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his headphones on. A bit of Bach and a fag. If that didn't relax him, he was beyond help.
     
    ***
     
    Twenty minutes later, they were driving through town, the iPod in the glove box. Carlos fumbled for another fag.
    The city was quiet as they coasted down Leith Walk. Jordan opened his eyes when Carlos sparked the lighter, made a sleepy sound and closed his eyes again.
    Carlos's pulse hammered in his temples. He could feel it in his wrists. In the insides of his knees. In the soles of his feet. The nicotine, the adrenaline, Bach, he wasn't sure what or who was to blame.
    Jordan was as relaxed as a kitten. We there yet? he mumbled.
    "Won't be long," Carlos told him. He breathed out a lungful of smoke — felt like he remembered it now, like his body had grown used to the invasion and was at peace with it. He dug out his phone and dialled his mum.
    She answered right away.
    "Thought you might have fallen asleep," Carlos said.
    "As if that's likely. Did you find out what you were after?"
    "Maybe," he said.
    "Just maybe?"
    "I can't talk on the phone."
    "How did Maggie take it?"
    "Not on the phone, Mama!"
    "Okay," she said. "You want me to leave now?"
    "Yep.   And stay in your car."
    This time of night it'd be only a ten-minute drive from here to the patch of wasteland they were headed for. Carlos could have driven for hours like this, the whole city to themselves. He rolled his shoulder, his neck stiff, aware that the prickling inside his head wasn't normal.
     
    ***
     
    Carlos cruised along to the stretch of wasteland down by the waterfront. The redevelopment round here was a pain. Hadn't been quite the same since the gasworks were demolished. But it was the best place for the job in hand. This was where joyriders came to burn their rides. He veered off the road, onto scrub and hard dirt, the headlights picking out a straggle of stunted bushes.
    He selected his path, turned off the headlights. A few feet on the bumpy terrain and Jordan was jolted awake. Carlos listened to him moan, mutter something about bed.
    "We're here," Carlos said, and the kid snapped to it when he realised where they were and that his job wasn't finished yet.
    He stretched, shivered, and Carlos eased the van to a stop.
    Now? Jordan said.
    "Wait till Mum gets here."
    Carlos climbed out of the van, the darkness smacking him in the face.
    Jordan followed him. He yawned once. What do you think she'll say?
    Carlos couldn't see Jordan, just heard the voice coming from the other side of the van. Carlos stared at the lonely lights flickering in the distance, wondered what their game was, why they flickered. 
    Well? When Jordan spoke again, he was just a couple of feet to Carlos's left.
    Carlos's hand crept behind his back, fingered the Glock . He could see Jordan now, just, pale face above a shadowy outline. Carlos said, "Why do you care what she'll say?"
    Maybe I don't. Just wondering what you'll tell her.
    "I don't know," Carlos said. "What should I tell her? Why did you shoot Maggie?"
    Can I have one of your cigs?
    "Thought you didn't like smoke."
    Not in the van. Different outside.
    Carlos offered him the packet.
    Jordan slid a cigarette out, leaned in for a light.
    Carlos lit it, watched Jordan's face glow.
    That night , Jordan said, straightening up. My dad was dying. There was a sword and ... the fire...
    "I know," Carlos said. "Richie's dad took a match to the place, right?"
    That's what everybody thinks. Not true, though. It was my dad who set the place alight. He paused. Then he was run through with his own sword. And set on fire by the blaze he started himself.
    "Tough way to go."
    That's not how he went.
    "No?"
    I couldn't let him burn. He sucked on his cigarette, the end glowing. I shot him.
    Carlos didn't know what to say.
    He was in pain. Stabbed through the middle. On fire. I shot him. I stopped the pain.
    "Sounds like that was —"
    You know how I feel?
    "I don't —"
    No, you don't. Jordan's glowing cigarette butt arced to the ground, the