Beyond the Rage

by Michael J Malone

  A tap on the floor and it would be all over.

  Wasn’t going to happen.

  There was always a way, his old master told him. Before his oxygen supply failed he had to find one.

  An escape, he had to find an escape. He had to create space. A move popped into his head and he reached under Shug’s stomach with his left arm and brought his right leg up. He grabbed his foot and twisted his hip and as he twisted his hip he brought his knee up. He pushed back, brought the other knee up and he was now safe in the butterfly guard.

  Shug grinned and nodded. ‘Nice.’

  The bell rang and the match was over. Kenny hid his relief. He wasn’t sure he could have stood any more of Shug’s treatment.

  At the showers, the gym owner, Matt, was standing with a towel round his waist talking to another man. He started this place in the Seventies to try and keep the young away from gangs. He didn’t look old enough to have had such a social conscience all those years ago. Think unlined face, bald head, cauliflower ears and shoulders as wide as the backseat of a car.

  Matty the Hut was his nickname. But only used behind his back. Despite being in his early sixties, he regularly took to the mat and beat men half his age.

  ‘Wee Shug nearly had you there, Kenny,’ the older man grinned. ‘There is such a thing as matching up height and weight, you know.’

  Wee Shug. That happy Scots tendency towards irony.

  ‘Wouldn’t like to meet his bigger cousin.’ He made a face to emphasise the effort he had just put in. ‘Mind you, where’s the fun in a good match?’ Kenny laughed. ‘Don’t want things too easy, do you?’ Now that the fight was over he was exhilarated. Just what the doctor ordered.

  ‘You look like a man who’s found some resolution,’ said Matt. For an old bruiser he had a decent vocabulary on him.

  ‘Never fails,’ said Kenny.

  ‘Do you know...?’ Matt turned to the side and indicated the man he had been talking to.

  ‘Hey, Liam,’ Kenny said.

  Liam Devlin, Glasgow councillor, nodded.

  ‘Fuck’s sake, O’Neill, do you know everybody?’ asked Matt.

  ‘Only the important people, eh Kenny?’ Liam smiled. This was the first time Kenny had ever seen the man without a shirt and tie on. Until now, if anyone asked, Kenny would have said he slept with his suit on and he simply eased off the knot of his tie a little before jumping under the quilt.

  First time he’d seen him naked.

  Who knew, he thought. Under that pudgy face and M&S suit was a well-muscled torso. Legs that would look okay behind some chicken wire mind you, but he had done a fair bit of upper-body work.

  Kenny smiled at both men and walked through to the showers.

  Afterwards, he sought Matt out. A lot of people came through the doors of this place. The MMA community was a large one. In the main they were a good bunch but some of them got to like the power that came with strength and an ability to use it. Some of them mixed in the wrong circles. Circles where Kenny had a few contacts.

  Information was important to him and Matt might let slip something that he didn’t realise was of any importance. Ergo, a good man to be on talking terms with. Which was why he occasionally made a charitable contribution.

  Matt was ringside, talking a pair of teenagers through some grappling moves.

  ‘Couldn’t you have been here earlier when Wee Shug was driving my head through the mat?’ Kenny asked.

  ‘Ach, you were fine, man,’ said Matt, keeping his eyes on the boys.

  ‘Buy you a coffee?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said to Kenny. ‘Right, guys,’ he addressed the boys. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes. Take turns at being the one mounted, eh?’

  The boys made a face and said in concert, ‘Mounted, ewww.’

  The coffee machine was a couple of bucket chairs down from the ladies’ changing room. Which was new since his last visit.

  ‘You going P.C. on us, Matt?’

  ‘Got to, Kenny. Or the bastards will close me down. Besides, the lassies are getting pretty good at this stuff now.’

  ‘The usual?’ Kenny put some coins in the machine without waiting for an answer and it produced a couple of white coffees with an apologetic effort of foam on top. He sipped at it. Hot and tasted as if someone had mixed the contents of an ashtray into the coffee granules.

  In the pause before the conversation started, Kenny looked afresh at the older man. How long had he been coming here, and how little did he know about the man? Pathetic. For someone whose ‘thing’ was information he’d slipped up here. As far as he knew, Matt had no family and devoted his life to the gym. And that was it.

  ‘How long you known Liam Devlin?’ asked Matt.

  ‘Long enough to know he’s a man who can get things done,’ Kenny answered, surprised by the question.

  ‘Okay.’ Matt nodded slowly as he considered something.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘The usual,’ Matt answered. ‘Money...’

  ‘Hey, you know I’ll...’

  ‘I cannae always come to you, Kenny. Don’t think I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for the club...’

  ‘It’s not always community spirit that motivates me, Matt. Take those clapped out heaters you had in here last winter. It’ll be nice to train during a cold snap without freezing my balls off.’

  ‘Ah,’ Matt laughed. ‘Might have guessed it was more than altruism at play the way you insisted on how the money should be spent.’

  ‘What do you need it for now?’

  ‘New mats, repairs on the roof, need to replace some of the... Christ…’ He paused. ‘I could go on for some time.’

  ‘So where does Devlin come in?’

  ‘He’s been training here for over six months now–’

  ‘First time I’ve seen him,’ Kenny interrupted.

  ‘Aye well, he comes in at odd times. Anyway, he was in the fast lane to a heart attack. We got him fit and now he wants to help.’ Matt shrugged. ‘Didn’t want to pin my hopes on a wide-boy.’

  ‘Liam Devlin, a wide-boy?’ Kenny asked.

  ‘That’s maybe understating some of the stuff I’ve heard, Kenny. Not a nice man to get on the wrong side of.’

  Kenny made a face of disbelief. ‘Aye, he might manage to get your car impounded.’

  ‘Naw, Kenny,’ argued Matt. ‘From what I hear he’s in to some heavy duty stuff.’

  Kenny exhaled loudly through pursed lips. ‘Nah, he’s a pussy-cat. Believe me, if Devlin was into dodgy stuff, I’d know about it.’

  ‘Okay, Kenny, okay.’ Matt looked unconvinced. ‘Maybe I could trust him with some funding ventures then. Eh?’ Kenny nodded. Matt nodded and smiled and patted Kenny on the knee.

  ‘Hey, it’s good to see you. Keeping your nose clean?’

  ‘Squeaky.’ Kenny paused. He’d not articulated to himself what he wanted to ask Matt about. ‘Know that programme on the Beeb where famous people try to find out where they came from?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Matt, ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Kenny. ‘Well, I thought I’d look into it myself.’

  ‘Ah shit, and there’s me left my genealogy degree at home today. How the fuck am I supposed to help you with that?’ Matt asked.

  A loud squeal sounded from where they’d left the boys sparring.

  ‘Hey, don’t you two be killing each other over there,’ Matt shouted in their direction.

  ‘Ear to the ground, Matt,’ Kenny said and judging that the coffee would be cool enough to drink now, he took a sip. He made a face. It tasted even worse second mouthful round. ‘You’re a man with his ear to the ground.’

  ‘Aye, only when he’s got the knee of a twenty-stone bruiser pinning him there.’

  ‘My dad’s name was, or is – I don’t know if he�
��s alive or dead – Peter O’Neill and...’ Something in Matt’s expression made him stop speaking.

  ‘Pete O’Neill’s your old man?’ asked Matt with a stunned look. Then something else flitted across his face before the look of surprise returned. ‘Fuck me.’

  ‘You knew him?’ Kenny’s heart pounded.

  ‘Man, he was quite the character. Knew him? Everybody knew Pete.’ He examined Kenny’s face for a second. A second that lengthened into a minute. ‘Fuck me, I don’t know how it didn’t occur to me before now. You’re his spit.’

  ‘How well did you know him, Matt?’

  ‘Well enough to know that the BBC would only film a toned-down version of his life,’ Matt said and shook his head again. ‘Jee-sus. How come it didn’t occur to me already? You are so like him.’ He slapped his forehead. ‘And then there’s the name. Man, I’m losing it.’

  Loud swearing boomed from where the boys were training. Sounded like they were about to take it to another level.

  Matt stood up and craned his neck to see what was going on.

  ‘What can you tell me about him, Matt?’

  More swearing and the sound of bone on bone.

  ‘Aww, fuck lads,’ Matt shouted. ‘Kenny, I’ll need to stop these two from killing each other.’ He moved away at a half-run. ‘I’ve got your number,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘I’ll give you a call, aye?’

  19

  ‘How’s your mum?’ Kenny was on hands-free, driving past Bellahouston Park. He was on his way to a meet with Dimitri of the Manners, as he called him, and thought he should check in with his cousin. As he pressed speed-dial for the number it occurred to him that he couldn’t remember the last time he and his cousin met face to face. Their entire relationship was conducted by text and telephone call.

  ‘She’s... fine... dandy,’ answered Ian with a why-the-fuck-are-you-asking? tone.

  ‘Jesus, she’d have to O.D. in front of you for you to realise there was something wrong.’

  ‘Harsh, m’man. I love my mother.’ Ian sounded as if he was in the middle of a smoke.

  ‘Has she said anything about the letters?’

  ‘The letters?’ There was now an urgency in Ian’s voice and a sound as if he had just sat up straight. ‘That’s right. The letters. I totally forgot. What did you learn?’

  What did he learn, thought Kenny. His father abandoned him when he needed him most. His father tried to explain this by saying he was in trouble and running away had saved Kenny’s life. And Aunt Vi was convinced his mother hadn’t committed suicide but was instead murdered. Ian spent most of his energy keeping his brain free from pain and stuck in a fog – could he handle any of that?

  ‘My dad has a new family. I don’t know where they are.’

  ‘Did he say why he did a runner?’

  ‘Couldn’t face your dad’s sour puss any longer.’

  ‘Harsh, m’man. I love my father.’ Ian chuckled. ‘But he does suffer from a serious case of the miseries.’

  ‘You should put some of your junk in his yoghurt.’ They both laughed at the thought of Ian’s dad being a stoner. Once they recovered Kenny asked, ‘What do you remember of those days, Ian?’

  ‘Aww, man, I have enough trouble trying to remember where I left my cigarette lighter.’ He paused, sounded as if he was stifling a cough and then he could fight it no longer. He barked like an Alsatian warning off a burgler.

  ‘Je-sus, Ian, that stuff will kill you.’

  ‘Least of my worries, dude. Anyways, where was I? Trying to remember...’

  Kenny clicked his tongue. ‘If it doesn’t come to you straight away it’s not going to, Ian. It’s not like your aunt kills herself and your uncle disappears every fucking day of the week.’

  ‘Chill, dude... lemme give this some thought. You know the...’

  ‘Aw fuck off, Ian.’ Kenny hung up. He took a deep breath, regretting his irritation. The poor guy couldn’t help it; God knows what his combat injuries and heroin combo had done to him.

  The car stereo was on a local radio station and playing the latest single from an all-girl pop band. Band, my arse, he thought and muted the sound. When he was younger the word ‘band’ suggested an ability to play some instruments. These days it meant a talent for simpering in front of a camera wearing nothing but some sparkle and a smile.

  Jeez, listen to you, Old Man Noah.

  He felt at a loss. What should he do? The situation with Alexis hadn’t been resolved yet and he was nowhere nearer finding out the truth of his mother’s death. That she had died of an overdose was a clear and accepted fact. If, as his Aunt Vi suggested, she was murdered then somebody had forced the pills down her throat.

  Such was his horror at this thought, he braked. And the driver behind him stepped on his horn. Kenny waved an apology over his shoulder.

  Fuck.

  How would you feel? Somebody forcing drugs down your throat. The panic and terror of knowing you were about to die. Did she pray for her husband to come home early that night? How much of a fight did she put up? Why didn’t he hear anything?

  Why didn’t he fucking hear anything?

  He felt his eyes sting and blinked in surprise. If anyone had asked him how he felt about his mother’s death until now he would have shrugged and said, Ancient history. And yet here he was making like a guest on Oprah.

  He had to find out what happened.

  He thought about his father’s letters. His father said he left to protect him. Who was he protecting him from? Find that out and you have your murderer. Simple.

  How angry would he have to be to target someone in this way? The letters talked about an accident and the death of a woman and a child. His mother was repayment for the woman. He would have been collateral damage for the child had his father not done his vanishing act.

  Your run-of-the-mill revenge-driven psycho would have taken out the father and the child as well, surely? It takes one sick fuck to do the wife and leave the father to worry about himself and the son. That could be a strong piece of torture right there, but it would only work if your long-term plan was to take them both out after a suitable period of being worried into a living grave.

  It takes a certain mindset to kill a young woman in such a way. An individual capable of such an act wouldn’t give up on the rest of his revenge so easily. Why did he stop there?

  The building he was aiming for loomed on the road ahead. Wondering how he had managed to arrive at his destination safely, Kenny swooped into the car park and chose a parking bay. He pointed his car towards the exit as was his habit. You never knew when a quick getaway might be required.

  In the bar of the hotel, Dimitri was wearing his usual suit-and-tie combo and he looked over Kenny’s T-shirt and jeans outfit with an expression of disapproval. Kenny hid a smile. He had chosen his clothes carefully to piss the man off. The two men ordered soft drinks. They were both driving. Such is the new Glasgow. Aye, right.

  They sat at a table in the corner of the room.

  ‘What was so fucking urgent, Dimitri?’ Kenny asked.

  Dimitri attempted a huff at Kenny’s tone and then gave in. ‘I have some stuff you might be interested in.’

  ‘What, no preamble? No pleasant chat before we get to the meat of the meeting?’

  ‘You appear to be a man in a hurry, Mr O’Neill. I’m adjusting my approach to suit yours.’

  ‘It’s Kenny, remember? What kind of stuff?’ Kenny sat down at a table beside him. The table was dotted with beer mats and ring circles.

  ‘Hugely desirable, symbols of affluence, works of...’

  ‘Dimitri, what happened to adjusting your approach to mine? Save me the spiel and give me the detail.’

  ‘Designer gear. High end. The real deal. Didn’t even get as far as the lorry, fell off the container ship.’

  ‘Price?’

&nb
sp; Dimitri gave him a figure. Kenny halved it. Dimitri made a face and went back to his original figure.

  ‘Dimitri, haven’t you guessed I’m not in the mood? You’re here because I’m your best bet to get this stuff moved on before it’s last season’s and therefore worthless. Spare us both the dance and agree my price and then I can get the fuck out of here.’

  Dimitri’s face displayed his owner’s internal journey as he mentally fought with Kenny’s assertion. Then his bulldog features settled into an expression of acceptance.

  ‘Fine.’

  He sounded like a teenager who’d just been sent to his room. He leaned forward on the table, his elbow planted like a prop and his fingers leaving indents in the putty of his face.

  ‘What did you do before you got into this racket?’ Kenny asked.

  ‘I.T.’ Dimitri made a face.

  ‘Couldn’t you hack it?’

  ‘Oh, very funny. Haven’t heard that before,’ said Dimitri while loosening the knot on his tie.

  ‘There must have been easier ways to earn your living while still attached to your motherboard.’

  ‘There was and I did.’ Dimitri frowned. ‘Before I was caught and locked up.’

  ‘Tell me more?’

  ‘Condition of my parole is that I don’t own a computer or have access to the internet.’

  ‘That must be like telling a food addict to step away from the pies.’

  ‘True.’ Dimitri laughed and for the first time since they had met Kenny got a glimpse into the real man.

  ‘How did you get caught?’

  ‘By thinking I was smarter than anyone else.’ Dimitri’s face grew red. He scratched at his forehead. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather we change the subject. Where do you want me to send the goods?’

  They arranged a time and place.

  Kenny thought about Dimitri and how he might be of more help to him. The guy was embarrassed at the mere mention of his capture. This meant he had some professional pride. Take this into conjunction with the fact he was shit as a face-to-face merchant, Dimitri really should get another job. Kenny told him as much.