Deadfolk

by Charlie Williams

  I were thinking eighteen and half stone again.

  My back were still tender from the shoeing Baz had gave us, so I got to work on the bench press. I slapped on the sort of load I used to start with in me big days. All right all right, don’t get at us about it. A feller who’s out of condition ought to start light and build his way back up. I knew that, all right? But I wanted to see if I still had it in us. It ain’t about physical strength, see. It’s about what you’re prepared to do. It’s about how far you can push yourself. I wanted to see if I could be a mountain again.

  ‘Gonna lift that, mate?’ some bastard says behind us, ruining my concentration. ‘Only you’ve been lyin’ on the bench like that for five minutes. Other fellers wants a pop an’ all.’

  I sat up. It’s hard to get yourself from under a bar when your fists is all bunched up tight and ready for aggro. But my hands relaxed when I saw who it were. ‘Oh, all right, Legs.’

  ‘All right, Blake. Uh, soz about that, mate. Didn’t…er…didn’t reck’nise you, like.’

  I looked at him, wondering if I ought to say summat about…about lots of things really.

  ‘You all right there, mate?’ he says, noting the look on my face.

  Whether I ought to or not, here in the gym weren’t the place to tell him about Baz. I’d go and see him later, perhaps.

  ‘Aye, I’m all right. Didn’t expect to see you down here is all.’

  ‘Oh aye, trains a lot these days, I does. Can’t you tell?’ He flexed a bicep that were a lot more ripped than mine but weren’t that much bigger. ‘You ain’t seen us cos you ain’t been comin’ yerself. Gettin soft, mate.’ He patted my shoulder.

  I went back under the bar and tried to lift it. Too heavy. ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘Take a bit off, shall I?’ he says.

  It gave us just the spur I needed. I closed me eyes and pictured his face smirking at us, suggesting that I were an arse bandit. Soon I were seeing nothing but red. Then I pushed the bar. It went up this time. Only five reps, mind. I used to open up with eight. ‘Woss you been up to then, eh?’ I says when I’d done em.

  ‘Me?’ He got under the bar himself without changing the load, and did ten reps straight off. ‘Oh, this an’ that. You knows how it is.’

  ‘Heared about Finney?’ I says, swinging back my arms to loosen the pecs.

  ‘What?’

  It were my turn again. I added another couple of plates and got under. ‘Gettin’ yer number nine shirt an’ that.’ Soon as I were under the bar I knew I couldn’t do it. I needed summat to fire us up and I couldn’t use Legs again. Weren’t fair on him, even if he were getting on me tits a bit just now.

  ‘Got summat to say, have you?’ he says. And there were an edge to his voice that I didn’t much care for.

  I pictured him and me having a fight. It were in the street outside Hoppers, half of Mangel standing around watching us. Legs had tried to get through the door but I’d handed him off and told him to leave it cos he were banned. That were what the fight were about. I had my arm round his neck, fist pumping again and again into his face.

  Nine reps.

  ‘No offence, mate,’ I says.

  ‘Oh, don’t pay us no mind,’ he says, getting on the bench. He did ten reps, then says: ‘Some bastard has to wear number nine. Least while I’m banned.’ Then he did another five.

  I put on some more plates and went down. I closed my eyes. It were clear now how to fire meself up. And Legs wouldn’t mind long as he didn’t know. We was outside Hoppers again. He’d got out of my armlock and had us on the deck, knees pinning my arms down, slapping my face like a bitch. ‘Blake ain’t got no bottle. Blake ain’t got no…’ he were singing over and over. The crowd was singing and all. It were up to me. I could lie there and take it. Or I could do these six reps and…

  ‘How’s it going with them Muntons?’ he says.

  What strength I had suddenly drained away. My arms felt like a pair of bamboo sticks holding up a steamroller. I huffed and puffed for a bit, then got off the bench. ‘What about em?’

  ‘Do what I said, did you?’ He crouched down to pull another couple of plates off the rack.

  ‘Nah.’

  He slid em on the bar and sat down. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Ain’t seen him.’

  ‘Ain’t seen him? You don’t wanna wait for him to come to you. Go out and find the fucker. Go to him. Corner him when you wants him and then do him.’

  Well, as a matter of fact, Legsy, that’s what I did do. I cornered the fucker on his home turf and done him good. Only it weren’t the way you planned it, you mouthy cunt. I done it my way, didn’t I? I fucking topped him.

  But them was just thoughts. What I says were: ‘Well, we’ll see, eh?’ Then I turned my back and did some stretching. My pecs was burning. Felt like a couple of hot irons strapped to me chest. Maybe I’d just sit on an exercise bike for half an hour.

  ‘I heared Baz went missin’,’ he says, barely puffing after his ten reps.

  I wanted to get to the bike and pretend I’d not heard him. But that wouldn’t be right. ‘Oh aye?’

  ‘Aye. Know what folks is sayin’, do you?’

  I shrugged and closed my eyes. But it weren’t darkness I found under the lids. It were my cellar at home, Baz propped up there in the corner with his face done in.

  ‘Folks is sayin’—heh heh heh, pardon us for takin’ it lightly—but folks is sayin’ you knocked him off.’

  ‘You what? Who?’ I scanned the gym for snoopers. Most was grunting and lifting. Others was jabbering or wearing headphones. I turned back to Legs, wondering where my answer were. But he were giving it another ten reps. When he’d done em I whispers: ‘Who the fuck is sayin’ that?’

  ‘Ah, fuckin’ joke, ennit. Don’t get yer knackers in a twangle over it.’

  ‘Woss funny about it?’

  ‘Come on, Blake. You and him outside Hoppers the other night. Everyone seen it.’

  I wanted to kill him. I know it weren’t his fault, but I didn’t like what he were telling us. Plus he were the one got us into all this. So aye, I wouldn’t have minded killing him right then.

  ‘Look, don’t get us wrong, Blake. I’m yer mate, ain’t I? Only passin’ on what I’ve heared. Thought you’d best know. And like I says, iss a fuckin’ joke. Folks knows you wouldn’t really knock him off.’

  That were all right then. Until you thought about it. ‘Who says I wouldn’t?’

  ‘Come on. You says it yerself t’other night, about losin’ yer bottle. Well, I didn’t wanna rub it in at the time, but it ain’t zackly a secret, is it? Ever since that trouble with Beth you ain’t been same. I’m sorry an’ that, but thass what they says. I ain’t sayin’ it, mind. They is. You knows I know you ain’t lost yer bottle.’

  ‘Wankers,’ I says, kicking a pile of plates. The pain shot through my toes and up me leg. But I held it in.

  ‘Fuck em,’ says Legs, curling his fingers around the bar. ‘Least it ain’t true. You’d be under Hurk Wood if you had of killed Baz. Right?’

  I reckon I’d pulled a muscle or summat in me shoulder. All the way home I kept getting shooting pains across me chest and down my arm. And that as well as the bruising all over me back. Course, didn’t help that your Ford Capri is an awkward animal to steer, more so when the power steering is knacked. But that were your Capri for you. She had her ways and you put up with em. I told you that earlier. Ain’t you listening?

  Soon as I got home I went to the bathroom and applied some muscle rub to the afflicted area. Then I applied it to the area all around the afflicted one, just to be sure. By the time I were through, everything between chin and belt were covered. I lay down on my bed for a bit, waiting for it to set in. A bit later I went downstairs, poured some whisky, and walked around chugging it for a while. I poured some more and went into the living room. Nothing much on telly that time of day besides news, and after a bit you gets tired of watching folks you don’t know blow emselves up in some place you ain’
t never heard of. I got The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly off the vid shelf and went to slot it in. But then an old tape caught my eye and I picked that up and all. ROCKY 3 it said on the front in my best handwriting. I slapped it in the player and slumped on the sofa.

  I dunno if you’ve seen this film. Most folks has, I reckon. Most folks rates it as the greatest film ever made. But to me it were more than that. And I’d never really known why. Not until now, as the opening credits rolled.

  The story starts with Rocky as World Champion. He’s rich as a plum pudding and only fights chumps. Reckoning it best to go out on top, he announces his retirement. But along comes a new feller called Clubber Lang, mouthing off that Rocky’s a fairy and offering to give his bird a seeing to. Well, the natural happens and they ends up in the ring. But Clubber’s harder than Rocky reckoned. And Rocky himself is softer than what he thought. Clubber wins, and Rocky’s washed up. A former champ.

  And that were where I were coming in. I’d been watching this film again and again and not knowing why. But now I knew. I were like Rocky, see. I’d known glory in the past. Ever since nipperdom I’d walked the streets of Mangel like a lion prowls the jungle. Folks was afraid of us. And rightly so. But it weren’t like that now. Not since Beth. Now folks laughed at us and called us bottler. I’d killed a Munton and what did folks do? Made a fucking joke out of it and laughed a bit more.

  But, right, Rocky weren’t happy about being a former champ. And nor were I. He had a mountain to climb if he wanted his glory back. It were steep and hairy in places and it didn’t look like he were up to it. But he started climbing anyhow.

  I watched the film all the way through. Rocky won. He stood atop his mountain and held his fists high. I cried a bit, then dried my eyes and turned the telly off.

  As well as me finally seeing that Rocky’s situation and my own was the same, like, there were summat else in the film that made us think. Rocky won, but he’d done it with the help of Apollo Creed, former enemy and now bestest mate. It were Apollo who trained him up to take on Clubber again. And it were Rocky’s wife who talked him out of the dumps he’d fallen into. He’d got help from them what was close to him, in short. And it got us to thinking.

  Who could I call upon for help?

  There was Legs, course. I’d already turned to him, and his advice had led us to more shite. Weren’t his fault, mind. He hadn’t said go and kill the fucker. Only twat him, he’d said. But he’d been a bit off in the gym and I didn’t fancy calling on him again just now.

  Who else were there besides Legs?

  Finney, course. But he weren’t the sort you’d want help from. Bit of a twat, like.

  Sal. Well, what about Sal? I know we was only seeing each other casual like, for shagging and that, but hadn’t she said she loved us? And I reckoned she meant it and all. I could tell by the way she always had a nice welcome for us. Couldn’t help with my problems, mind. She were only a bird after all. But maybe I ought to give her my ear a bit more, like Rocky done with his bird. Wouldn’t do no harm, and there might be a shag in it for us.

  That were all by the by anyhow. Mates and birds can only go so far. When Rocky got in the ring, he did it alone. No one can do his training for him, and no one can throw his punches. I were dancing around the room as I were thinking this, doing a bit of shadow boxing. I were feeling all right. The muscle rub had sorted out my aches and pains. Or perhaps they was still hurting but I didn’t care.

  Didn’t matter. Things was looking up. I were a fighter and I could feel a fight coming on.

  A big one.

  I danced around the house, punching the air and thinking about what I had to do to get my glory back. Well, folks was going round calling us a bottler. And I couldn’t come out and tell em all what I’d done to Baz. So I reckon I had to show em a bit more of the same. In the name of my job, course. A doorman is always within his rights to break noses and loosen teeth. That ought to get em all talking about us the right way.

  Going to the gym had shown us how out of shape I’d let meself get. Compared to Rocky anyhow. ‘Let’s get back to where we started,’ says Apollo at one point, talking about training. Well, I’d been eighteen and half stone when I started out as a doorman. So eighteen and half stone were what I had to be again. There were summat else to do and all, and I’d put it off long enough. ‘All right,’ I says, standing in the hall. I were sweating all over now and breathing hard. Sooner I got meself into shape again the better. But I were all right, far as lugging dead bodies were concerned. ‘All right then, Blakey boy. Less do it.’ I pushed the cellar door open.

  Apollo Creed were holding my hand as I stepped down them steps. He were pointing the way with his red gloved fist. But when I hit the bottom of the first flight he were gone. I were on me tod. And I knew that were the way it had to be. ‘You made a mess, Blake,’ I says. ‘Now clear the fucker up.’

  The lower cellar had no light. I felt around on the shelf where I kept a torch, but it weren’t there. That didn’t surprise us. Last time I’d been down there I were hauling a tonne of dead fat and not thinking straight. I might have left the torch any place.

  I sparked me lighter and ventured downward.

  I’d never liked that bottom cellar. There were nothing down there besides a couple of bags of cement, an old bike frame, and Baz. It were a place I never went. That were why I’d stowed Baz there, see. If I never went there, nor did anyone else neither. That were my thinking anyhow, such as it were.

  The flame flickered up against the bare brick walls. There were a problem with damp down here and every surface were slimy and greenish. I took each stair nice and steady, making sure I wouldn’t fall arse over. I got to the bottom step without so much as a spider landing on my head. ‘I ain’t afraid of no bastard,’ I says. And my voice echoed back at us all mangled and creepy and sending a shiver up and down me spine. I went over to where I’d dumped Baz on the far side.

  But the cunt weren’t there, were he.

  9

  I searched that cellar high and low. But to be honest there weren’t much searching to be done. Baz were gone, no matter how much light I shone on the matter. I ran upstairs, tripping on the steps and hitting me chin. I searched every room of the house—under beds, in wardrobes, behind curtains.

  Nothing.

  I were barely aware of the little whooping noises coming out of my gob and the sweat pouring into me eyes. I went back down to the cellar and searched it again, both floors. Nothing. No sign of him at all. Not even a shoe or a pack of fags or a hanky.

  I slumped down on the kitchen floor with the whisky bottle. There was two things might have happened here. First were that some cunt had broke in and had off with Baz. I didn’t want to think about that one. Who’d have done such a thing? Muntons? If it were them I’d have been strung up and bled by now. But if it weren’t them, who?

  The other thought were a bit more worrying. What if Baz had got up and walked? I hadn’t doubted that he were dead when I put him there. But what if I’d only knocked him out or summat, and he’d woke up and fucked off? Then I had another thought.

  What if I’m barmy?

  But I never thought about that one for long. I’d thought about it enough in the past and found my way to a conclusion I were happy with: if I’m barmy, so’s every other bastard, so it don’t really matter if I is or ain’t.

  I thought about this and that for a while, sucking at the bottle until there weren’t much left of it. Then I decided there just weren’t no answers to be found in this life, and I might as well get on with things.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Dunno. Looks like a bit o’ cable.’

  ‘What’s it doing behind the bar?’

  ‘Dunno,’ says Rachel. ‘A sparky left it or summat.’

  ‘Come on, people. I want things organised around here. If you’re not organised you’re not in control.’ Fenton shook his head. ‘Blake.’

  ‘All right, Mr. Fenton.’

  ‘Can you take that r
ubbish out back, please? This place stinks.’

  I looked at my beer and frowned.

  ‘And do it soon, will you?’

  Fenton went into his office. I sat where I were for a while, drinking and smoking.

  ‘He’s got a head on him today, ain’t he?’ says Rachel. Unlike most folks in town she were treating us with a bit more respect now. No doubt she’d heard the rumours about Baz and come to the right conclusion. I wondered how she felt about that.

  ‘Aye,’ I says. ‘Time o’ the month, perhaps.’

  She giggled a bit, eyes sparkling. Then she went up the bar and did something with some empties, glancing sideways at us now and then, a smile trying to break out all over her face. I winked at her. When she came back over we chatted for a bit. Not about anything in particular. Just this and that and the other. Soon she were sitting in front of us across the bar, leaning on her elbows and offering us an eyeful, which I gratefully took. I were wondering how far I could go with her if I played my hand the right way, when Fenton comes back.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, mincing over in his suit and red tie. ‘Hey. What do I pay you for? Come on. Tell me.’

  Rachel’s eyes went from his to mine to her fingernails.

  ‘Come on. What do I pay you for?’

  ‘Well, Rache here keeps bar, and I mans the door.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘How about you, Rachel? You agree with that?’

  ‘Yes, Mr. Fenton.’

  ‘Right. I guess I should be grateful that you’re both aware of half your duties. I’ll tell you the other half, shall I? Rachel, your contract says tend the bar and keep it stocked and maintained at all times. Look at those glasses there. You’re going to leave them there, are you? And, Blake, are you not aware of the miscellaneous other duties listed on your contract?’