by Robert White
“To take a life,” he began, “is a terrible thing. But sometimes, in conflict, we have to kill, we have no choice. You shot that man to save the lives of others. Maybe one day, you will have to kill to save your own life. In the heat of battle, you rarely know if you have killed or not; just that you are still alive. Either way son… that is the most important thing… you… are still alive.”
The two remained silent for a moment before Jamie broke it.
“Thanks Dad,” he said.
Harry smiled and patted his son’s leg. “No worries son… now… let’s go and get a beer eh?”
The kitchen door flew open and Bird stood in the opening, a tea towel in his hand. “Did I hear someone mention the demon drink?”
“You were listening, you Aussie bastard!” shouted Jamie.
Bird shrugged. “It’s these walls pal… so thin… not like Aussie walls…”
Harry stood between the two powerful young men.
“How about we start at the Legion, I need to show the old dodderers what real marines look like.”
Jamie nodded. “Okay by me Dad.”
Bird tapped himself on the chest. “They’ll be lookin’ at the Aussie marine then Mr Strange.”
Bruce Lee and Rocky made a triumphant return to the parlour.
Harry couldn’t stop laughing.
* * *
By the time the three men left the Royal British Legion, the town centre was awakening to its usual Friday night antics.
They walked along Friargate until they reached the junction with Ringway. Harry’s love of real ale, as opposed to modern beers and lagers drew him into the Black Bull.
Jamie pulled a face. “Aw come on Dad… not another old man’s pub. Me an’ Birdman here are looking for a bit of life.”
Harry stopped in the doorway. “By ‘life’ you mean girls, I take it?”
Both lads were dressed in shirt, tie, trousers and shoes. No jeans or trainers meant only one thing, a club. Harry wagged a warning finger. “And I’m not going clubbing at my age Jamie. I’d feel like the oldest swinger in town, so you can forget that.”
Bird was in there, “Aw come on Mr S, you’re still a fine-looking man, look at De Niro and Pacino, they still pull ’em.”
Jamie noticed his father’s face fall and his hand move unconsciously toward his wedding ring. This was not a conversation Harry wanted to have. Jamie saved him the embarrassment.
“Tell you what Dad, we’ll have another couple in here, and you can jump a cab home. Me and Birdman are quite capable of looking after ourselves eh?”
Harry smiled knowingly at his son. “Good shout… come on then… my round.”
* * *
The couple of beers turned to three, before Harry finally wobbled outside and found his cab. Jamie and Bird stood on the pavement and watched the car drive away, the streets now packed with revellers; groups of girls and lads heading for the cattle markets of northern nightlife. As the pair strolled toward the centre of town, a pretty girl in legwarmers thrust a leaflet into Jamie’s hand.
She gave her practised spiel.
“Here you go boys, three bars, two dance floors, lots of girls, only a fiver in with this flyer. Three minutes’ walk away.”
Bird pulled the leaflet from Jamie’s hand and examined it.
“Toast? You ever heard of it Strange Brew?”
“Nah, I was thinking of Squires.”
“It’s new,” interrupted the PR girl, “opening night tonight.”
Bird looked at the address. “Church Street… where’s that?”
“Keep walking,” gushed the girl. “Turn left at the junction and it’s on your right next to the Con Club… can’t miss it!”
Bird pushed the leaflet in his pocket. “Let’s give it a go eh Strange Brew? It’s only half ten; if it’s shit we can fuck it off and go to Squires after.”
Jamie smiled. “Yeah, why not?”
As they approached the club, the boys’ hearts sank. The queue for entrance was huge and snaked over fifty yards.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Jamie. “I’m not waiting half the night to get in. We might get our visit tomorrow, and then fuck knows what will happen.”
The Aussie gave a wink. “Have no fear, Bird is here,” and strode to the front of the line.
Jamie followed and shouted. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid now Birdman. Remember what the man said about gettin’ in shit with the locals.”
At twenty-four, Marine Richard Valance (yes, his father was a Teddy Boy) was two years older than Jamie, around the same height at six foot, three inches and weighed in at a similar weight, just shy of sixteen stone. Where Jamie had managed to keep his face in good condition, Bird’s love of fighting had ensured his dark-skinned features had been damaged both in and out of the ring. He looked a proper handful.
He stopped, looked at his friend and pointed a finger at his own face.
“Now who could resist a handsome boy like me?”
Before Jamie could answer, Bird had turned and was talking to one of two very surly-looking bouncers at the door.
As Jamie got close, he could hear the doorman explaining that there were no special privileges for Falkland’s veterans.
Bird was not so easily dissuaded. He grabbed Jamie around the shoulders, stabbed him in the chest with his index finger and began his pitch.
“This man here… is a hero mate; a bloody hero. This man… this man here in front of you… rescued dozens of men from the Sir Galahad… remember it on the TV? Eh?”
The bouncer still wasn’t impressed and was shaking his head. Jamie’s embarrassment was rising.
He was about to pull Bird away when he saw her.
Laurie Holland stood in the doorway. She wore a black off-the-shoulder dress that hugged every curve. Her mass of blonde tresses, pulled up onto the top of her head with just a single spiral allowed free to rest on her pale cheek.
She locked eyes with Jamie and gave him the broadest smile. For a second, he was convinced there was static in the air.
Laurie rested a graceful hand on the shoulder of the doorman.
She spoke quietly to him, but never took her eyes from Jamie. “It’s okay Malcolm these two gentlemen are my guests. Let them pass please.”
The doorman raised his eyebrows, stepped to one side and the boys were in.
Bird was open-mouthed. He managed a hurried whisper in Jamie’s ear as Laurie sashayed down the corridor ahead of them.
“Who the fuck is that?”
Jamie was about to try and explain when Laurie turned, dropped a manicured hand on her hip and purred. “I’m his ex… and this is my place.”
Laurie’s mood switched, instantly businesslike, she pointed to the ticket booth. “Now don’t get too excited Jamie. I did you a favour for old time’s sake, nothing more. You pay there, this isn’t a freebie. Bars and dance floors are this way, but the VIP area is out of bounds…” she gave Bird a cheeky wink, “…even to war heroes.”
And she was gone. Just like that. Jamie could feel his heart beat in his chest. He’d never stopped loving her. He doubted he ever would. Even Bird was silent for a moment.
Finally, the Aussie found his tongue. “You… now just tell me the truth here… you used to f… I mean, you two were together?”
Jamie shook his head, his heart breaking all over again. “We were pal… once.”
* * *
Laurie pushed open the office door to find Frankie sitting behind the desk studying the CCTV monitor. He wore his trademark black suit, white shirt, black tie. Laurie thought he was taking the gangster thing a little too far.
“We’re about full Frankie.” she chirped. “We’re going to have to let the doormen know soon.” She walked to a small table and poured two shots of Jack Daniels.
“Drink?”
Frankie shrugged. She handed him one anyway. He took it in silence.
Laurie was desperate to lighten the mood, after all, come on, this was a special night. “I think we should toast… ‘Toast’ Frank, what do you say?”
Verdi reluctantly chinked glasses.
He downed the liquid and tapped the screen in front of him with his finger. Laurie noticed he was shaking. “Was that soldier boy I just saw you with?”
Laurie’s stomach turned. There was ice in the room. In the two years they had been together, she had witnessed Frankie’s ferocious jealous moods on several occasions; each time they had ended with Laurie nursing injuries.
She did her best to placate him. “He’s just another customer Frankie, nothing more love; come on, don’t spoil the opening night. We’re making a fortune out there.”
Frankie stood and walked around the table. He stopped, fists clenched, knuckles white, his voice barely a whisper.
“We…? We are making money? What’s this fuckin’ we business?”
Fear began to creep into Laurie’s voice. “Come on Frankie, you know what I meant. We’re in this together, you and me.”
He came closer, his nose almost touching hers. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Laurie cowered expecting the worst. Frankie pushed her backwards slamming her against the wall, banging her head. Before she could move, he was completely in her face, his sour breath hot on her cheek.
“I’ll fuckin’ tell you who you are,” he sneered. “…What you are… You’re a fuckin’ whore that’s what you are… been fucked by half the town ain’t yer? Your mother sold you… didn’t she… pimped you out to the highest bidder so she could stick a fuckin’ skank needle in her arm!”
Laurie began to cry.
“Please don’t Frankie, I wish… I wish I’d never told you about my mum. It weren’t my fault what she did Frank… I was a kid for fuck’s sake.”
He grabbed Laurie’s hair and pulled her head to one side. She cried out in pain.
Frankie was losing it. “I’ve heard it all before sweetheart, all the fucking sob stories, all the excuses. Well I’m not fucking interested. What I want to know is, if that soldier boy is ‘just another fuckin’ customer’ how come he gets to jump the queue eh?”
Frankie drew back his fist and punched Laurie in the stomach. The blow was so hard, she was instantly sick.
As she writhed on the floor in agony, Frankie Verdi wiped specks of bile from his suit. He eyed Laurie, full of disdain and hate-filled jealousy. He pointed to the pool of vomit on the floor.
“Clean that up,” he spat. “And get your shit together… you look a mess.”
* * *
Verdi stepped out into the main bar. The place was packed. The DJ played Kool and the Gang, Ooh La Let’s Get Dancin’ and it seemed pretty girls in revealing clothes writhed in every corner of the room. The club was a success, no doubt, but Frankie couldn’t enjoy it, not right now. He couldn’t get Jamie Strange out of his head. He pushed his way through the crowd until he reached the VIP area.
Eddie Williams was in deep conversation with a bullish-looking black guy he’d brought over from Liverpool. Tony was surrounded by four teenage girls, one of whom looked far too young to be in the place.
Frankie caught Eddie’s eye and beckoned him over.
Williams was high as usual. He sniffed as he spoke. “What’s up Frank? You look stressed mate.”
Verdi shook his head. “Never mind that. Who you got dealing in the club tonight?”
“Joe Madden, the lad who does the Grange Park van, he’s cool, good lad.”
“You trust him?”
Eddie nodded. “Yeah, like I said, he’s a good lad. What d’you need Frank?”
Verdi leaned in close and covered his mouth.
“There’s a guy in the club tonight, a soldier, I want him followed; I need to know where he lives; but I want it done on the quiet.”
Williams shrugged. “Just point the fucker out Frank. Consider it done.”
* * *
As two a.m. approached, the floors filled with couples for the final slow dances. Jamie had drunk his fill and held onto a raven-haired girl, more for support than romance.
From the safety of the office, Laurie Holland watched her ex-boyfriend’s every move. She felt her stomach flip. And for a change, it filled with butterflies rather than bile. How had she let it come to this?
As she panned the camera left, she saw Frankie and Eddie in the crowd. Frankie was pointing, Eddie acknowledging. Laurie didn’t like the look of it.
Not one bit.
* * *
Joe Madden had worked a 3D Ice van for seven months. It was easy money. Work four hours a day selling dope and get a decent bung out of it. He’d just made an extra fifty, dealing in the club. Eddie told him it would be a regular thing, so long as he kept it low key and didn’t attract attention to himself. Joe had done exactly that. Why fuck up a good number? As far as Joe was concerned it was a perfect situation. He didn’t even bother skimming any speed for himself. He earned enough to play it straight. Besides, who wanted to mess with The Three Dogs? Better to have a cushy number than broken kneecaps any day of the week.
Just as the night was coming to an end, Eddie had come up with a different kind of job for Joe to do. He needed a couple of squaddies followed home to find out where they lived.
It was a bit of a pisser, as he had pulled a right little darling of a bird from Penwortham who had her own car and flat. That said, the task paid another twenty quid so the bird could wait till next week.
Why Eddie wanted to know this information, was none of Joe’s fuckin’ business. He was just glad he was the one doing the following, rather than being the object of The Three Dogs’ interest.
Madden had done a bit of time for his crime. Nothing he considered serious, just some burglaries and a bit of football violence. As he shuffled out of the club, five or six bodies behind his two targets, he didn’t feel like a criminal at all. He felt like James fuckin’ Bond.
Jamie was drunk, and on more than one occasion, Bird had to grab his arm to keep him upright. Joe kept well back as the two marines staggered toward the main road in search of a cab.
The night was freezing, and as Madden’s car was only a few yards away, he reckoned it would be far more comfortable to watch the pair from the driver’s seat.
Moments later, sat in the relative warmth of his Ford, he watched Bird vainly attempt to flag down any vehicle that looked vaguely like a taxi, whilst stopping Jamie from falling into the road with his other arm.
A light came on in Joe’s head. Why follow a cab, when I can be the cabbie myself?
Starting the engine and crawling toward the pair, Joe pulled up alongside and his plan worked a treat.
“Taxi?” he shouted through the open car window.
Bird instantly took the bait, grabbing Jamie with both arms to prevent a certain nosedive. “Whoa there, Strange Brew, come on now… cab’s here… our carriage awaits!”
Jamie closed one eye and tried to focus on the car. “Fuckin’ marvellous… hey… Birdman… any chance of stoppin’ at a kebab house pal, I’m Lee Marvin here?”
Joe played helpful cabbie and concentrated on Bird who was slightly the soberer.
“Just get your mate in the back pal. If I find a place open, I’ll stop for you.”
Bird half carried, half pushed Jamie’s bulk into the back of Madden’s Sierra. The second he hit the back seat he was out cold.
Bird shook him. “Oy! Come on! Aw look at the state of yer! You fuckin’ English twat! You’re all the same… can’t hold your beer…” Then Bird turned to Madden. “Sorry pal if you’re English… no offence to Pommy bastards an’ all that.”
Joe needed to take control and play the pissed-off taxi driver.
“Look, where we goin’ lads
?”
Bird rubbed his face with his hands and got himself together as best he could.
“Well there could be a problem there me old mate. As you can tell by the accent, I’m not a bloody local, and Strange Brew here is sparko. What I do remember is it’s off a place called Ribbleton Lane; get us there an’ I’ll probably be able to direct you eh?”
Joe shook his head. This was not what he had planned.
“Okay pal, Ribbleton Lane it is, but it’s a fuckin’ long road.”
A light came on in Bird’s head. “It’s near a pub… The Villa… if that helps?”
Joe pulled away smiling to himself. “Yeah, that helps a lot pal.”
Despite the early hour, progress was slow out of town. The flood of taxis and drunken revellers walking in the road saw to that.
Bird was doing his best to rouse Jamie, whilst watching the route. He didn’t often ride in taxis. They were an expensive option in London, so the tube was his preferred mode of transport. Not only that, he was sober enough to know he didn’t want this scally-boy driver trying to rip off an obvious out-of-towner.
The fact was, the last time he’s been in a taxi of any kind was in Belfast.
When you got a night off from XMG, the lads always had it drummed into them to use particular cab companies, and not just climb into any old vehicle. It wasn’t unknown for the PIRA to go cruising for drunken soldiers in fake taxi cabs, and for those soldiers to end up dead.
Bird looked over the driver’s shoulder at the dashboard.
No meter.
He scanned the windscreen.
No badge.
The car crossed the ring road and took the right fork at the prison entrance. Street prostitutes stepped forward into the headlights, looking for punters.
Madden tut-tutted as he swerved to avoid one.
“Skanks,” he muttered.
Bird ignored him and concentrated on waking Jamie. He grabbed his mate’s thumb, found the base of his cuticle with his own thumbnail and delivered some pain.
Jamie jumped up. “What… what the fuck?”
Bird placed his hand at the back of Jamie’s neck and pushed his head downward.
“Driver!” he shouted. “Driver… he’s gonna throw up mate… he’s gonna be sick.”