Fire in the Blood

by George McCartney

  ‘Anyway, I tell him that I’m on early shift at work for the next two weeks and, depending on where he stays, I’d be really grateful if I could just drop the car off at his place and then pick it up from there later on. So when he tells me his address, I say, ‘Great that works, I’m only a mile away. We fix up a day and time, then we shake hands. Job done. Of course he holds on, gives me his best smouldering look and says, “Don’t worry too much about the bill, babe. I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out.”’

  Wiping his brow with a handkerchief, Jack held up both hands in mock surrender. ‘Enough with the details. I’ll show you how to do the invoice, then you can phone the client later and wrap this one up. Good job Annie, I think it’s time for a bit of music to celebrate.’

  As Jack prepares to slip yet another homemade compilation tape into the dashboard player, Annie rolled her eyes in horror and enquired tentatively, ‘Boss, can I ask you something? You won’t be offended?’

  ‘As long as you don’t want a raise, fire away kiddo.’

  Seriously cheesed off with the relentless country music soundtrack in the car, Annie hopefully asked, ‘Do you ever, like, listen to any new music?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ replied Jack, indignantly. ‘I bought the new Hank Williams album just last week.’

  ‘But hey, wait a minute. Didn’t you tell me that he’s been dead for about a zillion years?’

  ‘That’s right, Hank Williams Senior was called to the big roundup in the sky, way back in 1953. He was only twenty-nine when he died of heart failure and hard living. But the good news is that his music lives on and his son, Hank Junior, is still going strong.’

  Annie was horrified by the news and blurted out, ‘You mean there’s two of them? Come on, no way. That’s too much. One’s bad enough, but two. It’s like having two noses, or three tits … it just doesn’t work. It’s one too many.’

  ‘That’s bollocks Annie, if you’re a true country music fan you can’t have too many Hanks.’

  Innocently, Annie replied, ‘Well, you know what they say, boss. Too many Hanks and you’ll start growing hair on the palms of your hands and you’ll go deaf.’

  Playing along with her tirade, Jack first checked his hands and then feigned deafness. ‘Eh, pardon? So, reading between the lines here, Ms James, do I detect a slight undercurrent of discontent, with the standard of the on-board entertainment?’

  Annie was placatory, struggling to get her point across without being too insulting. ‘Look boss,

  I do like a little bit of country music, honestly I do. People like Patsy Cline, Van Morrison and Johnny Cash can be almost cool, but only once in a blue moon. Like if I was pissed off, sitting alone in a crowded bar near closing time, waiting for someone who I know in my heart isn’t going to turn up … well okay, bring on a bit of country music and I’ll cry into my beer with the best of them. But I really don’t want to listen to it every time we get into the effing car. I haven’t checked with a lawyer, but I think it probably contravenes my human rights.’

  Seemingly immune to criticism, Jack sort of apologised. ‘I’m sorry, Annie, you should have said something sooner. I wasn’t aware that I’ve been torturing you. Okay then, absolutely no problem. Tomorrow I’ll bring along some of my brand new Showaddywaddy tapes. They’re really good.’

  Annie shook her head and sighed in resignation. ‘You’re not listening, boss. You’ve never once asked me what kind of music I like.’

  Chapter 14

  Jack and Annie were parked outside the busy Greenbank Sports Centre, the five-a-side venue where Frankie Ross’s football team was due to play their next lunch time league game. They began examining a case full of photographic equipment, which was stored in Senga’s boot.

  Annie, who was much more used to taking pictures with her smartphone than with conventional cameras enquired, ‘So how do you make sure we get the best pictures?’

  ‘Okay, I think the video camera is probably the best one for you because, after it’s switched on, it’s basically just point and shoot. You press the red record button when you want to start and what you see on the little screen is recorded onto the internal SD memory card. So play around with it for five minutes and, if you’re happy, then go round to the outside pitches so you’re ready for the teams coming out. I’ll take the stills camera with the telephoto lens up on the hill on the other side, so we have the action covered from different angles.’

  A few minutes later, Annie confirmed that she was good to go with the video camera and announced, ‘Right, I’ve checked that the battery’s good and there is a blank SD card inside, so I think I’m ready.’

  A final instruction was given by Jack. ‘Okay then, try to be discreet and remember to keep your phone handy, just in case.’

  They were both in position as Frankie and his team mates jogged out on in bright sunshine onto the Astroturf pitch and started to limber up. Using his mobile, Jack asked, ‘Do you see him, Annie? He’s the brick shithouse with the shaved head. The sneaky bugger must have had a wig on earlier.’

  ‘He’d be hard to miss, boss. I think I’ll need to move back a bit to get all of him in the frame.’

  As the match kicked off they both began taking pictures of general play featuring their target and later, near the end of the second half, Frankie scored what proved to be the winning goal with a thunderous left foot volley and then executed a spectacular forward somersault in celebration, just like the top pros on Match of the Day. Then standing with arms raised, the man of the match received the acclaim of his team mates.

  Elated at the prospect of the fraudster being brought to book, with the help of her video evidence, Annie punched the air with excitement and exclaimed, ‘Gotcha, Frankie!’

  As she turned away and anxiously previewed the recorded video footage, to make sure she had captured the action, Annie was startled to hear a gruff voice directly behind her. She turned to confront a suspicious, red-faced Frankie Ross, whose body was pressed hard against the other side of the chain link fence enclosing the pitch, almost within touching distance of her.

  ‘Hey you … yeah you. What’s the fucking story with the camera?’

  Definitely caught unawares, Annie babbled, ‘Er, my boyfriend’s playing later, and he asked me to video his game. So I’m just, you know, like practicing with his camera. Hey, that was a great goal by the way.’

  Frankie stared at Annie for what seemed like a very long time, then growled, ‘The game’s nearly finished, why don’t you stick around and let me buy you a coffee and I can check out my goal.’

  Trying to be friendly and casual, Annie smiled and replied, ‘Yeah sure, no problem. I’ll be inside, you know, at the café.’

  As Frankie turned away Annie’s mobile phone rang.

  ‘What’s happening?’ asked Jack anxiously, having seen Frankie run across the pitch in Annie’s direction.

  ‘Well there’s good news and bad news, boss. I’ve got some fantastic video of him scoring the goal and then the somersault. That’s all good, but unfortunately he spotted me filming with the camera and he seems very keen to have a chat and check out the replay. I think he also heard me shouting out his real name. Sorry.’

  ‘Oh shit, it can’t be helped. Anyway I’ve got some decent pictures as well, so he’s toast. Let’s just wrap things up, Annie. I’ll see you back at the car ASAP.’

  Annie then made her way as casually as possible towards the car park, observed by an increasingly agitated looking Frankie.

  Back at the car, with the camera gear stored away safely in the boot, master and apprentice exchanged high fives and celebrated the successful completion of their assignment.

  ‘Okay, job well done Annie, let’s get the hell out of here.’

  Annie started the car and moved off, before glancing nervously in the rear view mirror. ‘Boss, you know how you said before that you don’t do car chases.’

  Jack was relaxed and dismissive, ‘Yeah all that crazy stuff’s just for the television, to make
it more exciting. It never happens in real life. Why do you ask?’

  ‘You better take a look behind us.’

  Jack quickly turned round to see Frankie’s people carrier bearing down on them at high speed with headlights flashing and horn blaring.

  Annie nervously enquired, ‘Do you think he’s alone?’

  ‘No, it looks like he’s got the whole team with him.’

  ‘Oh my God … now what do we do?’

  ‘Well in situations like this,’ Jack said casually, ‘The essential thing is to keep calm and not panic straight away, just because things are looking a bit iffy. You see, keeping calm gives you a real edge. So just ignore them. Believe me, it’s all bluff. He won’t do anything.’

  Their car was then rammed violently from behind by Frankie’s people carrier.

  ‘Fucking hell’s bells,’ exclaimed Jack.

  ‘I assume that it’s okay for me to panic now?’ squealed Annie.

  ‘Yeah, now would be good.’

  Bang. Another violent shunt from the rear.

  Red-faced and angry, Jack hissed, ‘Poor old Senga can’t take any more of this. Okay, that’s it … stop the car.’

  Annie pleaded, ‘But there’s five of them, boss. What can you do? You’ll get yourself killed and I won’t ever get paid.’

  Tight-lipped and determined Jack insisted, ‘I said stop the car right now, Annie. You stay inside. Lock all the doors and call the police.’

  Annie reluctantly pulled up and Jack jumped out, slammed the passenger door and walked purposefully back towards the people carrier. Frankie had also exited clutching a baseball bat, followed by his curious team mates, who hung back slightly.

  Shaking his head, apparently Mr Cool, Jack walked straight up to Frankie, who towered above him, and said, ‘That was a really stupid move Frankie. Senga is so not happy.’

  Still wearing his football kit, a sweating bug-eyed Frankie brandished the baseball bat in Jack’s face and growled, ‘I want you to delete the pictures that the skinny blonde cow took. Right now.’

  Apparently unsure what exactly was going down, Frankie’s team mates moved slightly closer and began to mutter to each other, ‘Hey, wait a minute, who’s Frankie?’

  ‘Yeah, and who’s Senga?’

  The team captain stepped forward to try and restore order and clarify matters. ‘Hey, what the fuck’s going on here, Joe? What’s the big deal with the girl videoing the game anyway? For all we know this guy might be a scout for some big team, or maybe they just want to put a clip of your goal up on YouTube. Either way … so what? I’d quite like to see it again myself.’

  Realising he was in danger of losing the backing of his team, Frankie bent forward, right in Jack’s face, to menacingly hiss, ‘You heard me, auld man, gie me that fucking camera, or you’ll be getting the same treatment as your shitey auld car.’

  Unflinching, Jack replied, ‘That’s just not going to happen, Frankie. The game’s up son.’ Then out of the corner of his eye he became aware that Annie had left the safety of the car and now had his back, standing to one side and slightly behind him, with her game face on and clearly ready to rumble. As he half-turned and motioned for her to keep back, Frankie took advantage of Jack’s momentary distraction and took a wild swing at him with the baseball bat. Jack ducked smartly, then stepped in close and delivered a short, powerful right jab to the bigger man’s groin, which instantly dropped Frankie to the ground in a sorry crumpled heap.

  Rolling from side to side in obvious agony, with hands clasped tightly between his legs, Frankie hissed through clenched teeth, ‘Oooooh, ma fuckin baws. That wis a durty low punch, ya auld shite.’

  Jack smiled sweetly and said, ‘Yes it was, wasn’t it? And not so much of the auld, okay? Oh and by the way, you’re due an apology to my colleague here for your earlier foul and abusive language, which is a clear yellow card offence. And since I don’t have a yellow card with me, this will have to do.’ He then picked up the baseball bat and, after taking a full backswing, thrashed Frankie across the backside with it.

  ‘Oooouch … ya bastard, get away tae fuck,’ wailed Frankie.

  Handing the baseball bat to Annie, Jack smiled once more and said, ‘Dissent by players is completely spoiling football these days, don’t you think? Okay then, Annie, your turn.’

  Annie declined the offered baseball bat, opting instead for the guilty pleasure which can only be satisfied when the toe cap of a Doc Marten boot connects directly with the arse of a stricken thug. She then added to Frankie, ‘And not so much of the skinny either, okay dickhead?’

  Now a completely broken man, Frankie sobbed, ‘Okay then, hen, fuckin okay. Ah’m really sorry.’

  Jack then made a show of slowly cracking his knuckles, as he turned and addressed Frankie’s team mates, who were standing around open-mouthed. ‘Okay guys, the show’s over, now listen up. I’m pretty sure none of you know what your naughty big pal here, real name Frankie Ross, has been up to. I can’t go into all the details right now, but let’s just say he’s probably going to be unavailable for selection for a while and you should maybe start looking for a new centre- forward. So, I suggest you just let this go, okay? Are we good on this?’

  With the tension easing as Frankie’s team mates took in what had just happened, their captain replied, ‘Fair enough then, pal. I mean, like, none of us really know anything about him anyway. He just comes along, plays the games and usually heads off right away when we’re finished. He said his name was Joe and that’s about all I can tell you. Aye, he’s sometimes a bit mad on the pitch, right enough, but he can certainly play. I mean, we just jumped into the car with him because he said you guys had stolen his wallet from the changing rooms.’

  ‘Yeah well, don’t worry about it,’ said Jack. ‘You’ll probably see the full story in the papers in a few months. Best take him inside now guys. Give him a cuddle and see if you can find a big bag of ice for his Denis Laws.’

  As Annie drove slowly away from the sports centre, dragging a section of rear bumper along the road, she was still buzzing with a mixture of adrenaline and relief that the confrontation was over, with only Senga and Frankie Ross having sustained any significant damage. She was impressed and secretly proud of her employer. ‘That was a fantastic punch boss. You hardly seemed to put any effort into it, but he went down like Mike Tyson had banjoed him. I didn’t know you were some kind of martial arts expert.’

  ‘Well my hands are registered as lethal weapons,’ said Jack modestly. ‘But only with Anne Summers. Mainly I put it down to clean living and early nights. Oh, and this might have had something to do with it.’ He then produced a heavy brass knuckleduster from inside his jacket pocket and said, ‘It was my leaving present from my team, when I finished up with the polis. Much more useful than a carriage clock or golf clubs. Although, to be fair, I only ever use it these days as a last resort. Like if some dopey old bag in the quick queue at the supermarket checkout has more than ten items in her basket. That’s so annoying, don’t you think?’

  Reflecting that, if her recent interview at JD Investigations had resulted in a different outcome, she would probably now be sitting isolated and miserable in a call centre somewhere, Annie laughed out loud and exclaimed, ‘I just love my job.’

  Chapter 15

  As they turned into the street where Jack’s office was located, they saw two fire engines and several police cars parked directly outside their building. Thick smoke could be seen billowing out of the office window. Jack jumped out of the car, pushed through a crowd of people on the pavement and then ran up the stairs. Annie grabbed her backpack, abandoned the car in the middle of the street and then followed him at full speed.

  Standing on the fourth floor landing, gazing at the charred remains of his front door, an out of breath Jack leaned against a wall and gasped to a fireman coming out of the office, ‘This is my office, tell me what happened?’

  The fireman tilted his hat back and declared in a rather smug professional manner, ‘Y
ou’ve been really lucky.’

  Shaking his head in disbelief as he peered inside his smoke-filled office, Jack muttered, ‘Yeah, lucky Jack Davidson, that’s what they call me.’

  ‘No, what I mean is it could have been a lot worse. Somebody poured an accelerant through your letterbox, probably petrol, and then lit it. But apart from the damage to front door it’s actually not too bad inside, mainly some smoke and water damage. One of the girls in the office downstairs was going out for coffee earlier, when she saw the guy we think did it running down the stairs and phoned 999. It all happened so quickly that she hasn’t been able to give the police much of a description, unfortunately. But we caught it pretty quickly, all things considered, otherwise the whole tenement building could have been affected.’

  Agitated, suddenly bursting past the fireman into the office, Jack exclaimed, ‘Oh good Christ, is George okay?’

  Obviously concerned and confused, the fireman turned to Annie who had just reached the landing. ‘Was there someone else working in the office? I mean I checked everywhere myself and I was sure it was empty.’

  Annie smiled reassuringly and said, ‘Relax, it’s only his George Forman electric grill thingy. Older people can get attached to some seriously weird shit.’

  As Jack emerged from the office, polishing his treasured gadget with his sleeve, the fireman nodded uncertainly and then began to back slowly away from them.

  Alone together inside their office, Jack and Annie established as far as they could that nothing seemed to be missing and tried to take in the mess caused by a combination of water and smoke. Jack retrieved a bottle of Talisker whisky from a desk drawer, took a long pull straight from the bottle, then lit a cigarette and clasped his electric grill tightly to his chest. Turning towards the open window he observed the emergency services clearing away the last of their equipment down in the street below and said softly, ‘This wasn’t random, Annie, no way. It’s a clear message, intended to intimidate and scare.’