Smoke

by Nigel Bird

  There was a high-pitched wail of desperation coming from inside.

  Bert was in there like it was what he'd been waiting to do all his life. Looked ten years younger than the man Jimmy was used to – twenty even.

  They didn't have far to go to find her. Second room on the left, a wall of breeze blocks un-plastered and unloved with a temporary door made out of chipboard.

  The sobs got louder as they approached and excruciating when they actually got to her.

  Kylie lay on the floor tied to a chair.

  Jimmy hardly recognised her. One side of her face lay in a pile of creamy vomit, the other was covered with a red-raw blister that looked like it had been growing there for years. Her hair looked weird, too. Long strands of it were spread out in the puke on the ground, yet on the other side it looked like it had been cropped close by a an arthritic gardener with a set of hedge-clippers.

  He was full of admiration for his dad, the way he got stuck in. Didn't bat an eyelid when it came to picking her out of the fluids, the huge spades at the ends of his arms scooping his daughter and the chair into an embrace Jimmy had never seen the like of.

  Bert looked at her, tenderly brushed the hair from her face and pulled her close again.

  When he took out the gag from her mouth, the noise started again. This time it sounded like a word. "Dad," she seemed to say over and over like an automated response, but it could easily have been any three letter word the way it came out.

  Then Jimmy saw her fingers. Until that point, he'd been OK with things.

  There were two missing on her left hand, so he checked the right. It was the thumb they'd gone for on that one.

  Bastards.

  Clean cuts they were.

  Short stumps covered in black crusts of blood protruded from her hands where her digits should have been.

  Jimmy looked onto the floor and saw the bits she was missing.

  Unlike his dad, he didn't just dive in.

  He looked around to see what he could use.

  There were empty beer cans, oil lamps and candles, a couple of porn mags and piles of old junk.

  He decided on the porn.

  Ripping out a couple of centrefolds, he bent down and used the paper to pick up the fingers and thumb.

  He was no expert, but it might not be too late.

  He imagined the faces of the doctors when they unwrapped the packages, saw the spread-legged, nipple-licking models. Jimmy smiled.

  Bert saw it and swung out his leg.

  An almighty crack down at Jimmy's shin was followed by a burst of red hot pain.

  Jimmy dropped what he was holding and hobbled tentatively round the room.

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he ranted, but nobody paid him any attention. "Not the fucking steelies, Dad. Fuck." It was true that steel toe caps on a boot were a weapon not to be messed with. Made a joke of the training shoes everyone wore these days. Maybe the younger generation were going soft like all the older guys said.

  His dad still hadn't spoken. He ripped off the tape around Kylies limbs, threw the chair down and headed out of the room.

  All Jimmy could do was pick up his little packages, stuff them in his pockets and limp out after him.

  ***

  Bar the hum of the engine, all was silent in the Capri.

  Bert wasn't messing around. He was handling corners and gears like a racing-driver, screeching left and right, throwing on the handbrake for the really tight turns.

  Jimmy had told him about Eddie giving him the note and had dropped the Ramsays in it. He didn't mention that he'd taken the money in the first place — one lump on the shin was more than enough pain for one night.

  Half way up the hill on the way back to the estate they saw them.

  Kris was walking ahead at a fair speed, his little brother following with his head down and covered in blood.

  Bert gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. He looked into the back where Joe and Kylie were crammed together on the tiny back seat.

  Saliva dribbled from the corners of Kylie's mouth and the streaks of black eye make-up made her look like she'd turned Goth.

  Jimmy felt the car accelerate.

  When they got to Mikey and Kris, Bert rammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt a couple of yards ahead of them.

  Bert was out in a flash. Had the boot open and was taking something out by the time Jimmy's feet touched the pavement.

  Kris was on them before there was time to plan. He crouched low and whipped round a leg. His foot connected with the side of Bert's head. It was as if Bert were made of stone. He didn't move, just carried on rummaging.

  Punches came next, to the body and the head. Same result. Nothing.

  With Bert and Kris paired up, Jimmy went for Mikey.

  They squared up to each other, but it was no contest, not even with Mikey's hand in a cast.

  One, two, three the punches came. Knocked Jimmy over like the fly-weight he was.

  Mikey was straight over to help his brother.

  Jimmy watched from the floor.

  His dad seemed to have coped with one, but two Ramsays would be hard to handle.

  Bert emerged from the car boot wielding a chain.

  He swung it around his head once to gain momentum and then went for Mikey who was still running his way.

  The chain and Mikey met like long-parted lovers.

  There was a heavy crunch, some musical notes as the links rubbed together. Mikey fell to the ground as if the bones had been filleted from his body.

  A couple of teeth landed next to Jimmy.

  The rest of Mikey lay in a twisted heap. His eyes were rolled up inside their sockets, just their whites and their veins showing.

  Bert was a raging red. He was either going to have a heart attack or a couple of corpses to his name before the night was over.

  Kris pulled out the pistol. Pointed it at Bert and pulled the trigger.

  Click, click, click was all it managed.

  The clicks were followed by the musical notes of the chain and the sound of a cheek bone cracking.

  Kris was down and out for the count.

  Bert picked Kris up by an ankle and dragged him over to the back of the car. Fished something out of the boot and then wrapped the chain around Kris' leg.

  Snapping a padlock, he had him ready.

  Did the same for Mikey. Looped the other end of the same chain around his ankle so that the pair looked like a couple of old-time crooks in transportation.

  Jimmy understood what was about to happen.

  His dad's draggings were legendary on the street. Had a nostalgia to them that gave Jimmy a warm glow when they were spoken of. A sense of pride.

  All the same, Jimmy couldn't let it happen again. Couldn't take the chance of seeing his father going to prison.

  Jimmy pushed himself to his feet and ran over.

  His dad was lifting the chain to the bumper.

  "Don't be daft," Jimmy shouted as he stood between him and the car. "They'll put you away. Kylie needs to get to the hospital, Dad. Give them a chance to put these back on." Jimmy dipped into his pocket and took out one of the packages. "She'll need her fingers Dad. She will."

  Bert's body slackened. He looked around and then down at his hands like he'd never seen them before.

  "Dad. You need to get Kylie to a hospital." It was the first time Jimmy could remember needing something from his father. Just this one thing. "I can call an ambulance. Please."

  "No ambulance. I'll get there quicker." It was true. A driver on a mission would beat an ambulance that had to come out from Edinburgh any day. "You'll have to take the wee fellow."

  It made sense, Jimmy knew. He'd take Joe home, sort him out again. Keep him safe till his sister was well. He could do it. Do it all.

  Jimmy took the car seat out, gave Kris a kick in the ribs and walked away. Waved as his dad sped off in the direction of the hospital.

  As the rumble of the Capri faded, it was replaced by the sound of
a different kind of engine altogether, the loud chug of a diesel motor.

  It was the Mcmerrys', their van slowing down. The two big men were rubber-necking to see who was lying on the ground. Must have seen the Ramsays lying there. Brought the van to a halt.

  Jimmy carried Joe into the bushes at the side of the road and watched the McMerrys get out of the van.

  Without Bert there, Jimmy felt exposed. Stripped of his strength, like Samson after a number 1.

  Then Joe woke up. Screamed out loud.

  Jimmy tried the dummy, then the rattle. No joy.

  The McMerrys must have heard, but they didn't look his way.

  Just walked over to the Ramsays.

  Mikey's arms moved. Pushed him up. Tim Ramsay went over and kicked him over again.

  Joe was still bawling. Needed his mother, poor wee tyke. Jimmy shoved his little finger into his mouth like he'd seen Kylie do to see if he was hungry. Sucked on the thing like a carp, he did.

  When he got to check the action again, Kris was being hauled to his feet, Ray lifting him by the shirt. "Drugs? What the fuck am I gonnae do with a load of fucking drugs? Hear that Tim?"

  "Aye."

  "Youse two need teaching a lesson, you ask me."

  "And guess who's got a degree from the school ae hard knocks."

  For a moment Jimmy almost felt sorry for the Ramsays as they were picked up and thrown into the back of the van like a couple of rubbish bags. Then Joe started to cry again.

  "Family park?" Ray asked.

  "Aye, Ray. I loves to drive that train."

  ***

  It was never going to work out, the four of them under the same roof.

  Jimmy loved his family, but there was a limit to how much he could take.

  Maybe things would have been different without Kylie's scars. Every time he saw her, looked into her face, it reminded him of his own disfigurement. Made him want to punch himself.

  Leaving Joe didn't seem right. Made Jimmy's stomach ache to think about it. He'd practically brought the kid up those past six months and they'd developed a special kind of bond.

  Then there was his dad.

  They'd never got on better. Talked about everything.

  Bert was like a new man. Proud of himself for dragging his way back into the world.

  Might have had something to do with finishing off the Capri. It looked fantastic out on the drive with a cherry red body and go-faster stripes.

  And he was his own boss at the chip shop now. Or at least until the little fella was twenty-one. Soon as Joe came of age the whole thing would pass on to him. Who'd have credited Carlo with the sense to make out a will? The lease on the chippy, the equipment and all that unused disability benefit all went to Bert. Things couldn't have been better.

  Best thing about Jimmy and his dad was the new found respect they'd discovered for each other. Like they'd reached the bottom and bounced back.

  But going away had to happen.

  School was worse than ever. He was never going to get a grip on his reading and having a face like Quasimodo hadn't done him any favours in the friends department.

  Eddie had spent the whole of the summer telling him tales. What it was like when he ran off down to London. Best years of his life he said. The freedom to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. And nobody giving a rat's ass about who he was or where he was from.

  Which was what Jimmy was going to do.

  It was his New Year's resolution and he was going to make it work.

  The taxi pulled up outside and beeped its horn.

  It could wait – the driver'd be compensated as soon as they got to the station.

  Jimmy just needed a minute to say goodbye.

  He put three presents down on the table.

  They weren't wrapped, but he'd taped the bags they came in.

  Joe was getting a Hibs strip with his name on the back. To get him following the green and whites soon as he could.

  Kylie was getting a gold bracelet, one of those with half a heart on a chain. Maybe she'd think of him every once in a while.

  He'd had to think hard about his dad's. Took him ages to find on the internet. A silver knob for the gear shift of the Capri. A bit of class for the car.

  The taxi outside beeped again.

  "Just cost yourself a tip," Jimmy said. Tapped the table, picked up his case and the rucksack full of cash and closed the door behind him.

  ***

  "You sure you want the tour?" the driver asked.

  "Yep," Jimmy answered.

  A tour of Tranent. One final spin around.

  Only took five minutes.

  The Coalgate, miserable looking as ever in the misty rain and the grey surround.

  The store.

  The schools.

  And the High Street — his dad's fish and chip shop, the McMerrys on the opposite side of the road, the statue of Jackie Crookstone.

  Best of all was the bookies. Sitting outside its door were the Ramsays, smoking their cigarettes one-handed and turning their wheelchairs in whichever direction the action came from.

  ###

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  As always there are many to thank. Jon and Jen Jordan over at Crimespree; Allan Guthrie; Chris Rhatigan; Pablo D'Stair; and Maxim Jakubowski who have all played their part in bringing this to you now.

  Also by Nigel Bird

  Novel

  In Loco Parentis

  Short stories

  Into Thin Air

  Sleeps With The Fishes

  Short story collections

  Dirty Old Town (and other stories)

  Beat On The Brat (and other stories)

  With Love And Squalor

  Poetry

  The Day My Coat Stuck On My Head

  Busted Flat

  As editor

  Pulp Ink 2 (co-edited by Chris Rhatigan)

  Pulp Ink (co-edited by Chris Rhatigan)

  Where The Wild Things Were (The Best Of The Rue Bella)

  The Rue Bella Magazine volumes 1 to 9 (co-edited by Geoff Bird)

  About the author

  Nigel Bird cut his teeth in the writing world with the production of the 'Rue Bella Magazine', a poetry and short story outlet and has gone on to publish several highly acclaimed short story collections, including Dirty Old Town and Beat On The Brat, a novel, In Loco Parentis and the novella, Smoke.

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  For our full range of titles, check out our website at www.blastedheath.com