Deadfolk

by Charlie Williams

  No man’s knacker sack is built to hold up against that much welly, and I reckon it done the trick. I pulled back to take a pot at that bulldozer blade, see if I couldn’t put a dent on him on his way down.

  But then I went down instead.

  15

  It were the smell what hit us first. A sweet, sickly, meaty smell. One that I’d become all too familiar with of late. Aye, it were the stench of rotting carcasses what hit us first when I came to.

  ‘T’ain’t me. The car, ennit.’

  I mean, summat a lot harder than a stink had hit us already, right around where my neck joins the back of me skull. That’s the way it were feeling round there when I moved me swede a bit anyhow.

  ‘Hard to shift that kind o’ stench. Had half a goat on the back seat once, from work. Only there a couple days it were. But his spirit lingered, you might say. All the way to highest heaven and back it did stink. Still comes back on hot days.’

  I needed air. It were stinking, like I told you. And stuffy as a turkey come Christmas. I had to get away from it, open a window, stop breathing altogether. Anything. I opened me eyes to see which of these were achievable. And that’s about the time I became aware that someone were addressing us.

  ‘Bit of air fresh’ner’d do it. Hey, Blakey, lend us a couple o’ squid for some air fresh’ner?’

  ‘Fin,’ says I. ‘Fin, what the fuck am I doin’ in your Allegro?’

  He lowered the window and looked up and down. The stuffiness and stench gave way to the Mangel air, which weren’t much better to be honest. Then he wound it up again, lit a smoke, and says: ‘Hidin’, ain’t us.’

  ‘From who?’

  ‘Who? Muntons, course.’

  We was parked down a back street out Muckfield way. I recognised the place straight off. As lads we’d robbed a repair shop down here. You don’t forget shite like that.

  ‘Why is we hidin’ from the Muntons?’

  ‘Wh—can’t you recall? They was doin’ you over in that graveyard. Jess and Mandy, for cryin’ out fuck. Saved you, I did. Mandy brained you with a big bit of headstone. Headstone, heh heh. Get it? Head—’

  ‘Mandy?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘What for? I mean, why would Mandy—’

  ‘You was layin’ into her Jess, for one. Ain’t seen you scrappin’ that dirty for years, Blakey. Booted the fucker square in the plums, and no mistake.’

  ‘But Mandy—’

  ‘Aye? What of her? Munton, ain’t she?’

  ‘Aye, but…’

  ‘But what? Muntons looks after Muntons. Besides, they all shags her. The brothers, that is. Keep it in the family an’ that.’

  I rubbed the back of me swede again. It were like rubbing wet turf. Least the fog in my head were starting to clear a bit. ‘That right?’

  ‘Course. Blake?’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Why was you in that graveyard anyhow?’

  ‘Why was you there, more like.’

  ‘Follerin’ you, case you got into any more bother. And lucky for you I did. What was you up to?’

  ‘I were…’ The thoughts flooded into my head like someone pouring hot lard into each ear hole. The coppers. Nathan the barman. Fenton and his doofer. Hoppers, my name above the door. ‘What’d you do to her?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mandy.’

  ‘Don’t fret. No one seen us. Have a fag.’

  ‘Ta. What’d you do to her, you cunt?’

  ‘Hey, hold up. I saved your arse again. Sticks me neck out for you time and again an’ what does I get back? Meanness is what. Meanness and fuckin’ nastiness. T’ain’t fair.’ He folded his arms and stuck out his lower lip.

  We sat in silence for a bit. I smoked me fag, then flicked the stub out the window. ‘Fin?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Ta for lookin’ out for us an’ that.’

  ‘S’all right. What mates is for, ennit.’

  ‘Aye. Fin?’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘What’d you do to her?’

  ‘Oh for fuck. I juss smacked her a bit. S’all.’

  ‘Smacked her? Where? How hard?’

  ‘I dunno does I? Twatted her on the ear or summat. Don’t matter do it? Birds goes down easy. She’d of killed you.’

  ‘She hurt then?’

  ‘Dunno. Went down, didn’t she.’

  ‘Blood?’

  ‘Bit.’

  ‘Breathin’?’

  ‘Fuck sake, Blake.’

  ‘Breathin’?’

  ‘Aye. Dunno. I didn’t fuckin’ kill her, leastways.’

  ‘She have summat on her? Summat in a bag or summat?’

  ‘Sorta summat?’

  ‘You knows. A…a thing. She have summat on her?’

  ‘Well…’ His eyes was off in the distance, concealing the hard work that were going on behind em. For most folks it ain’t hard to cast the mind back an hour or so. But this were Finney. ‘Fuck me,’ he says.

  ‘What?’ He had us all excited. Of all folks, Finney were the one set to spill the beans on what this doofer were. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Down there.’ He nods down the road. ‘Thass the place we done over that time, yonks ago. Ennit?’

  I sighed. ‘Aye, reckon so.’

  ‘Well, fuck me. Hey, know the old geezer we done over that time? Seen him t’other day. Sittin’ on a bench in Flockford Park he were, with two or three other mongs an’ a nurse. Fancy that, eh?’

  ‘Well bugger. Mong now, is he? That were you, droppin’ the battery on his head there.’

  ‘I knows. Smart, eh? I were right proud when I seen him like that, starin’ at fuck all, slobber danglin’ from his lip. Right proud.’ He shook his head and lit another one.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Wha?’

  ‘Mandy have summat on her?’

  ‘Oh aye. Had a box. Dropped it on the grass when she went for you with the headstone.’

  We shut up for a bit. I sat on my side looking out at that old repair shop with boarded-up windows and graffiti all over. I thought about the feller and how one minute he were in his own premises, a mechanic on top of his game, enjoying a spot of recreation with a local slag. Next minute we waltzes in and turns it all around for him. We switched off the lights in his head, just so’s we could spend a few quid down the arcade and buy a bit of lager. We switched em off for good. And it were all right. Seemed all right to fuck with folks, long as we had a laugh and got summat out of it. Folks didn’t matter cos they was asking for it. Should have seen us coming, shouldn’t they? We was only younguns.

  ‘Say that again,’ I says, lighting up me last fag. ‘Go on. Humour us. Say again what you done with the box.’

  ‘Aw, don’t be like that. Blakey. I telled you how it were. There were nut’n else I could do.’

  ‘Say the fucker again.’

  ‘All right. I kicked it away. Heard some bastard comin’ didn’t I. Smelt fag smoke anyhow. So I hauled you up under the armpits an’ starts draggin’ you to the car. I sees this box on the grass near where the bitch must of been hidin’ and I kicks it away. Couldn’t pick it up, see. Had me hands full like.’

  ‘And where’d it go, once you’d kicked it?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Go on. I needs a laugh.’ I really did.

  ‘Well, there were this dog, see. Mangy old bastard with one ear. Anyhow he scooped the box up in his chops…Should of seen it, Blakey. You’d never believe a dog could pick up a box like that with his teeth. Heavy an’ all, it were. The box, that is. Me big toe still hurts like a bastard.’

  ‘And the dog…’

  ‘Aye. Ran off.’

  ‘With the box.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Blake. This ain’t clever.’

  I shone the torch up the alley. A cat. A bastard fucking cat. ‘Go on.’

  Finney pulled away again. His lights was off and he were sticking under twenty, pulling over whenever we saw a car coming. ‘I tells you this ain’t clev
er.’

  I shook my head and bit me lip and counted to ten. Sitting in Finney’s Allegro in the middle of Norbert Green weren’t the place to have a row. But a row were coming, like it or no. ‘Clever?’ I bellowed. ‘Clever? What the fuck does you know about clever? You wouldn’t know clever if it sucked you off and gave you a tenner.’

  ‘Calm down, eh, Blake? Say what you likes about me. I knows what ain’t clever. And this is it.’

  I sat there in the dark, trembling with rage. ‘So you knows what ain’t clever, eh? Reckon you do, does you? What about robbin’ Baz’s corpse from out my cellar? Did you spot how not clever that were? And drivin’ the fucker about town for days? How’s that for not clever?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what weren’t clever. Keepin’ him in yer cellar in the first place. And toppin’ him. Not clever at all.’

  ‘You…’ It were a peculiar feeling. I were so overcome with anger that my whole body were good as paralysed. It weren’t just the shite he’d got us into with Baz that were getting to us. All kinds of memories was flooding back into me swede, times when Finney had fucked up and I’d kept mum about it. ‘You…you fuckin’ burnt my wife. How’s that for not clever? Eh? How’s that for…’

  Suddenly everything were silent. Then one or two noises crept into my ear holes. Breathing. Heart beating. The drip and groan of the Allegro’s dormant engine. A strange urge came to us. I wanted to say sorry. But fuck that. I weren’t saying sorry to Finney. He’d killed Beth and ruined my fucking life.

  All right all right. So maybe I had made that second phone call back then on the night of the Hoppers blaze. It’s all a mite hazy and I had things on me mind and maybe I can’t be sure either way, honest I can’t. But I didn’t truly reckon summat’d come of it if she did come over. How could I? Aye, messing her about and pissing her off weren’t beneath us. But topping her? Come on, she were a bird, weren’t she? You ain’t meant to top birds.

  ‘Aye, well…’ he says. ‘Soz about that.’

  I looked at him. He looked at his hands. Like I says before, I couldn’t stand seeing folks miserable. ‘Forget it,’ I says. ‘You weren’t to know she were in there, was you.’

  ‘Aye.’

  I lit a fag. ‘Aye? Aye what?’

  ‘Aye. I did know she were in there.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘What I says. I knew she were in Hoppers. When I lit it, like.’

  ‘Eh? How? Why…’

  ‘Put her in there meself, didn’t I. What you wanted, wernit?’

  I looked at Fin. He were still looking down at his hands, waiting for us to say summat. And maybe I ought to have said summat. Summat special, like such an important moment demands. But in the end I just says, ‘Shut up.’

  ‘I fuckin’ done it for you, Blake. You weren’t happy with her. She were bad news. An’ I wanted me old mates back. Me, you, an’ Legs. Like we is now. She were fuckin’ bad news, Blakey. Trust us.’

  I laughed a bit. But it weren’t a proper laugh. ‘All right, Fin, thass enough.’

  ‘But I gotta tell you, Blake. Can’t keep it in forever, can I? I brained her with a whisky bottle and tied her up, see…good an’ tight. Done all right there, Blake, didn’t I? Tied her legs together and then her arms. Then I rolled her over and tied her arms to her legs…’

  ‘Fin, shut the fuck up.’

  ‘…she wakes up a bit an starts blabberin’ so I boots her in the swede an’ gags her with me socks. Soaks her in paraffin an’ leaves her behind the bar an’ goes outside…I done all this for you, Blakey…Then I sets the place alight. Blake. Blake? Listen to us, Blake. I had to do it that way. I—’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Don’t shout at us, Blake. Done you a fuckin’ favour, didn’t I. You’d of done it yerself sooner or later. I would and all if my wife were putting it about anyhow. Not that I ever had a—’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Blake.’

  ‘Sayin’ my wife were a slapper?’

  ‘Blake, get off us. I can’t breathe like that.’

  Finney’s face were going slowly purple. There weren’t much light, but I knew it were going purple cos that’s the colour a face goes when you close your hands around a throat. His hands flapped at my arms but I hardly noticed. Then summat moved out the window. Across the road there. ‘See that?’ I says, pointing.

  Finney coughed and spluttered a bit.

  ‘Fuckin’ dog, wernit. See it? Over by the park.’

  I shone the torch over that way, but Finney weren’t paying much heed. So I opened the door and slipped out.

  I crossed the road. On the other side I stopped to spark up a fag, my lighter making a noise like a truck hitting a bridge. This weren’t right. But it weren’t as if I had a choice. He had to be around here somewhere. I stepped over the hedge, snagging me tracky bottoms on a thorn. ‘Bastard fuck and bollocks…’ I says followed by other such words. I got meself free at last, but there were a little L-shaped tear right under me knackers. I hated messing up me togs. A man’s togs says a lot about him. Just look at Finney. His gear had ‘cunt’ wrote all over it. I flashed the torch around.

  And there he were, sniffing at summat on the grass. I were sure of it. There couldn’t have been two such dogs in Norbert Green.

  I took a step forward. He looked up and clocked us, his one ear standing to attention. I’d been hoping it were the box he were sniffing at, but it were just a pile of old dogshite. Still, can’t expect a dog to trot around all night holding a box in his chops. No, he’d hid it somewhere. He trotted off across the park.

  I followed. He were walking quite slow, like Lassie when he’s leading some feller with a rope and pulley to where a youngun has fallen down an old mineshaft. Maybe this here mongrel knew what I were after and were taking us to where he’d stowed it. Dogs is clever like that sometimes. I once had ten bob at eights on a hound named Ted Fletch at Blender Stadium. Half a lap to go he were second place and fading. With all the strength in my heart I willed the leader—a black and white called Pig Dodger—to fall arse over. Well, he did. Came out the last bend too hard and slid out, knackering one of his hind pins. That were the end of Pig Dodger, but it just goes to show how dogs is telepathetic sometimes. And I won eighty quid.

  Anyhow, I followed this feller right up to the corner of the park. He gave us another Lassie look then slipped on through a hole in the fence.

  I got down on me knees and took a gander through the hole. Looked like your typical garden on the other side. I could hear him padding off up the path and then stopping—at the spot where he’d stowed the box, I hoped. The fence were about six and half feet tall. I jumped up and got my arms over the top. I had me leather on so I weren’t worried about tearing anything. But fucking up my togs were the least of it, as it turned out. I just couldn’t get the rest of my arse over the fence. I kept throwing me leg over but my boot just slid helplessly down the wood. I were puffing and sweating, but there weren’t no turning back now. Specially since Lassie were down there on the other side looking up at us, one ear cocked.

  He were willing us over. I fucking knew he were. He were willing us over cos he were on my side. I winked at him, took a lungful, and chucked me leg up one more time.

  My foot went over this time. I hauled meself upright. It were bastard uncomfortable, seventeen stone of gravity forcing a strip of wood up between my arse cheeks. But I needed a rest so I stayed like that for a bit. I had a gander down below to take me mind off the pain, seeing where were safest to land. Then the fence collapsed from under us.

  Just like a cat will always land on his all fours, I always lands on my arse. Gives you a jolt but all round your arse is better than your swede for landing on. Specially when your swede’s already in bad shape like mine were. Anyhow, I dusted meself off and hauled upright, noting with a shake of the head that the fence had come down all round the garden. Lights was coming on inside the house and Lassie were barking at us. ‘Here, boy,’ I says, holding out my hand as folks does with
dogs. He walked up and calmly bit us on the thumb.

  Just as I were grabbing for his ear, the back door opened and a feller came out in tartan dressing gown and slippers. He looked familiar. The dog ran up and started jumping up and down in front of him.

  ‘Wh—? Wha—? Who the blinkin’ flip are you?’ he says. And by his voice I knew for surely he were the feller from the graveyard the other day.

  ‘Oh,’ I says, trying to recall what I’d said to him back then. But I couldn’t. All I knew were that I’d had to get rid of him fast, before he stumbled on Baz. Fuck knew how I’d done it. ‘Yer posts is up wrong,’ I says. Had to say summat, didn’t I? ‘Thass why the whole lot came down and not just the one panel. Ain’t got em set deep enough.’

  He were stepping back and forth like he weren’t sure whether to come out and give us what for or go in and lock the door. It’s that kind of hesitation that a feller can grab hold of and wring dry. ‘This dog here,’ I says, pointing at the mongrel who were now shoving his snout up the feller’s dressing gown. ‘Yours, is it?’

  ‘Basil? Aye, he’s m…What of it? What you want with Basil the dog?’

  ‘If you’re his owner then you’re in all kinds o’ shite. See, a dog ain’t responsible for his actions, is he. Far as he’s concerned the world’s his oyster and there ain’t no such a thing as property.’

  ‘Hang on a sec. Er…’ He stuck his head back inside and says: ‘Stay there, Ma.’ Then he came back out and says: ‘Woss he done now?’

  ‘Woss he done? Don’t tell us you don’t know. Thass—’

  ‘How ought I to know? Can’t know all he gets up to, can I? He ain’t, er…ain’t been bitin’ arses again, has he? Partial to folks’ arses, he is.’

  ‘Well, matter of fact, aye. He bit us. And other stuff besides.’

  ‘Oh bother,’ he says, looking behind him to make sure his mam couldn’t hear. ‘What can I say, mister? I’m sorry an’ that. He’s the worst flippin’ zample of a dog as feller ever strapped collar on. Fourteen year old, he is. I’d of had him under them roses over there long ago, but fer Ma. Her dog, see. Can’t do no wrong in her eyes, can Basil the dog. Even bit my own arse once an’ she reckoned I’d asked fer it.’