Gutted gd-2

by Tony Black

  … There’s nothing you could have done.’

  As I stood up two paramedics ran from the ambulance. One held a red medical case and the other a folded-up stretcher. I watched for a few moments as they worked around Tupac on the road. It didn’t take them long before they started to shake their heads.

  I felt like sand had been poured in my limbs. I was rigid, unmoving.

  A red blanket was placed over Tupac’s head. The paramedics placed him on the stretcher and lifted him up. He looked a surprisingly light load… not much to him under all those layers of clothes.

  ‘Stop,’ I said as the stretcher was carried away. I reached under and touched Tupac’s small hand. It was cold as stone. I’d only known him a few hours but that was long enough for him to have touched my soul.

  My Adam’s apple rose and fell involuntarily. Everything had happened so fast, I just couldn’t take it in. ‘Tupac, I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Chapter 27

  I spent four days near-comatose with drink.

  Whisky was bought by the crate.

  But nothing dimmed the memory of Tupac’s death. I just couldn’t shake the sight of him lying there in the road, a heap of nothing more than dirty old clothes and shattered bones in a pool of blood.

  I was responsible for the death of an innocent man. A man who had been bruised and battered by this life, in more ways than even I could imagine, had met his end as a result of me. And how he had gone. God, he didn’t deserve that.

  ‘Please, God, say it was all a dream and take me instead,’ I had ranted.

  Even now, semi-sober, I’d have swapped places with Tupac. Not to rid me of the guilt — I’d gladly keep that, I deserved it — but just to restore some sense of right to this fucked-up world that knows nothing but wrong.

  I settled into my bunk on the boat. Usual had been left behind with me when I’d refused company and become too aggressive to deal with, even for Mac. The dog kept smacking a squeaky hotdog toy off my leg. It was endearing for the first couple of seconds, then it got annoying. He sat with the toy, eyes on me, salivating down either side of the hot dog then, in a fit of activity, pounced and slapped me with it, saliva spraying all ways.

  ‘Christ, dog, can’t you give me peace?’

  Those eyes again.

  Guilt.

  ‘Okay, okay… c’mere.’

  I grabbed the toy, held it for a moment whilst Usual growled and clung on for dear life, I raised him off the ground but he still hung on by his chops to the toy.

  ‘You’re mad, animal… do you know that?’

  Our playtime was interrupted by my mobi ringing.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Gus, is that you?’

  I recognised the voice. ‘Mr Bacon.’

  ‘Hello, Gus.’

  Rasher did not make social telephone calls to me. A good job, because I was in no mood for small chat.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said.

  After feeding him the scoop of the year I had, admittedly, gone a bit quiet. ‘Look, I’m not really in a position to write up what I’ve got yet… Soon as I get some publishable conclusions, though, you’ll be the first to know.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, but we really need to talk, Gus.’

  I was intrigued. ‘We do?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  I played along. ‘All right, say when.’ Usual raised himself on his hinds, slapped the wet hotdog on my leg. It squeaked.

  ‘Well, what about later this evening? We have a function room booked for some training shite at the Salisbury — do you know it?’

  The Salisbury used to be called the Meteor back in its spit-and-sawdust day. Hod’s firm had been called in to tart it up, help them cut a slice of the city’s booming conference trade. ‘Yeah, I know the place.’

  ‘Great, can you make it about eight for eight-thirty?’

  ‘No problem.’

  I took Usual out for a walk around the docks. Caught sight of a few Ministry of Defence frigates but it was a sad scene all round. A far cry from the bustling days of old. Still, the dog seemed delighted. He wouldn’t be so delighted tomorrow, the time had come for him to go back to the vet and have those stitches removed.

  Back on the boat, I cracked the seal on a bottle of Grouse. The low-flying birdie hit the spot.

  I let the whisky dim my world view for a few hours until the clock on the wall told me it was time to go back out among the living. I perished the thought.

  I put out some dinner for Usual, made him sit, then dashed for the door while he was preoccupied.

  It was still light out but the warmth of the day had evaporated, replaced by a northern wind that set the hairs on the back of my hands twitching. The first cab I flagged wasn’t for stopping. The second was a bit keener.

  At the Salisbury I clocked Rasher’s old Daimler out front. I had my suspicions about this meeting, but I figured more than anything there might be some kind of information that would be of use. I’d been licking my wounds for long enough. There’d been two murders already — was I going to just let the tally go up?

  One of my suspicions was more of a fantasy, I admit it. The idea that Rasher was about to offer me my job back on the strength of one article was a fallacy, but I soaked it up anyway. What else did I have? The thought of being wanted was a feeling I hadn’t known for a while. One thing was for sure, I was gonna ride it to the end of the line.

  At the front desk, I asked where the newspaper’s function suite was. The receptionist scanned me with contempt. Her make-up was trowelled on worse than Amy Winehouse’s; she annoyed me just as much too. She opened the big book in front of her and huffed, ‘There is no function.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You said function… from the newspaper.’

  ‘Aye, Mr Bacon’s the editor. I saw his car out front.’

  Looks askance: ‘No. Nothing at all.’ Then the killer, eyes up and down, ‘And who might you be?’

  I was on the verge of walking, but somewhere in my mind the delusion of myself and Debs, happily connected, settled, me working back at the paper and my shit together, flashed before my eyes. I said, ‘Dury… Gus Dury.’

  A flicker behind those contemptuous beads. ‘Ah, I see. It’s you.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  A smirk. ‘Through the restaurant, first door on the left.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  There were some diners who looked up when I passed their tables, but mostly they kept to themselves. The older lot seemed to be the clientele the place was going for. Felt like wading through waves of grey.

  At the door, I decided against knocking, walked in.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  First to spot me was my mother, looking more frail than I’d seen her in years. I almost had to do a double-take. She shuffled over and held me by my arm. ‘Hello, Angus.’

  ‘Mam, what the hell is this?’

  Everyone was there: Hod, Mac, Debs, Rasher, my sister Catherine and my brother Michael; even some people I hadn’t seen for years, old friends of the family I could hardly put names to.

  ‘Mam, is everything okay? I was worried. I meant to visit you.. ’

  She hushed me, motioned to a chair that had been laid out in the middle of the room, a row of others emanating back from it. I was told to sit in the hot seat. The others followed. To a one they looked stern.

  I sat.

  Felt my pulse quicken.

  Rasher was the first to speak. Everyone sat watching, except for Mac, who told Rasher to stand.

  ‘Gus,’ Rasher said, ‘do you know why you’re here?’

  I shook my head, said, ‘Well, unless Michael Aspel’s about to appear with a big red book, I have to confess, I’m scoobied.’

  Rasher went on, ‘Gus, your friends and family have staged this little event as a wake-up call to try and-’

  Mac interrupted, ‘Gus, this is an intervention!’

  ‘A what?’ Had I heard right?

&n
bsp; Rasher waved Mac down. ‘Yes, well, that’s one way of putting it.. We’re here to make you aware of our concern for you, Gus.’

  Hang on — was I hearing this? Mr Bacon, concerned about me? I wasn’t buying it.

  ‘Whoa! Back up. Can you cut to the chase here? I’m not overly familiar with this concern you’re talking about.’

  Mac rose. ‘Gus, this is an alcoholic’s intervention… We’re here to shock you into taking some steps.’

  Now I got the picture. Alcoholic’s intervention. I’d heard nothing like it. The image I had stored in my head of Rasher presenting me with a contract, his fat hand poised, pen gripped over it as he asked me to sign, suddenly vanished. There would be no job offer, no new life. It was all dreams.

  I looked to Debs. She stared at the floor. I knew she’d been dragged along for this, I felt nothing but sympathy for her. How could anyone ask her to do this, after what I’d put her through? I felt massive rage — I wanted to fire it at someone.

  I stood up quickly, the chair went flying at my back.

  I heard my mother gasp. ‘Angus, please hear the man out.’

  ‘No, Mam, this is stupid.’

  ‘Now, Gus, I appreciate it must be a shock,’ said Rasher.

  ‘Shock! I’ll give you shock, you deceitful bastard.’

  Hod rose. ‘Gus, c’mon, man, give it a chance.’

  Mac followed him, put his oar in. ‘People have come a long way here, Gus. You have to give them their say.’

  I pointed a finger at him, but words failed me. I turned for the door.

  As I stormed through the restaurant I heard Debs’s voice call me, ‘Gus, Gus, wait up.’

  I didn’t stop.

  Grey heads bobbed up all over the place this time.

  In the car park Debs finally caught me, grabbed my jacket and spun me round. ‘I told them it was a daft idea.’

  ‘Oh, they listened to you.’

  She turned down the corners of her mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’

  It seemed strange hearing her say that; normally that was my line. I turned away, kept walking.

  ‘Gus, where are you going?’

  ‘Away from here.’

  She followed. ‘Then I’m coming too.’

  I turned, said, ‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘I could stop you.’

  ‘You could try.’ She smiled at me, stuck out her tongue.

  We laughed together.

  ‘And what use would that be?’

  We walked around for about an hour, settled down on an embankment like two teenagers, a bottle of Cherry Coke between us.

  ‘I didn’t think they still made this,’ I said.

  ‘They brought it back. Wispas too.’

  ‘Wispas were away?’

  ‘Och yeah, for years, Gus.’

  Where had I been? I’d wanted to talk to Debs for so long, about so many things, but none of it seemed to matter now. I was happier than I could ever remember being, just talking about utter nonsense.

  ‘Look, a star,’ said Debs.

  ‘I think it’s a satellite.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘No.’ Christ, was I sure about anything? ‘It doesn’t look like a star, though.’

  She passed over the bottle. ‘Do you remember when we used to do this down at the chute?’

  I laughed, wheezed. ‘Oh yeah. How could I forget that Merrydown? It was foul.’

  ‘Think kids today still hang about parks and drink Merrydown?’

  ‘I don’t think they make it any more.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll bring it back.’

  We laughed again, huge laughs. I fell back and lay on the grass. Debs joined me.

  ‘It’s getting dark,’ she said.

  ‘Late in the day, Debs.’

  She raised herself on an elbow. ‘You always manage to make an unrelated statement seem related to what we’re talking about.’

  ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘And you always deny it.’ She tweaked my nose.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. I’m a wise-ass… but it takes one to know one.’ As I stared at Debs I knew no one would ever know me as well as she did. She just understood me, inside out. No matter who I was with, nobody could match Debs for insight. It was just her, and her alone, who got me.

  ‘Look, now that’s a star,’ I said.

  ‘Wow, it’s bright.’

  ‘First of the night, too… Make a wish.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Will I tell you what I wished for?’

  ‘No, don’t — it might not happen then.’

  She was silent for a moment, then lay back down on the grass. ‘Gus — I wished something for you.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I sighed. ‘Thank you.’

  The darkness came fast now. A wind struck up, blew right along the embankment.

  ‘Och, that’s a cold breeze,’ said Debs.

  I sat up. ‘We should get inside.’

  ‘No, stay.’ She pulled me back down, moved closer, brought her hands up under her chin and sheltered beside me. ‘I like it here.’

  ‘Okay.’

  The moonlight shone on her hair. I wanted to put my arm around her, hold her close to me, but somehow I was held rigid. I was fifteen again and under the chute, and Debs hadn’t changed a bit. I knew inside neither of us ever would.

  Chapter 28

  A soppy old labrador was ready to trade teeth with a dachshund, right in the front room of the vet’s.

  ‘Harvey’s quite harmless really,’ said the owner, Morningside lady in twinset, tweed skirt, wellington boots. Could have done with some help restraining Harvey, I thought.

  I smiled, said, ‘Nerves, probably. Don’t like these visits myself.’

  The Lab growled, a deep noise from the pit of its chest.

  ‘He doesn’t like the vet… always sets him off,’ said Morningside. ‘I’ll maybe take him outside till he calms down a bit. Will you tell them to give me a shout?’

  I nodded, said, ‘Will do.’

  Harvey strained on the lead as he went, snarled. I gave him a little wave. The dachshund looked victorious.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’ asked the receptionist.

  ‘Well, no. I didn’t know I needed one.’ Was all too close to the real world for me. Appointments, dealing with professionals. I was more at home in less respectable establishments.

  ‘Well, we don’t normally take people without an appointment.’

  ‘Och, it’s just to take out the dog’s stitches… He was attacked, you see.’

  ‘Attacked!’ She lifted her gaze from the counter. ‘Oh, the poor love! We’re seeing so much of that kind of thing now.’

  I played up to her. ‘Like I say, there was an attack and they had to patch him up, poor little tyke.’

  ‘He seems okay; hasn’t done him any real harm. Some of the dogs we see that have been brutalised just go in on themselves.’

  I knew the territory. ‘He’s happy enough.’

  ‘If it’s just the stitches to come out, bring him through.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I think we can fit him in with Mr Andrews. Can you wait and I’ll see when he’s got a free mo?’

  Seemed Mr Andrews wasn’t busy. Managed to find a slot for us right away. I got up to follow him through. Usual was none too keen to see the vet, using his front paws as brakes as he was led into the surgery. First time I’d seen any form of disobedience in him.

  ‘C’mon, lad…’ I said. He thawed a bit. But still determined he was going nowhere. ‘I don’t know what’s got into him.’

  ‘It’s the animal instinct,’ said the vet. ‘You’ll never see a beast happy to traipse through to the surgery.’

  I lifted Usual up. Bit of a struggle.

  On the vet’s table I held the dog’s head, let the man do the business. The stitches came out without any drama. Usual seemed as relieved as me.

  ‘
Is he a rescue dog?’ The vet didn’t seem to know the story.

  ‘Well, yeah, kind of. I caught some little bastards- sorry, teenagers — using him as target practice.’

  He seemed unfazed, said, ‘All too common these days.’ A few wipes of antiseptic and Usual was good to go. ‘Right, that’s us. Don’t let him lick that off.’

  I nodded, said, ‘You hear that, boy? No licking off the medicine!’

  The vet filled out some details on the computer, punched a few keys. I got ready for the fright of the bill, then, ‘If that’s all then, Mr Crawford.’

  He’d lost me. ‘I’m sorry, no — Dury.’

  The vet took off his glasses, looked at the screen, then back to me, said, ‘Dury’s not the name we have here.’

  ‘I’m not following you. Who would give you another name?’

  ‘On the chip — this dog’s microchipped.’

  I walked round to the side of the screen. The dog struggled, didn’t want me to leave him. I put a hand on his head. ‘Just a minute, boy.’

  The vet pointed, said, ‘Look, Mark Crawford… That’s the name registered on the chip.’

  I scanned the details. There was an address too: Ann Street.

  The vet put his glasses back on, looked at me with squinted eyes.

  I bluffed. ‘Well, that’s fantastic. Means I can reunite the pair of them. Isn’t it brilliant? This has been a visit well worth making.. Thank you so much. Can I settle up now?’

  At the reception desk I collected a pack of Bonios and the biggest dog chew they had on offer, added them to the bill.

  ‘You look relieved to be out of there,’ said the receptionist.

  ‘Yes, I think he is.’

  ‘I was talking about you.’ She didn’t know how right she was.

  In the street I knelt down, grabbed Usual and ruffled his ears. ‘Who’s a good boy, then?… Eh, eh? Who’s a bloody good boy then?’

  I fed him a Bonio. He munched away blissfully.

  ‘Christ, boy, you might just have saved my bacon.’

  I took out my mobile.

  Ringing.

  ‘Yeah, Mac here…’

  ‘Who’s the man?’

  A huff.

  Sigh.

  ‘Mac, what were you saying about this case being a bogey…?’