The Horse With My Name

by Bateman

  ‘Doesn’t matter. As far as everyone’s concerned Dan the Man won. He proved he was the best. It was men who fucked it up, not him. I just didn’t want to give that shower of shite the satisfaction.’ She looked across the yard and her eyes fell on her father, his feet planted firmly against the base of the rear door of the transit opposite, resisting their best efforts to push him in, his mouth working furiously, but his pleas of innocence falling on deaf ears. Then his knees were chopped from below with a truncheon. They buckled immediately and he was bundled inside, still shouting.

  Oil Paintings and Dry Cleaner were pushed into the transit beside me, each of them cuffed and bleeding from nose and mouth. As Jimmy the Chicken was brought up he made a lunge for Mandy. She jumped back and he was whacked over the head and thrust past me on to the floor of the transit.

  Mandy rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘it’ll all be sorted out. You haven’t done anything wrong.’

  I sighed. ‘No it won’t. I’m wanted for murder all over the shop. Even if it’s thrown out of court, they’ll keep me in prison for months on remand. Jesus Christ, what a mess.’ I sighed again. She tried to look hopeful. I sighed for a third time and said, ‘Will you wait for me?’

  She looked away. Several of the police cars were already moving off.

  ‘Will you?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Dan. I’m going to be busy. I have a book to write.’

  They closed the doors before I could reply.

  Or spit.

  29

  ‘So you bought the Horse Whisperer for how much?’

  ‘A pound.’

  ‘Mouse. Why would you do a thing like that? What do you know about horses?’

  ‘Nothing. But I know about news, and that’s what it’s all about. Now that Geordie’s gone bust, all those libel actions and court orders have disappeared. All I need to do is tone down some of the more bizarre allegations, attract some advertising, and I’m on to a winner. The web’s the new way, Dan. I’m sick and tired of print.’

  ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this. After what happened to me.’

  ‘Dan, don’t be sore. The Horse Whisperer will be the making of me, don’t begrudge me that. I’ll be a dot-com millionaire.’

  ‘While I was running around getting my arse shot off, you were buying it from that old bitch. I can’t believe she did that to me either. If she hadn’t been burned to death, I’d fucking set fire to her.’

  ‘Settle, petal.’

  I sighed. I took another drink of Diet Pepsi. ‘You actually led Jimmy the Chicken and those Chinese bastards to us, you know that, don’t you?’

  Mouse shrugged helplessly. ‘It was running on autopilot. I owned it, but I hadn’t started editing. Everything went in, right or wrong.’ He smiled. ‘Still, all’s well that ends well.’

  ‘That’s right, Mouse. Mandy is at number three in the fucking bestsellers with her book. And where am I?’

  Mouse looked at the table, he dabbed the tips of his fingers in several drops of Diet Pepsi. ‘You’ve never had much luck on the book front, Dan, have you?’

  ‘I’ve never had much luck on any front, Mouse.’

  It was six months down the line. Mandy had written her book in the time it had taken me to compose the first paragraph of the Great Irish Novel. I was still casting around for the second.

  We were sitting at an outside table of a café in Botanic Avenue. There was a Chinese restaurant opposite us. I kept a watchful eye on it, just in case. It was the kind of nice sunny day that Belfast sees about once a year. Men wore T-shirts and women short skirts. I had on my black jeans and jacket and shades and my very dark mood hung over me like a cloak.

  Mouse sat back and sighed. ‘Things were motoring along quite nicely until that first upset with Trish. It’s all been downhill from there.’

  ‘That was seven years ago.’

  ‘Well you know what they say about bad luck.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ahm. Not sure. But things will change.’

  ‘Can you promise me that?’

  ‘No. But they have to. They can’t get any worse, can they?’

  Mouse stood, buttoning himself into his coat. He had to get back to the office. His new office. His was a twenty-four-hour-a-day horse news operation, and he’d already offered me a job. When I’d finished laughing, I’d said no. He put out his hand and we shook awkwardly.

  ‘Do you ever hear from her?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s off on some fucking book tour. She sends the occasional postcard, but no royalty cheques.’

  ‘No, I mean Patricia.’

  I shook my head. ‘As one door closes, another slams shut in my face. Life’s a barrel of fucking laughs.’

  Mouse turned to go. Then he stopped, turned. ‘Dan – one thing.’

  ‘Yeah. I love you too.’

  ‘No, I mean yeah, but one other thing. Who did kill Mark Corkery?’

  I smiled at Mouse. ‘No one. I think the car just fell on him.’