Paul’s loud Belfast twang stopped Rachel and Brian in their tracks.
“What?” Brian said.
“I could eat a horse. We should get something to eat.”
Rachel had a sudden craving pang. “I’d love a chicken chow mein. Can we go to the Welcome Inn?” Brian and Paul exchanged a glance.
“What did I say?” Rachel asked.
Paul sniggered in the way that always made her skin crawl.
“Ask Brian,” he said.
“Brian?”
“Um... Paul just knows how I feel about Chinese food. Bit of a poisoning incident a few months ago, you know?”
“Yeah,” Paul said. “One of those double-ended projectile deals. Horrible.”
“Yuck!” Paul’s slapper said.
“Fuck’s sake, bro. I don’t think Rachel needs the details.”
“All right, boys,” Rachel said. “I think we can move off the topic. Anybody got a problem with pizza?”
They didn’t, and pretty soon after they were seated around the kitchen table at the boys’ house, washing down mouthfuls of double pepperoni with vodka and Coke. Rachel ate as voraciously as the boys, and within 10 minutes of silent munching, they’d reduced the late night feast to so many pizza crusts.
Brian sat back and rubbed his belly. “God, what a feed.”
Paul took control of the vodka bottle and poured them all a drink to place himself in the leadership role, as per usual. Rachel was on to all of his wee tricks.
“How’s the job going, wee bro?” Paul asked.
Brian spoke in a careful, almost stilted way as he answered. “Good, thanks. I keep picking up the wood and they keep paying me.”
“It’d be hard enough graft, I’d say.”
Brian nodded.
“My daddy says he’s a brilliant worker,” Rachel said. “He even thanked me for setting up the interview.”
Brian sat up a little in his chair. “Did he?”
“Yeah, he did. He sees potential in you.”
Paul sneered. “Potential? What as?”
Rachel narrowed her eyes. She’d seen enough of Paul to know when he was leading her in to something.
“Somebody who could work his way up. From floor supervisor to management, if he puts the effort in.”
“Ach, he’ll never make any real cash in a dead end job like that. No offence, like, bro.”
“Pfft! None taken, Paul,” Brian said.
“And what would you have him do?” Rachel asked.
“I’m already in with Richard O’Rourke. With a couple more lads behind me and Brian as my lieutenant, we could be running things on the ground. O’Rourke’s getting on in years. He’ll want to take a step back from the hands-on side of the business soon. Me and my crew would be there to fill the void.”
“So, that’s your career plan, is it?” Rachel asked. “Gopher to the mighty Richard O’Rourke. Wow, you’re such an entrepreneur!”
“Oh, my ambitions stretch way beyond that, wee girl. But we all have to start somewhere. And at least in my job I’m not risking limbs pushing big whacks of wood towards hungry saws.”
Paul topped up the glasses as he spoke. Brian gave him the stink-eye. Rachel approved.
“I’m just saying, Brian,” Paul said. “You’re street smart, and you’ve got balls. You’re not destined to be a working stiff. You’re too good for it.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Brian said.
Paul turned his palms up. “Okay, Brian. Okay. I’ll mind my own business. But I just want you to know, if I could choose anybody to watch my back, it’d be you.”
“Whatever. Just fill me up, will you?” Brian waved his empty glass at Paul.
“Okay, we’re out of Coke, though.”
“I should be all right.”
Rachel cringed at the sight of Brian drinking straight vodka in enthusiastic gulps. Brian barely flickered an eyelid. Rachel found a couple of beers at the back of the fridge and shared them with Paul’s slapper while the brothers got stuck into the neat vodka.
The mood dulled and the conversation morphed into a slurred, drunken commentary on movies and society. When the vodka bottle emptied, Paul kissed, groped and spanked his slapper all the way to his bedroom. Rachel was delighted to see the back of them. She just hoped it wouldn’t be a noisy, porn-style marathon. Her stomach wouldn’t be able to take it. Brian filled two pint glasses with water and Rachel lit two cigarettes double-barrel style. They smoked and sipped tap water in bleary-eyed contentment.
“Your ex cornered me in the bogs at Cearnogs tonight.” Brian said.
“What? Why didn’t you say? Did he try to hurt you?”
“I didn’t want to bring down the mood. And no, he didn’t try to hurt me. Though Paul jumped to the same conclusion, to Sean’s, um... misfortune.”
She struggled to focus on Brian’s face and pay attention to him. “What did he do, then?”
“He kicked his balls and punched him in the head. Left him there. Sleeping it off, like.” Brian lent his elbow on the table. It slipped off the edge as he tried to prop his head up with his palm. He giggled.
“Paul kicked Sean?”
“Yeah. Misunderstanding, though. We felt wick about it, and all.”
“Well, maybe he’ll learn. Third time’s a charm. But I meant, what did Sean do? Not Paul.”
“Oh. Oh, right.” Brian blinked, one eye at a time, and smiled. “At first I thought he was coming on to me. He ripped open his shirt.”
“Oh, God. He wanted to show you his chest.”
“So you did do it, then?”
Rachel took a deep breath. She studied the glow of her cigarette then snuffed air through her nose. “Did I burn him with a car cigarette lighter? Yeah. But I’d a good reason.”
“A car lighter. Ouch.” He looked at her through one squinting eye. “Why’d you do that?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Brian flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. It landed a good four inches away from the ashtray. He nodded. “That’s fair enough. I don’t usually pry into people’s past but, you know, when a guy flashes his maimed boob at me, I get curious.”
“So, you must think I’m a psycho, then.”
“I think you’re fucking fantastic. That’s all that matters.”
And he leaned in to kiss her. It was a drunken, sloppy, drink-stinky, smoky, pepperoni-tasting kiss. Their teeth scraped together and somehow, the end of her nose got wet.
But it was fucking fantastic.
Hardware
Paul rarely admitted to himself that he was capable of real fear. He liked the idea that he was afraid of no man. Impossible to ruffle. But as he sat opposite Richard O’Rourke, ridiculously aware that his balls had shrunk to the size of raisins, he had no choice but to face the simple fact; Richard O’Rourke was the scariest man on the planet and Paul had just asked him for one hell of a favour.
O’Rourke shifted forward in his seat. The solid mahogany desk creaked beneath his elbows. To Paul, O’Rourke’s head looked like an oncoming meteor. The kind that destroys worlds.
O’Rourke cleared his throat. “And you want a gun because...?”
Paul straightened in his chair, tilted his head back and faked his usually natural confidence. “That Chinese guy got the drop on me. I thought all your clients knew the score and just paid up but, if one was willing to take a chance, who knows? Maybe the next time I won’t be so lucky.”
“And what if you get lifted by the cops with a gun on you?”
“I’ll risk it.”
“But will I? What’s to stop you selling me down the river?”
“Come on, man. I saw what you did to Charlie. Think I’d be that stupid?”
“Maybe.”
Paul sighed. “So you’re telling me I can’t have one?”
“No.”
O’Rourke opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a revolver. He set it on the desktop. Paul eyed it.
“I’m telling you not to get caught wi
th it,” O’Rourke said. “If you do, I’ll kill you.”
Paul nodded.
O’Rourke went on: “This is a .38 snub-nose. Very reliable piece, and easy to conceal. But you should keep in mind that now I know you have this, I’ll be thinking of you as one of my soldiers rather than one of my thieves. There’s a lot attached to that.”
Paul nodded solemnly and reached for the gun. He weighed it in his hand and checked out the sight. Then he looked at O’Rourke.
“Thanks for this, Richard. Could I ask for one more favour, though?”
“Depends what it is.”
“Can you show me how to load it and all?”
Meet the Parent
Brian felt a certain comfort in the weight of the blue plastic bag he carried. Nothing beats a substantial amount of alcohol in a blue bag to keep you calm in a social situation. But it wasn’t quite enough to get him through the next stage in his relationship with the girl of his dreams. As he stood at the door of Barry Malone’s... mansion he reached a hand out to snag Rachel’s. She gave it a little squeeze.
“Are you nervous?” Rachel asked.
“Yes. Is it too early to drink?”
“At my dad’s place, it’s never too early.”
“I’ll probably be all right after a couple, then.”
“Okay, but don’t get too wasted. If you come on to my step-mother my daddy will probably kill you.”
“Step-mother?”
“Yeah. I’ll tell you all about it some day but, so you know the basics, my mummy’s not around these days and daddy’s started a new family with a new wife. We don’t mention our John, so you can’t either.”
“Why can’t I mention...?”
“Shush. Daddy’s coming.”
Malone opened the front door. He greeted Rachel with a hug and Brian with a brief smile, then led them in.
Guns Kill People
John’s little Citroen Saxo wobbled on its lowered suspension as a gust of coastal wind hammered the passenger side. Paul still felt edgy after his meeting with O’Rourke and almost yelped as the car rocked in its parking space. John didn’t notice, though. He was too transfixed with the little revolver in his hands. He turned it this way and that, studying it from all angles. Practically drooled. Then he raised it up and pointed it towards the windscreen. Paul reached across and pushed John’s arm back down to keep the weapon out of sight, all too wary of the number of pedestrians cutting through the car park.
“And he just gave it to you?” John asked.
“Aye.”
“Fuck. That’s class. You’re pure gangster now.”
Paul shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“Have you field tested it yet?”
“What, like target practice?”
“No, like shoving it in somebody’s face. That’d be class.”
“Are you wise? Guns aren’t fun, okay? They kill people.”
“People kill people.”
“Ach, fuck up, John.”
Paul grabbed the gun by the barrel. John resisted giving it up.
“Wait,” John said. “Can I borrow it?”
“What for?”
“I noticed a sign in Murdock’s garage earlier. The chip and pin machine’s broke. No credit cards. People have been paying cash for fuel and shit all day long.”
“No way. Not a chance. Too fucking risky.”
“I’ll be taking the risk. You’re taking twenty percent.”
Paul relaxed a little. Felt his interest pique at the thought of some easy cash.
“Twenty-five.”
John smiled. “We’ll call it thirty. But you’re the wheels-man.”
Kitchen Nightmare
Brian tried to settle into Malone’s leather couch. It squeaked and creaked with each buttock shift. Sweat soaked his boxers. He didn’t get the attraction. Rachel perched herself beside him, pretty and elegant. He imagined how he must look to Malone in contrast. Brian wished he’d gotten around to visiting the barber and ran his hand through his tangled hair. It didn’t make it all the way through and he had to withdraw.
“Is Becky not coming?” Rachel asked.
Malone shook his head. “No. She took Catherine and Liam to the cinema.”
Rachel turned to Brian. “That’s daddy’s other family.”
Brian smiled through his awkwardness and discomfort. He wished Rachel wouldn’t push her da’s buttons in front of him. Brian had no idea how to react to it. It made things 10 times worse that Malone was Brian’s boss as well.
Malone seemed nonplussed, though. “I haven’t offered you two a drink yet, have I? Sorry. I’m a bit distracted.”
“Aren’t you always?” Rachel said.
Brian stood and thrust out the blue plastic bag. “Some wine.” He despaired at his monosyllabic speech and general jerkiness and the bag began to weigh on his straightened arm. He gritted his teeth and held it steady.
Malone looked at the bulging bag and smirked. “Some?”
“Aye. Sorry. I didn’t know what kind to get and they were doing three for a tenner. So, I got six different ones. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise, Brian. That’s very generous. Three for a tenner, too. Good deal.”
Brian nodded. Malone nodded. Rachel cleared her throat.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Do you want to go open a bottle or something?”
“Oh, yeah. Right. Back in a minute.”
Malone hurried off with the wine and Brian sat back down. He balanced rigidly on the edge of the couch. Rachel rubbed his back.
“You okay?” she asked.
Brian scrunched up his face. “Nope. This is no craic at all. Can we just leave or something?”
“Do you not think that’d be a bit rude?”
“I don’t know. Would it?”
“Yes it would. Just chill, okay?” She fiddled with a length of her hair then said: “Did daddy seem a little distant to you?”
“No. He was right there. All big and ready to punch me in the face and all.”
“Catch yourself on. No, he seemed kind of out of it. I wonder what’s going on.”
Brian shrugged. He had his own problems.
“Can you smell burning?” Rachel asked.
Brian sniffed and nodded. Rachel grabbed him by the arm.
“Come on ’til we see what’s going on,” she said.
Rachel led Brian to Malone’s kitchen. They found Malone scooting from one corner of the room to the other. Smoke uncurled from an open oven door. A smoke alarm went off and Malone grabbed a tea towel. He waved it under the alarm, trying to clear the air around it. Brian clocked a half-empty bottle of wine on the kitchen table.
“Daddy, such an effort,” Rachel said. “You shouldn’t have bothered... Really.”
Malone jumped as he noticed Brian and Rachel in the room for the first time. The smoke alarm stopped bleating. The sudden silence sent a wave of relief through Brian’s body that un-bunched the muscles in his shoulders. Malone shuffled on the spot, embarrassed.
“Yeah, sorry,” Malone said. “There’s been a bit of a kitchen incident. I ruined the roast.” He tossed Rachel a bunch of keys from the counter. “Will you go to the garage and get something easier to cook? A pizza or something.”
“You’re letting me drive your mid-life crisis-mobile?”
“I’ve been drinking.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Okay. You wait here, Brian. Looks like daddy could use a hand with that wine.”
Everybody Be Cool
John checked his scarf was tied tight around his face and pulled the peak of his baseball cap down low. Then he strolled into Murdock’s garage with the revolver held by his side, pointed at the floor. The shop assistant was too busy doing something to her fingernails to notice him at first but she almost jumped out of her skin as John started screaming at the top of his lungs.
“Hey you! Get down. No, wait. Open the till. Stand back! Freeze.”
“Fucking stick to one thin
g, will you? What do you want me to do?”
John maintained the same ear-battering volume. “Open the till. No funny business.”
“Mister, I don’t even get minimum wage in here. Just relax and I’ll give you anything you want.”
John lowered his voice. “Oh, dead on. Well, fill a plastic bag full of cash.”
“Do you not want the cigarettes as well?”
“Aye. Good idea. Thanks.”
She turned to swipe the fags off the shelves behind her and into the bag. John took the opportunity to watch her ass sway as she worked.
“You know,” he said. “I’d love to ask you for your number.”
“Probably not the best time.”
“Aye, probably.”
Wheels Man
Paul fidgeted in the driver seat of the stolen Vauxhall Astra. He tried to catch a glimpse of John through the glass automatic doors of Murdock’s garage. The sunlight bounced off the doors’ surface. Paul had no idea what the little scumbag was up to.
“Come on, John. What the fuck’s keeping you?”
Paul’s scalp tightened. The rear view mirror reflected the last thing he wanted to see: a police car pulled into the garage forecourt.
“Ah, fuck.”
His hand hovered over the car horn.
“Ah, fuck.”
He laid his hand on the plastic button in the centre of the steering wheel. Applied a little pressure then snatched his hand back.
“Fuck it.”
He eased the stolen car into gear and drove coolly and calmly away from the garage.
Hands Up
John was well pleased with himself as he strutted out of the shop with his loot. Right up until he walked right into a peeler. He dropped one of his bags of cigarettes and the packets scattered all over the concrete.
The cop looked from John’s still concealed face to the fags and back to John again. “You should seriously consider nicotine patches.” He pointed at the fags. “They’ll kill you.”
John dropped the other bag and pushed his wrists forward to be cuffed. The cop snapped the silver bracelets in place. Just as he reached out to snatch the scarf from John’s face, the screech of tyre on concrete snatched John’s attention. A green Subaru Impreza pulled into the garage forecourt. John placed the vanity number plate right away. M47ONE. It was his da’s car. Trust the aul’ bastard to pick that instant to arrive. Just in time to gloat.
The Point Page 7