The Drop

that was the weapon of choice for Eastern Europeans in our game. It was widely available on the streets of every city in Britain because it was cheap as chips.
    Gladwell took out the magazine and ejected all of the bullets then he held it up so I could see and put one bullet back into the magazine before slotting it back into the gun. ‘You have a choice,’ he told me, ‘either this bullet goes in Bobby Mahoney’s brain or it goes in yours.’ Bobby finally made a sound. He actually laughed. It was a big, deep, mad laugh but I was astonished by his balls nonetheless. I wish I could have been that defiant.
    ‘What?’ was all I could manage.
    ‘Tell me,’ he urged, ‘I want to hear you say it,’ he cocked the pistol and pressed it hard against my skull, ‘him or you? Go on.’
    I looked at him then I looked at Bobby, who was still laughing, like Gladwell had just said something really funny.
    I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t want to say anything.
    ‘Say it!’ ordered Gladwell.
    ‘Him,’ I croaked the word out, too ashamed to look at Bobby.
    ‘Good lad,’ he said like it was the correct answer and he lowered the gun.
    Vitaly and one of his men grabbed me and pushed me forward till I was no more than a few feet from Bobby then they released their grip. Vitaly pulled his own pistol and stood to one side of me, then pressed it against my head.
    ‘One move,’ he told me, ‘one move and… ’ he made a sound like a gun firing. I got the message.
    Gladwell walked round to face me, standing between Bobby and me. ‘I’m glad you feel that way because you are going to have to earn your life today. We both know I need Mahoney out of the way,’ he told me reasonably, ‘so I want you to do it for me.’
    ‘What?’
    He couldn’t be serious. He didn’t really want me to do it, surely.
    Tommy Gladwell pulled my arm up then he pressed the Makarov into my right hand and wrapped my fingers round the cold metal of the gun. Before he released it into my grasp, the Russian pressed his pistol harder against my head.
    ‘One move,’ he reminded me.
    Gladwell stepped away and walked behind me. I was left holding the gun in my outstretched hand and it was pointing straight at Bobby. He was staring back at me, serious now. The laughter had stopped.
    ‘Do it,’ urged Gladwell, ‘shoot him and walk away.’
    ‘Fuck off,’ I managed, ‘you’ll kill me anyway.’ I was still holding the gun in my outstretched hand. I could feel the barrel of Vitaly’s gun pressing into my skull and sweat forming on my forehead.
    ‘No I won’t,’ he assured me, ‘do this thing and we are even. I’ll put you on a train to London. You have my word.’
    ‘Your word?’ I didn’t believe he could be serious.
    ‘You’re basically a civilian. You’re no threat to me. What the fuck are you going to do on your own - without Finney, without Mahoney, you’re nothing! But, like I said, you have to earn your life. You have one round. Use it on Mahoney and live. Try and use it on us and Vitaly will drop you where you stand. But I won’t wait all day son. In a moment I’ll start counting down from ten and when I finish, Vitaly will kill you anyway if you haven’t done what I’ve asked. Then he’ll kill Mahoney.’
    This didn’t make any sense to me. None at all.
    ‘Then why get me to shoot him?’
    ‘Because I want to make you do it.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘To prove that I can.’
    ‘What’s the point?’
    ‘Oh fuck this,’ he suddenly lost patience, ‘Vitaly… ’
    Vitaly cocked his gun, ‘No!’ I shouted, quickly, ‘I’ll do it.’ I was just desperate to buy some time. That’s what I needed. Time, to think, Christ, I needed time to think.
    ‘Ten…’ said Gladwell.
    ‘Wait,’ I said, my hand shaking so badly there was a chance I’d miss, even from here. I lowered the gun just a little.
    ‘Nine… ’
    ‘Fucking do it,’ said Bobby suddenly. Those were the first words he’d spoken since I walked in the room. His voice sounded incredibly weary all of a sudden, like he was tired of the game.
    ‘Eight…’ I levelled the gun again, pointing it straight at him.
    ‘Good lad,’ said Bobby, ‘you’re doing me a favour,’ and he actually managed a grim smile of encouragement.
    ‘Seven… ’
    ‘Do it, they’ll do it anyway,’ Bobby was selling the idea to me.
    ‘Six…’
    ‘Get out of here, find Sarah, look after her,’ so that was his reason.
    ‘Oh, she’s being looked after,’ said Gladwell