He moved over to her and knelt by her feet. Saying nothing, he examined her bruised face. He touched it lightly. Nothing appeared to be broken.
‘Do you have any numbness? Any tingling?’
Alexis chewed on the inside of her cheek and shook her head.
‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’ Kenny asked, dreading the answer. He realised his fists were clenched and that he needed to hurt somebody. Who could have done this? What sick fucker would hurt a beautiful woman, any woman like this?
Alexis looked into his eyes. ‘Don’t, Kenny. Don’t.’ She pressed herself further into the cushion of the sofa. ‘Don’t be so nice...’ Her eyes filled with tears.
‘Are you hurt anywhere else, Alexis? Should we call–’
‘He got his guy to rape me, Kenny.’ Her voice was just above a whisper. Her head fell forward and sobs wracked her body. Kenny sat on the sofa beside her and took her in his arms. She gave in to his need to console her and allowed the emotion to carry her. He said nothing, simply held her, stroking her head. Two sides of him struggled for attention; his worry for her well-being and his demand to kick some bastard until his head was mush.
After several minutes, she managed to rein herself in.
‘I need a shower, or a bath. I need to clean myself.’
‘Should you...? Don’t you need to...?’
‘Kenny, I’m a prostitute. The law doesn’t want to concern itself with people like me. Besides, I’ve already had two baths. Any... DNA has been washed away.’ She stood up and brushed past him. She took two steps, moved faster and began running down the hall. A door slammed. Kenny found himself standing at the door of the living room looking down the empty hallway and feeling completely useless.
He walked slowly down the hall, listening for any sounds. The second door down was closed. He tested the handle. It was locked. Sounds of weeping came from the other side.
‘Go away,’ Alexis shouted. ‘Leave me alone.’
Kenny considered doing just that. He looked towards the front door and back down the hall to the living room. She had called him. Part of her must want him to be here. She didn’t invite just anyone to her living space. Besides, his muscles ached with the need for action. He had to do something. He had to find out who hurt her and pay them back, with interest.
He walked back down towards the sound of the TV and sat on the sofa. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees he considered what he should do. He spotted a door off to the side. Could that be...? Yes, it was the kitchen. He walked in, switched on a light and walked over to the kettle. He filled it with water and switched it on. When all else fails, resort to cliché. A nice cup of tea will surely help.
As he waited for the kettle to boil he looked around the kitchen. White doors, chrome appliances; everything spotless. Like it was a show home, or about to be sold. In fact everything about the entire flat had that same feel. Unlived in.
He made two cups of tea and left one steaming on the worktop. He walked back over to the sofa and sat down. Sipping his tea, he looked around himself. Yes, this place definitely had that same feeling; that the owner barely lived here. He considered what he really knew about Alexis. She was born in a small village on the Swiss border with Italy. That she was around the same age as him and that she gave a damn good blowjob. Pathetic. And this was a woman he supposedly had feelings for.
He stared across the room. And realised with a start what he was looking at. It was a phone seat. God, people still had them? It was some kind of dark wood with velour padding and on the shelf sat an actual honest-to-fuck phone. Not a mobile, hand-held computer, but a small simple piece of technology with a large round dial and a thing you hold against the side of your head to speak into.
Beside the phone sat a leather-bound book. Like a diary. Or, an appointment book. Kenny, you eejit. He walked over and picked it up. Of course. It would let him know who Alexis had been with earlier on.
He opened it up. The pages crackled with a satisfying quality as he looked for that day’s page. He looked down the entries. Three entries in blue ink on crisp vanilla paper. At ten, she had noted, Doctor. At twelve, The Chip. The entry for 4pm read simply, DT.
He closed the book and placed it back down on its space. The Chip? There was a popular eaterie over in the West End called The Ubiquitous Chip. Might she have been having lunch with someone there?
DT. Who could that be? Other than that the page was empty.
He looked back across the room at the sofa. Under where he had been sitting he could see a handbag. One of those capacious things that women loved and would spend their last penny on. In every man’s experience such a bag was crucially important to a woman, held their entire lives and yet they could never find anything when they wanted it.
Back at the sofa, he picked it up. He only considered for a moment if what he was doing was in any way wrong. He always felt that looking in a woman’s handbag was a big no-no, a violation even. But today was no time for social niceties. He had to find out what was going on.
Her mobile phone was tucked into a pocket. He pulled it out and read that only one bar was showing – it had a poor signal and it was about to run out of juice. There was one unread message. With barely a pause and only the tiniest feeling of guilt, he opened it. The message had two words.
Lesson learned?
Kenny checked the sender. TD. Well, that was a coincidence and who the hell was TD? Whoever he was, he was going to be very sorry he had messed with his girl.
His girl? Get a hold of yourself, O’Neill.
He looked down at the phone and scrolled through the contact list. He wondered if he knew any of the people here. There were a few first names of women and a list of initials. There he was. KO. When he and Alexis were together she never discussed any of her other punters. They had the occasional laugh at some of the weird, silly ones, but Alexis was a professional; no names were ever given. He scrolled down to TD.
Just then he heard a door open and the pad of feet as they moved in his direction. He dropped the phone in the bag and managed to kick it back under the sofa before Alexis appeared at the doorway.
She had brushed her hair out, put on some make-up and was wearing an ankle-length sheer gown that hid nothing of the shape underneath. Despite himself, he responded. Blood surged into his groin.
‘You have money?’ Her expression was all business. He nodded.
‘You need to fuck me and you need to pay me,’ she said as she walked towards him.
‘Alexis, I...’ He stood up, arms wide.
She reached him and opened her gown. His eyes slid from the swelling of her breasts down to the spare line of hair above the pout between her legs.
‘This is not a good idea,’ he heard himself say as she tugged at his belt.
‘You need to take this big hard cock...’ She stroked him through the material of his trousers.
‘Alexis, I don’t want to hurt...’ He felt shame at his arousal heat his neck. He placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back a little.
‘Kenny,’ she said, her expression shifting. A hurt, little girl peered out from behind thick, mascara’d lashes. ‘You need to do this for me.’ The working girl was back. ‘Leave your cash on the table there.’ Her hand moved back to his groin and she gripped his shaft as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out two hundred pounds.
‘It’s all I’ve got on me,’ he said. ‘I didn’t expect...’
‘Shh.’ She placed a finger over his lips. ‘For tonight, that will do.’
In the bedroom, her ankles locked behind his back as he moved in and out of her wetness. She raked his back and buttocks with her nails.
‘Harder, Kenny. Fuck me harder,’ she shouted into his ear and he lost his sense of guilt and gave in to the role she was demanding of him. He grunted and thrust, working up into a rhythm she was looking for. He surrendered to t
he sensations, to her urgency and came in a hot rush.
Panting, he rolled over on to his back. His usual post-orgasmic feeling shaded with distaste. No, disgust. He shouldn’t have given in to her. He should have been more supportive. More of a friend.
Alexis jumped off the bed and put on a white towelling robe. She pulled her hair back from her face, her expression strained through with a number of unreadable emotions. ‘Now you need to get the hell out of my apartment.’
‘But Alexis...’
‘Kenny, don’t make me ask you again,’ she said as she crossed her arms. ‘Just go.’
5
He turned the radio on full blast as he drove home, as if to crowd out the confusion in his mind. It made sense to him that she’d want to force some sort of normality into her life. What was normal for her was a transaction. When it came to that form of negotiation she held the power. She decided what happened and when. She made the choice.
He got that. But how could she face another man after one had forced himself on her and hurt her? Surely she should never want to breathe the same air as another man again.
The bass-line of an old Luther Vandross track filled the car.
‘...she’s a super lady, uh huh...’
Ahh, the irony. He switched channels and found a station playing some hard rock. That was more in keeping with his mood.
The roads were quiet. Most people would surely be curled under a quilt, having given up on one day and sleeping on the expectation that the next might be an improvement.
Sleep. That would be nice. He suddenly realised how tired he was.
Shit. Fuckity fuck. He’d forgotten all about his Aunt Vi and the letter. He looked at the clock. 11:30. They’d all be in bed now and his name would be muddier than mud. He’d go first thing in the morning, with a bunch of flowers and a pair of earplugs to drown out the moans of his Uncle Colin. How that woman had stayed with him all these years, he’d never know.
He was on the Great Western Road driving out towards Kelvinside when the bright beam of car headlights filled his mirror. He looked up, trying to judge who it was. Police? He turned down the volume on his stereo. The car lights appeared closer and he could hear music coming from the other car. Not police then, just a joyrider.
He pressed his foot down on the accelerator. His car surged forward. It might only have been a Ford, but it was the top of the range and had plenty power to spare. The lights from the other car faded into the distance and then came back as the driver faced up to the challenge that Kenny now presented him with.
He heard a shout and looked in his mirror. There were two guys in the other car. He couldn’t make out both of them, but he could see the driver was not happy. Good. Kenny had a surfeit of anger to deal out and if this guy wanted some, he was happy to oblige. For his own part he never could understand that urge to assert your position on the road, that rage that built up in some people. We all have somewhere to go and the roads are wide enough for us all. Why lose it just because someone gives us an imagined slight while we are behind the wheel of a car? A similar incident while out walking would barely merit a look, but a car engine purring in front of some people was enough for them to act as if you had just threatened to rape their kids.
Kenny jumped on the brake. A squeal of tyres sounded from the other car as the driver fought to avoid a collision. Then Kenny pushed down on the accelerator and surged away. Within seconds the other car was back on his tail and through the mirror Kenny could see that the driver’s face was contorted with fury, as he screamed a challenge at him. The passenger on the other hand, was sitting with his arms crossed, looking decidedly uncomfortable. They were young, but not so young that he couldn’t deal them a lesson. The driver: shaved head, square face; he would have guessed early twenties. Kenny shifted the mirror to get a quick look at his passenger. From what he could see, he had some height on the driver and a couple of years. He had blonde hair, cut army-short and was a finer featured version of the other. Brothers or perhaps cousins?
He turned left at the next junction. Pulled to a stop and stepped out of the car. He was more than happy to see how this was going to play out. Two of them, against one of him. Just the odds he needed.
Kenny could see now that the other car was a Golf. It screamed to a halt behind his car and the two guys stepped out. Straight away he could see that they were gym bunnies. Despite the fact it was a cold night in March they were both wearing T-shirts. Tight enough to show off the heft of their muscle. A muscle that was earned, no doubt, while posing in front of a full-length mirror for hours and hours. A muscle that would give them a false sense of security when they teamed up against a solitary man.
Oh well, thought Kenny, their funeral.
‘You got a death wish, mate?’ the driver asked as he stomped towards him. He was just under six feet, all shoulders, pecs and biceps. Working out to a pattern that would show best when he was wearing T-shirt and jeans. His thighs nowhere as developed as the top half of his body.
‘C’mon, Mark,’ the passenger said, ‘we don’t want any trouble.’ He was looking over Kenny, appraising him. Smart, thought Kenny while he in turn checked him out. He would be more of a challenge than his buddy. Just over six feet, he was leaner and more in proportion and he walked with a grace that suggested a more rounded fitness regime. If Kenny didn’t take him out first, this might get interesting. Perhaps too interesting. The tall one would have to go first.
‘What the fuck you playin’ at, mate?’ The driver was working himself up to the necessary pitch before he waded in to mete out some punishment. ‘We’re going to fuck you up so bad, you’ll be eating through a straw for months.’
‘Mark,’ the passenger said, ‘enough. Let’s go.’
‘I’m going to have you, mate,’ Mark said. ‘And my brother here is going to wade in and kick your arse because that’s what brothers do.’ He turned to face his brother. ‘They help each other. Now get some steel, bro, and help me waste this wanker.’
Kenny simply stood before them, arms loose by his side, feet shoulder-width apart, saying nothing. Giving them nothing back. The man who doubts is the man who loses, his old fight teacher once told him. Sow some doubt and the first battle is won.
‘What, can you no fuckin’ speak, ya poof?’ Mark said.
‘Aye, probably been up at some gay bar getting pumped in the toilet, ya fanny,’ his brother joined in, half-heartedly. This guy clearly didn’t want to be here, but judging by the way he was still moving nearer Kenny and by the way he was working his hands, he would do what was necessary to help his brother.
Fine by me, thought Kenny. Still saying nothing. He looked over their shoulders at the junction. As he expected, there were a couple of CCTV cameras trained down the main road. Whoever was operating them hadn’t yet thought to check on this side of the junction. Good. No witnesses.
Kenny maintained his position, feeling his connection with the ground. His certainty. He thought of Alexis and the bruise on her face. He thought of her need to have paid sex with him. Man, that was fucked up. He imagined his anger as a white ball of anger, he allowed it to spread and fill his muscles. He revelled in the feeling of the violence that was to come. He waited till the men stepped a little closer and then attacked.
6
Kenny’s motto was to get in quick, maximise the damage and then get back out again. The smaller brother – Mark – he pegged straight away as the big mouth, and the taller one as the real danger in the situation. Take him out and the other guy would be much more manageable.
He jumped inside the guy’s range, just as he was about to launch a punch. It didn’t come anywhere near connecting. Kenny brought up his right leg, and stamped down with his foot on the other man’s knee. The joint moved in a direction knees were never intended to.
The man fell down with a scream. He wouldn’t be getting back up again soon. Kenny turned to face his smalle
r brother, who was coming at him like a windmill. He was all about power and he expected that would always be enough for him to win any fight. He’d clearly never come up against anyone like Kenny.
He waited till the last moment, wheeled to the side. Mark lost his balance. He righted himself. Kenny kneed him in the gut. Breath exploded from the other man’s lungs. Kenny wheeled again and brought an elbow crashing on to the side of his face.
Mark groaned. He stepped back. His expression was one of fear. He was breathing hard. He hadn’t expected this and Kenny looked like he had barely expended any effort.
Kenny took another step closer. Mark looked round to see where his brother was. Kenny was between him, the cars and his brother. He turned and ran.
‘Aw, for fuck’s sake,’ Kenny exclaimed. ‘Come back,’ he shouted at Mark’s rapidly retreating back. ‘I was only getting warmed up.’
He turned to the brother who was struggling to stand up. Kenny looked from him to the other one, who was still running. His anger left him as if flushed out with the brief spell of action. He ground his teeth at his own reaction. Shit. They were barely out of their teens. He should know better.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t stand on that,’ he said. ‘Might do it irreparable harm.’
‘I could still get you when I’m one-legged.’ The young man hopped up and down and held his fists out.
Kenny laughed. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Is that so you can tell all your bum-chums who kicked your arse?’
‘You’ve got spirit, son,’ Kenny said and lunged forward as if to attack. His opponent tried to hop backwards and fell. He groaned with the pain.
‘See, if I wasn’t in so much pain, I’d have you.’
‘What’s your name?’ Kenny repeated. He looked down at him sprawled on the ground, cradling his knee and his mouth contorted with pain.
‘Calum,’ was the reply as he moved into a sitting position. ‘And I could still kick your arse.’
Beyond the Rage Page 3
