by David Louden
“Come on King, run you fucking useless bastard! Run for Christ’s sake!”
He was listening and he was running but Danny’s Boy seemed to be powered by white bread and it was a super strength that they had failed to mention in the form guide. The King Still Lives made up the ground going into the straight and they were nose-to-nose. This was going to come down to who was the biggest of their litter and then it happened. I watched as Danny’s Boy pulled up ten meters from the line and began cacking; his legs locked in some power stance, snout pointed towards the ground. The King Still Lives crossed the line and everyone looked at one another wondering what the fuck just happened? I raced as quickly as my legs would carry me up the steps to the teller’s booth and cashed in my ticket just as Danny’s Boy vomited, bringing up two corned beef sandwiches almost entirely whole and unspoiled. The teller was too busy counting out the winnings to notice the scene from Canine Exorcist but there was a roar rising throughout the stadium and it was only a matter of time before they figured out who won big on that one not to mention who could have given Danny’s Boy his last supper.
“I trust you, you don’t have to count it out loud.” I said.
She stopped somewhere between one thousand eight hundred and one thousand eight hundred and forty and gave me a glare. My mum’s glare, Karen’s glare, Dani’s glare; it was a universal lady glare that said shut the fuck up. I’d get used to it but not then, not with the word fix suddenly being banded around. She counted out the rest as I felt a teenage coronary episode coming on. She’d wrap it in a rubber band and hand it to me. I made off like my ass was on fire and skipped out from the place as a wave of commotion landed at the kennels. I wedged the money as best I could do by my prison wallet and walked into the middle of a profanity spitting oven grabbing my coat.
“That fucking bitch from Front of House says they ain’t got my money ready!” I said to the kennel master as the owners and trainers queued up to have words with anyone who would listen.
“That sounds about right Doug.”
“Yeah well either way if I’m not earning I’m not working. Tell her to stick it up her peach I’m out of here.”
I left without looking back and when I got home I settled down to Middlemarch and thinking of the kind of writer I wanted to be. Her words sang to me, intoxicating me with possibility so I counted my money and imagined it had come from selling a story.
10
THE TWO main buildings of our academic correctional facility were connected on the first floor by a bridge. Every once and a while two kids would coordinate themselves at either door and trap a teacher out on it by pulling both doors shut and simply walking away. This usually took place over lunchtime when the classrooms were empty and they’d be stranded out there for a longer period of time. I was standing at the end of the corridor by one of the bridge’s entrances when I overheard two first year kids talking about getting Miss McCormack out there during what was becoming the soggiest November on record.
“You don’t want to be doing that to Miss McCormack kids, pick someone else.”
“Why not?” said the mouthy one.
“Well I would threaten to beat you into the ground but I wouldn’t have to do that. You see, she would scream and scream at you until your little balls quivered up inside your beanbag and you burst out crying like a little girl and that would negate the reason you’re doing it.”
They looked at each other before turning back to me.
“Jesus-fuckin-Christ, it’s hard to be considered one of the guys when you’ve been made to cry by the finest lady teacher in the place now isn’t it?”
“He’s right.”
“Of course I’m fucking right.”
“We should do it to someone else!” brainstormed the second boy.
“Bravo children.”
“Who should we do?”
“Whoever you want but McCormack is off limits for you two shit stains, try Reynolds.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, when he gets annoyed his voice goes all transvestite, it’s hilarious.”
I left them to consider my selection and took up a seat across the playground so I could watch the proceedings. Reynolds was a devil-looking little man who held a grudge the way most people carried a wallet. It would be funny to watch him get his and even funnier to watch those two little d-bags get hounded for the rest of their academic career; if that’s what St. Columbus’ offered.
As I got to the bottom of the stairs I met up with Jason O’Sullivan and Scott Hamill. I’d formed something of a bond with these two guys in recent weeks, a bond that was cemented when Scott somehow managed to convince one of the first years to have a danger wank in the locker room after football. Peacock went ape shit and almost beat the kid to death. When we were first years the older kids used to grab us, turn us upside down and dunk our heads down the toilet; some of the weedier ones even had other boys pissing into the bowl as this happened but they also got served with a lot of suspensions for it which marked their cards for later years. We’d come up with a way of insuring the juniors fucked themselves and our prints where nowhere near the scene.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Jason asked; he had broader shoulders than me and shaven almost every damn day.
“Watch this.” I replied, pointing towards the heavens.
Reynolds stomped across the concrete bridge like he was invading another country and then the door in front of him slammed shut. He stopped and turned with just enough time to watch the exit he had just emerged from get yanked shut too – right as the heavens opened washing clean everything and everyone in its path.
“That is fucking brilliant!” cried Scott.
“Who’d you put up to that?”
“Oh they were ready and willing, they just needed a little direction.”
“He is going to skull fuck them two for sure.”
“I know right!”
If you don’t get the joke then there’s a very good chance you’re the butt of it; everyone’s the butt sometimes and for a moment I thought of Buckerharder and Sixty-Six and a smile crept across my face.
“Did you hear Jay’s brother is working the Phoenix now?”
“For real?” I asked
“Started last weekend.” added Jason.
“That’s aces!”
“He says he’ll serve us if we slip him a score.”
“That’s no problem at all.” I announced
“You moneybags? I thought you were out of a job?”
I hesitated for a moment about telling them anything but figured what good is it to have pulled off such a sweet con and not be able to share it with anyone. The rain was throwing it down and we were close to drowning, all the while Reynolds hammered and screeched from the bridge. We found an empty classroom, it had been trashed maybe a year or two before and never fixed up. Jason put his boot to the edge and the door swung open. We’d claim it as a hobo common room pilfering chairs from other rooms, a table from the canteen and even the coffee machine from the teacher’s lounge to make it more homely but for now all it would be was somewhere dry to talk and smoke.
They stood rooted to the spot as I talked them through my weeks of potato and sandwiches and Gary the dog lover before one of them spoke.
“That is fucking awesome, well played big man.”
“Appreciated.”
“So then we’ll head to the Phoenix this weekend right?”
“Sure.”
“I guess the night is on you.”
“Only if you’re putting out, I got to get something out of it too you know!”
We’d head to the Phoenix early. I’d tell the old lady I was staying at Jason’s as she wasn’t too keen on alcohol after a mini lifetime with Jack and my early trials with vodka. The Phoenix was what’s known as an old man’s bar with plenty of heavy wood, carpet where a dance floor would instinctively be and wasn’t actually called The Phoenix. It’s actual title, the one of the deed for the place and the one that hung over
the front door was The Watering Hole but it had been burnt down so many times by desperate owners trying to claim the insurance that everyone simply referred to it as The Phoenix; even the local cab drivers didn’t have a clue where The Watering Hole was.
Jason had dirty fair hair and light skin, the rest of the kids in his family of six children where all incredibly dark and kind of Italian looking. Gerry Zippo made a crack in first year about his ma opening up for the coal man in order to pay the bills that everyone found hilarious. The irony lost on Gerry that his old man was one of any number of spunk chuckers who bought his mama a Bacardi before whipping her knickers down in the piss scented back alley. Jason shot up in second year and Gerry stopped saying word one to him. He’d head to the bar as he looked the oldest and I’d palm him money every time our bill spilled over the prepaid tab. They both worked their way through pints of Budweiser; I tried one and found it distasteful after it made it to room temperature so opted for Guinness with a Wild Turkey on the side to sweeten the deal.
“So what do you say we go get ourselves some women after this one?” said Scott testing the water.
“Where?” Jason fired back immediately.
“Fuck, I don’t know man.”
“The whole point of us drinking here is it’s the one place we’d get fucking served.”
“The man speaks the bible truth Scotty, if you want to hook yourself some female you’re going to have to take home whatever scraps the Phoenix is offering up.”
“Maggy Ski-pants!” announced Jason.
“Fuck off!”
“I’ll tell you, one of these days…you’re my witness Doug. One of these days Maggy…”
“Fuck. Off.”
“Who’s Maggy Ski-pants?” I asked.
“Maggy’s a proper wino, she’ll fuck anyone who’ll buy her a Rosé.”
“Aye she’s a right dirty whore, our Stephen told me she fucked a dog for a bet once.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Aye she sounds like your type of woman Scotty, get in there before you’re lapping out sloppy seconds from a Golden Retriever.” I said draining off my Guinness before chasing it down.
“That’s fucking rank, and you need to slow down.”
“Don’t worry about me.” I said, I could feel the taste for it sweep through me. I didn’t stand a chance against it.
The empties would rack up in front of us and they’d give me shit for trying to get in there with Niamh even though Jason had tried and failed once and denounced her as frigid. I smiled, laughed along and fought the urge to tell them both about Dani. They’d understand; they’d probably batted a half dozen out to her themselves but they’d make my life hell and I wasn’t ready for that but the more I drank the more I looked for an opportunity to discuss her and in the end I was slightly thankful when the old man came calling.
“You’re Jackie’s boy ain’t you?” said Dennis and the table winced as the dirty old bastard invited himself amongst us.
I woke the following morning unsure of a lot of different things. I was unsure where I was, how I had got there, whether I had spilled the beans about Dani and just how painful it would be to try and get to my feet with my body working off two pints of whiskey and enough Guinness to leave my shit tar-black for days. Jason’s old man had passed out in front of the TV long before we had gotten home. I checked my pockets and I had two handfuls of loose change left out of the hundred quid I had brought out. I made it home for breakfast and grabbed my banjo before heading for the 93 that would carry my aching, brittle body into town but there was no sign of him that day.
11
THE REASONS to stay behind after class were starting to wear paper thin. If they were jeans the ass would have been hanging out and I would have been red faced long before then. It was the last class before the Christmas break and rather than assign us another book to analyze over Christmas Miss McCormack let us watch a movie while she stood outside on her mobile phone arguing with her fiancé. I had shouted down the multitude of opinions and told everyone we were watching The Devils. By this point I had long since figured out that Oliver Reed was no more my old man than burnt toast gave you cancer but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t nice to slide the VHS in and have it feel like home again.
“Don’t you be getting a root Paddy like you did with that wrestling one.” snarled Gerry to a chorus of laughs.
Patrick rolled his eyes confident that Gerry couldn’t see them and crossed his ankles under his desk before leaning forward to watch the movie.
Patrick had snitched on me to Walker. Granted it was only once but it was enough for the old rat to make me her bottom bitch for that year but as the days progressed I felt more and more sorry for the lanky boy scout. Gerry was going out of his way to torment him; he was looking for a reaction, a reason to beat the beanpole into the ground but Patrick was either smart or noble or both not to take the bait – whatever way you cut it his parents were world class pricks for sending him to this school. He didn’t have what it took to survive, anyone could see it.
When Dani returned from the corridor she put the phone in her desk rather than her bag and her eyes seemed even more sparkly than normal. Gerry had started throwing things towards Patrick, Dani took the long way round the back of the class before bending over the back of him; her breast perched on his shoulder and began whispering into his ear. I was close enough to hear it but my head felt like it was under leagues of water as the pressure built and built. If she had known my affections towards her she could not have been more cruel than she was being having bent over and presented her womanly fleshy mound of derriere to me. A matter of inches from my face; I no longer had to imagine what she would look like in that position, no longer have to strain to picture what it would be like if she presented herself to me for our nightly ravishing, she was teasing me with her tail and all of a sudden The Devils lost all of its interest.
The class broke and she wished everyone a Merry Christmas as they filed out the door. I remained in my seat, rooted to the grey hard plastic. She retrieved her phone from the drawer and dropped it uncaringly into her bag. It pleased me that her unseen lover was in the bad books – fuck him.
“You ok Douglas?”
“I honestly could not be better Miss.”
“So then why are you sitting here when there’s a Christmas to be enjoyed.”
“Or endured.”
“Absolutely,” she laughed “or endured.”
“I wanted to give you something.” I said, my heart racing as I bent down and pulled out a present, gift wrapped in red and gold from my bag.
“You really shouldn’t have.” she reflexed, her face reddening.
“You wanted to know what kind of writer I wanted to be…Merry Christmas.”
“Something you’ve written?”
“No, nothing I’ve written but what I’m aiming for…maybe, if I take the class.”
“You’ll take the class.” she said knowingly.
“Merry Christmas Miss McCormack.”
“Merry Christmas Mr. Morgan.” And as I went to pass her she’d kiss me on the cheek and damn near cause my heart to explode.
12
IT WAS ALMOST Christmas and Castle Street was quiet, hard, muggy. Primark loomed to the right, Copperfield’s and several butchers and fishmongers to the left, the low gloomy Belfast skyline took care of above, the street stank of fish and urine but it was quiet, and banjo free. As I reached the turn off on to Copperfield’s. I saw tracksuits, the blur of white Nike and a dark blob of a shape laying on the ground that was absorbing the brunt of several heavy and strategically placed kicks from sporting youths. A heavy thud was met with a groan which caught my attention and alerted me to the sickening fact that they weren’t mud stomping garbage bags. I stopped dead in my tracks, motionless, forgetting even to breathe and I watched. I watched kick after kick, several punches on what must have been the top of the head and I listened to them laughing, two thugs taking pleasure in a hard day’
s assaulting. I caught a glimpse, a flash really but it pushed me into action. I raced across the street, ignorant to whether there was any traffic that could halt me, I ran full pelt towards the navy Adidas tracksuit and ploughed straight into its owner. Head first into his ribs which gave way with a haunting crunch. I grabbed him by the throat, pinning navy to the red clad wall of the front of the bar and began smashing his face in.
Punch after punch after punch raining down on his broken, spraying nose until he went limp. The second hoody had turned his attention to me and caught me with an elbow before grabbing me by the scruff of the neck and spinning me around, tossing me across the street towards the blue industrial bins that lingered to the side of an American themed off-license. I landed hitting my head on the ground; it took some of the steam out of me but not for long. Soon the second one was over me, laying in boot after boot, I caught one and tightened my grip around it before dragging his leg in, pulling him towards me, off balance and to the ground. Then I was on top of him, right hand jammed down on top of his nose, index and fuck you fingers digging into his eyes, thumb burrowing in the hinge of his jaw turning his face away from me and giving me some head to punch at. My left arm pummeled him, pummeled him until he began to cry and beyond, until he fell silent, until blood was spouting from his beady little eyes, nose, mouth and ears. My head felt like it was going to pop, the blood boiled inside my skull, all I could hear was pressure. The sound of a world under massive amounts of water as I beat his face unrecognizable and then a little more for luck.
I was dragged from him, still punching, kicking, focused on killing him. Dad pinned me against the wall, his nose bleeding, his right eye fat and heavy. He looked frightened, less of them than he was of me and the familiar look that burned just behind my eyes. The look that had extinguished in him when his fifties arrived. Eventually I calmed enough to hear him. What chance did I stand?
