Booze and Burn

by Charlie Williams

  ‘I called you names?’

  ‘Get in the fuckin’ car,’ shouts Nobby.

  ‘Hang on a sec, Nob,’ says Cosh, tonguing his harelip. ‘You called us nonces, Blake. That ain’t a nice thing.’

  ‘Call us names again an’ I’ll cut yer arse off.’ Nobby were looking well lairy. Red hair were glowing like a gas fire and his freckles was up. If he put on a green shirt he’d get work as a traffic light. ‘Get in the fuckin—’

  ‘You fuckin’ shit in my hall,’ I says. I were a bit upset now, and rightly so. ‘You shouldn’t shit in fellers’ halls.’

  They looked at each other again, not smirking now. I reached for me pocket and didn’t hang about this time. I pulled the wrench out and went for Nobby, who were closest to us. I knew it were touch-and-go but I could smell that shite now and it just weren’t on. I brung the wrench sideways at Nobby’s face. He ducked and lost his footing. Cosh were still a couple of yard off so I pulled me leg back ready to give Nobby some shoe. Sometimes you got to show folks what they can and can’t get away with, and this were one o’ them times. Nobby curled into a ball as my boot closed in on his face. But it never got there.

  I went down instead.

  Some things is hard for a feller to take. Especially a man o’ reputation like meself. I don’t mind coming clean that certain folks has got the better of us at times. And it’s the Muntons I’m referring to there. But they ran Mangel at one time and there ain’t no shame losing ground to such as them. Nobby and Cosh never ran Mangel. Nobby and Cosh was scum. Always had been, always would be. You shouldn’t go down to scum. You just fucking shouldn’t. So that were one of the hard things I had to take.

  The other were nigh on too painful to mention. But mention it I will:

  I were sat in the back of that 1.3 Capri.

  Mind you, I were glad it were such a late hour. No one were on the streets so no one clocked us slumped in the back with scum up front and scum at me side. Scum was under the bonnet and all, and that’s why it took us so long to reach Hoppers.

  Cosh parked out back and got out. Nobby didn’t budge. He hadn’t budged the whole way in, just sat there with his beadies on us and his blade pointing at me right thigh. He hadn’t spoke and nor had Cosh. So it had been a pleasant little trip, all in all. Especially with the blood dripping down the side of me swede. Cosh opened the shotgun door and shoved the seat aside.

  ‘Shift,’ he says.

  I didn’t shift straight off. You shouldn’t, with scum the like of them. It were bad enough being carted hither and thither by em, and I weren’t about to make it worser by being their dog. I gave him a nasty look, letting him know I’d have him later for lobbing that cosh at us back there. He might be handy with hardware, but I’d seen off harder’n him with me bare fingers. And if you don’t believe us, go ask anyone. Nobby pressed the knife in me leg.

  The denim held for a sec, then gave. You could have woke a graveyard with the holler it wrenched out of us. But no one came, dead or otherwise. I stopped bellowing and got out.

  ‘Woss the matter?’ says Cosh, clocking us from head to leg. I were losing sap from both places and not happy about it. ‘Can’t stand sight o’ blood or summat?’

  ‘We can’t stand sight o’ you.’ It were Nobby, out of the motor now and flashing us the blade again. ‘So go on—move.’ He kicked us in the leg where he’d just stuck us. Didn’t hurt so bad as you’d think, mind. It were all getting a bit numb there. I started walking.

  We got round front and Nobby unlocked the door. Looking at the key he were using, I reckoned the locks had been changed. I went in first. I weren’t waiting on being told this time. I didn’t want no more aggro from them two until I were ready to dole some back, which I would do by and by and don’t you worry. If I’d been brung here to answer for Frankie getting sliced, I didn’t have much chance of getting out again, unless it were in the boot of a motor. So aye, I had aggro in mind. Only question were when to get started on it.

  It were dark inside so I turned some lights on sharpish. I don’t mind a scrap but not if I can’t see who I’m scrapping with.

  ‘Ah, all right, lads,’ comes a voice from across the way.

  Nick Wossname were sat all on his tod at one of them tables along the back wall, feet up on the table, arms behind swede, smiling and looking like he’d just woke up. Perched on his face were a pair of sunglasses, which were a bit odd considering he’d been sat in the dark. There were a glass of summat or other on the table but it didn’t look to have been touched. Next to that were a glass bowl with some little white round things in it. Next to that were a pistol, long and pointy like in a cowboy film.

  My heart went thump at that. Why’d these outsiders always have to bring in guns? Why can’t they go about their business the proper way like the rest of us, with knives and clubs and that? I’d had dealings with guns before, and let me tell you—they don’t leave much room for bargaining. I knew I could handle Nobby and Cosh, but how were I meant to get past a bullet?

  ‘What the fuck did you do?’ says Nick. He weren’t smiling now. He started to stand up.

  I were trying to think. It were hard to think with that gun there and them two nonces behind us.

  ‘Well?’ he says. He hadn’t picked up the pistol but he hadn’t moved away from it neither. ‘Come on, spill.’

  I opened me trap to say summat.

  But Cosh got there first.

  ‘Had a go at Nob, didn’t he?’

  ‘Aye,’ says Nob. ‘Came at us with a big spanner or summat.’

  ‘Monkey wrench.’

  ‘Aye, monkey wrench. Lethal, them is.’

  Me eyes and ears was going from feller to feller. My head were going from confused to confuseder.

  ‘We telled him you wanted to see him but he wanted to fight, didn’t he?’ Cosh says.

  ‘An’ I ain’t gonna stand still an’ let him hit us with a lethal spanner, is I?’

  ‘So I coshed him.’

  Nick took his shades off and clocked us. h="ake? What have you got to say about it?’

  I shrugged and looked at the floor.

  ‘All right,’ he says. ‘All right. You two—beat it.’

  They looked at each other. ‘But, boss…’ says Nobby.

  ‘Go on, piss off.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Go.’

  They shuffled out and shut the door behind em. That left meself and Nick Wossname, him with his pistol and us without a fucking clue what were going on here. I knew I were doing all right, mind, else he wouldn’t have told them two to piss off out of it.

  ‘Drink?’ he says.

  He went behind the bar, leaving his gun all long and pointy on the table. That settled it for us—no way would he leave his hardware unattended if he wanted to do us for topping Frankenstein.

  Unless it were a trick, course. What if that one on the table weren’t loaded, and the one with bullets were in his pocket or behind the bar or summat? See, I’m clever. I thinks of these things. That’s how I’m here now telling you all this, and not full of worms under Hurk Wood. But you knows I’m clever already. You couldn’t hardly sit there listening to us for more than a minute or so without knowing it, could you?

  Being one step ahead of the game, I were able to relax a bit, so I sat on a stool. ‘Lager,’ I says.

  He pulled a pint and put it in front of us. There were more head than lager so you could tell he hadn’t ever been behind a bar before. ‘Smoke?’ he says as I watched the froth go down.

  ‘Aye, all right.’ I took one from his pack and lit it, then lit his for him. All very civilised, ennit? Two pillars of the Mangel community having a quiet lock-in after a hard day’s summat or other. Except he had a gun in his pocket and I were looking to grab him and knack his swede on the bartop, soon as he come close enough.

  ‘That looks nasty,’ he says, clocking the side of my head. He got some paper towels and put em under the tap for a bit, then gave us em.

  I held em to the cosh
wound. I wished I hadn’t when cold water started dripping down me collar and making us shiver. But the damage were done now so I left it there.

  ‘What about your leg?’ he says, peering over the bartop.

  ‘Aye, well…’ I moved me leg out where we could both have a gander at it. I’d taken a few knocks, and it were nice that someone had noticed for a change.

  ‘You’d better take your trousers off and let me take a look,’ he says.

  I pulled me leg in sharpish. ‘Fuck off,’ I says. ‘Woss you on about?’

  ‘Hey, chill,’ he says, stepping back and putting his hands up. ‘Keep them on if that’s what you want. No skin off my nose.’

  I narrowed me eyes and looked at him, wondering if he were an arse bandit or no. He’d been shagging young Mona, but he had long hair so ther were no telling. Either way, I weren’t so relaxed now. ‘Right, I got me half-pint and I got me fag. You got summat to say to us, say it,’ I says. Cos there’s only so much fucking about you can do.

  ‘All right,’ he says leaning on the pop fridge, well out of my reach. ‘I dunno if you’ve heard,’ he says, ‘but something happened here tonight.’

  ‘Oh aye?’ I says, laying it on.

  ‘Yeah. Someone got killed.’

  ‘Killed, eh?’

  ‘Yeah. Murdered.’

  I took my hand away from me swede. Not much blood coming out now so I put the soggy mess down. I picked up me glass and drained it. ‘Murdered?’ I says. ‘Well, fuck me.’

  ‘You haven’t heard?’

  ‘Should I of?’

  ‘I dunno. Should you have?’

  ‘Fuck sake…’

  ‘All right. Look, I might as well tell you that people are saying it’s you. There was a whole posse of them gathered out front after it happened, saying how you stabbed him because he took your job.’

  ‘Fuckin’ lyin’ bastards,’ I blares, slamming me empty down on the bartop and smashing it. ‘Always gangin’ up on us, they is.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘Them cunts,’ I says, nodding back at the door.

  ‘Which cunts?’

  ‘You know, cunts in general. Folk. Every fucker in Mangel.’

  ‘Come on, man, you know what rumours are like. They’ll be saying something different by now anyway.’

  ‘Who will?’

  ‘These cunts you’re fed up with.’

  ‘They fuckin’ will not, you know. I’ve had it before, mate. Next thing you knows, your face is in the paper with KILLER next to it.’

  ‘I heard about that.’

  ‘About what? Woss you heared?’

  ‘That stuff a couple of years back. The Muntons, wasn’t it?’

  I looked at him, not sure what to make of it all. It’s one thing Mangel folk knowing your business, but the thought of an outsider asking questions about us got me wick up summat chronic. Mind you, there were summat different about this one here. He weren’t your typical outsider, you might say. But I couldn’t tell you just how.

  ‘Look, I might as well tell you—I know you didn’t kill Dean. I don’t know about that old stuff and it’s not my business anyway, but I know you didn’t do this one. You wouldn’t kill a bloke in cold blood for a little thing like that. And I’ve told the police as much.’

  I were scratching my head. ‘Who the fuck’s Dean?’

  ‘De…Fucking hell, Blake, keep up. Dean was my doorman. It’s Dean who got ki—’

  ‘Woss you gone an’ telled the coppers?’

  ‘Blake, chill. I told the coppers you didn’t do it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What d’you mean “why”? It’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye, but how’d you know I never killed him? I mean, you dunno us from Larry, right?’

  He didn’t answer. I watched him chewing his lip and closing his eyes. Luckily for him I were no longer looking to smash his face on the bartop. He’d got the coppers off us, and that were the main thing. But there weren’t half summat odd about him.

  After a bit I got bored of wondering about him and pulled meself another pint, using a dead glass from up the way. It were nice to sit down and refuel meself for a change, and I could feel the sap seeping back into me limbs. I sank that one and got another. I had a powerful thirst on and I hadn’t even skimmed the surface of it. I sank me current one and got another.

  ‘Truth is, Blake, I need your help,’ he says. I’d forgot all about him for a minute there and to be honest I’d quite enjoyed the break.

  ‘Oh aye.’ I rounded off the dregs and pulled meself another.

  ‘You know I do. I already asked you. In a way.’

  ‘You what? When?’

  ‘Yesterday. Remember? Asked you to do some minding for me. You said you’d sleep on it.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yeah, you did. You all right, Blake?’

  ‘All right? Aye…just a bit…’ I knew the word I meant but I couldn’t find it. Dis…summat. You knows the one—where you don’t know north and south from your belly button, and you’re dizzy like you just spent half hour in a tumble dryer. ‘Dis…disornamentated,’ I says.

  Nick looked at us funny, nodding. Some folks is clever and some ain’t. If he didn’t understand long words, that were his fucking problem. I weren’t bringing meself down for him nor no other bastard.

  ‘Maybe you should slow up on the beer there, man.’

  It were my turn to look at him funny now. ‘Woss you on about?’ I says, pulling meself another. Cos I’d only had a couple.

  He knew he were on shaky ground so he changed the subject. ‘Thing is, Blake, I need you to start now. I need you to do a little job right now.’

  I looked at me watch.

  ‘I know it’s late and you’re tired and beat up. Believe me, Blake—I never meant for you to get hurt tonight. All I did was ask Cosh and Nobby to go and get you. I thought you lot all knew each other.’

  ‘I does know em. I knows they’m cunts.’

  ‘Well, I idn’t know.’

  ‘No, you fuckin’ don’t know, does you?’

  ‘You got a problem with me, Blake?’

  He were fair to say that. I didn’t particularly like the bastard, but I had to watch me tongue about it. He wanted us as his minder still, so I couldn’t fuck him about too much yet. I had to get meself established before I started doing that. I shrugged and says: ‘No.’

  ‘I hope not, Blake. I’m your friend. You know we were talking about trust just now? There’s two people I trust in the whole world. One of them’s myself. If you can’t trust yourself, you won’t last long. Especially doing what I do.’

  I nodded. My own experience of running Hoppers had been same—if you can’t trust yourself to lay off the lager, you’ll have none left for the punters. And then where’d you be?

  ‘The other person I trust,’ he says, ‘is you.’

  I were midway through pulling meself another when he says that. There’s none who can pull a better pint than meself. Not even Rache. But suddenly the fucker were brimming over with froth and only an inch or so of drinkable at the bottom.

  I mean, I knew the legend of Royston Blake had spread far and wide. And I ain’t just talking about Mangel here. When you’re a legend like I am, Mangel ain’t big enough for you, even if you can’t get out of it. So bits of you pops out the seams, and folks as far-flung as Barkettle and Tuber gets to hear about what a top doorman you is, and how you came out on top the one time though the whole town were gagging for your blood. So it stands to reason folks from the like of East Bloater knows how handy you is. But big city fellers like Nick Wossname here?

  Fucking hell, eh.

  ‘Blake? Are you OK?’

  I tipped the froth out and pulled a proper one. It ain’t every day a feller finds out he’s world famous. I celebrated by downing it in one.

  ‘Blake, please, please stop drinking now. I told you I got a job for you.’

  ‘Oh aye, woss that then?’ Them last two words there was part of a
big old belch who wanted out sharpish and went on another five or so seconds. ‘You wants a job done, there ain’t no fucker more suited to the…you know, if you’re…’ I were feeling a bit light-headed of a sudden. Bad pint, like as not.

  Anyhow, I sat tight and listened while he told us what he wanted doing and why he wanted it done. Seemed fair play all in all, so I says: ‘Right you is, boss,’ and belched again. Nick went for a piss out back so I had another couple of pints, for health’s sake. I took one over to the table he’d been sat at. Like I says, I don’t approve of guns, but you got to admit—they’re nice, ain’t they? All shiny and hard and heavy as fuck. I picked her up and pointed her round the place, lining up the optics behind the bar and pretending they was coppers. When I’d had enough of that I put her down and had a look at the little bowl of sweets beside em. I picked one up held him to the light. Summat familiar about em, there were. But younguns spends their days scoffing sweets so I’d like as not had these many a year ago.

  I heard the bog flushing out back so I popped the sweet in me gob and fucked off, swiping a bottle of whiskey on me way out.

  14

  LOOKING FOR JOEY: PART TWO

  Steve Dowie, Crime Editor

  ‘Well?’ I say to my landlady as she tries to squeeze past me in the hall. ‘How do I look?’

  She grimaces and makes for the nearest escape route, as usual. But I do not need her approval. I only have to glance into the mirror to see that I look like a teenager.

  No, this is not a premature midlife crisis. Nor is it fancy dress. I am going undercover. If “Steve Dowie, crime editor” cannot gain admittance to Hoppers, maybe “Steve Dowie, anonymous teenager” can?

  It is 6:30 p.m.—that twilit time after the workers have gone home, before the drinkers have come out in force. But already Friar Street is humming with the energy coming from Hoppers. I fall in behind some youths—three boys, two girls—and take my chance. The youngsters are walking unsteadily, as if their feet barely touch the pavement. The effect of Joey perhaps? Whatever, I must do as they do.

  The brutish doorman nods and lets them into the dark enclave beyond. My pulse quickens as I follow them over the threshold, praying my stagger convinces. ‘Oi, you,’ the doorman grunts. A huge hand covers my chest, holding me back.