anyone's book, including mine. I have more respect for you than I do for him.'

She was still sobbing but it wasn't from pain or fear of dying. She was a player; she had more bollocks than that. She was grieving.

She should have spent five minutes with me over a brew some time. I could have put her straight: never trust those fuckers, and don't waste your faith in them. They're always in it for their own ends, no matter what side of the fence they're on.

'But the problem is, you're the enemy.' I pushed myself up using the side of the bunk. 'Regardless of what I think of you, we both know what that means.'

I limped into the corridor and locked the door behind me.