"You shouldn't swear at your staff. I'm in the union you know."
The supervisor muttered something sweary as she dandered out the automatic door.
Rachel yanked her phone out of her front trouser pocket and picked her brother's number from the contact list. He answered on the second ring.
"I've told you before, Rachel. This is a business number. You can't tie it up. Especially during the business hour."
"Stop the whining, John. This is important."
"So's my business."
"Selling drugs from prison? You're hardly rescuing kids from a burning orphanage, like."
"Fuck do you want, then?"
She was conscious of her diminishing time and resisted wasting it with further uppity comments. "I need information on some prick that door-stepped me at work."
"You got a name?"
"No. He knows Daddy, though. Hinted that he might have been the one that burned down his timber yard."
"Why phone me, then? Ask the aul cunt who this guy is."
"Last time I called Daddy he was too drunk to form a sentence. I can't waste time."
"There's not a lot I can do from here."
"You can do plenty. That phone you're using for drug deals will help."
"Time's tight enough as it is. I've hardly any time with this before I've to hide it again."
"It's important. Brian and I could be in danger."
"You still with that loser, then?"
"Can you help me or not?"
"I'll make some calls."
"You're looking for a tall man, well built, fighter's face, you know? Flat nose and boxy cheekbones. Not pretty."
"Anything else?"
"No. Can't tell you about his hair. He'd a woolly hat on, pulled down dead low."
"It's a start."
He cut the call without so much as a goodbye. Rachel smirked. Her little brother was a bit of a prick, but useful with it.
Rachel checked the time on her phone. She'd been outside for just over three minutes. No time to call Brian. She rattled off a quick text instead.
Watch ur back 2day. Some weirdo was askin bout u. xox
She took just the slightest bit of pleasure from the thought of what a text like that would do to Brian's weed paranoia. Maybe he'd consider giving it up.
Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting
"Right, try to put me in an armlock."
Brian had no idea how to put somebody in an armlock, but he was game to test Tony. He reached for the dealer's offered right arm and wrapped one hand around his forearm and the other around his upper arm. Tony rotated his wrist and bent his elbow. Then Brian was facing the opposite direction with his own arm pushed up his back. He giggled.
"That was cool."
"I can teach you how to do it."
"Happy days."
Tony let him go and Brian rubbed at his shoulder. It had been tweaked slightly by the strain. No major pain, though. He looked Tony up and down, still a bit surprised that the guy actually had some moves.
They were at Tony's 'dojo', a little room above an arcade in Castlewellan, a small town next to Dundrum. Tony reckoned there wasn't a big enough population in Dundrum to support his venture. The room had poor lighting, a threadbare carpet and damp in one corner. Tony had set up a punch-bag in the dry corner and there were pictures of Chinese characters on printer paper dotted along the wall. The place was shabby but in Tony's words, "It'll do."
"Here, Tony. Show me how to defend myself against head butts, will you? I'm heart scared of those."
"Oh, that's a good one, actually. Remind me to show that in class."
"Will do. Show me first, though."
Tony grinned and rolled up his sleeves. He did that a lot, even though the baggy silk fell right back down again. It did look the part, though. Must have seen it in a movie or something.
"Come on, then. Try to land one on me. But go slow. For your own safety, like."
Brian grabbed two fistfuls of Tony's Chinese suit. He could feel a little burn-hole, most likely from a loose spliff, under one of his thumbs.
"Okay, so as the head butt comes in..." Tony widened his eyes to show he was ready for Brian's attack. "Just drop your chin onto your chest."
Brian completed the slow motion attack and his nose met the top of Tony's head. He shuddered at the thought of a full speed impact.
"That's all you need to do?" Brian asked.
"K.I.S.S. Keep it simple, stupid."
"And it works at full speed?"
Tony took a step back and let his head loll forward a couple of times. "This motion will always be faster than a head butt, simply because it's a smaller movement."
"But why doesn't everybody know this?"
"Not everybody has met me. Sometimes the simplest solutions are the hardest to find."
"And you reckon you could do that under pressure in a real fight?"
"I don't feel pressure in real fights. I know enough to keep me safe."
"So you've tested this in a live situation? Tell me about it, man."
"Hero stories aren't going to teach you how to protect yourself. Pick another attack."
"What about a flying knee?"
"When was the last time you saw one of those in a street fight?"
Brian shrugged. "Never, I guess."
"How about we just deal with punches for the next wee while?"
"Oh, here. What if I come at you with something random? Just to sharpen you up a bit, like?"
"Probably not a good idea. If I don't know what's coming I can't keep my movements slow and controlled. There'd be much more risk of injury for you if I go at a hundred percent."
"Oh, right. Never thought about it like that."
"No worries. Just try to punch my nose, okay?"
Brian adopted an attempt at a boxing stance. Then he dropped his right fist down to his hip and swung an almighty haymaker at Tony. The dealer held up both hands, fingers splayed, and skipped backwards.
"Not a hook, Brian. Try and tag me with a straight punch."
"But what if it's a hook?"
"We'll get to that."
"But who throws straight punches in a street fight? Sure, isn't it always big dirty joes flying at your head? Drunk thugs don't really go for the double-jab, right cross combo, like."
"We'll get to the other ones in time. But straight punches are more dangerous, so we should deal with those first."
"I don't know, man."
"Trust me."
Brian bobbed his head then took a step back. He darted forward and launched a left jab. Tony cursed and cupped his nose with his hand. Blood spilled over his fingers.
"Shit, man, sorry!" Brian felt the onset of panic scratch at his guts. "Did I do that wrong?"
Tony's words were a distorted but unmistakable. "If you intended to bust me, then no, it wasn't wrong."
"I really didn't mean to."
"Thank fuck this didn't happen in front of the students." His voice had an edge to it. "Get me a tissue or something, man."
Brian ran out onto the landing and shoved the bathroom door open. He snagged the toilet roll from the top of the cistern and sped back to Tony. The bloodied dealer wrapped a good metre of the paper around his hand and mashed it into his face. It turned red instantly.
"I'm really sorry."
"Don't worry about it. Just didn't realise you were going to go full welly."
"Tilt your head back."
"Nah, man. Hate it when the blood rolls down the back of my throat."
"Pinch the bridge of your nose, then."
"This is better."
Tony twisted a couple of sheets of toilet roll into a thin plug and shoved it up his nose. Brian didn't know what to do. He had an urge to extend his hand as a peace offering, or clap Tony's shoulder in a manly way, but he was afraid to make any sudden movements. Tony might snap at him like a beaten dog.
"We should get a wee bit stoned," Tony said.
Brian's heartbeat began to slow down. "Great ide
a, mate. Want me to skin up?"
"Thanks."
Brian gave his phone a quick check before getting to work on the spliff. He had a weird text message from Rachel. Watch his back? He'd ask her about it when he saw her at the house. Last thing he wanted to do before having a toke was to start a back and forth with her. Texting was such a buzz kill.
I'll Be Watching You
Owen popped a couple of co-codamol pills. The strong ones. They didn't give him the same warm fuzzy feeling that they used to but he still experienced a moment of calm each time he washed them down. The coffee was cold and bitter but he didn't give a shit. His mind was occupied with greater things. Like how close he was to finding Brian Morgan.
He tossed his empty coffee cup into the passenger side foot well. There was a decent collection of cups, tins and bottles building down there. Hardly mattered. He wasn't in the habit of driving passengers about in the battered old Renault Laguna. And when he eventually picked up Morgan, that little toe-rag would be bundled into the boot.
Owen didn't know what time the shifts changed at Rachel's petrol station so he'd parked up in a space close to the automatic car wash. He had a clear line of sight to the front door and nobody seemed bothered about questioning his intentions. His presence had to look suspicious but either he hadn't been noticed or if he had, whoever spotted him had no idea what to do about it.
Happy days.
Owen turned up the volume on his phone. The meditation app poured soothing noises into his good ear. They were a little less relaxing at top volume but he really felt like he was getting something from the experience. Maybe it was the Diazepam he'd necked an hour ago.
Let Me Go
"Can I leave early?"
Rachel hated asking her supervisor for anything. He was too fond of wielding the smidgeon of power he had like a steel mace.
"Why?"
There's a creep outside watching me and I want to ditch him sooner rather than later. But she actually said, "I don't feel well."
"What's wrong with you?"
"Stomach cramps."
"Did you eat something dodgy?"
"Nope. I'm on my period. It's a real heavy one too."
"Jeez..." He shook his head briskly and his wobbly bits jiggled. "Spare me the details, Rachel."
"What? You squeamish?" She patted herself low down on her tummy. "It's totally natural. Every woman you know has a menstrual cycle."
"Menstru...? For Christ's sake, wee girl. Are you trying to make me boak?"
"Oh, grow up, will you?"
"There's nothing immature about my reaction. T.M.I., right?"
"This is sexual discrimination."
"What the fu...?" The supervisor tugged at his beard. "Can you try and get somebody to cover for you at least?"
"That's not my job."
He walked away from her, mumbling non-words to show he was pissed off but also to deny her any sort of ammunition for indignation.
"Will I take that as a yes, then?"
"Just go home, Rachel."
"Thanks, boss."
"Phone me tomorrow. I'll have next week's rota worked out by then."
Oh, you prick. His parting shot was a not-so-veiled threat. She was getting fuck all shifts next week thanks to her lip. Maybe she should have called Brian to come in and cover for her. He hadn't replied to her last text, though, and that was niggling at her too. God only knew what state he was in, especially after his little slumber party with the stoner-stray. Hardly an optimum condition for keeping your wits about you.
Rachel fetched her jacket and handbag from the poky staff/storeroom and slipped out the service entrance at the back of the building. Her stalker wouldn't be able to see her from his spot in the car park. To play it extra safe, she stepped over the low wall that bordered the petrol station and crept through somebody's back garden.
She felt a little shitty about trespassing but was relieved to find the place devoid of dog toys. There was no car in the driveway and a solitary rusted swing with faded ropes and a cracked plastic seat hinted at grown-up kids. Rachel kept her head down and emerged onto the residential street hoping that nobody would notice her. If any curtains twitched, she didn't notice.
The street led to the main road into Newcastle. She took a slight detour on the way to the bus station and stopped at a payphone. They could still be found, though they were fewer and farther between.
Rachel dialled the PSNI Crime Stoppers after Googling for the number on her mobile. She didn't trust their claim to anonymity and wanted to cover all angles.
A polite and calm voice asked Rachel how he could help her.
"I'd like to report some suspicious activity outside a petrol station."
The man seemed to take her claims seriously and promised to send a marked police car out as soon as one became available. Rachel half-wished she could go back and watch the caper unfold. She was better off out of it, though.
Whoop Whoop
Owen started to feel twitchy an hour into his stake-out. The meditation app was a load of shite in the daylight and the radio had nothing for him. There were no CDs worth a damn in the car either.
"Fuck it."
He'd have to go back in, see if he could get any more info out of the girl. Sitting and waiting was a load of shite.
The automatic doors shushed open. Owen made a beeline for the tills. There was a fat guy in Rachel's spot. He looked angry. Owen didn't waste the smile on him.
"Where is she?"
"Who?"
"Rachel O'Hare."
"She left half an hour ago. Why?"
"What's it to you?"
"Excuse me?"
The big man quivered. Owen wasn't sure if it was anger or fear. He was happy to keep poking until he found out.
"Excuse you?" Owen sniffed the air. "Why, did you fart?"
"Jesus Christ, this is some day. Why don't you just call her if you want her?"
"Did you just take The Lord's name in vain?"
"Would you prefer it if I said the F-word?"
Owen smiled. The big guy was showing a little bit of fire. More fool him.
"I'd prefer it if you'd act professionally, sir."
The fire in fatso's belly scorched his cheeks red. "Would you know much about professionalism, yourself... sir?"
"What are you trying to say?"
"You're not at work and I am. So what's wrong? Poor economy? Disability? Lazy and stupid?"
"Cheeky bastard..."
"And you can tell Rachel I'll be doing all I can to get her fired." He looked up over Owen's shoulder and smiled. "Is everything all right, officer?"
"If you think I'm going to fall—"
"Somebody reported suspicious activity in the car park. Have you spotted anything strange yourself?"
Owen clocked the fat fellah's smug expression and braced himself for the inevitable.
"No more than usual, officer. We get some characters in here, like."
"What about you, sir?"
Owen plastered on a fake smile and turned to face the cop. "I just got here, officer."
The cop was younger than Owen, probably mid-twenties. Tall, handsome, bored. The type who didn't think he'd have to investigate petrol station car parks when he signed up, no doubt.
"Is that your car parked by the car wash?"
"No, officer. I walked over from the caravan park up the road there."
"You're not local, then?"
"I'm a Warrenpoint man."
The cop didn't give a shite about that. He eyed Owen for a few seconds then shifted his focus back to the big boy.
"Maybe after you serve this gentleman you can come have a look at the car? See if you recognise it?"
"We're very short-handed."
"I'll not keep you long."
Owen realised the other two men were staring at him. He ordered the first thing that came into his mind.
"I'll have twenty Regal Kingsize. And a lighter."
He was back on the fags, then. And minus a car.<
br />
It's Oh So Quiet
Rachel pushed the front door open and knew instantly that Brian wasn't in the house. There was a feeling of emptiness that flared on an instinctual level. But she went through the motions and called his name before checking all the rooms on the ground floor. She didn't have the energy to climb the stairs to see if he was in bed. It would have been a pointless exercise. The answer was in her bones already.
What are you up to, Brian?
It was wrong on so many levels that she suspected he was out getting into trouble somewhere. But Brian had always been easily led, a flaw she'd used to her own advantage often enough. He couldn't say no. And Rachel didn't trust that Tony character. His chosen trade was the first black mark. She figured he'd have to be sneaky and an accomplished liar to survive in the drugs trade, especially as a dealer in such a small community. The other black mark was less considered. She just didn't like the look of him. Short and chubby with an arrogant attitude that oozed from his pores. A know-it-all. The perfect replacement for Brian's dead big brother.
Tony couldn't fucking have him. Brian was hers.
Rachel glared at her reflection, her eyes slits of mistrust set deep in her shadowed hollows. She needed more sleep.
But not before she tracked down Brian. She flopped down on the sofa with a glass of water and her mobile phone, selected Brian's name from the list of most recent calls and hummed tunelessly while she waited for him to pick up.
The call went to voicemail.
"Fuck's sake, Brian."
Rachel hung up and dialled again. Got the same result. Third time was not a charm. She resisted the urge to fling the phone across the room. Breaking it wouldn't help anybody.
"You're a useless fucker, Brian Morgan."
Rachel rubbed her belly, her thoughts a conflicted and half-terrified muddle. Would she be raising this child on her own? Could she?
She thought about packing up and moving on. But that was the same as giving up, wasn't it? She'd be admitting she'd been wrong about Brian.
They needed to talk.
Bellyful
Tony dipped half a chip into his beans and popped it into his mouth. He slurped on a can of Coke and burped, thumped his chest with the upper side of his fist and grinned.
Breaking Point (The Point Series: Book 2) Page 4
