Collusion

98

Fegan pushed him hard against the wall. A picture fell from its hook, the frame splitting as it hit the floor. The Traveller blinked back at him, tears cutting clear streaks through the black on his face.

‘Where are they?’ he asked again.

The Traveller wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He coughed and spat on the floor at Fegan’s feet.

Fegan pushed him again. ‘Where are they?’

The Traveller waved a hand at the door. ‘Up there. Next floor up. I don’t fancy their chances. The woman was half dead any—’

The heel of Fegan’s hand rocked the Traveller’s head back to smack against the wall. He staggered sideways but kept his footing. He brought a hand to his jaw. ‘Jesus, the place is burning down around us and you want a fist fight? The Bull was right. You are a mad fucker.’

Fegan took the Traveller’s Glock from his waistband. He aimed at the Traveller’s forehead.

‘Jesus, just go and get them while there’s time,’ the Traveller said as he raised his hands. ‘It’s up one flight, then the end of the hall, last on the left. The fire escape’s right there. You might get the wee girl out if you go now. Christ, the stairwell’s filling up, look at it, you might not make it.’

The moment Fegan chanced a look over his shoulder towards the door he knew he’d made a mistake. The Traveller was on him with more speed than he’d ever seen, like a starved cat on its prey. He grabbed Fegan’s wrist, forcing the pistol up, his momentum carrying both of them towards the smoke-filled doorway. Their feet tangled, and Fegan fell back, the Traveller’s lean body landing on top of his.

The Glock bounced away across the carpet. The Traveller tried to scramble after it, but Fegan grabbed his shirt collar and hauled him back. A knee slammed into his groin, and Fegan convulsed, but didn’t let go. He threw his weight to the side, rolling the Traveller’s body away from his own, and followed, trying to straddle him. The Traveller bucked and twisted, not letting him take hold. He reached up and grabbed Fegan’s throat with both hands. Instead of pulling away, Fegan let his weight press down on the arms until they quivered and buckled. His torso landed flat on the Traveller’s chest, their eyes inches apart, the breath hot on Fegan’s cheek as teeth snapped at his flesh.

Fegan cried out at the pain and the tearing sensation beneath his eye. He pushed himself up onto his knees. Smoke flooded his lungs, and the world shifted its balance, taking his own with it. He steadied himself against the wall, the Traveller still writhing beneath him. Fegan shook his head, tried to dislodge the heavy fog that had settled over his mind. He focused on the other man’s face, brought his fists together to form a hammer, and smashed them down on the bridge of the Traveller’s nose. It shattered against his hands, blood hot on his skin.

His vision blurred and swayed as the smoke clawed at the back of his throat. He pitched forward, jarring his elbow on the floor by the Traveller’s head. The Traveller renewed his struggle, throwing his body from side to side. Fegan reached back to his waistband, searching for the revolver he’d stowed there. His hand closed on it, its metal chill reaching up through his arm to clear his mind. Fegan seized on that glint of clarity as he pulled the pistol free, used it to focus through the pain and black clouds. He brought the revolver around, tried to aim at the Traveller’s forehead, but another wave washed over his consciousness. His upper body rocked forward from the waist, his spine seeming to give way. He saw the Traveller’s hand too late as its heel shot upwards and connected with his jaw, slamming his teeth together, taking a piece of his tongue.

The world rotated around Fegan, first the floor and the Traveller’s blood-streaked face rushing away from him, then the door, belching smoke up from the belly of the house, followed by the ceiling’s blur as it raced past his vision. Red hung in the air as it all spun away from him, and somewhere in the fading light of his mind, he knew it was his own blood. The floor hit the back of his head, barely cushioned by the carpet.

Sparks and black dots peppered his vision, and through them, a grin surrounded by crimson, the Traveller, rising.