The Rave: A gritty crime drama you won't want to put down (Valley Park Series Book 2)

by Nicky Black

  ‘Back off, cunt.’ Gerry’s hand pushed at Mark’s chest, forcing him backwards into the drink of the toothless, grinning old drunkard.

  Nicola was there in a flash, despite Margy’s attempts to keep her in her seat. Mark pushed her to one side, but Nicola stood her ground and looked up at Gerry with narrowed eyes, pointing a warning finger at him over Mark’s protective arm.

  ‘You lay one finger on him, and my husband will kill you.’

  On Mark’s persistent orders she went back to her seat reluctantly and glared at Tyrone’s anxious face. Tyrone Woods, barely seventeen, not a millimetre of his face free of a freckle, and the key witness in the prosecution. Next week he would swear under oath that Mark had sold him ecstasy and cocaine, and offered him heroin out the back of the youth centre where Mark used to volunteer on Wednesday and Friday nights before his arrest.

  Gerry seized Mark’s T-shirt at the neck and threw him back against the bar. ‘Don’t be messing with witnesses now, Mr Redmond. Might add a few years to your sentence.’

  ‘I just wanted a word, mate,’ said Mark, struggling to keep his cool.

  Gerry’s body forced Mark’s back against the ledge of the bar until his stomach heaved. He swallowed some vomit but showed no emotion.

  ‘I am not your mate,’ said Gerry, his Irish accent even thicker than his brother’s. He pointed to Tyrone who stood tensely at the bar, smoking, his eyes on his pint. ‘Leave him alone, or I’ll fucking waste you before they can bang you up.’

  Lee glanced at Nicola, biting her nails. She stole a look back at him and, realising he was scrutinising the situation, took her fingers away from her mouth. She sighed, feeling calmer, safer. No way would Gerry Woods dare hurt Micky Kelly’s brother-in-law.

  The song came to an abrupt end and the band announced they were taking a fifteen-minute break which was met with humorous moaning and booing from the rest of the customers, unaware of the rising conflict.

  ‘See you next week then, mate,’ said Gerry, letting go of Mark’s T-shirt as people’s attention turned from the band to the bar. ‘Now we’d like to enjoy our beer, so fuck off.’ He pushed Mark back once more for effect before making his way back to his little brother.

  Mark wiped down his T-shirt and looked over at his sister’s worried face, feeling the humiliation burn his neck, sensing the world crushing in on him from all sides. He’d never been able to fight, but he could run. Fast. And there was nowhere to run this time except all the way to jail, a jail full of men like Gerry Woods.

  The searing heat reached his cheeks: his ears pounded, his eyes filled with seething water. He moved slowly to the middle of the room and raised his voice above the chattering drinkers.

  ‘What they got on you, Tyrone, eh? What they paying you?’

  Gerry slammed his pint down on the bar and turned slowly like a witch at Halloween.

  Silence fell on the pub and all eyes turned towards Mark.

  ‘I never thought they’d turn you, mate,’ Mark said, ‘Never thought they’d turn you into a fucking liar.’

  Gerry lunged and Mark was round the back of the bar in seconds, Scotty holding two pints above his head. They were soon knocked out of his hands as Gerry got round the other side, staggering, and slipping on the wet floor.

  ‘Come on, lads, take it outside!’ pleaded the barman.

  There was chaos. Women were screaming, men shouting. Lee jumped from his bar stool, but the alcohol and rush of adrenalin made him sway and lose his footing. He fell to the floor and someone ran into him, knocking him onto his back. He told himself to get a grip, but he felt completely useless. Standing up with the help of Scotty, he got his bearings. Nicola was on her feet, not knowing where to put herself while Margy sat on the edge of her seat with a protective arm around Kim, the other hand firmly grasping her drink. Mark, knowing that going outside would be the end of him, ran circles around the pub, leaping over chairs and dodging Gerry at every turn. Lee searched his pockets for his mobile, found it, but heard fresh screaming before he could get a proper hold of it. He caught the glint of Gerry’s weapon and instinct took over.

  He was behind him before he knew it and had Gerry in an armlock and on the floor a second later. He wrestled the knife from his hand and it fell onto the sticky carpet, but another hand had snatched it away before he could get a grip of it. He looked up to see Nicola holding the blade, then the boot hit his face and he was flying backwards. He rolled over, crouching on his hands and knees, blood and spit falling to the floor. He blinked up at Tyrone, his adolescent body in a fighting stance, his pink face riddled with terror.

  Lee coughed and turned his head, the noise around him blotted out with pain. He blinked, trying to focus. He could see the toothless old man at the bar behind him, one hand held to his chest, the other outstretched as he burst into ‘Danny Boy’. Ahead of him, Mark was on the floor in a ball, being kicked to shreds by Gerry, Nicola throwing herself at her brother’s assailant, knife in hand, only to be tossed to the floor every time. To his right, Scotty stood by the singing old man with a baseball bat held aloft.

  The band’s singer suddenly appeared and grabbed hold of Tyrone, his arms up behind his back in a jiffy. Lee recognised the move, and an ex-copper, when he saw one. Gerry, hearing Tyrone’s cries for help, gave Mark one last kick and strode towards his brother. Snatching the baseball bat from Scotty, Lee stood between the two siblings, the blood from his nose running into his mouth. Gerry scoffed, and Lee held up the bat in defence while Nicola stood next to the crumpled Mark, the knife still hanging loosely in her hand.

  Mark saw his opportunity and snatched the knife, staggering to his feet as Tyrone shouted a warning to his brother. Mark lurched up behind Gerry, who turned around to face him.

  Gerry felt the edge of the knife penetrate his shirt and break the skin of his belly before Mark hesitated at the sound of Nicola’s screams. The pub had completely emptied out. Only the toothless, old man remained, sniggering through wet lips.

  ‘You’re fucked, Redmond,’ Gerry grinned.

  Nicola heard her voice in her head, but her lips remained frozen, her screams silenced by fear. Don’t do anything stupid!.

  Mark teetered, his eyes bloodshot, his face dripping with sweat and blood, his ribs shattered. His hand tightened around the knife. Just one thrust. ‘If I’m going down, I might as well take out one of you while I’m at it.’ He spoke through gritted teeth, the knife pointed at Gerry’s liver.

  Lee, realising he would have to come clean, slid his hand into his back pocket to retrieve his police ID, but as he brought it out, they were joined by an impressively heavy man with a shaved head, black suit and white shirt. He was a bruiser, the folds of fat on his thick neck pouring over his shirt collar. Everybody stared at him like he was Christ or something.

  ‘Put your fucking toy away,’ Micky ordered Mark.

  Mark didn’t move and Micky walked up to him, held out his hand, nodding towards Nicola. Looking at his sister’s streaked, petrified face, Mark gave Gerry one last glare and stepped back, handing the knife to Micky who squared up to Gerry, his face an inch away from his.

  ‘Fuck off, you Fenian piece of shit.’

  Gerry curled his lip, spat on the floor at Micky’s feet, and looked around him before walking towards the exit, picking Tyrone up off the floor on his way.

  Micky watched them leave through pinpoint eyes, then he turned and marched up to Lee.

  ‘No, Micky.’ Nicola held his arm. ‘He was helping.’

  ‘We don’t need your help,’ Micky said, ripping the baseball bat from Lee’s hand and motioning to Nicola and the others to follow him outside. They all responded without question, quickly gathering bags and coats, Margy helping the wasted Kim to her feet. Micky put his arm around Nicola and she leant into him, Lee watching, trying to get his coat on with Scotty’s help.

  ‘Why did no one call the police?’ Lee asked him.

  The barman scoffed and shuffled away.

  Outside, Nicola eased her
arm from Micky’s grip. ‘My phone,’ she said. ‘I must’ve left it on the seat.’

  ‘If you’ve got your phone, why didn’t you fucking answer it?’ asked Micky sharply.

  ‘Jesus, Micky, calm down, I don’t even know how to switch the bloody thing on.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Micky, irritated.

  ‘No,’ she said with an authority her husband didn’t like one bit. ‘Don’t leave them out here on their own. I know where it is.’

  Micky’s eye twitched, but as Mark fell to his knees again, he sighed, looked heavenward, and nudged his head towards the pub door before leaning down to pick Mark up.

  Nicola hurried back into the pub and walked up to a bleeding Lee who finally had his coat on. She stood in front of him, her swollen, blackened eyes locked onto his. Glancing down, he noticed her wedding ring as she subtly took hold of his little finger. His eyes darted to the exit door, beyond it to the bouncer with the attitude. He looked back into her eyes.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. And she was gone.