by K D Grace
Benson nodded. “Sugar daddy. Yeah, I get it.”
Kevin gritted his teeth but not from what Benson had said. His mind was elsewhere. If Tommy wasn’t turning up tonight, there were other nights. Kevin would stake this place out every evening if he had to — until he got hold of the shithead and gave out what was coming to him.
As they left the club, George still steering Kevin along with a grip to his elbow, a crowd blocked the pavement a few feet away. They neared the throng, Kevin only half-heartedly wondering what the fuck was going on. Probably some bar argument spilling out onto the street, people intent on watching a good old-fashioned fight. Except no one was saying much, and what they were saying was hushed. Kevin went to walk around the group, but George jerked him back to his side.
“Let’s have a gander,” he said, eyes sparkling. “I don’t get out much, obviously. Limited levels of excitement in my life...”
Kevin sighed, trying to lighten himself up a bit. Difficult that, when he had so much on his mind. Still, he could think about all that shit while in bed later — George would be relegated to the damn spare room — and make a new plan now he knew exactly where Tommy hung out. He smiled at George, who’d turned out to be a great guy now that Kevin really thought about it, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to indulge him for a while. Robin’s car was tucked away down a residential backstreet about two minutes away. Letting it sit there for another five wouldn’t hurt.
George let Kevin go and elbowed through the crowd. “’Scuse me. Beg your pardon. Sorry. ‘Scuse me.”
Kevin followed, giving sympathetic glances to those who were roughly pushed aside by George’s swathing hands. Everyone looked either very red-faced or white, some were even a little grey, the kind of grey that followed bad news. Curious now, Kevin pressed up behind George, who reached the front of the crowd and stopped abruptly.
“Oh my fucking good God,” George said quietly, head bent.
Kevin tried to peer around him but other bodies either side of George closed any gaps. He stood on tiptoes, managing to see the legs of someone sprawled out on the pavement, pointing away from the crowd. Just some drunk then, who’d had one too many and had keeled over — something he didn’t really need to see.
“Come on,” Kevin said into George’s ear. “I’ve seen much the same when I was younger and exactly the same because of fights inside. Whoever it is will get sorted, vow never to drink again, then go out and do the same fucking thing a week later.”
George turned his head slightly, his eyes like those of a startled horse, all whites and little irises. “What?”
“I said —”
“I know what you said, but have you seen who it is?”
Kevin frowned. “No, but if you insist I look, get out the fucking way, let me see, then we can go home. The car, George. I don’t want it towed away. Hell of a fucking walk home if it is and I haven’t got a coat on.”
George reached a hand over his shoulder and grabbed some of Kevin’s t-shirt, yanking him forward to stand beside him. “Fucking look!”
Kevin stared down.
Tommy Steel’s forehead sported a bullet hole. The pavement either side of his head was decorated with blood and brain matter, the area directly beneath a puddle of dark red. His face was stuck in an expression of surprise, mouth open in a skewed hole, eyes wide. Kevin’s heart sank and his stomach knotted. He’d always thought he’d be pleased to see something like this, to have been the one who made Tommy look like that, but seeing it for real... He knew now he’d have just beaten Tommy, pummelled him with fists made hard from his anger, kept going until Tommy couldn’t stand and pleaded for him to stop.
Kevin staggered sideways, saved a fall by the person next to him, and blindly shoved through the crowd, coming out onto the road beside a parked red car. He rested one hand on the roof and bent over, struggling to contain himself. To come to terms with feeling so fucking relieved that the job had been done for him. He’d have been the first suspect, still might be, but this time he had witnesses, a firm alibi. He wouldn’t be serving another twenty for something he didn’t do. No, this time he’d make sure the cops knew he wasn’t anywhere near the victim, that he hadn’t set eyes on him up until now.
George joined him, bending over to look at Kevin’s face. “What a fucking turn up,” he said quietly. “You all right?”
Kevin nodded. He wasn’t, but the reaction was just something people did, wasn’t it? The typical British response. Fine, nothing wrong here, when inside he was screaming with all manner of emotions, some he knew well and others he hadn’t felt before, couldn’t name. He needed to get home, fold himself away, really think about what had happened. Wait for the inevitable knock on the door, because fuck, had he really only got out of the nick that morning? The police arriving on his doorstep wouldn’t be long in coming.
He stood upright, deciding to wait, to face the police and answer their questions when they arrived, here, out on the street where all these people knew he’d come along after the shooting. He stared at the crowd, scanning their faces, spotting those who he’d stood beside and making sure he memorised what they looked like. He might need them later, to back him up that he hadn’t done it — if they’d been around when the shooting happened.
A man in the near distance strolled up the pavement ahead, towards them. He seemed familiar, and Kevin thought hard to search his memory banks, to put a name to the face that was coming steadily closer. Maybe because he hadn’t expected to see the man ever again Kevin didn’t quite register him, but then he did, the realisation, the meaning of the man’s presence hitting him like the fatal bullet in Tommy’s head — fast and without warning.
“Everyone’s gotta pay their bills, eh?” the man said as he walked past. “Guess this guy paid his tonight.”
Kevin nodded, turned to watch him walk on.
“Who the fuck was that?” George asked urgently.
“Fuck knows.” Kevin watched, waited until the man rounded a corner. “Anyone called the police?” he shouted.
“On the way!” someone said from the crowd.
George squeezed Kevin’s arm. “Don’t give me that. And don’t try to change the subject either. You know him.”
“Shut the hell up, all right?” Kevin said, levelling a meaningful gaze on George. “Just...just learn when it’s best to keep quiet.”
George nodded. Paled. “Right.”
The police arrived along with an ambulance — a lot of good that would do — and began taking names and addresses. They didn’t blink or show any reaction when Kevin gave his. That would come later, after they’d run his name through the database and come up with a bundle of lies. Everyone who hadn’t seen the shooting was asked to move along, to be available tomorrow for questioning. Kevin wondered whether he’d be interviewed at the cottage or summoned to the station. He reckoned the latter.
He walked with George in silence, reaching the car and getting in, the journey home also quiet. Kevin didn’t know what to say and it seemed George was lost for words too — something Kevin guessed was unusual for the normally cheeky little sod. They were both in shock, understandable in the circumstances, but Kevin thought he might be more so. After all, he’d never really had a friend apart from Robin who meant what he said. Who stuck to his promises.
Yet Dave had paid him back tonight. And he’d been paying the bills in the cottage all the time they’d been inside. Dave had never gone into detail why their silent meetings had meant so much to him, had never offered reasons as to why he thought so much of Kevin for sharing his free time with him. But the reason wasn’t for Kevin to ponder. Not now. Maybe not ever. And yet, Dave had done the deed tonight and then strolled past as if he was out on a casual walk. He’d risked being picked up for his crime, going back inside to serve another long stretch, all in the name of respect for Kevin who had been a companion of sorts while they’d been banged up.
/> What Kevin had wanted done was done, yet it hadn’t brought Robin back, hadn’t made anything better. There was still a void inside Kevin that would take a long time to go away. Still a bitter emptiness, a life ahead full of the same shit he’d had for the past twenty years — not much to look forward to, the one and only love of his life totally out of reach. Maybe Robin had been fucking Tommy. Maybe he hadn’t. That didn’t make Kevin miss him any less.
At the cottage, George stowed the car in the garage and locked the door. Kevin was grateful for that. If the police came to interview them here, they didn’t need any hassle over no tax and insurance. Once inside, Kevin left George without explanation, going upstairs to strip the sheets, finding clean ones in the airing cupboard where they used to be. He made the bed up then had a quick shower, sluicing the sweat of shock from his skin and hoping the tremors assaulting him would go away. Seemed he’d shaken a lot for one reason or another over the years.
Anger. Fear. Sorrow.
He dried off in the bedroom, climbing into bed on the side where he’d always slept, reaching out to lay one arm on the mattress where Robin should be.
“He isn’t there,” George said from the doorway. “And I’m really sorry about that. Sorry for being here, using your stuff. I didn’t mean...I didn’t know —”
“Doesn’t matter,” Kevin said.
“Spare room for me, then?” George asked. “Although, I know it sounds a bit weird and all that, also a bit cheeky, but I could do with a cuddle.”
“Expect you could.”
“So can I have one or what?” George eyed him hopefully. “I know we shouldn’t, know you wouldn’t want anything like that...but I wouldn’t mind having a chance to prove what you’ve said is right.”
“What d’you mean?” Kevin flung the covers back and waited while George got in.
“Well, that’s twice now you’ve said I’m something else. Maybe one day I can really prove it, in a different way, know what I mean?”
Did Kevin know what he meant? Yeah, he knew all right. He reached out an arm and George curled into his embrace. They lay in the darkness for a long time, no talking, no wandering hands, just two people taking comfort from one another. Kevin’s mind swirled at first, thick with too many thoughts, but he eventually muddled through them, sorting them into their various categories: Important. Finished. Things to Still Get Over. The Future.
After what seemed like hours, he glanced at George by the light of a lamp on the bedside cabinet. The man had fallen asleep. Kevin huffed out a quiet laugh, that he was in this situation, crazy as it was, with a younger man he knew next to nothing about and vice versa.
Could he tolerate this bloke in his life? Could he? Did he dare scrutinise the category named The Future?
Maybe...
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