by Unknown
‘Where have you been?’ she asked. ‘You know I needed to get off. I wanted back home before Emmerdale starts.’
‘You’ve got Sky plus haven’t you, Mam? Why don’t you put your favourite programmes on planner?’
‘Y’know I don’t understand all that new fangled stuff.’
Richmond had heard the same complaint dozens of times. He’d also explained how to do a series link and to record and then play back all her favourites dozens of times. But his mother never paid attention to him. ‘Waste of money having it. Don’t know why you didn’t just stick to Freeview.’
‘It was your father who wanted all that diggie stuff. For the sport. I never watch it. Just me soaps.’
Richmond’s father had died sixteen months ago.
‘So get it cancelled.’
‘Can’t be bothered faffing about with it.’ His mother took a drag on her cigarette, screwing her mouth around the butt. She hadn’t enjoyed smoking for years, but just like her reticence to any change she stuck with the habit rather than chucking it in.
‘I was going to ask you if you could look after Mikey for another couple hours, Mam.’
She rolled her eyes at the boy. ‘Didn’t I tell you, Mikey,’ she said to the boy. ‘Looks like your mother thinks more of having a good time than she does coming home before your bedtime. That mother of yours needs to get her priorities in order, I’m telling you.’’
‘Mam!’ Richmond scolded.
‘Aah, he doesn’t know what I’m saying,’ she said with a stab of her cigarette towards the wheelchair bound boy.
‘Mam. He has cerebral palsy. He’s not stupid, you know? He understands everything he hears.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Misses nothing the little so and so.’
Exactly, Richmond thought, which is exactly why you shouldn’t be calling his mum near him. He shook his head in defeat. There was no speaking to her.
‘I can put Emmerdale on for you here,’ Richmond said, understanding that his mother was as insensitive to Mikey’s condition as Iain McCoubrey. ‘I’ll get you a taxi home after I get back. Get you a Chinese for supper.’
‘When did you become Mr Money Bags?’
‘I’ve got a couple of hours work. Pay’s good. I’ll see you right, Mam. Just keep an eye on Mikey til me and Trisha get back, OK?’
‘Put the telly on for me before you go.’
‘Thanks, Mam.’ Richmond would have kissed her, but knowing her she’d shy away, maybe even push him aside. Instead he transferred his show of affection to Mikey, ruffling the little lad’s hair. Mikey gurgled happily, offered Richmond some of his chocolate. It was slimy and hung in drools between his fingers and mouth.
Richmond refused a bite of the Mars Bar diplomatically. He patted his stomach and leaned in conspiratorially. ‘No thanks, Mikey; I’m watching my weight. Don’t want to be a fatty like your grandma.’
Mikey beamed in delight.
‘I heard that,’ Richmond’s mother said.
‘Y’know I love you really, Mam.’
‘Get out of it.’ She swatted at his forearm, but he was sure he noticed a slight tweak of the corner of her mouth. He wanted to hug her, say goodbye properly, because what he had in mind had no guarantees for a safe return.
He went through into the lounge and turned on the TV set. ‘There you go. I’ve put it on ITV so you can watch Emmerdale. Corrie’s on right after it. Just hit that button twice and you’ll catch the beginning of Eastenders on the Beeb.’
While he demonstrated his mother walked away. She came back into the lounge pushing Mikey in his chair. Richmond shook his head softly. Then said goodbye. He ruffled the boy’s hair again as he passed. On the way out, he went to a closet near the front door. Richmond wasn’t much of a handyman, and was loath to do DIY tasks around the house. His toolbox consisted of a hammer, a Philips screwdriver, and a tin containing various rusty nails, screws and other odds and bobs that might come in handy one day. He left the tin behind but bundled up the hammer and screwdriver in a carrier bag.
When he came out of the cupboard his mother was watching him from along the hall.
‘What kind of work you got on, Alan?’ She was suspicious and rightly so. The tools amounted to a housebreaking kit and little else. ‘Hope it’s not what I think it is.’
‘Mam, you know me better than that. Never burgled anywhere in my life.’
‘You were brought up to be better than the other scrotes round this town,’ his mother said. He smiled at her use of the scrote word. Something she’d learned from watching TV no doubt, with no idea what she was talking about. ‘Don’t start acting like them other deadbeats now. That lad in there might not be yours, but he’s as good as. He needs you as much as his mother does. So whatever it is you’re up to…don’t get caught.’
Richmond blinked in surprise. She knew that Trisha owed Tonner money, and that Richmond had been at his bar to try to come to some arrangement. Well, obviously she’d sussed that the criminal hadn’t agreed to him doing a little carpentry work for him in order to clear her slate. ‘I won’t,’ he finally said.
‘Pity your dad died,’ she added. ‘Tonner McCoubrey knew to keep a civil mouth around your father.’
‘Like father like son,’ Richmond said, wishing he were as confident as he made out.
He didn’t look back. He closed the door behind him and walked back the way he’d came earlier. This time his eyes weren’t red and his snotty nose had cleared up. He didn’t walk with his head down either, and he decided against sparking up a fag. Better that he kept a clear head and clear lungs for what was coming.
As evening descended, the cops were out, prowling around in their squad cars looking out for likely lads. If they pulled him they might try and do him on a ‘going equipped’ charge. Burgling some spot was the least of it, though. If they knew exactly what he had in mind there would be some cops who’d silently applaud him, but it wouldn’t stop them putting him away for years if he was caught. Rather than hide the tools, he carried the bag by the handles, all-innocent like. The cops ignored him, as he hoped they would, and concentrated on the skinny-faced druggies skulking around in the shadows.
He made it back to The West Inn, Tonner’s pub, without any hassle. He stood outside, on the opposite side of the street while he mentally geared up for what he had in mind. Earlier he’d thought a clear head was a good idea, but now that it came to it he understood a good old dose of red mist wouldn’t go amiss. He took out his packet of cigarettes and thumbed a fag to his lips. He sparked up and drew on it. Could be his last cigarette ever so he may as well enjoy it.
As he savoured the smoke he watched the public house. In this day and age it wasn’t unusual to see a small crowd gathered outside a pub. Since the smoking ban the front doors had become the gathering place of people who needed an extra hit of nicotine on top of the beer they were swilling down. But no one stood outside Tonner’s pub. He made his own rules, and fuck legislation. Richmond knew that people still lit up inside, or used the old smoking lounge that was a feature of most pubs back in the days of workingmen. While he watched only one customer came out, and that was only to make a telephone call without having to shout over the top of Country and Western music. Even separated from its source by the pub’s walls and the breadth of the street he could hear Johnny Cash growling about his ring of fire.
Richmond waited until the phone guy had gone back inside. He threw down the stub of his cigarette and ground it out under his heel. He felt a bit like Clint Eastwood or John Wayne, about to walk into a Wild West saloon and save the girl from the nefarious cattle baron and his gunmen. Only he didn’t have a pair of shiny six-guns to do his talking for him. He took the hammer and screwdriver from his carrier bag, rolled the bag up and stuffed it in his pocket. He clenched a tool in each hand, took a practice swing of the hammer. Then he slid the handle of each into his sleeves and hid the business ends of the tools in his cupped palms. No sense in advertising his intention before he was more th
an a few feet inside the barroom.
He took a few short breaths, felt his pulse rate rise accordingly. Then he swore a couple times to get motivated. He was shitting himself if he’d to be honest, but he was past the turning back stage. Trisha was relying on him. Mikey was relying on him. Tonner and his sons weren’t going to ruin their lives.
He pushed his way inside the pub.
The loud music continued unabated, but everyone in the place turned to face him. It was as if they were fine-tuned to the aggression he tried to contain. He didn’t immediately see any of the McCoubrey’s. But there was Trisha behind the bar, mid-way through pulling a pint for a wizened old man perched at the bar. Trisha was surprised to see him, and her mouth fell open in question.
‘Trisha. You’re coming with me,’ Richmond said. He was slightly pissed that his voice was an octave higher than usual.
‘What’s wrong?’ Fear flashed through Trisha and she almost lost her grip on the glass she was filling. ‘Is something wrong with Mikey?’
Christ! He hadn’t thought about how his sudden appearance would look to Trisha. She wasn’t party to the discussion he’d had with Tonner, and it was obvious her first fear would be for her son.
‘Mikey’s OK, but you have to come with me now!’
A murmur of dissent went through the patrons in the bar. Someone, a skinny lad that Richmond didn’t recognise, sloped off through the side door, obviously going to tell the McCoubrey’s that trouble was brewing.
Trisha handed the pint of beer to the old lad and came out from behind the bar. She was a good looking lass was Trisha Jones, and it didn’t surprise Richmond that Tonner would choose to take payment in kind from her. The bastard! Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Trisha was his and Richmond would fight to the death for her.
‘Get your coat and handbag,’ Richmond said.
‘Leave the lass alone,’ someone said, misconstruing Richmond’s command.
‘What’s wrong?’ Trisha asked again.
‘We’re out of here,’ Richmond told her. ‘And you won’t be coming back. Not ever.’
‘I need this job,’ she said.
‘No. We’ll get by another way. You’re not working for the McCoubrey’s any longer.’
Suddenly the skinny lad was back, and right behind him a stockier figure with flat eyes. Iain McCoubrey.
‘What you doing back so soon?’ he asked. ‘You had until tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Well I’m back now,’ Richmond told him, ‘and I’m not giving your dad anything. I’m taking my girlfriend. Go outside and wait for me, Trish.’
‘But my bag and coat…’
‘Forget about them.’ There was nothing in her bag that she couldn’t replace, and he’d been promising her a new coat for long enough.
‘Alan?’ she queried.
‘Just go!’
From his left sleeve he allowed the screwdriver handle to slip into his palm.
A tremor of aggression went through the punters in the barroom. But none stood to confront him. None but Iain McCoubrey. He pressed the skinny lad aside and stepped into the space before Richmond.
‘What’s that for?’ he asked with a nonchalant nod towards the screwdriver.
‘It’s for you or anyone else who tries to stop me taking Trisha home.’
Iain grunted out a laugh. ‘You think that’s going to stop me?’
‘No,’ Richmond said, and tossed the screwdriver at him. Iain caught the tool by instinct. ‘It’s for you. Don’t want anyone saying I took advantage of an unarmed man.’
Iain’s reaction was instinctive. He looked down at the worn screwdriver in his hand. By the time he glanced up again, a cold smile edging up his lips, Richmond was moving. He lunged like a fencer, at the same time whipping round his right arm in a short arc. At the last second he allowed the hammer to slip free and the solid nob of steel found Iain’s left knee. The sharp crack of metal on bone was loud enough to be heard over Johnny Cash.
Iain McCoubrey was hard. But he won most of his battles by getting in with the first couple of strikes. A headbutt followed up by a smashing right around the earhole. With his left knee buckling under him he could deliver neither. In fact, his reaction to the sudden blinding pain was to cry out, drop the screwdriver and clutch at his damaged kneecap. Richmond knew if he allowed the big guy even a second to compose himself then even armed with a hammer he was fucked. He swung it up over his shoulder and brought it down hard on Iain’s right collarbone.
Enough was enough for Iain.
He fell to the floor howling in pain. Suddenly he didn’t look such a tough guy any more, not crying out and holding out a hand to ward off any further blows from the hammer.
‘Who’s the fucking cripple now?’ Richmond snapped at him.
The barroom erupted into movement. People trying to flee from Richmond in case he decided to take his hammering skills to their bodies. They were shouting and calling out in panic as they tried to exit the bar. Thankfully Trisha was carried out on the surge of bodies fleeing the scene. Richmond caught one disconcerted glance from her before she was pushed outside. He was happy to see her safely out of harm’s way, but knew that he was going to have some explaining to do afterwards. For all she knew her boyfriend had lost it.
Davey McCoubrey was suddenly in the room. He stood off a few feet, looking from Iain to Richmond and then back to Iain again.
‘Do you fucking want some too?’ Richmond shouted, waving the hammer in the air.
Davey showed that the better part of valour was retreat. He ran into the corridor towards the private quarters shouting out for his father.
The best idea was to get the hell out while he had the chance. But Richmond knew that things couldn’t finish there. He had to take the initiative, otherwise the McCoubreys would come for him and they wouldn’t stop at smashing his knee and collarbone. They’d do the job right. So must he. He had to show the McCoubrey family that he was not someone to ever seek out again. He ran after Davey.
Davey tried to slam a door in his face, but Richmond was determined now. He thrust his shoulder into the door and almost took it off its hinges and Davey off his feet. As the thuggish son staggered away from the door, calling out to his kin for help, Richmond followed him into the room.
There was four of the McCoubrey clan in the room. Davey, his father, and two of the cousins. The cousins were no concern to Richmond, he could see they were indecisive about their blood ties and wished only to flee the room, but only their fear of the old man, Tonner, held them there.
Tonner was sitting at the same table as before. A china teapot and cup and saucer sat before him. His only reaction to Richmond’s sudden appearance was to scowl down at his cup of tea.
Davey backpedalled away from Richmond, his words coming out in a rat-a-tat fashion as he explained to the old man about Richmond’s assault and battery of Iain.
Tonner exhaled slowly.
‘You’re making a habit of disturbing me from having my cuppa,’ he said.
‘To hell with you and your fucking cup of tea!’ Richmond pointed the hammer at each of the cousins in turn. ‘You two. If you know what’s good for you get the fuck out of here now.’
Tonner actually nodded at his nephews. ‘Go on. Sounds like the man wants to talk business.’
Thankful of the reprieve the two cousins almost fell over themselves in their haste to leave the room. Davey stood his ground though, now that he was the only one between Richmond and his father. His fingers made fists, but flexed open again when the hammer was aimed at him.
‘Take it easy, Alan,’ Davey said. ‘Just take it easy, OK?’
‘Do you want me to smash you to bits as well?’ Richmond growled.
‘There’ll be no more smashing of anyone,’ Tonner said.
‘Try me and we’ll see,’ Richmond warned.
‘You’ve proved your point,’ Tonner said, ‘let things go at that.’
‘I don’t take too kindly to people threatening to rape my girlfrie
nd.’
‘Rape?’ Tonner laughed. ‘I’m sixty-eight years old. Even with a handful of Viagra I’d be no good to anyone. That was all talk, Richmond. To get you motivated like.’
‘Motivated? You thought perhaps I’d go and rob a bank or something to pay you back?’
‘I expected you to take some kind of action that’d make an impact. But not this. I hope you didn’t hurt my boy too much.’
‘Iain will heal. Not sure he’ll ever be the same again, not now people know he isn’t as hard as he made out.’
‘None of us are ever as hard as we make out.’
Richmond settled the hammer in his fist: proof of Tonner’s statement. But he added. ‘My father was.’
‘Aye. That he was. Good pal of mine too.’
‘He was never your pal,’ Richmond said.
‘Oh, on the contrary. We were the best of pals.’
‘You were frightened of him, you mean. Couldn’t wait for him to die so you could step into his shoes.’
Tonner nodded. ‘He was a scary bastard. Seems you have inherited his ways, Alan.’
‘Aye.’ Richmond stalked forward, brushed Davey aside and stood over the old man. ‘I’ve tried my hardest not to be like my father, but here we are.’
‘Glad I helped bring you out of your shell, son. Now it’s all yours.’
‘What do you mean?’
Tonner held out his palms.
‘This place.’
Richmond squinted at him. ‘What you goin’ on about?’
‘The West. The pub your father owned and that I’ve been holding for him til you came of age and proved your mettle.’
‘My father owned this place?’ Richmond was dumbfounded.
‘Not just the pub, the entire business. Everything. It’s yours for the taking, Alan. I promised your dad on his deathbed that I’d make sure it came back to you when the time was right. Well…you just proved yourself the type of man we need at the head of the firm.’
‘This was what? A fucking test?’
‘You’d been a little reticent to prove your true colours, Alan. You were beginning to look a little soft. I had to set you a task that’d bring the steel out of you. After what you did out there, I just bet there’s nobody who doubts you now. Every one of those little shites that did a runner will be bigging you up to everyone they meet. You’ll be the big man around town, just as your father and I always planned.’
