Beyond the Rage

by Michael J Malone

  Smile. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Things are on course as far as finding my father. Now I just need to find out who has been bashing you about and teach them a lesson.’

  Alexis reached over and stroked his hand just at the edge of his plaster cast. ‘Are you really in the right shape to be teaching that kind of lesson?’

  Kenny snorted. ‘I’ve fought with worse than this.’

  ‘Please, Kenny. Be careful.’ Alexis’ face was tight with worry. ‘If something happened to you...’ A tear shone on her cheek. Kenny wiped it away with the back of his hand. He held her face in both hands and kissed her slowly on the lips. His chest tight with emotion.

  ‘You want to...?’ Alexis asked with a small smile.

  ‘Hell, yes,’ said Kenny, picking her up and carrying her into the bedroom.

  Afterwards, they lay side by side, both of them staring at the ceiling, waiting for their pulses and breathing to slow.

  ‘Well, aren’t we the married couple?’ laughed Alexis. ‘We made it through to the bedroom before tearing each other’s clothes off.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Kenny with a voice that suggested he was on the edge of sleep. ‘That was nice.’

  ‘Nice?’ said Alexis as she propped herself up on an elbow. ‘I think I’m much better than nice.’

  ‘Och, you know what I mean,’ said Kenny. ‘Anyway, “nice” is a word that has a bad press. There’s nothing boring or dull about nice. Life would be a lot better if we all had more access to nice.’

  ‘That you finished your little discourse?’

  ‘Aye,’ Kenny laughed. ‘After our next session we will discuss the etymology of the word “interesting”.’

  Alexis turned on her side, her back to Kenny inviting him to spoon into her. He placed his good arm under the pillow Alexis had her head on and his broken arm he kept outside the covers but draped over her side.

  ‘God didn’t think much about lovers cuddling up when he designed the whole arm thing, did he?’ Kenny asked as he lined his stomach against her back, genitals against her soft buttocks and knees into the back of her knees. Every part of the front of his body was in contact with her. He closed his eyes and savoured the moment.

  ‘Jesus, Kenny,’ said Alexis. ‘You getting horny again?’

  ‘Just ignore me,’ he grinned into her hair, grinding his growing penis against the swell of her.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Kenny.’ she said. ‘I just don’t have the same energy I usually have.’

  ‘Don’t worry, babes.’ Kenny willed his erection into softness and allowed himself to slump back into the near-sleep he was enjoying moments before. ‘Just chalk it up to one more injury we have to do to this guy Mason Budge.’

  ‘What?’ Alexis turned to face him.

  ‘Mmm?’ Kenny asked.

  ‘Where did you hear that name?’

  Her urgency pushed Kenny away from sleep. ‘I... eh... did you not tell me?’ Shit, he thought, he was still to tell Alexis about his meeting with Jo Connelly.

  ‘No. How could I tell you when I didn’t know his name?’

  ‘And how do you now know that’s his fucking name?’

  ‘What? You’re confusing me.’ She sat up and twisted round on the bed so that she was facing him down on the pillow. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Kenny?’

  ‘I’ve told you everything now, Alexis,’ he answered. The quilt had slumped to crumple around her waist, exposing her breasts. Kenny stared. He could stare at their twin perfection for days.

  ‘Stop looking at my tits.’ Alexis pulled the quilt up to cover herself. Kenny pulled it back down, wearing a greedy grin.

  ‘Gorgeous,’ he said.

  With a toss of her hair she gave up on trying to stop him staring.

  ‘I’m up here, Kenny,’ she said. ‘What haven’t you told me?’

  ‘You know everything, Alexis.’

  She started crying. ‘My life’s in danger, Kenny. Don’t you think I deserve to know what’s going on?’

  ‘Don’t cry, honey.’ Kenny got up onto his knees and positioned himself in front of her. He pulled her head onto his shoulder. Like every other male, he couldn’t take the sight and sound of a woman in tears. ‘Of course you deserve to know...’ He considered his words carefully. ‘I found out the name of some of the girls who work out of the same area as you. I described the guy who followed us to Balquhidder, along with the North American accent, and they came up with the name of Mason Budge.’

  Alexis was shivering in his arms. Kenny picked up the side of the quilt and tried to drape it around her shoulders.

  ‘We need to know who this guy is. I need to know who his boss is and you have not exactly been forthcoming in giving me the information.’

  ‘That’s because the minute… no, the second, I tell you we are both dead.’ Alexis lifted her head up, anger flashed in her eyes. ‘I’m terrified for my life.’ She jumped off the bed and with small quick steps started moving around the room, hunting for her clothes. She began wriggling into her trousers with one hand whilst holding her other arm across her breasts. Kenny climbed off the bed and unmindful of his nakedness walked towards her.

  ‘Alexis, I’m just saying...’

  ‘You’re saying you don’t trust me.’ Her face was bright with fury.

  ‘I’m saying you’re not helping me very much.’ Kenny replied. ‘I had to hunt down these prostitutes to try and find this guy and then there’s Jo Connolly.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Don’t fucking lie to me, Alexis. I got her number from your mobile phone.’

  ‘You did what? That’s private information, you bastard.’ She raised a hand as if she was going to slap him. He caught her wrist and his eyes flashed a warning.

  ‘I got her number from your phone. I met her the other day. She gave me Budge’s name and what do you know, she’s dead soon after.’

  She said nothing. Simply stared at him.

  ‘And then I see her face on the telly and what do you say?’ Kenny pretended to consider. ‘Oh, yes. You said you had never seen her before in your life. What the fuck is going on, Alexis?’

  ‘You can say what the hell you like.’ Alexis now had a jumper on and was scouring the floor for her shoes. ‘But you can say it to an empty room because I am out of here.’ She stamped towards the living room.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Kenny said, following her. ‘Where are you going to go?’

  ‘Somewhere I won’t be insulted.’ She located her shoes at the side of the sofa and picked them up.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Alexis. There’s more at stake here than your pride.’

  ‘Of course there is, you moron.’ She swung round and faced him. ‘These men have raped me, they’ve battered me and they’re not going to stop until I’m selling blowjobs for a fiver down at the Buchanan Street bus station. So, if you’re going to help me, help me, Kenny. Trust me. Don’t accuse me of lying to you.’

  Standing in front of him, her face pale with fear, her hair in damp strings around her forehead and her shoes in her hand, she had never looked so vulnerable. Kenny felt like a prick.

  He exhaled, all fight left him.

  ‘I said I would help you and I will help you.’ He softened his voice and held his arms out. Her bottom lip trembled, she sighed. Once. Twice. And walked into his offered hug.

  ‘Kenny, you’ve got to trust me. I’m terrified and you’re all I’ve got.’

  45

  The long street stretched into silence. The rain was so light it seemed to suspend in the air as if asking for permission to fall. Sandstone tenements hung over him like guardians and cars lined the street bumper to bumper. The streets were switched to ‘hush’ before alarm clocks sounded throughout the city. This was Kenny’s favourite time of day.

  The only noise was the slap of his shoes on the road and his breath s
ounding an even rhythm. He couldn’t understand why anyone would run at any other time.

  Ahead he heard the high-pitched squeal and rattle of a shopkeeper’s metal shutters being forced up. Then he saw an old man step out from the doorway and pick up a pile of newspapers.

  ‘Morning,’ he greeted Kenny as he straightened his back, his arms full of today’s news.

  Kenny nodded a reply and strode on. The old man glanced at his arm as if to ask whether he should be out running with such an obvious injury, but there was no way Kenny could sit on his arse any longer. Exercise was his drug. He clearly couldn’t go to the gym and the rhythm of his running didn’t cause any pain to his arm, so he’d laced up his shoes and gone out to pound the streets. Alexis had insisted she could cope without a babysitter if he was only gone for an hour, so he hadn’t bothered to phone Mark. Let the boy have his beauty sleep, he sure as fuck needed it.

  It had been a week since he bought the phone and posted the advert and he’d heard nothing. Apart from a bunch of weirdos trying to earn a quick buck.

  ‘That’s my mate Danny,’ a man with a soft Highland accent told him. ‘He’s living in Australia. What’s the capital? Perth, aye, that’s where you’ll find him. Now, how do I get my money?’

  ‘The money is paid for information leading to this man being found. If you just give me your address, I’ll let you know how your information works out.’

  ‘Aye, but you give me the money and then I’ll give you the address,’ the caller countered.

  Kenny felt irritation sour his jaw. ‘I need to check the validity of the information before I pay out.’ In his mind he added, you fuckwit.

  ‘Aye. Right,’ the man said. ‘Never thought of that.’ The man spoke the address slowly as if reading it out, or making it up. Kenny pretended to write it down and then hung up.

  One woman rang and asked him. ‘How do I ken you’re no going to keep the money for yoursel’?’

  ‘It is my money,’ he answered. ‘So I would have nothing to gain by that.’

  ‘I don’t trust you people,’ she said and then closed the connection. So far, he’d counted sixty-four calls and each one was stranger than the last.

  One woman asked him for the real story. It was after ten o’clock, Kenny was sleepy after a session of lovemaking or he might have just hung up. His caller sounded fairly young and her words were clear and pronounced as if she was acting the part on behalf of someone else. Perhaps she was trying to disguise herself over the phone, he thought.

  ‘The real story is as shown in the advert,’ Kenny answered.

  ‘I can sense there’s more to this,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you tell me the real story and I’ll see if I can help you?’

  Kenny moved the phone away from his face and read the display. The caller had hidden their number.

  ‘The real story is in the advert,’ Kenny insisted.

  ‘In that case,’ the woman said, ‘I’ll leave you in peace. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Kenny with urgency. Now that he was alert, this woman sounded saner than anyone else he’d spoken to over the last few days. ‘The truth is kind of awkward. I need to find this man. He’s family and that’s all I want to say at this point.’

  The woman said nothing. Kenny allowed the silence to fill his ear.

  ‘Do you look like him?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘Sorry?’ Kenny was completely taken aback.

  ‘I’m not stupid, son,’ she said. ‘I can read between the lines. There’s a lot of kids in the world looking for their fathers. Where do you live?’

  ‘Glasgow. In the West End.’ He wasn’t sure why he answered so truthfully. It just felt like the right thing to do.

  ‘Nice,’ she said. ‘Are you happy, son?’

  Kenny felt his throat tighten at the sympathy from this stranger.

  ‘Life has its moments.’

  ‘You sound nice, son. I hope you find your father.’

  She hung up.

  That was two days ago and each time the phone rang he hoped it would be her again. Instinct told him that there was more to the call, but without a number or more of a conversation he had absolutely nothing to go on.

  In the meantime he’d also been scouring his contacts for the whereabouts for a certain Mason Budge. Nobody knew nothing. There’s a double negative for you, thought Kenny. Lots of people know something, they’re just too scared to say anything.

  He was also no nearer finding out who Budge’s boss was. His favourite so far was Tommy Hunt and that was where he was headed this morning after he’d showered and changed. The man lived in a big house over in Pollokshields and he was going to get a flask of coffee, a bottle to piss in and sit and watch the man for as long as it took to find out what he was all about.

  • • •

  An hour later, he was sitting outside the man’s house in Albert Drive. Looking around himself at the blonde-sandstone mansions that stretched along the street, Kenny wondered what the hell he was doing living in a tenement flat. This would be a much better way to spend his money.

  Well, maybe not, he thought as he noted a female neighbour across the road walk towards a BMW 4x4 while studying his. In the crush of humanity that was his street, he had a certain amount of anonymity. Here, the yummy mummys would be discussing his every move after they had dropped off their spoiled brats at the nearest private school in their giant lumps of glossy metal.

  You drive for twenty minutes a day, thought Kenny, why the hell do you need a machine the size of a house to do it in?

  He returned his view to Hunt’s home. The curtains were open at each of the windows, but he could see no movement beyond them. The garden was contained by a waist-high wall and pillars stood at either end of the gate into the short pebble-filled drive. The house itself had large windows and half a dozen steps up to a grand front door. To the side of the house was a double garage, in front of which rested a red Porsche and a silver Mercedes. The whole set-up was there to demonstrate wealth.

  Above the bay window next to the front door Kenny spotted a small black box pinned to the sandstone that bore the legend, Burglar Alarm.

  Hunt probably had another large house in the Trossachs for the weekends and a villa in Marbella that he saw once every four years when he convinced himself he needed a holiday. This was likely just a wee pied-à-terre where he could rest his head between business meetings.

  Kenny poured a small espresso from his silver flask and sipped the warm, bitter fluid. He looked at the clock on his dashboard. Seven fifteen. He looked up and down the street. There was little traffic and most of the houses were starting to stir now. He wasn’t comfortable here. Too visible. All it needed was some Neighbourhood Watch fanny to note his registration number and he was in a file at the local police station. And these were all wealthy taxpayers – the local plod wouldn’t ignore their complaints.

  Praying that Tommy Hunt was an early riser, Kenny sipped at his cup and kept his eyes on the man’s house.

  Fifteen minutes later he had his reward. He heard the big door open, the thud of as it closed. Feet crunched across gravel and Hunt was reaching his car. There was no tell-tale set of bleeps before he shut the door. Unless the control box was further inside the house, Hunt hadn’t set any alarm. Could the alarm box be a fake?

  Hunt was wearing a grey, single-breasted suit with a white-shirt and blue-tie combo. How fucking boring is that, thought Kenny. White shirt, blue tie. Lots of cash, no imagination. Hunt shouldered his way out of his jacket, opened the back door and picked a coat hanger from the seat. No creases for our Tommy. Jacket duly cared for, Hunt sat in the driver’s seat, fired up the engine and the Mercedes coasted up the short drive.

  Luckily for Kenny, Hunt took a left so he didn’t have to duck down to avoid being seen. He turned on his own ignition and slipped into the traffic a few cars behin
d.

  As he drove he thought about Alexis and her face when he asked Mark to sit with her for the day. It was quite impressive the way a simple shift of the eyes and lift of the eyebrow could spell out the words, You bastard.

  Calum had classes at university so Kenny was on his own. Which was fine. The pain had eased off considerably and he had the use of his fingers in that hand to help with the steering.

  Keeping Hunt in his view, but staying two cars behind, Kenny followed the Mercedes to an industrial estate in Hillington. Large, long buildings with lurid signs squatted on each side of the road before Hunt took a left. Here was a row of office buildings, prim in trimmed grass. Hunt drove to the second one and slid into the parking space nearest the door. Kenny drove past, cut a u-turn and came back in time to see Hunt walk through a double glass door.

  He kept on driving. Hunt was a grafter; chances are he would be there until six that evening, which gave him the whole day.

  Worried that the curious neighbours might recognise his car from earlier, Kenny drove across to Dimitri’s and borrowed his car.

  ‘Morning, boss,’ said Dimitri. He was at his desk, two blue folders in front of him and two books. One had a large oak tree on the cover and bore the title People Finding.

  Kenny picked it up and read the back cover. ‘Really?’ he asked Dimitri.

  ‘There’s all different ways to skin the cat, boss.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Kenny. He reached forward and picked up one of the folders. He emptied the contents carefully on to the desk and examined the folder: blue plastic and containing a notepad and black pen.

  ‘This will do nicely,’ he said and tapped Dimitri on the head with it.

  ‘No bother, boss,’ Dimitri said, wearing an annoyed expression. ‘Just you help yourself. What the feck do you need that for?’

  Kenny tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’m about to break into a man’s house.’

  ‘And you’re going to what, knock him out with a sheet of blue plastic?’

  Kenny winked. ‘There are many ways to skin a cat, Dimitri.’