Driving Big Davie (Dan Starkey)

by Colin Bateman

  It started with shouting and pointing. With heads appearing at windows and figures at doors.

  Then came the abuse and stone-throwing.

  We kept moving, ducking down and dancing this way and that to avoid injury. It was like running down the Falls Road in a Union Jack suit. A lump of asphalt whacked into my back and I stumbled. Davie kept me up.'Come on, Dan!' he shouted and urged me forward.

  This was bad enough, and we hadn't even encountered the real players. These were just scared residents who believed everything they'd heard about us.

  Davie led us into another back garden and then around a house which fronted the main street. We took cover behind a bush and sneaked a look back up the several hundred metres to the Mountain View Bar and Grill. Several vehicles, including our own, were revving up, and as we watched, DJ came down the steps, shotgun in one hand, bottle of wine in the other. Behind him came all his regulars, plus a few I hadn't seen before. One tripped on the top step and pitched forward onto the road, smashing the bottle he was carrying. The others laughed and swore at him.

  They'd been drinking all night. Not good.

  It was also bad because Davie chose that moment to lead us across to the other side of the road. He had no choice, really, because behind us the stones were starting to land again as the residents ventured closer. But if we'd turned and said Boo they might have scattered. Instead we hurried across the road as fast as we could into the shelter of a yellow awning over a hamburger joint, but not fast enough to avoid being spotted by the driver of the lead vehicle.

  He let out a shout, the rest of DJ's lynch mob jumped on board, and in a moment their little convoy was speeding up the street after us; they were hanging out of the doors and clinging onto the roof, screaming and yelling and blasting their horns as they came.

  Davie pushed us forward again, skirting the restaurant and leading us down amongst the trash cans behind it. Kelly stopped abruptly.

  'Kelly!' Davie yelled.

  She shook her head.'Go on,'she said.' I'll talk to them.'

  'Don't be fucking daft, they'll tear you to pieces!'

  'No, they won't. I haven't done anything.'

  'Kelly! Please! That's not how mobs work!'

  'Davie, go!' She was doing her Captain Oates. Her 'leave me here to die'. If it bought me some extra time, then I was quite happy for her to do it, but Davie looked devastated.

  'You don't have to do this,' he said.

  'I know. Just go. I'll be fine.'

  There came a roar of overly souped-up engines from the forecourt.

  'Go!'

  Davie hesitated for just a moment longer, then turned away. Possibly he was influenced by me pulling his shirt as well. Kelly stepped back towards the front of the restaurant. We started running again, this time through the back gardens of the houses on this side of the street. Most of the fences were low enough to hurdle, and we took several with matching strides as if we were runners competing in an Olympic event, albeit one in which spectators were free to throw stones and aim garden implements at you.

  We came to a taller fence which Davie climbed effortlessly, but despite several efforts I just couldn't pull myself over it.

  'Come on, you fat fucker!' he yelled.

  'I'm doing my fucking best,' I screamed back, and I was: it just wasn't good enough.

  Perched on the fence, he must have been aware of them coming. He must have known that whatever Kelly had mounted in way of our defence had been brushed utterly aside, because the evidence was there before him. DJ, JJ, CJ, all of them, streaming across the gardens behind us, clambering awkwardly over the fences we had taken in one stride. Drunk but determined, a ragged army, but still an army. We had had a lead, but it was like being in front in the Grand National. You still had to get over Becher's Brook. It was a great leveller. They must have seen him, because a shout went up and then they were all hollering. Davie grabbed my hand and pulled me up onto the top of the fence; it was a rickety wooden effort and could hardly hold both our weights. I jumped down onto the other side before it gave way. I was already bounding away towards the next fence when I realised that Davie wasn't following.

  I stopped.'Davie?'

  He looked back and shrugged.

  'Davie, don't be so fuckin' stupid!' I shouted.

  'Toffo,' he said, then slipped back down the other side of the fence to face the mob.

  30

  Davie gave them a run for it, that's for sure.

  I heard yelps and screams and the crack and split of picket fences being demolished; I heard the dull slap of punches and the curses that followed their connection. There were yells of, 'There he is, get him!' 'Don't let him go!' 'Hit him! Hit him!' There were scuffling sounds and screams of pain, then a rush of feet across sunbaked earth as he made a break for it.' Hold onto him, you fucking asshole!' 'Fuck, he's broke my nose!' and 'After him!'

  I heard all this, cowering down behind my fence.

  And then, when they'd caught him, I saw it as well as I stood up and peered through a knot-hole in the aging wood.

  They'd caught him about five gardens away, back the way we'd come. The only way he could have gotten there was to burst through their on-coming ranks. He was done with running away. Davie had attacked. To save me. To save this yellow son of a bitch crapping himself behind a wooden fence while his best friend, his face bloody, his clothes ragged, was pinned against the wall of a wooden shed and beaten with gun butts and whacked with baseball bats.

  And it wasn't even Davie they wanted.

  They struck him again. He grunted. He did not scream.

  'Where is he?' DJ roared for the third time.

  Davie's split lips opened over bloody gums. It was finally time to speak. My leg was beating a frantic rhythm against the fence.

  'Go . . . fuck yourselves . . .'

  JJ barrelled forward and punched him hard across the jaw; Davie's head snapped to one side and his legs buckled under him. He would have fallen if two of DJ's cronies hadn't held him up.

  DJ pushed his face right into Davie's, close enough to taste the blood. 'You tell me, asshole, or I swear to God . . .'

  Davie managed the faintest, groggiest nod. When he spoke he spat blood out over DJ. 'I tell. . . you where . . . he is. He's in . . . he's in fucking bed with . . . your mum.'

  This time DJ didn't react immediately. He stood back. 'JJ,' he said, and nodded at the shed.'Go in there, see if you can find a hammer, some nails.'

  JJ's brow furrowed for a moment, then he smiled appreciatively. He yanked open the shed door and stepped inside. Davie was spitting blood. JJ held a hammer up through the glass.'This big enough?' he asked.

  It was a rhetorical question.

  Unlike the question I was asking myself, which was: Am I going to stand here while my best friend gets nailed to a shed? It was obvious what DJ was planning. He wasn't about to do some DIY while he pondered Davie's fate.

  I had been living the quiet life at home with Patricia. She might have thought that we weren't coping with Stevie's death, but I was fine. I didn't ask Davie to drag me halfway around the world to kill The Colonel. He had made me a fugitive. We hadn't been friends for years. In fact, the more I thought about it the more I realised we hadn't ever really been friends at all; we had been geographic acquaintances who happened to share an interest in music for a few months. Friends were for life. No, everything that had happened to me in the past few days was Davie's fault. He was his own worst enemy. I owed him nothing. They could nail him to the shed and I could still walk or skulk away with my head held high.

  In hell.

  JJ was holding one of Davie's arms out straight against the shed. They were going to crucify him.

  I stood frozen behind the fence, drenched in sweat and horror.

  Davie knew exactly where I was, I was sure of that. For a moment I even thought our eyes met through the knot-hole. But he would not give me away. It was not in his code. He was all about bravery and courage. He would die protecting me.

/>   DJ raised the hammer. He placed the nail against Davie's palm.

  'You tell me, you Irish asshole!'

  Davie shook his head.

  DJ turned and yelled: 'If you're out there, you shout now or we'll do this!'

  I bit at a nail. They were just trying to scare me into revealing myself. They wouldn't do it at all. It was barbaric. Not in this day and age. Or they might only do one hand. I could let them do one hand, see if that satisfied them.

  Christ.

  DJ moved to one side to give himself room for a proper swing. He stretched his arm back; his teeth showed over his bottom lip. Davie closed his eyes; the nail was already dripping with his sweat and glistening in the morning sun. DJ swung the hammer forward . . .

  Davie, I'm sorry. Davie, I'm sorry. Davie, I'm . . .

  'Stop!'

  It was just enough to put DJ's aim off by a fraction; the hammer crashed into the shed wall, punching a hole through it. DJ spun round, fury etched on his face.

  Sometimes you've just got to stand up and be counted. Conquer your fear, face your enemy, spit in his eyes if required. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

  And I woulda done it if Dr Kelly Cortez hadn't beaten me to it.

  She pushed her way through the mob, as I pressed my eye back to the knot in the fence.

  'Stop it now, DJ!' she shouted.

  'You don't tell me what to do, you—'

  'I'm not!' She was holding something up. I couldn't quite see what. 'It's your wife, DJ. Talk to her!'

  She held it out to him: a cell phone.

  A puzzled look squirmed its way onto DJ's face. 'Michelle?' he said. 'But she's . . .'

  'She's alive and kicking, DJ. And these guys didn't do anything.'

  DJ took the phone. He held it hesitantly to one ear.' Michelle?' he asked tremulously. And then a smile enveloped him.' Michelle!'

  Behind him JJ let go of Davie's hand, and he slumped down to his knees. Kelly immediately ran to him.

  'Davie . . . Davie?' she cried.

  He managed a bloody smile.' You took your time.'

  She kissed and hugged him.

  He was a quick mover, our Davie. He had won her over in the time it would take me to work up to buying her a drink. He deserved a hug from me as well, for saving my life and being brave and heroic and standing up under torture, but I stayed behind the fence for another ten minutes in case DJ changed his mind. I'm a journalist, I don't take part in stories. Instead, I observe. There has to be someone left at the end to report them, otherwise who would ever know? DJ was crying down the phone to his wife, and presumably I was now being absolved of any crime. But it was still too early to venture out: events had gone way beyond the simple fact of my guilt or innocence. There were two dead cops, three buildings burned to the ground — little details that couldn't and wouldn't be forgotten. Everglades City wasn't a city, it was a tiny rural community, and communities stick together. We weren't out of the woods yet.

  But we were a couple of minutes later. I heard a police siren and peeked over the fence in time to see a patrol car roll up. Two uniforms got out, with EC from the hotel and BJ from the bank behind them. Several of the lynch mob dropped their weapons and started to back away. With what was left of my strength, I hauled myself up onto the top of the fence, paused for several deep breaths, and then launched myself off. I landed untidily on the sunbaked ground, then stepped over two flattened picket fences and approached the scene. What had started as a gradual withdrawal became a wholesale running-away. DJ had done all the shooting, so he could carry the can for it. There was community, and then there was looking after yourself. DJ stood with the shotgun under his arm, apparently not caring one way or the other; JJ was beside him. Everyone else had fled. The cops didn't make any attempt to stop them. If they wanted them, they knew where to find them. Most were heading home. Others were forming an orderly queue at the hospital for Michelle's hand in marriage; she would certainly be available now that DJ was going to jail.

  Nobody paid much attention as I sauntered up. I smiled down at Davie and said, 'Howse it goin', big lad.

  'Been better,' he said.

  He didn't look quite as excited as I was to be alive. Perhaps because he'd had a severe beating. Perhaps because one of the police officers was Cody Banks of the St Pete Beach Police Department. And his partner was his partner, last seen looking really annoyed from the boot of a $500 car.

  'Hey,' said Cody, 'fancy seeing you guys again.'

  I looked at Davie. He raised one helpless eyebrow.

  'You, ah, just passing through?' I asked.

  'Sure, looking for you. And found a whole lot more besides. Sat up in our hotel room last night, watched you squirm like the dogs you are.'

  'It wasn't us.' I pointed at DJ.' It was him.'

  'We really don't give a fuck,' Cody's partner said.

  Somehow, I wasn't surprised. But it was a bit of a shock for Dr Cortez.'What are you talking about?' She waved her hand in DJ's direction.'You have to arrest him. He killed—'

  'Ma'm, if you don't mind, just shut your aperture.'

  Kelly's mouth dropped open a little. She had thought it was all over, that everyone would live happily ever after. But how often does that happen? Davie put his good arm around her and she helped him back to his feet.' So,' he said, 'what's your plan?'

  EC spoke for the first time. He had his newspaper tucked under his arm in case things got boring.'Well, son, there's two schools of thought on that.'

  'One,' said Cody, 'we feed your ass to the 'gators, which would be my favoured option.'

  'Or two,' said BJ, 'you get back to where you came from, no more said about it, and we clear up the mess here with the help of these two very fine gentlemen.'

  BJ and EC both smiled glowingly at the police officers, as if they were two Boy Scouts who done good.

  'Your choice,' said BJ.

  'Mind, you're so scrawny,' Cody said, nodding at me, "gators probably turn up their noses. Somebody find the body then we're all in the shit again.'

  He was the second person in the past few hours to comment on my physique. I would have punched his lights out if he hadn't been bigger and stronger, and possessed of a big gun and a surly demeanour.

  'Do I take it,' Davie said, 'that our choice also includes going home without our valuables?'

  BJ wasn't embarrassed about this at all.'Take a whole heap of money to rebuild the station. Then a lot of people have to turn a blind eye to what went on here. That's not cheap.'

  Davie nodded at Curtis and co.'And I don't suppose you guys are working for charity.'

  'Split fifty-fifty. Reckon that's about fair.'

  BJ smiled benevolently.'But I'll tell you what I can do for you. I can give you a couple hundred dollars just to see you through, until you go home.'

  'Well,'I said, 'thanks a bunch.'

  'No trouble at all.'

  Americans. Sarcasm. Will never change.

  But inside my heart was bouncing. We were going to get out of this, we were going to get out of this, we were going . . .

  On the outside I remained cool and calm.

  'You just expect us to walk away?' Davie said.

  'Not walk,' said Cody's partner.' You can take the Land Cruiser. I guess we can afford another.'

  JJ handed me the keys.'It works okay,'he said, 'but it still smells of ditch shit.'

  I looked at Davie.'Well?'

  He was battered and bloody, but there was more than a hint of defiance in his eyes. Better nip that in the bud.'Come on, big lad,' I said.'We're going home. We've had a good run.'

  His eyes flitted from Cody to BJ and DJ without blinking. They finally settled on Kelly. He sighed. He pulled her to him and gave her a squeeze.'You still owe me a dessert,' he said.

  There were tears in her eyes. She gave him a hug. He grimaced. She said sorry and kissed his lips. He grimaced again. It was a painful business getting smoochy after being in battle. Or so I'd heard.

  31

  I knew
it was going to happen, it was just a question of where and when. But the fact that it happened so soon took me by surprise. We were hardly outside the city limits. I thought he'd at least wait until we were close to Naples, so that it would look like he'd really given it some thought. But no. He just couldn't wait.

  We'd gone back to our rooms in the Bank, had a shower, got cleaned up as best we could and then driven out of town past the smouldering ruins of the police station. There were a couple of news crews filming reports, and I saw BJ being interviewed. He was probably paying tribute to the two police officers who'd perished in the fire. Dr Kelly Cortez was there as well, no doubt telling a reporter that the bodies were burned beyond recognition, but that there was no doubt about the cause of death. She wouldn't mention that there was a huge hole in Sheriff Baines's chest, nor that Deputy Jesse Stone was minus one head. Elsewhere palms were being greased and reports were being doctored. I was from Belfast. I knew how it worked.

  We weren't far past the ditch I'd reversed into a million years ago when Davie told me to pull over.

  I switched off the engine and we sat there for a couple of minutes without talking. Farmer Giles chugged past on his tractor and I gave him a wave. He waved back. It was a friendly kind of a place.

  'So,' I said.

  'So,' said Davie.

  'So I suppose you've got something to say.'

  'Something to do.'

  'Davie, we're home free.'

  'They have our gold.'

  'No, Davie, they have the gold. It was never ours. Leave it be. Let's just go home.'

  'I can't do that.'

  'Yes, you can. You go back there, they won't let you walk away. Not a second time.'

  'I don't intend giving them that option. Dan, I've a gun in my bag. Last thing they'll expect is for us to go right back.'

  'That's what Butch and Sundance thought.'

  'We're not Butch and Sundance.'

  'You can say that again.'