Beyond the Rage

by Michael J Malone

  Kenny recovered from the pain, stepped over his uncle, ran out of the room and looked down the corridor. Nothing.

  ‘Nurse,’ he shouted at the Station. ‘Phone the police. Someone has just tried to murder my aunt.’

  The nurse looked up from her paperwork, locked into stupidity by the apparent absurdity of Kenny’s shouts.

  ‘Now. Police. There’s a murderer in this hospital.’

  ‘Right, right.’ The nurse picked up the phone in front of her and dialled a number.

  ‘And get someone in here, pronto. Someone just tried to suffocate...’

  ‘Kenny, Kenny,’ he heard his uncle speak. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘I’m okay, son,’ Vi’s voice sounded just behind his uncle. Kenny turned and stepped back into the room. Vi was leaning back on her pillows, stretching her hand out to take his. ‘You were just in time.’ She then looked at Peter and the recognition was instant.

  His father was standing in the middle of the room, looking bewildered. Three people he’d spent the last eighteen years hiding from were within touching distance and he didn’t know quite where to put himself.

  ‘Pete?’ asked Vi in a shaky voice.

  ‘Hello, Vi,’ Peter said. ‘Seems like you’ve been in the wars.’ Peter didn’t know where to look, or what to say. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and managed to look like a schoolboy in front of the headmaster’s office, despite the grey in his long hair and his beard.

  ‘Is it really you, Pete?’

  ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Aye and you can bloody piss off again,’ shouted Colin, ‘...back under the stone you crawled from.’

  ‘Colin.’ Vi reached out her hand for her husband’s. ‘We’re all a lot older and a lot wiser than we were in those days.’ She grabbed her husband’s hand and held on tight. With this small gesture, she was telling him he had nothing to worry about. She was his. Completely.

  ‘You’re looking remarkably well for someone who’s just had an attempt on their life, Aunt Vi,’ said Kenny, moving closer to the bed and taking a hold of his aunt’s other hand. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on the paper of her cheek.

  ‘Goodness,’ she cried. ‘What’s been happening to you?’

  Kenny held up his arm. ‘Och, you know. Walked into a door.’

  ‘Aye, and if I’m not mistaken, that door just tried to murder my wife.’

  ‘Colin, you can massage your male pride some other time, ya daft lump.’

  ‘After all you’ve been through, darling,’ said Colin.

  ‘Aye, I’ve not had so much attention for years,’ said Vi. She was smiling but Kenny could see it was through the strain of the last few moments. She felt that she had to hold it together for her husband.

  ‘You’re alright, Vi?’ asked Peter. ‘You don’t need us to get a nurse for you?’

  ‘Goodness, no,’ said Vi. ‘But a wee cup of tea after all that excitement would be worth it.’ She looked at her husband. ‘Darling, would you mind?’

  Colin looked from his wife to Kenny and then to Peter.

  ‘Please, Colin?’

  ‘Aye. Okay,’ said Colin. ‘But you two can forget it if you think I’m getting you anything.’ Pride restored in Colin Land, he left the room. Only then did Vi allow the trauma of what she’d just experienced to show. Her hand shook badly as she placed it in front of her mouth.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘That man was trying to kill me, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but you’re safe now,’ said Kenny.

  She breathed deeply, exhaled slowly, closed her eyes. A tear squeezed out from behind one eyelid.

  ‘It’s okay, Vi,’ said Peter. ‘You’re safe now.’

  ‘I’m not worried about me,’ she said and smiled through her tears. ‘I’ve faced dying so much in the last few weeks it no longer scares me. It’s you two I’m worried about.’

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, Aunt Vi,’ Kenny laughed.

  ‘Don’t treat me like a fool, Kenny son,’ she said, patting his hand. ‘I remember those days all too vividly.’ She looked at Peter. ‘It’s come back to bite us, hasn’t it?’

  Peter nodded.

  Vi looked away from them both and out of the window at a sky dark with greys. Her eyes were haunted, chasing ghosts before her vision returned to the room and the two men. She looked from one to the other before settling on Peter.

  ‘You have a family now?’ she asked and judging by her expression it was a guess.

  Peter nodded.

  ‘Did you find happiness?’ Vi asked and Kenny thought she’d never looked more at peace.

  Again, Peter nodded.

  ‘Good. I’m pleased,’ she swallowed as if drawing steel to her spine. And again she looked at Kenny and back to Peter, her eyes full of tenderness. ‘Because now I’m going to ask you to put everything you hold dear at risk, Peter, and end this. Once and for all.’

  52

  There were twelve steep stone steps up to the hotel entrance. An ornate steel railing was positioned either side of the steps. That’s to offer any drunks a wee hand as they leave the hotel bar, thought Kenny. Give themselves something to hold on to as they leave after they’d spent the last of their wages.

  It was the kind of place, he thought, that should have had a sign above the door that read only those in the early stages of cirrhosis need walk through here. The hotel itself was part of a long row of sandstone tenement houses, bordering Queens Park and built by the Victorians.

  They’d be birling in their graves, thought Kenny, when he walked up to the purple wooden door into the hotel, with his father by his side. In those days this would have been a hotel for middle-class families, taking time out from the strains of village life and seeking the bright lights of one of the biggest cities in the British Empire.

  Nowadays it was nothing better than a doss-house for alcoholics and addicts reliant on the welfare system to give them a roof and a bed.

  Before they walked in the door, Peter put a restraining hand on his son’s arm.

  ‘Are you prepared to do what we need to do in here?’ he asked.

  Kenny nodded. His face set on grim. He didn’t have a weapon on him, but he knew how to kill a man with his bare hands. Fuck, he thought. How casually the thought worked through his mind, but he knew he had no other choice. A warning wouldn’t work for this guy. Nor would a jail sentence; he’d simply pay someone else to carry on the vendetta for him. There was only one way this was going to end. Matty the Hut’s funeral service.

  ‘You?’ he asked. ‘You ever killed anyone?’

  Peter stared at Kenny, emotion worked at the muscles along his jaw. ‘I’d rather not answer that question, son.’

  In through the door and a small desk, no wider than a child might sit at, acted as a reception area. Kenny doubted if it was ever manned. To the left of this, a set of double doors led into a room with the ambitious title above the door of Lounge. If ever anyone attempted to lounge beyond those doors, their wallet would be emptied and their teeth spread across the sticky, carpeted floor.

  The walls around the room were panelled with Formica to the halfway point, where a cream paint took over. Here and there, sporting trophies were hung on the walls along with some sponsored adverts from brewers.

  Only one other man was in the room. He was leaning against the bar, wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt and, in stark contrast with what you’d expect in a place like this, he was pink with health.

  ‘Fuck me,’ he said with a huge smile. ‘If it isn’t Peter O’Neill.’

  ‘Matthew,’ Peter nodded, moving closer to the man. Kenny looked at his father from the corner of his eyes and thought, yes, he looks ready.

  ‘Kenny,’ said Matthew. ‘How’s the arm?’

  ‘Fuck you,’ said Kenny.

  ‘No need f
or profanity, son.’

  ‘And yet again, fuck you.’

  Matthew simply smiled. ‘I take it you two have now been re-united? You can thank me for that, Peter.’ A shadow flitted across his face. ‘At least you have a son to be re-united with.’

  ‘You expect sympathy? After everything you’ve done?’ asked Peter.

  ‘I expect nothing, Pete. I asked for loyalty from you all those years ago. Remember? I could have made you rich beyond your wildest. You were nothing,’ he spat. ‘I gave you prestige, money and you play a horrible–’

  ‘What happened, Matt, was an accident. A tragic accident.’ Peter’s view was locked on King. Kenny stepped further into the room and looked around. There was just the one door. The only other way out was through the window. Slowly, so as not to alarm King, he walked away from the door and positioned himself so that he could see all of the occupants of the room and he’d notice as soon as anyone else entered. To disguise his movement, he picked up a beer mat from a table.

  ‘Look, Pops,’ Kenny said, ‘Stella Artois. Those wanky beers get everywhere.’

  King smiled at Kenny as if to say his attempt to wind him up was juvenile.

  ‘No, Peter,’ he said. ‘Here’s what happened, you devious fucker…’ And for the first time since they entered the bar King displayed some real emotion. He recognised this and visibly restrained himself. ‘You were afraid that by turning down my gun and that particular contract...’ He faced Kenny. ‘Sorry, how rude of me, Kenny. I should explain your dad did certain jobs for me. Where lessons needed to be learned.’ Kenny looked at Peter, whose face was white, lips drawn tight and fists clenched by his side. ‘Your dad was quite the nasty individual in those days, Kenny.’

  ‘And what you need to know, Matt, is that particular apple didn’t fall too far from the tree,’ Kenny replied.

  ‘Don’t make me laugh,’ said King. ‘Sure you can fight, but you’re a pussy. You couldn’t really hurt someone if your life depended on it.’

  With an effort, Kenny managed to bite back his response. This was not going to be about his ego. Let King carry on thinking whatever he wanted.

  Satisfied he had Kenny in his pigeonhole, King turned to Peter.

  ‘Giving my son the gun and letting him think it was a toy...’ King shook his head. ‘Tut, tut.’ His face was twisted with something so complex that labels like hate were inadequate. He had spent almost two decades in a state somewhere beyond rage and only now was he close to the revenge he sought. ‘I’ve spent so many days thinking of this moment. You, Kenny, you took such a long time to grow up. Life is full of frustrations, eh?’ His grin was bright with an insane light. ‘But you had to be of a certain position in life for my plan to work. Too young and I just couldn’t rely on you reacting the way I wanted.’ He clapped his hands. ‘I should have been a film director. Or…’ He paused. ‘Imagine what I could do with something like Big Brother.’

  ‘Cut the theatrics, Matt,’ said Peter. ‘You’re not crazy. At least not in the accepted version of the word. What do you want? What is it going to take to make this all stop?’

  ‘Your mum was a lovely woman, Kenny. You were up in your bed. Tucked up in your Action Man quilt. You should know how brave your mum was. She didn’t want her son to die...’

  ‘You bastard,’ Peter lunged forward. Kenny held his hand out, grabbed his father’s arm and restrained him. He knew King wanted to get them riled up. Angry men don’t fight so well. While King continued to speak, Kenny studied him. He well knew that Matty the Hut could look after himself, but that didn’t explain the man’s confidence. He was in a bar on his own with two men he knew were more than capable of hurting him. What was the game plan? When were the paid mercenaries going to troop in?

  King was still speaking. ‘You want it to stop, Pete? You watch as your son hangs from a noose made from a selection of school clothes. Arrange that and then it can stop.’ King turned to Kenny and clapped his hands. One, two, three times. ‘Do you know every time I clap my hands, a child in Africa dies?’ King chuckled. ‘Bono is such a wanker.’

  ‘Do you know, I think he is crazy, Dad,’ Kenny deliberately used the title. He wanted King to worry that despite his best efforts the two men were reconciled. ‘Carrying a vendetta for so long has got to twist a man.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s twisted,’ said King. ‘You’re thirty now and you’ve yet to have a proper relationship. You’d rather pay for it than earn it the hard way. Through love, respect and affection.’

  Kenny laughed. ‘Morality lessons from a man like you, King. You are fucking crazy.’

  ‘How’s your little whore?’ King asked. ‘Think her bodyguard is keeping her safe?’

  ‘Cool. You got her.’ Kenny feigned disinterest. ‘Well, that’s one less worry on my mind. Since I worked out your fucked-up little plan and her part in it, I’ve been wondering how to ditch her. I take it you got Mason Budge to do the needful?’

  Kenny’s use of the name surprised King. ‘You are a resourceful lad.’ To Peter. ‘You should be proud of the boy. While you still have the time.’

  ‘You have to go through me to hurt him,’ said Peter.

  King stepped away from the bar. ‘Happy to.’

  ‘Now wait a minute, children,’ said Kenny. He was not keen for the action to start until he had a better idea of what King’s game plan was. ‘Step back from the nice man, Matt. Let’s talk. Is there anyway we can sort this out without resorting to violence?’

  ‘Told you he was a pussy,’ said King. His arms and shoulders all but trembled with anticipation at the violence he planned. ‘In case you hadn’t realised I’m taking a biblical stance on all of this. Eye for an eye, wife and son for a wife and son. Or even...’ –King’s smile was as bright as a candle. He’d been waiting to reveal just how much he now knew – ‘…a wife, a lover and two sons.’

  Peter and Kenny exchanged glances. King still didn’t seem to know about the family up in Balquidder. It needed to stay that way.

  King clapped his hands. Once. Twice. Three times. ‘Every time I clap my hands a child in Africa dies,’ said King while making a face that said, Who the fuck cares?

  That’s it, thought Kenny. That’s the signal.

  He moved quickly to the door, which meant he was behind Peter, but that would have to be okay and just as he got into position to the side of the door a man walked in.

  Budge.

  ‘I hope you didn’t start the party without me, Matthew,’ Budge said. He was standing ready for everything, weight balanced perfectly on each foot. He was speaking to Peter’s back and couldn’t quite see King’s face and missed any warning that he might have given.

  Kenny knew there was no time for banter with this guy. Long and short of it, Budge was a killer.

  Kenny attacked.

  53

  Kenny stepped to his right, took all of his weight on his left foot and kicked out. Budge spotted the movement and twisted to the side, but he was too slow. Kenny’s foot lashed high, connected with his jaw.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Budge and fell back. He got up quickly, shook his head and rubbed his face. ‘That’s the second time today.’

  Kenny wasn’t thinking to add any more comments to the conversation. He attacked again. Budge blocked and came at Kenny with an attack of his own.

  Caught Kenny in the gut. He bent over. Breath exploded from him. He had enough presence of mind to back off quickly to give him room to regroup. This was just an opening sally, but he was impressed. Budge would have been a difficult opponent if Kenny had two strong arms, but with one he was going to be a real challenge.

  Kenny loved challenges.

  Budge took up an old-time boxing stance. Shadow-boxed for a couple of blows. Showing off, wasting energy, thought Kenny. He took this time to check out how his father was doing with King.

  They were toe to toe, slugging it out lik
e old-timers in a Western movie. He couldn’t see which of them had the upper hand, but they were each showing blood and some puffiness on their faces.

  ‘Watch out, Dad,’ said Kenny. ‘He’s been training down at the gym all these years. Thinks cage-fighting is going to give him an edge.’

  Peter nodded, gave Kenny a quick wink and brought up an arm to block a punch.

  ‘Man, this is so cute. Father and son together at last. How the kinfolks would be proud,’ sang Budge. As he spoke, he stretched out his right arm to the side, giving his wrist a dramatic flick. Something slim and longer than his forearm slid from his sleeve. Kenny recognised it as a police ASP baton. He assessed the strengths and weaknesses of this weapon in an instant. Budge could attack with it while staying outside Kenny’s reach. If a weapon like this landed on muscle, it could likely cause cramps. If it landed on bone, it could break it; if it connected with the skull or neck with sufficient force, it could be fatal.

  Weakness? If Kenny got inside its reach it would become ineffective.

  Thinking, You should have broken my leg, you fucker, Kenny danced inside Budge’s reach, punched with his good hand at Budge’s gut, aiming for sufficient force for the blow to carry through to the spine. In the next second, he struck downwards with his plaster cast on Budge’s forearm. The force was enough for Budge to lose his grip of the baton, but it was also enough to cause Kenny considerable pain.

  He screamed.

  His bones hadn’t knitted well enough yet for such use. The pain almost blinded him. Fuck. He was sure he’d re-broken the bones.

  He had enough presence of mind to kick Budge’s baton out of reach.

  Budge himself was breathing heavily, but Kenny was momentarily in too much pain to take advantage. He fought to zone it out and, holding his wounded limb close to his chest, he lashed out with another kick; catching Budge on the chin.