by Nigel Bird
Couldn't.
He turned, raised his middle finger, picked up the loot and ran as fast as his legs could manage.
Carlo
Good job there was no law against driving a wheelchair under the influence.
Carlo went full pelt. Reached the Coalgate in good time. Checked that the gun was still in his bag then powered ahead over to Nan Ramsay's house.
The gate was open and he went straight in. Didn't even slow down to take the turn. He manoeuvred left. Slipped off the path and onto the junk-filled meadow that was supposed to be lawn.
The long grass and the crap on the ground almost did for him. Nearly toppled the chair, but he had just enough momentum to get through.
He got back onto the drive as quickly as he could manage.
Took a position behind the old, rusted van – it hadn't moved in all the time he'd been in Tranent, probably because it had no wheels.
Figured he'd have to wait a good while until they showed and pulled out his flask and cheese sandwiches.
When shots echoed around the block, he dropped his supper and crouched down. Fumbled round in his bag for the gun.
The next set of shots made him jump again.
He considered his position. "Dead man fucking walking," he said, "Or at least dead man."
All down the street the curtains twitched.
Doors opened and people spilled out onto the street like it was midnight on Hogmanay, only nobody was carrying coal or slices of bread.
They all headed in his direction.
Wasn't looking good.
Best he could come up with was to pretend to be first on the scene.
He kicked his flask and his sarnies under the van and sped to the front door. Almost came a cropper as the wheels bumped over an old exhaust.
If it hadn't been for the step, he'd have gone straight in to the house. Instead he had to be satisfied with the sight of Nan leaning in her walking frame all out of breath shouting something into her mobile phone.
***
Mikey and Kris arrived ten minutes later.
Had a couple of their crew with them.
They poured out of the car like they'd had training. The brothers headed straight inside, the muscle to disperse the crowd.
Not everyone was keen to move.
Couple of big blokes the worse for wear, guts flopping over the tops of their trousers, seemed to be up for a bit of physical exercise. Stepped up to Kris and Mikey's boys and leaned over them.
"Someone's firing guns on our street, we want to know, OK son?"
"Make sure it's safe for the bairns, ken?"
Young lads in the hoods didn't respond. Just leaned closer and stared.
"Think we're going to listen to a couple of teenagers, you've got another thing coming."
The big guy threw a punch. His arm looked massive, the fist at the end of it like a demolition ball.
The other guy moved at the same time, lunging forward like he preferred wrestling to toe to toe. Didn't matter what style he liked, he was on his back before he knew a thing about it, next to his mate whose face wore a 'what the fuck?' expression.
Carlo hadn't seen what the lads had done it was so fast.
Judo he reckoned, or some other martial art.
The big guys looked like they were after more until the lads pointed guns at their faces. Without speaking, the men got up from the floor, put their hands high in the air and backed away.
Kid in the grey top spoke quietly to them as they left. "Police show, I'm coming after you."
That pretty much did it for sorting front of house.
Carlo turned the switch to drive and pushed the lever to make sure he got away. Turned right when he got to the pavement and right again into the alley by the side of Nan's. He stopped behind the fence and the trees of the Wynd. Should have taken up there in the first place. Seemed obvious now. Would have kicked himself if he could.
He put his eye to a gap in the fence and had a nosey.
The two young lads who worked for the Ramsays hung around for as long as it took them to smoke a ciggy then went inside.
Didn't look like the police were going to show, so Carlo decided to wait around. See if he'd get a chance for a shot at Mikey and Kris after all.
***
The slamming of the door woke Carlo up. Four men left the house and headed straight for where he was hiding. With the four sticking together like jammy fingers, he didn't fancy his chances of getting away with murder. If they went his way, he was going to go out blazing, like Butch and Sundance.
He watched as Kris punched and kicked the van like a panel-beater, then grabbed one of the martial artists by the hood and raised him onto his toes. This time the kid didn't do anything to defend himself.
"You sure you didn't tell anyone, Mully?" Mulligan's face was red. His eyes bulged like Peter Lorre's. If he had an answer, it wasn't coming. "Haven't been letting that tongue of yours loose after snorting the good stuff, huh?"
Mulligan shook his head like his life depended on it.
Mikey and Thurston looked at each other and seemed to decide not to move in.
"You really sure?" Kris dragged him over to the window of the van, pushed his head down to the jagged, shark's teeth ridges he'd left when he punched it through.
Mulligan nodded furiously.
Didn't stop Kris though. He pulled his head back and held it as if ready to smash it down.
"It was me, Kris," Mikey shouted. "It might have been me."
Throwing Mulligan to the ground, Kris turned towards his brother.
Thurston, stepped back immediately and watched his friend trying to find his feet.
"Might have?" Kris asked.
"I mentioned it once. To help you out."
There was a moment of calm. Carlo prepared himself. Wondered whether it would be a good time to pull the trigger. Looked over at 'Bruce Lee' and decided to hold fire.
"You have five seconds."
"Kylie. She was wondering why you were out again. Thought you might be shagging another bird."
"So?"
"So she was crying. The bairn too. I felt sorry for her, that was all."
"Daft prick."
"She's like family, Kris. I didn't think it mattered. Stopped her crying when I told her that we had enough under Nan's bed to give her a future. Maybe even a new life up town."
Kris turned his back on them all. "Of all the daft…" In mid sentence he turned on one foot, raised his leg like a ballerina and spun round. The heel of his foot caught Mikey hard. Knocked him down to join Mulligan who'd stopped moving.
"Dickhead." Kris stormed off through the gate in the direction of Bert and Kylie's house, Thurston following a few paces behind.
When they'd disappeared from view, Carlo set his chair into action.
"You daft bitch," he muttered as he went. "Burned your bridges there, girl," and he smiled. Maybe he and Kylie still had a chance, after all.
Jimmy
Jimmy knew that something was wrong as soon as he stepped through his front door.
His dad sat in his usual seat in the sitting room staring at a bottle of vodka on the table and spinning an empty glass between an enormous finger and thumb. It was the first time Jimmy had seen him with a proper drink in his hand since he'd taken over at the chip shop.
The baby sat in the buggy in the corner, sucking hard on his dummy.
Jimmy ran up the stairs.
Everything was as he'd left it — the clothes decorating the floor, coffee jar full of cigarette butts, wrappers from supper the night before and the night before that.
Beer soaked through his jeans as he knelt in the corner of the room.
He pulled the carpet back, hooked his finger through the knot hole in one of the boards and lifted.
The money was still there, all three hundred grand. Only change was the droplets of liquid on the bags from when he'd thrown the can at the bin.
The muscles in his neck relaxed until Joe started wailing.
>
When his ears tuned in he realised that his dad was sobbing too, softly like he didn't want his grandson to know how he was feeling.
Jimmy went to the top of the stairs. Took the first two steps and hopped over the banister rail, landing square in the middle of the hall. A stab of pain shot through his weak ankle. He did his best to ignore it and limped into the living room.
The place depressed him at the best of times.
Seeing his dad in tears made his legs weaken. He wished he'd just legged it as soon as he got hold of the Ramsays' cash. Left everyone else to get on with it.
"Where the hell's Kylie?" Jimmy asked as he reached into the buggy and pulled his nephew out. "Jesus, Dad. Poor thing's soaked." He gave his fingers a smell. "Christ, that's minging." Piss.
Bert didn't make any effort to answer. Instead he dropped his head into his hands.
Jimmy watched his broad shoulders bob up and down. Hadn't seen the old man like that since Maureen left.
"Come on, Dad. Where the fuck is she?"
Bert raised his head slowly as if he was using the last of the energy he had left. Looked like the stone giant in Jason and the Argonauts.
"Tell you what, wee man," Jimmy told Joe, "we'll change your bottom and see what needs doing."
The nappy was sodden. Joe must have been in it for hours.
Jimmy didn't mind doing the changing. He'd done enough of it since the nipper came along.
When he opened it up, a stream of pee shot into the air like a fountain. Joe ducked out of the way and managed to stay dry.
Bonus was it wasn't a poo. They were radioactive.
A quick wipe and a new nappy and it was done. One happy boy.
"See, wee man," Jimmy smiled down. "Doesn't take much, does it?"
He lifted him up, gave him a quick kiss and laid him gently down on his back under the baby gym. Joe's arms and legs thrashed about like he was the happiest baby in the world. Jimmy decided it would be his job to make sure things stayed that way. He'd leave some money for the bairn. Maybe enough for them to move away from their shit-hole council house. A fresh start in a nice place. Somewhere on the coast, maybe. A sea and a beach to play on every day. Fresh air and exercise. Better than bruises and broken dreams any day.
Jimmy knelt in front of his dad.
"Where is she, Dad?"
"Dunno."
"C'mon. No secrets, remember."
"Don't know son. There was no sign when I came in. Just Joe screaming his head off."
Something had to be wrong.
Kylie was too young for motherhood, so they'd all chipped in to help.
Mrs Edgar had done more than could have been expected and the health visitors couldn't have been nicer.
But Kris had been an arsehole. Worse than useless. More hassle than he was worth.
Kylie was a better mother than anyone expected. Kept Joe clean and fed. Chatted to him like they were best mates when she walked him in the buggy. Pulled all the silly faces a parent was supposed to, even if she'd hardly slept.
She'd never left Joe alone. Wouldn't have dreamt of it. She was young, but she loved her son like Jimmy had never expected.
The effort had taken it out of her. Her skin was so pale it would have made a corpse look healthy.
For all they knew she'd been taking pills and shit from Kris and anti-depressants from the doc. Maybe she'd had enough. Walked off and topped herself.
Jimmy ran upstairs again. Went into Kylie's room and looked everywhere for a note. He was sure that if she intended to commit suicide she'd have left one. She was good like that, his big sister. Thoughtful.
It was a relief to come up empty handed, but it didn't bring her back.
He limped back down the stairs.
"Come on, Dad. We'll not find her sitting on our arses."
Bert took the hand Jimmy offered and pulled himself up onto his feet. His eyes had gone, like there was no one home.
The glass lay in pieces over the floor.
"Daft sod," Jimmy shouted. "Get your fucking arse into fucking gear."
Still no one home.
Jimmy slapped him hard.
Did the job. His father looked back at him like a spell had been broken.
"Dad, you're going to do the estate all the way up to the store. Ask everyone." As he talked, he screwed the lid back onto the vodka bottle.
"What about Joe?"
"I'll sort out the glass, make sure he doesn't choke himself to death, then I'll fix him up a bottle and take him on a tour. We'll head down the Windygoul estate."
Jimmy realised he'd taken control. It was a first. Felt like his chest had grown and he could breathe in more air. "If you find her, call my mobile."
He pushed his dad out of the front door and headed back inside to see if they still had a dustpan and brush.
***
Useless it was.
Nobody had seen her. She wasn't in the pubs or coffee shops. She hadn't turned up in any of her old haunts. None of her mates had heard a thing.
There was no record of her in arriving at any of the hospitals and there hadn't been a suicide attempt in the vicinity of Edinburgh for forty-eight hours.
The day was spent. So were the Hooks.
After bathing Joe and settling him for the night, Jimmy went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Took two empty mugs through to the sitting room and poured a good measure of booze into each.
In the middle of the room, a bunch of flowers hand delivered at some point during the day. Red and white carnations. Bandages and blood.
The card hanging from them read 'Thinking of you' with a load of kisses. 'Love Carlo'.
Bert reckoned it was sweet, that they should put them in water for when she got back.
Jimmy, didn't like it one bit. Was too much of a coincidence. Like something you might see in a gangster movie.
First thing next morning he was going round to have a word.
But that could wait. What he needed more than anything was to get out of his skull.
He reached over to his dad. They clinked their mugs together and threw the contents down their necks.
Carlo
Instead of its usual hum, Carlo's wheelchair screamed out like a food-mixer in overdrive.
Its balance may have been perfect, but carting an extra hundred pounds of tranquilised dog extended the motor to the limit.
Kidnapping the Ramsay's pride and joy in the middle of the tournament seemed like a stroke of genius.
Soon as Mikey and Kris discovered the body of Leo's minder with his brains decorating the walls, the shit was going to hit the fan.
Only thing in Carlo's favour was that he had the length of the second semi-final to put distance between them.
When he'd faced up to Mulligan twenty minutes earlier, Carlo's hand had been shaking and so had the gun. Couldn't get it to stop. Was worried that he'd miss the target. Head shot they'd said on The Wire. Just to make sure.
From further away, aim at the body.
He'd been so close to Mulligan that he could have shot the hair off the end of his nose and left the skin intact. Daft bugger should never have gone to sleep with his I-player on full blast.
And now Carlo had Leo and Mulligan had eternal life.
The wheelchair eventually made it to the top of the hill and Carlo knew he was going to make it. He stopped to have a swig from his flask. Savoured the peaty dram mixing with the metal taste of the container and looked out over the Firth. The water was the colour of the greying sky, making the container ships look as if they were floating in mid-air. Dominating the skyline were the chimneys of Cockenzie's power station, pointing up as if protecting the earth from invaders. Not that any intelligent life was likely to pick Scotland as a landing spot. The chimneys pumped their smoke into the air like it was their divine right.
The whisky relaxed Carlo's body. Warm ripples of well-being travelling up to his head and down to his toes.
He took out his phone and expertly thumbed the keys as he en
tered his message.
"Who's the daddy, now?" Very clever, he thought.
He put the phone away, pushed the button on the wheelchair panel and set off through the maze of passages through the town.
Passing the statue of Jackie Crookstone, he smiled.
There she was, all bronze. Still trying to save the kids who were burying their faces in her skirts. 1797 it had been, the last time there'd been a massacre in that neck of the woods. He wondered if they'd erect a statue of him to commemorate the one he was about to carry out.
***
Behind the undertaker's fence, headstones were being sold off at half-price.
Who in their right mind was going to buy themselves a headstone, Carlo wondered. Better to die and leave all that financial crap to the children to sort.
The night was chilly with a hint of mist in the air, the sort of weather that went straight to the bone. The blanket over his lap and the whisky helped him keep his insides dry.
Leo lay at his feet, his tongue stretching limply from his mouth. Amount of juice Carlo'd given him, he'd be lucky to wake up again. Least he wouldn't be feeling the wounds, poor sod. Animals, the folk who put their dogs into the ring. Bastard animals.
"Fuck, man. It's Carlo." Mikey's voice broke the silence, quickly followed by the crunch of his trainers landing on the gravel.
"You bloody idiot," Kris said jumping over the wall and landing next to his brother. "Christ, you had us worried."
"Thought it was that Irish tosser."
"Out to get his revenge for that dog of his."
There were too many thoughts flying through Carlo's head for him to think of anything to say. Instead of speaking, he drew his gun out from under his blanket and pointed it at them.
This time there was no shaking.
"Aw, come on man. Fuck you need to do that for?" Kris turned his back on Carlo and put his hands on his hips.
"All we want's the dog back."
"Bastards," Carlo managed. "You just don't get it."
"What the fuck's there to get?" Kris turned back to look at the gun. "You got the dog, we want him."
Moving the gun for a moment, Carlo banged it against the stub on the other side of his body where the sleeve of his coat was folded. "Cunts. Think you can take a man's arm and leg and get away with it?"
