Deadfolk

by Charlie Williams

  I shrugged. ‘Dunno about no contracts, me.’

  Rachel giggled.

  ‘No, I guess you don’t at that. Well let me enlighten you. Miscellaneous other duties means taking out the fucking rubbish.’

  ‘Mr. Fenton,’ I says. ‘There’s a lady present, and no call for language like that.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what there’s a call for in my own bar. I’ll tell you what there’s a call for. There’s a call for people to get their arses into gear around here.’ He stomped off out back again, shoes clickety-clacking on the wooden floor.

  ‘Bastard,’ she says after he’d slammed his door behind him. ‘I always gets my work done. He ain’t had no complaints about me. Fuckin’ old tosspot.’

  ‘Wild un, ain’t you.’ I winked at her again.

  ‘Cheeky sod.’ She turned her back on us, giving us a prime view of her well-rounded arse cheeks. ‘Go on. Take out yer rubbish before old tosspot comes back.’

  ‘Rightio.’ I hauled the bags out back, whistling ‘My Old Man’s a Dustman.’ When I got back I sat down again and set about chatting up Rachel. It were plain as day she were loving it. Specially when I stroked her arm and she squirmed against my hand, brushing her tits on it. I were loving it and all. In fact, I were fancying Rachel more and more each time I seen her these days. It were one of them things where you knows summat’ll happen sooner or later, so there ain’t no sense rushing it. Neither of us was going no place. And the longer we held it off, the better it’d be when we finally—

  ‘All right, darlin’,’ says a voice behind us in a funny accent.

  ‘Oh, hiya.’ She stepped away to serve the punter. I didn’t like that. If we was canoodling, we was canoodling. Nothing to be ashamed of. Just cos a punter walks up don’t mean she has to jump to attention. I swigged on me pint and lit a fag, ignoring the two of em.

  ‘Smart boozer, this,’ he says, picking up his pint. ‘Who runs it?’

  He sounded like he were from the big city. I slied a gander at him in the mirror behind the bar. Big cunt, he were. Pilot jacket and jeans, cropped head, no facial hair, about my age. Mind you, not as big as meself at my biggest.

  ‘Who runs it?’ says Rache, sounding a bit thick. Put her on the spot, he had. Ain’t the sort of question you hears in Mangel. ‘Well…’ She looked at me.

  ‘Don’t matter, don’t matter,’ he says, looking around. ‘Just interested in bars. In the trade, you know. Hear you gets a bit of trouble of an evenin’, mind. Ropey door staff, is it?’

  ‘Ropey?’ I says, turning at last but not getting off my stool. Why should I get off me bastard stool? He might be big but he were an outsider. I were Royston Fucking Blake and I were on home turf. ‘Who the fuck is you callin’ ropey?’

  He shrunk to about half his size for a moment. Then he pulled himself up and says: ‘Look, I dunno who you—’

  ‘What does I look like, eh? Eh? Woss this round me fuckin’ neck? Reckon I put on a dicky bow for a laugh?’

  ‘Calm down, Blake,’ says Rache, touching my arm. ‘He’s only askin’.’

  I pulled away. ‘Askin’? Stickin’ his fuckin’ snout in more like.’ I turned away from him and got a fag out, then put it back when I saw I already had one lit. I were boiling inside and gagging to knock him so hard his hair’d grow out a couple inches. But I smoked my fag and drank me beer. I weren’t rising to it. Not in front of Rachel.

  ‘Now hang on a minute,’ he says. I had me eye in the mirror. He put his weight on one foot and leaned against the bar. He opened his gob to say summat, then shut it, turning to Rache instead. ‘Well, ta anyway, love.’

  She shrugged and made some noises. I knew she were trying to apologise without me hearing.

  ‘Never mind,’ he says, moving off. ‘Maybe I’ll see you again.’ He went out the door, leaving a full pint behind him on the bartop.

  Rachel left us alone for a bit. At least I reckon she did. If she spoke to us during that time I didn’t notice. I were busy drinking and smoking, see. After a bit I noticed I were hungry so I asked her for a bag of nuts.

  ‘You all right now, Blake?’ she says, dumping em in front of us.

  ‘These is dry roast. I don’t like dry roast. Giz some salted uns.’

  She gave us em and says: ‘Don’t let that feller get to you, eh? He were only chattin’.’

  I put a handful of nuts in my mouth and started chewing. They cheered us up straight off. I likes me peanuts but I can’t stand dry roasted. ‘Don’t like outsiders,’ I says. ‘Outsider, weren’t he.’

  ‘Aye.’ She smiled. But her eyes was off somewhere else. ‘Reckon he were from the big city, do you?’

  By half eleven the punters had all pissed off and the place were quiet. Rachel and the other bar folk were busy clearing up glasses and bottles. There were nothing left for us to do. And I were dog-arse knackered after everything I’d been up to of late. So I said me byes and fucked off.

  ‘Fenton wants a word,’ says Rache as I reached the door.

  ‘You what?’ I says. ‘Fuck him.’

  Back at home I changed into me favourite shell suit and crashed out in front of the telly. A film about a feller going round killing lasses were on, so I cracked open a tin and sat down. I thought about going down the cellar again and checking for Baz. But that wouldn’t do no good. He were either there or he weren’t there. I’d checked earlier and he weren’t, so that were that. The film were a bit boring. Every time he pulled his blade and went to cut her the scene changed to summat else. I had a flick and found a channel where two birds was tonguing each other and feeling their tits. It were all right. I got meself out and let the story take us.

  Afterwards I felt more relaxed than I’d felt in a while. Like as not cos I were knackered.

  I closed my eyes. Just resting the lids for a second, mind. I weren’t kipping nor nothing.

  It were the phone what woke us. Or the banging on the front door. Ain’t sure. Whatever it were, it weren’t a nice thing to wake to, I can tell you. I zipped meself up and got on my feet, wondering what the hell were going on. I opened the front door.

  ‘All right, Blake,’ says Lee.

  10

  Lee wanted us all to go downtown in the Capri but remembered the fucked exhaust and changed his mind. We went over to the Meat Wagon. For a moment I thought they was gonna open the back up for us, and I froze. I’d rather be knifed in the guts than put in there. But I were fretting over nothing on this occasion. Lee opened the front passenger door and waved us in.

  When we was all sitting pretty he fired up the engine. It were a fair bit quieter than my Capri, diesel-powered though it were. I sat in the middle. Jess were on the left cleaning his nails with a Stanley knife. All the way into town Lee kept his eyes on the road and asked us questions about Fenton. I answered em best I could, but to be honest I weren’t paying em much heed. I were planning ahead, thinking where might be best to slip away. But I’d come up with nothing by the time the van stopped. Slipping away weren’t summat you could do for long in Mangel.

  We parked in Felcham Lane and yomped the quiet way across town. No one else were about. We came at Hoppers from round the back, walking a bit down the Wall Road and then scrambling up through the scrub between it and the back wall of Hoppers. Lee clambered over the wall first. Then me. Then Jess. Lee grabbed my face and reminded us of what would happen in the event of a bottle-out, then we went up front and I let us all in, locking up again behind us.

  Lee walked a few paces, breathing deep, eyes smiling and set on summat. He were looking at where the stage used to be, which were now just a raised boozing area. ‘Ah, them was the days,’ he says. ‘We had em all ere. Berty Fontana. Tina Topless. Jungle Jane versus Cowgirl Cath. We had em all, Blake. An’ we’ll have em all again soon. You’ll see.’

  ‘How’s that, Lee?’ I says.

  But he were already off out back, rubbing his hands together.

  I followed em. ‘Stock room,’ I says, coming up behind Lee, Jess behind us. ‘U
p there on the left. Safe’s in there.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ says Lee, giving us a bored look.

  Jess had the safe open in two minutes. It were a skill his old man had passed on to him, and other than cracking heads it were his only skill.

  ‘Not bad. Come on,’ says Lee, counting the wads. He were off out the door.

  I followed him, scratching me head and wondering what else were worth pilfering. But Lee had his own plans. He were standing outside Fenton’s door, pointing to the lock and calling Jess over. I went and stood by em, watching Jess at work. For a big feller he had dainty hands, which helped with the business of lock picking. And if that failed he could always flatten the door with his massive shoulder. Or his head. Lee were watching him and all, smoking a fag. He didn’t offer us one but I weren’t too put out by it. I hadn’t been to blame for him losing out on the insurance two year back—honest I hadn’t—but I had topped his brother, so fair’s fair, ennit. I got one of me own out and lit that.

  After a bit Jess got the lock done and pushed the door open. Lee stopped with his foot half in, then stepped back and shut the door quietly. ‘What the fuck is this,’ he whispers to us.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You. What the bastard fuck is you tryin’ to pull?’

  ‘Nuthin’. What?’

  ‘Go on then.’ He shoved us at the door.

  I turned the handle and opened. I weren’t feeling so relaxed now. My back were squirming. Having Muntons behind us right then didn’t seem clever of a sudden. But I didn’t have much of a choice. When the door were open enough I looked into the room. The desk lamp were on, facing downward. A ways away from it were a rum bottle, empty. His leather swivel chair were facing the window. Some of his floppy locks hung over the back of it. I reckoned he were fast akip, being as he were snoring like a tractor starting up on a cold morning.

  I wanted to back out and piss off before he woke up, but Lee were right behind us, shoving us on. I walked quiet as I could across the floor. Someone’s boots was creaking like rusty door hinges, but I couldn’t worry about other folks’ boots. I walked on, getting closer to Fenton, praying he wouldn’t wake up and spin about in his chair.

  Weren’t so much that I wouldn’t know what to say to him. I’d say nothing like as not, there being nothing to say besides the truth. It were the thought of what Lee or Jess’d do if he woke.

  But he never.

  I pulled up alongside the chair and peered down at him. He were fast akip all right. No man can make them sorts of noises while he’s awake. He were in dark trousers, white shirt unbuttoned at the top, and a loosened orange tie. Across his chest, hands resting atop it, were a twelve-bore shotgun. My heart started hammering nigh on loud enough to wake him. I turned and started back, shaking my head at Lee. He had a black balaclava on now. He opened his coat and pulled out a sawn-off, pointing her at us. ‘Open it, Jessie,’ he says.

  I put me finger on lips. ‘Fuckin’ calm down,’ I whispers. ‘You’ll wake the bastard up. And woss the—’

  ‘Tell him,’ says Jess, also now wearing a bally.

  Fenton’s snoring were turning into grunting and throat-clearing. He’d be awake in a moment for surely. ‘Ain’t there a bally for me?’ I says.

  Lee shook his head. ‘Wanna see the look on his face when he sees who’s robbin’ him, don’t us.’

  ‘Aw, come on, I’ll get locked up for it. Can’t we blindfold him?’

  ‘Scared or summat?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Lee laughed. Jess joined in. I didn’t, hilarious though it all were. Fenton’s head were moving side to side. If he didn’t wake with all that noise, there were summat wrong with his ears. On cue he made a noise—a bit like ‘fnlagh’. Lee lamped him on side of the head, knocking him plum off his chair.

  Jess were kneeling down in a corner now, moving a filing cabinet aside. His sleeve had slipped up his arm, showing a tattoo I’d seen once or twice and wondered about. SUSAN it said, in what were like as not Lee’s handwriting, being as Jess couldn’t even sign a cross for his signature. Behind the cabinet were a hole in the wall with a little safe in it. Jess sighed and shook his head like a builder doing an estimate. ‘Foreign, is it?’ he says.

  ‘Hoy, talkin’ to you, he is,’ says Lee.

  ‘Dunno, does I,’ I says. Cos I didn’t. Only safe I knew were in the stockroom.

  He looked out the window, shotgun dangling by his side. Neither of em seemed interested in pointing guns at us no more. I thought about pegging it out the front door. Now we was here, the whole thing seemed about as bad an idea as a feller ever had. Any moment now Fenton were due to wake up and clock us. And no one’d said anything about firearms. And what the fuck were I thinking, trusting Lee to split the proceeds three ways? But running away weren’t no better of an idea neither. You can’t hide in Mangel, least of all from the Munton boys. Then I glanced at Jess’s sawn-off lying on the floor behind him and started having other ideas. Better ideas. That’s how they seemed at the time anyhow.

  ‘Can’t open it,’ says Jess. He got up and kicked Fenton’s foot. ‘Wake up, you cunt.’

  Lee sat on the desk and folded his arms. ‘Just open the fucker.’

  ‘Says I can’t, didn’t I?’ Jess grabbed his gun and clutched it to his huge chest like a teddy bear. ‘An’ don’t fuckin’ shout at us.’

  ‘I never shouted. I just says open the fucker.’

  ‘You fuckin’ shouted.’

  ‘I never.’

  Fenton coughed and says: ‘Fnlagh…’

  ‘Bastard’s wakin’ up now,’ says Lee. ‘Blake, tie him down or summat.’

  ‘What with?’

  ‘Dunno, do I? Find summat.’

  I had a quick ferret around the office but came up with nothing. I weren’t really concentrating, being as I had these other thoughts, sort of thoughts you can’t shake once they takes hold.

  ‘He’s wakin’, Blake.’

  I ran out front. Fenton had been whinging earlier about some cable, so I rummaged around behind the peanuts and found it in a bin liner. While I were there I squirted some drink straight out of the optic into the back of me throat. I didn’t know what it were. Didn’t matter. What mattered were that it made me throat burn and eyes water.

  I had another quick think about what I had planned. It were one of the shitest ideas a feller ever came up with, but I reckoned it’d work if I held me nerve. The key to it were Fenton’s shotgun. I had to get my hands on it. If I could do that, I could make it look like Fenton had finished off two burglars—known crooks—who hadn’t banked on him being present and armed. Like I says, as ideas went it were barmy. But sometimes it’s the barmy ones that pulls you through.

  Lee were kneeling on Fenton, who sounded like he were cursing, although you couldn’t hear what he were saying on account of Lee’s knee being in his face. I couldn’t see where the shotgun were, so I had to go along with things for the time being. I bound Fenton’s arms behind his back with the cable, pulled the bin liner over his head, and made a little hole so he could breathe. He kept on yelling and screaming at first, but the bag were suffocating him so he had to calm down. He were quiet for a while after that, catching his breath. Then he says: ‘Who’s here? What do you want?’

  Lee got off and pulled him up. ‘Woss the combination?’ he says in a deep voice, gruffer than what came natural to him.

  Fenton breathed in and out. ‘Who are you? How’d you get in?’

  ‘Come on. Woss the number for this here safe?’ He picked up the shotgun and crouched down next to Fenton’s legs. Fenton breathed a bit harder. ‘Come on, cunt. Get us into the safe or I’ll hurt you.’

  ‘I don’t know the combination.’

  Lee slapped him across the face. ‘I’ll tell you what—whatever’s in there ain’t yours no more. Iss mine. So get over it and tell us the number.’ He moved up and down Fenton’s leg with the gun, prodding it here and there. His finger were on the trigger. ‘Know much about shotgun safety? Oughta be aware
of shotgun safety, you ownin’ a shotgun and all.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what you do to me.’ Fenton were sounding a bit calmer now, like he’d been expecting this all along and were all right about it. ‘I don’t know the combination, and that’s a fact.’

  ‘Always keep yer muzzle pointed in a safe direction. Never point her at person, animal, nor object what you doesn’t intend on shootin’.’

  ‘What do you want me to say? Look, there’s another safe…’

  ‘Keep her unloaded. Make habit of openin’ and checkin’ yer chamber whenever you picks her up. And keep the bastard empty and open till you’re ready to use her.’

  ‘There’s two days takin’s in the stock room safe.’ Fenton weren’t so calm now. His voice were getting louder and the bin liner were going in and out his mouth again. ‘Take it. Please don’t—’

  ‘Keep yer finger off the trigger,’ says Lee, holding up the gun and keeping his finger off the trigger. ‘Fight the natural urge to put yer finger on the trigger when you holds the gun. If you must curl it round summat, use the trigger guard. The only time yer finger oughta touch the trigger is when you’re ready to shoot.’

  ‘Please. I’ll give you anything else. Oh god. Just—’

  ‘Stop,’ I says.

  The Munton brothers looked at us. Fenton’s bin liner went still.

  I know I said it, but it didn’t seem like I had done. It were like the word had come out of my mouth of its own accord, like. Didn’t sound like me neither, which I were glad of. I waved Lee over to us.

  He spat on Fenton and came over. ‘I oughta shoot the both of you,’ he says. The barrel were pointing at my guts, but I reckon that were just the way he were holding it. ‘Woss you playin’ at?’

  I whispers: ‘You can’t—’

  ‘You what?’

  I looked at Fenton, then whispers a bit louder: ‘You can’t fire that thing in here.’