by Ray Banks
“I had a run-in with the hairy side of someone’s hand, repeatedly. Then some boots. All this after a nasty wee meeting with the front of a speeding car. And you know what? It makes a bloke think different, gives life a new spin.
Because this was never about me finding Rob Stokes, was it?
This was about bringing Alison back home, and some lanky streak of paedo piss bricking it in case I tell his father.’
‘Where are you?’ he says quietly. ‘Tell me where you are.’
I give him the address. Then: “I lost Stokes. I lost the money.
Alison’s here. You might catch her. See, the thing is with me, I’m so knocked up I can’t think straight. I’ve been lied to that fuckin’ much, I don’t even know if I’m at the right house, know what I mean?’ A laugh breaks out of me; it sounds like someone else. ‘Tell me something, Mo. Did your dad hold you back from this? Is that why you had to have me followed?’
‘Fuck are you talking about?’
‘Your man in the black leather jacket. Didn’t occur to me until now, really. The guy who took a knife to the tyres of my car, updated the paint job with a spray can. The fucker who replaced that scally who tried to tail me in Manchester.’
Mo hangs up. Something I said? And it’s the only confirmation I need. There was a moment there when I thought I was going nuts, but it’s all falling into place now. Morris tells Mo he can’t take care of this – either because the lad’s a psycho or a fuck-up or because deep down Morris knows that Mo’s been keeping it in the family – and Mo, being the tenacious cunt he is, he decides to have me followed. When it looks like I’m straying from the job, looking for Alison, he gets his thug to slice up my car.
And perhaps that would have scared me off before. But the past couple of days have made me stupid, hard. I look at myself in the rear view. Well, not that hard – my face is still black and blue. I stretch out in my seat, pull it back a few notches and stick Johnny Cash in the tape deck. One of the later songs, when it sounded like he’d been gargling with gravel. A man going round, taking names.
My muscles start to relax, my back isn’t pinching me like it has been. A couple of clicks in the knee, and my tongue roams the empty socket where my tooth used to be. Thanks for that, Rob. I owe you one.
I’ll stay here until Mo turns up. It’s that last loose end I need to tie up. I need to see Alison taken home. I don’t want to leave and have to come back up here again. This city’s given me enough gyp the past couple of days and I don’t want any reason to come back here. I’m a Manchester lad through and through.
There’s something about Newcastle that stinks of failure and mental deficiency. Case in point, the last good band to come out of Newcastle was The Animals, and that was over forty fucking years ago. It didn’t get any better than that.
Donna’s still up here, though. And she’s been in the back of my head since I met her. Part of me wants to call her now, but it’s too early. That same part wants to make amends for the way we left things. But then, that part of me is too romantic for its own good. I’m told she looked at me in a different way, like she didn’t care I was an ex-con, like she actually cared about what happened to me, like I was actually one of the good guys.
But that’s all speculation. It’s all reading between the lines, two and two making five.
I might call her, I might not. We’ll see how it goes. There are things about me I haven’t told her, and those things aren’t the easiest to bring up in polite conversation. I don’t even know if I can talk about them yet. When I got out, word had already spread. Declan looked at me differently, like I was the type to give up his dignity. Like I was the type to take anything as long as it led to an easy life. This coming from a junkie grass. You know you’ve hit rock bottom when they start looking at you like you’re something they stepped in.
But Declan knew that if it hadn’t been me, it would’ve been him. And he wouldn’t have lasted five seconds. Dec was a bigger coward than me back then, which is saying something.
When my dad took his hand to the pair of us, Declan was the first to bolt from the house. When he moved to Manchester, he left me to fend for myself and didn’t think twice about it.
He once said to me, ‘Cal, I couldn’t take it, man. One more day and I would’ve topped myself
My dad’s voice was full of thick spit. He sounded like he had a cold when he drank and he drank most of the time. Once the strike of‘84 was over with, he refused to work. The unions were gone, he said, and there was no such thing as an honest wage anymore.
Everything was poisoned, but it didn’t stop him sending me and my brother out to work. He’d pour that cash down his neck and take the back of a hairbrush to our faces if we brought it up. Mam knew, but she didn’t show it. She couldn’t do anything to stop my dad, so what was the point of dwelling on something she couldn’t change? She just pretended it never happened.
Then Dad got stupid. His vision blurred one too many times. He didn’t realise I was bigger than him.
“Innes.’
So I knocked the fucker out. My first punch thrown in anger. Hit him hard with my left, broke two fingers doing it.
And that pain, that burning, grinding pain of shattered bone on bone, it was fucking worth it. ‘Innes.’
I watched him hit the floor. Watched the blood spill out from his mouth. Watched his eyes roll up into the back of head and thought, Oh fuck, I just killed my dad.
A smack on the window jars me awake. My eyes snap open, a whole world of light going through me like electricity. The tape’s stopped. I don’t know where I am.
Another smack on the window. “Innes!’
It’s Mo.
And through the haze, I think I can make out Alison Tiernan screaming.
FIFTY-FOUR
So this were how it panned out, right?
We got there, street were fuckin’ deserted. I got out the van and left Baz in there to keep the engine ticking over in case Alison’d fuckin’ done us over and sent us to the wrong place.
I wouldn’t put it past her. She were a sneaky fuckin’ bitch. So me and Rossie, we went up to the front door like we was normal lads, just out to pay an early morning visit on a mate of ours and we pressed the doorbell and waited.
There were all this thumping from inside. Someone coming down the stairs. I gave Rossie a look what said, you get your fuckin’ blade out now, big boy.
The door opened and I grinned at me sister. She were standing there in her nightie, looking all sexy-like, even if she did have a black eye. I jerked me head at Rossie and said to Alison, ‘Where is he?’
‘Upstairs,’ she said. She had red eyes like she’d been crying.
‘Cool.’ I grabbed her arm and pulled her in the house with us. Rossie were already up the stairs. I closed the door behind us and followed him up. ‘Rob, mate? You wanna come out?’
Silence. Rossie were looking at us to do summat and I looked at Alison. ‘Fuck is he?’
“I dunno,’ she said.
‘He done a bunk?’
“I dunno.’
‘You keep an eye on him?’
‘He didn’t know you were coming,’ said me sister.
‘Fuck that. Where is he?’
We went in the bedroom and there were the cash in a bag on the bed. Rossie said, ‘Fuckin’ hell.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, then to Alison, ‘Where is he?’
She were almost in hysterics now – started crying again and her breathing were all over the fuckin’ shop. “I dunno. He was here. I swear, Mo, he was here.’
I let go of her and zipped up the bag just in case Rossie got any funny ideas.
‘We got the money, Mo. You got Alison. Let’s go,’ said Rossie.
‘You fuckin’ what? Yeah, we got the money and the girl, but where’s the cunt what nicked both?’
‘Mo -‘ she said. And I wanted to belt her right then, but she caught it and shut the fuck up.
I went round the bedroom like the proper predator, sni
ffing about. Looked under the bed, but he weren’t there. ‘He never left this room is what you’re telling us,’ I said to Alison.
“I dunno, Mo. I really don’t. He was here the last time I checked.’
‘You don’t know much, do you? So he didn’t leave the room. So the fuck’s in here somewhere.’ I stopped in front of the wardrobe and looked at Rossie. Rossie shook his head.
But what Rossie didn’t know were that when fuckers are frightened, they do pretty stupid shit.
When I opened the wardrobe doors, two things happened.
First were that I came face to fuckin’ face with Rob Stokes.
Second were that me mobile went off.
‘Y’alright, you daft cunt?’ I said to Stokes. He were standing there in his boxers and a T-shirt with ‘Kiss Her Goodbye’ written on it in all swirly writing. Aye, mate. Kiss Her The Fuck Goodbye, because Mo owns your arse now.
I answered me mobile. It were Innes. I grinned. Innes! The fuck are you?’
‘Morning,’ he said. The cunt sounded pleased with himself.
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m in Heaton.’
‘What’s the address?’ Like the fucker knew where we was.
Rossie looked at us, his arms out.
“I hear you got your sister pregnant, Mo,’ said Innes.
‘What the fuck are we gonna do with him, Mo?’ said Rossie.
I waved me hand at Rossie, looked at me sister. I sucked me teeth and watched her eyes start to overflow again. ‘You talked to Alison.’
‘Is it true?’
When’d you talk to Alison?’
‘I’ll take that as a yes, then. So what happens when your dad finds out you’ve been rolling your own?’
‘She’s me half-sister.’
‘Semantics, mate. She’s sixteen, barely fuckin’ legal.’
What’s the matter with you? You have a run-in with the law or something?’
And he started whinging on about how some daft fuck knocked him down or summat. I weren’t really listening. It all sounded like: Blah blah fuckin’ blah. ‘Where are you? Tell me where you are.’
Rossie beckoned me over to the window. I followed, pulled back the nets and looked down at the road. There he fuckin’ were. In that scabby Micra with me paint job all over it. I felt like waving at him. He were leaned back in his seat, staring out the windscreen and gabbing away in me ear.
I was gonna do the cunt, first chance I got. But there were another cunt what needed doing first. Innes laughed in me ear. Lad were going nuts.
‘Fuck are you talking about?’ I said.
And he went on about how he had it all figured out, like he knew it were Rossie following him an’ all that. Oh aye, he were the big fuckin’ private dick. Sorry cunt, more like. And I’d had enough of his fuckin’ rambling, so I cut him off, turned round and Stokes were gone from the wardrobe.
I ran downstairs, caught the fucker in the hall messing with the door. Punched him in the back of the head and bent me finger-splint doing it. Pain roared through me hand as Rossie came down and pulled Stokes up the hall. His feet went all over the place and I kicked him in the bollocks on the way to the kitchen. Alison at the top of the stairs, crying again. I went up and grabbed her, pulled her down and into the kitchen.
Rossie had grabbed a chair, sat Stokes up in it and leathered the cunt hard in the face. Stokes made a noise like a fuckin’ pig and I pulled Alison right in so’s she could get a better look.
‘See that?’ I said. ‘That’s your boyfriend right there.’
She closed her eyes and shook her head. Looked like it were gonna come flying off her fuckin’ shoulders. I grabbed her face and pulled it about until she opened them eyes. ‘You look, Alison. That’s your fuckin’ boyfriend. He did a runner.
And you’re gonna find out what happens to people who try to fuckin’ run from me.’
‘You said you wouldn’t hurt him,’ she said. ‘You said you wouldn’t do owt to him.’
“I lied.’ Said to Rossie, ‘Give us your butterfly.’
‘Mo’
‘Give us your fuckin’ knife.’
Rossie handed it over. I flipped the blade out and held it up to Alison. ‘You keep them eyes open, Sis, or I’ll cut your fuckin’ eyelids off.’
FIFTY-FIVE
Can’t focus, but my hand finds the door and I force it open, stand on trembling legs and Mo’s right in my face. He doesn’t back off, just looks at me with dull eyes. As my vision comes back, I can see his nostrils flared, the colour in his sunken cheeks.
Then he butts me sharply just above the nose.
A white flash and someone pulls the ground from under me. I go down hard on my arse, my forehead crackling with pain, my mouth hanging open like the stupid bastard I am. I fumble for the side of the car, try to pull myself up, but my head spins too fast. Dizzy as fuck, I can’t quite make it. Mo plants a boot in my stomach and I keel forward onto my hands and knees. Before I know it, my gut clenches hard and I spew on the road. Talk about deja vu.
“I owe you that one, Innes,’ he says.
I try to blink through the tears, contain the throbbing in my gut long enough to make out what’s going on. Across the street, a fat guy has Alison Tiernan by the wrist. She’s in her nightie, barefoot and stumbling, screaming with the cracked voice of someone who’s been dragged from her sleep. The fat guy hauls open the passenger door of a white Bedford and pushes her in. She kicks and swears, but once that door slams shut, she contents herself with spitting at the window.
‘She had a bag packed,’ says Mo.
I cough; it hurts. I spit the bad taste in my mouth at the tarmac.
‘Stokes is inside,’ he says.
It’s difficult to focus, but Mo seems relaxed now he got the head butt out of his system. I pull myself to my feet and slump against the Micra, hold my head back to stem the blood from my nose. ‘You found him,’ I say.
‘He were in there,’ he says. ‘They’re dealing with him right now.’
My mouth doesn’t work. It’s like I’m drunk again, and it’s not a good buzz. Rob can’t have been that bloody daft to go over to Alison’s and warn her Mo was coming. He’s not that thick, surely. For all his faults, I never took the guy to be suicidal.
‘He got away. I lost him. He’s not in there. You’re fuckin’ lying.’
Mo draws closer, smiling. His hand snakes up to the back of my neck, grips hard and before I know it, I’m being frogmarched across the road. And this bloke, I’ve taken him before, I could do it again. But the thing with a head butt is that it messes with your motor functions, throws your balance and perspective out of the window. He lets go as we near the front door, standing to one side. I sway, trying to centre; I look at the ground and focus on his twitching feet.
‘Well?’ he says.
The house smells damp. The odour’s enough to make my gut twitch. ‘Well, what?’
The left side of Mo’s face ticks into a half-smile. For a moment, I see Morris Tiernan there. ‘Go on, Innes. You know you want to.’ He places a hand on my shoulder. I want to shake it off, but my head’s spinning and I need the support.
“I’ll leave you to it,’ I say.
‘Don’t be daft. The party’s just started.’
“I think I lost my invitation.’
‘You’re on the guest list, mate.’
Mo pushes the front door, guides me into the hallway. Too gloomy to see anything, like a house long deserted. I want to turn back, but I don’t have the energy. Somewhere out of sight, I can hear the sound of muffled sobs. As I get to the end of the hall, I make out a door, closed. The sobbing gets louder as Mo pushes it open. Then the sound cuts short.
And in the dim morning light, I see Rob Stokes. Tied to a wooden kitchen chair that was white before someone started beating him, his pants round his ankles, his face a battered mess. He’s been sick down the front of his T-shirt which is ripped open at the navel. His head is down; it looks like he’s staring at the redd
ish brown stain between his legs. A stiff breeze blows through the open window, billowing nets and wafting the stench of shit and vomit my way. I cover my nose with one hand.
‘Reeks, don’t he?’ says the fat guy. He walks over to Stokes and pats him on the head. Stokes jerks to one side, a low painful sound escaping his lips. ‘Not surprising, like. He had an accident.’
‘More than one,’ says another guy from the shadows. I can see the shine of black leather. He’s holding a butterfly knife in his right hand, absently working the blade in and out of the twin handles.
‘Cal, this is Baz and that’s Rossie.’
‘Kind of a name’s Rossie?’ I say. Trying to be hard as. Trying to make aggro conversation when there’s ice in my veins.
The guy in the black leather jacket says, ‘Kind of a name’s Cal?’
Stokes raises his head at the sound of my voice. I catch a glint where I think there’s an eye, but the rest is obscured by shadow and blood.
‘He was here when you arrived,’ I say.
‘Yeah, we found him upstairs,’ says Mo. ‘He were hiding in the fuckin’ wardrobe.’
The stupid things you do when you’re scared. Acting like Robin Askwith in a Confessions film. Running to your girlfriend when you know she’s the reason you’re getting fucked in the first place. Taking a job you know is going to end in tears because you’re afraid of what’ll happen if you don’t. Acting the prick with a woman who cares about you, because it’s easier than contemplating an honest relationship.
Spinning yourself a cunt’s yarn to hide the truth.
‘Way Sis tells it, he were here all the time,’ says Mo. I look across at him. Yeah, he knows. He takes a step towards me.
‘The way Sis tells it, he got a phone call and woke her up, started acting all weird.’
Stokes mumbles something. Saliva drips onto his chest, glistening red.
‘He went for the cash.’ Then Mo turns and shares a giggle with Rossie and Baz. ‘And it were sitting there on the fuckin’ bed, can you believe it?’
‘Priceless,’ says Rossie, letting out this laugh that sounds like a horny pig. Baz joins in, laughing through his teeth like someone throttling a snake. It’s a proper zoo in here.
