by Nigel Bird
Kris laughed. A belly laugh. It was loud and echoed around the yard. Sounded like he was auditioning for Hammer Horror.
Mikey looked back at his brother, his eyebrows curling together and his mouth falling open.
"You're a fucking loony," Kris said. "Fucking deluded."
Carlo's arm straightened. He pushed the gun towards them to remind them who was in charge.
"Haven't a Scooby what you're talking about," Mikey said.
"Chip wars?" Carlo asked.
The brothers looked at each other, puzzled expressions on their faces.
"You twos threatened me in my own shop."
"Don't be daft," Kris said. "Weren't a crime what you were doing. Might have burned the shop down or something, but you had insurance, right?"
"Only get the tools out as a last resort." Mikey knelt down and reached towards Leo. It was the wrong thing to do.
The shot rang out and sent him back. He pressed his hand into his armpit and squeezed tight with his arm. A dark stain formed beneath his elbow.
"Crazy fuck's gone and shot me." Mikey took out his hand and held it in front of him. The hole in it was a ragged circle.
Kris pulled it over to his face. Put his eye up to the wound and looked through it towards Carlo. "Looks like he'll need a doctor."
"Only thing he needs is one of those." Carlo nodded his head towards the Co-op's funeral services and raised the gun again.
That first shot had felt good. He'd a taste for it. Couldn't wait to do it again. Gave it a moment to feel their fear. Stupid fucks didn't seem to care one way or another.
Then a movement flashed in his peripheral vision. Next came a bang on his head. Turned his face 90 degrees then the light disappeared.
***
He woke up in the back of a van. Didn't seem fair. Twice in two years they'd got him. He remembered the time before. A host of images entered his mind and he wretched.
Nothing left his stomach.
The spasm came again. Same result.
The van turned a corner and threw Carlo off balance. He twisted his body and fell onto his shoulder.
His head landed on a box. Split the cardboard. Saw the stacks of ice-cream cones.
Three laughs came from the seats up front.
Mixing in with the hoots of the Ramsays were those of Eddie the ice-cream man. To complete his humiliation, he heard saxophones blare. The unmistakable sound of Madness. One Step Beyond.
***
They stuck Carlo's head in a bag before they dragged him out. Pissed him off that they didn't take his shoe off. Felt it scuff on the ground and didn't have the strength to lift his leg.
Brand new it was. Bought it as part of a pair with another amputee whose feet were the same size. They were going to meet up at Christmas to get themselves a pair of Converse. Looked like Carlo might have to cry out of the appointment.
He heard a door open.
"In there, you bastard." It was one of the brothers. Couldn't tell which one any more. Didn't care.
Cared when he landed on the ground, though. Heard his teeth crack. Felt the enamelled chunks with his tongue. Tasted iron.
An arm, a leg and two front teeth – wondered what they'd be after next.
The door closed behind him.
Rolling to his side, he reached up and pulled the bag from his head.
First thing he did was spit.
While his eyes became accustomed to the light, he ran his tongue over the sharp stumps at the front of his mouth and the holes in his upper lip.
"Huckers," he said and heard the change in his voice. Who'd have thought a couple of teeth would have made such a difference? "Hucking cunts."
Tried to turn the anger in his favour. That's what they'd suggested in the hospital when things were getting out of control.
Managed to get into a sitting position.
Never in a million years did he expect to see anyone else there. Brought a huge, gappy smile to his mouth.
"Hylie. What the huck?"
She didn't say anything. Couldn't. The gag in her mouth looked far too tight for that.
Didn't stop her crying.
Tied up on a chair she was. Hands and feet.
She looked pathetic.
The sight set Carlo off.
He bawled like he hadn't since he was a nipper. Felt the pain in his mouth for the first time, then the fear flame in his bowels.
What hurt the most was what they'd done to her hair. Chopped it all off on one side, plastered her fringe across her forehead with dirt and sweat.
They'd ruined his beautiful babe.
***
Ripping the plaster from Kylie's mouth seemed like the best thing to do. Get it over with short and sharp. Fact that she was shaking her head furiously made no difference; she just didn't know what was good for her, like always.
"Christ, Carlo. You did that on purpose."
"Thought you might like to lose some hacial hair."
"Bastard."
Carlo smiled.
Kylie didn't.
"What the huck are you doing here?" he asked. "And what'd they do to your hair?"
"What's wrong with the hair?" She looked mortified then burst into tears.
Maybe he'd got it wrong. Would have to be careful – after all, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to win her back. Played his cards right, who knew?
"It'sh lost a bit of itsh…" the word to end the sentence took a while to arrive. "Shine."
He felt his eyes squint while he waited for the reply.
"You think they've got me tied up here to give me a make-over? Look at how tight they've bound my hands. Them fingers are about to drop off."
It wasn't easy to tell in the half-light of the room, but they didn't look like any colour he was familiar with.
"You waiting for a bus, dumb bum?" she shouted. Carlo liked it better when she was angry than when she was upset. Seemed more familiar.
The cold, stone floor stank of piss and it wasn't just from the puddle at the bottom of Kylie's chair. It was too stale-smelling for that.
He tried biting the rope around her wrists to get it loose.
Soon remembered he'd lost his top row.
"Huck." he shouted.
"Keep the noise down, eh?"
He didn't argue. Instead, he used his fingers to pull and twist until there was a little bit of give.
"That the best you can do?" she asked as he sat panting on his arse.
"Aye, you ungratethul bitch." She was showing her true colours – black and storm-cloud grey. "Least you get a sheet. I'm growing piles the shize of hucking tatties."
"Sorry."
That was the last word he expected to hear. Reminded him about his mission to win her back. If he could have stood up, he would have kissed her.
Leaning his head on her lap, he rested for a moment and took a look around.
It all seemed familiar. The wonky shelf full of rusty paint cans, the clock with hands frozen on midnight, the pile of old wood in the corner.
In the middle of the room, there were stains on the floor which put it all into place. Course, it could have been anything that made them, but Carlo would have bet his leg that it was blood.
When he realised where he'd seen it before he felt his heart sink, like it fell into his stomach and his stomach wanted to throw it back.
You Tube.
"You Hucking Tube," he said.
"No need to call me names, Carlo. We should be helping each other."
"You Tube. Where I sheen this place. The thumbs and the pliers."
"You mean?"
"Aye."
Neither of them did anything or said anything for a while.
It was Carlo that broke the silence. "I've got to hand it to your lover boy. Sure does know how to treat a lady,"
"The dickheads think I robbed their bloody house."
"Not many brain-cells Kris Ramsay."
"It weren't his brains I were after."
"Books and covers, Kyli
e."
"You what?"
"Never mind."
"They say I've got to tell who was helping or I'll leave here in a carrier bag."
"Sho tell 'em."
"Wasn't me. I haven't a Scooby what they're on about."
"Tell them anyway. Make it up."
"And get some other poor sod into trouble?"
"If needs be."
The bang of a boot kicking the door open interrupted their conversation.
"Well, Carlo. You been chatting my bird up again?" Kris finished his cigarette and went over to plug in some speakers. Fished out his I-player and posted it into the slot. "Hope you managed to talk her round."
Mikey walked up to Carlo and slapped him over the back of the head with his good hand. The other was wrapped in an old football scarf.
"Didn't think the Hibees played in red and green," Carlo said.
Mikey hit him again. Harder this time. Hard enough to knock him onto his face.
"We'd bleed for the boys," he said before spitting down onto Carlo's face.
Carlo let his cheek fall onto the concrete. Cooled his face and his temper.
"So, Kylie," Kris said. "He talk any sense into you?"
She didn't speak. Just pursed her lips and dropped her chin to her chest.
"Aye, well no matter." Kris walked out of the room and came back with an iron and a camera. "Your hair Kylie. Looks like it could do with straightening."
He plugged the iron in, put it next to his I-Player and threw the camera over to his brother. Flicking through the menu he selected something from the I-player's screen and pressed play. Carlo recognised it straight away. Fucking comedians. 'When A Man Loves A Woman.'
The treble was top-heavy, the bass drowning somewhere in amongst the tune. Sounded tinny.
He managed a smile up at Kylie. Guessed they were going to see some action. "Go on, girl. Tell them."
The video panel clicked out of the camera. Carlo could see the image on its screen.
"I like to have music on when I'm ironing." The green light on the iron changed to blue.
"Ah come on," Carlo said. "This is bloody ridiculous."
"Don't like Percy Sledge?" Kris said. "Hear that, Mikey? He doesn't like Percy Sledge."
The light on the iron turned to purple, its heat taking the edge off the room's chill.
"And there I was downloading that for you especially," Mikey said as he pointed the camera at him. "I thought all you old folk liked your sixties music." He checked the frame and the standby light clicked off. "Smile for the camera, Carlo. You'll want to make a good impression."
Carlo's thoughts melted inside his head, merging into one sludge-brown flow of images — people around the world watching him piss himself, and him without his leg on.
"For crying out loud, Kylie," he said, "tell the bastards what they want to hear."
The pool at the bottom of Kylie's chair grew, quickly flooded the floor and soaked right through into Carlo's trousers. At least if he pissed himself, people wouldn't be able to tell.
Kylie tried to speak. Came out as sobs the first time.
The iron's light switched to red. Kris licked his finger and tapped its base. A tiny hiss made itself heard above the music.
"Willy Dixon," she shouted out like she wanted the whole town to know. "Willie bloody Dixon."
Mikey turned the camera onto Kylie. "You could do with some make up, but never mind, hey."
Kris stepped over. Bent down and put his tongue in her ear. Rolled it around for a moment then licked the rest of the lobe. When he was done, he pointed the iron at her, pushed down the top button and a jet of steam blasted straight into Kylie's face. Looked almost romantic at first, the air clouding up as if they were in a scene from Brief Encounter. As if the train was just pulling into the station.
And then she screamed. Screamed and threw her head back. The movement was so strong that the chair overbalanced, falling right on top of Carlo and giving the brothers a real laugh.
Kylie's cheek met Carlo's. For a moment he felt comfort. And then the moment passed.
"Still need to get that hair straightened Kylie," Kris said. "See Willie Dixon's twenty stone and forty year old."
"The man we're after's only a lad and a skinny bugger to boot."
Something dribbled onto Carlo's face. He let it trickle into his mouth and tasted salt.
He watched as the iron was brought down onto the side of her face. Heard the fizz, the crackle and a tiny voice whispering his name.
***
It was as if all the fight had left him.
Watching on as they lowered the iron to Kylie's ear, all Carlo had been able to manage was to reach out to her and touch her foot.
At the sound of the hissy fizz, he emptied his stomach acid into the pool of bodily fluids.
Kylie's mouth had opened wide and hate shone from her eyes.
He'd seen the scream but hadn't heard it. Maybe it had been one of those high pitched sounds a dog would have understood, the kind of thing that might wake the dead. "Thank God," he'd said aloud, grateful for the silence, her pain all the more real, somehow, with the volume turned down.
They were the images that played in his mind as Mikey and Kris strapped him into his chair.
He hadn't fought. Hadn't the strength or the will to struggle. Besides, what would he have achieved? They'd already made jokes about him being 'armless and they were right. Couldn't do a fucking thing as half a man against two.
Now if he'd been complete…
***
"See down there?" Kris asked. "That roundabout at the bottom? Reckon he'll make it?"
"Fiver he doesn't." Mikey was thinking along the same lines as Carlo.
"You're on," Kris said, and Carlo felt them checking the ties.
The power station, an eyesore in the daytime, shone like a jewel on the horizon in the darkness. The electric lights inside the building glowed orange through its translucent skin. Would have graced Paris or New York or any of those cities Carlo had never managed to visit – he'd never wanted to before, yet suddenly the urge to travel grew inside him like a magic beanstalk. If he got out of this, he promised, if he lived to see another day, first thing he'd do would be to get himself a passport. Soon as he got out of hospital, anyway.
Only way he was going to come out of this alive was to come up with a plan quickly. Perhaps if he could overturn the chair where the pavement ran out, toppled over to the left, he'd be OK. Or if he could get down and loosen the knots with his teeth he could get control of the thing and keep right on going.
As if they'd read his mind they gave the ends of the knots an extra pull and he felt the string dig deeply into his wrist.
"Bastards," he tried to say, but the lump of rag in his mouth and the tape muffled the sound into a dull grunt.
"What was that Carlo?"
"I think he said thank you," Mikey said.
"Aye," Kris went on. "I should think so an' all, us putting you out of your one armed misery like this."
A beaten up Nissan roared past at about twice the speed limit and beeped its horn.
The driver of the car waved and shouted something through the window.
"Doing away, Sammo Lad," Kris shouted, a huge grin on his face.
Carlo couldn't believe these guys. They were so fucking stupid and so brazen that maybe he still had a chance. All it would take would be a sane member of the public to drive past and notice what they were doing and it might stop the whole thing. The future of the Ramsay boys would be put on ice and Kylie would be freed. She'd remember his cooling touch amidst her nightmares. They'd come together and live out the happily ever after. Sure, they'd look like a couple of freaks, but their son was a handsome chap who'd do them proud.
The thought of his baby son gave him hope. He'd draw somebody's attention and the Ramsays would be out of the picture.
His tongue worked at the rag that had taken his voice. Rolled its tip to the back of his throat and lifted. The cloth moved – not f
ar, but enough to make it worth trying again. He repeated the movement and pushed the material to the front of his mouth.
Soon as he was clear of them he'd spit it out and shout for all he was worth. Bring the houses down. Wait for someone to come and sort out his mess, to call in the police and let them do the job they were paid for.
"See this?" Kris asked, dangling something in front of his face, too close for Carlo to be able to focus. "This elastic band here. This tiny piece of rubber. It's what's going to do for you."
"Aye," Mikey carried on, "Imagine being murdered by a piece of stationery."
"And you know the best bit?" Carlo shook his head as Kris wrapped the band around the throttle at the end of the arm of his chair. "Best thing is we didn't even have to pay for it."
Carlo looked carefully and understood. It was one of the red ones that littered the streets after the postman had done his rounds.
"How fucking humiliating."
His ride into oblivion seemed unavoidable, but hope rose inside him once again. A rubber band? He could chew through one of those in seconds. Take control. Put the whole thing behind him.
"No hard feelings, Carlo mate. But I think you understand." Kris turned to Mikey. "You or me?"
"Toss you."
Kris took off his gloves, fished out a coin from his pocket and flipped it into the air. He caught it and turned it onto the back of his other hand.
"Heads," he called. "He's all yours brother."
Mikey reached down and put his hands on the dial.
There were 3 speeds to choose from.
"Any last requests, pal?" Kris sounded almost genuine. "Any last words for yer woman?"
Carlo pictured her, her ear blistered red, her face puffed and pale, her ankle white and pure. He wanted to tell her, leave her a thought. A last goodbye. He was torn between 'I love you' and 'I'm sorry'. In the end he went for both.
All he heard was the muffled, blunted syllables of one whose mouth was full of cloth, like a baby whale in distress calling for its mother.
"Didn't think so," Kris said. "Bye Carlo."
Kris gave a gentle nod and Mikey turned the dial.
One, two, three.
At full power, the chair set off down the hill.
Take it in stages Carlo thought. First, get rid of the rag. Spit it out.
