Comet

by Andie J Fessey

  “That’ll do fine, just make sure thatbloody thing is tied up good and proper.” O’Leary said, grinning and staring at the cart.

  The two men walked across to Arne and Comet.

  “You take one step closer and I swear I’ll break every bone in your bodies,” he half-whispered, as they neared him.

  “What are you on about?” Brendan asked, staring up into the face of the mammoth man before him.

  “I’ll tie him up, you don’t go near him, okay?” He said, his voice carrying the pure certainty of menace.

  “Whatever you say, Samson,” Brendan said, turning to make his way to the van.

  “Come on boy,” Arne said, leading Comet in a half circle, “let’s get you out of the way.”

  Comet, obediently turning left, sensed this human’s intent to him was not one of threat.

  He found himself drawn to the sure touch of this man, the empathetic feelings he sensed from him, purely of protection.

  These were feelings he experienced, when his human was near.

  Both Comet and Arne startled, hearing and feeling the collision between metal and wood from nearby.

  “It’s okay boy,” he said, holding Comet with a sure yet tender grip, “shush, I won’t let them hurt you.”

  Turning his head in the direction of the noise, Comet saw the human emitting the worst sense of anger and threat, stood next to the cart his human rode. He held a large piece of wood, adorned with a fearsome metallic end above his head.

  With a look on his face of seething anger, he brought the hatchet upon the cart, splinters of wood shattering as it fell repeatedly on the wooden chassis.

  Comet tried to move to him, but Arne held him firm, gently stroking his neck.

  “It’s okay boy, it’s okay,” he said, soothing him.

  You’re an arsehole Corey.

  O’Leary, acting like a man possessed, struck the cart repeatedly, stopping momentarily only to remove his large sheepskin jacket.

  “Grab this!” He called to man nearest to him.

  The jacket was caught in the arms of Tony Gibbons, a thin man with rodent like features, who shadowed O’Leary in the manner of a loyal lap dog.

  “Got it Boss,” he said, holding the jacket tightly.

  Turning, O’Leary sneered at him.

  Arse kisser.

  Shaking his head before removing the garish cufflinks from his shirts cuffs, he rolled the sleeves over his short arms.

  From the corner of his eye, he noticed the collar and harness hung on a nearby wall, the bridle and reins Archie used for Comet to pull the cart leaning against a nearby wall.

  The pole shafts were still attached, to the now broken cart.

  “Grab the collar thing and put it on the horse,” he instructed Tony.

  Rushing hastily to the wall, the other man placed O’Leary’s jacket over his shoulder, taking hold of the heavy leather harness and attempting to lift it from the large hook it hung on.

  “It’s too heavy boss, I can’t lift it,” he said, struggling unsuccessfully to raise it.

  “You have to be bloody joking, haven’t you? That old swine must have lifted it up so, why can’t you?”

  Kneeling underneath the harness, Tony pushed with all his might, but the heavy leather tack moved only a couple of inches along the hook.

  “For God’s sake! Brendan, grab the bloody thing will you, before he does himself a bloody injury!”

  The obese man walked to where his colleague knelt, struggling ineffectually to remove the tack.

  “Move over Tone and let me get it.” He said, reaching the wall and grabbing at the leather tack with his large hands.

  “It is bloody heavy and all,” he said, raising it from the hook with a large exhalent of breath, “give us a hand Tone, before I do myself an injury let alone you.”

  Grabbing the heavy tack between them, they dragged it across the yard to the van.

  “What are you doing with that?” Arne asked, as they appeared from the side of the van.

  “You heard the Gaffer Samson,” Tony said, “he wants this stuff put on that thing.”

  “You know how to tack a horse then?”

  “What do you mean ‘tack’?” Tony asked, in-between intakes of panting breath.

  “You don’t know what it means, do you?” Arne asked.

  “Well, do you know what to do with it?” Brendan asked.

  I know what I’d like to do with it, starting with wrapping it around your fat neck.

  “Corey, what do want this harness on the horse for, it’s already wearing a halter?” He called, leaning from the van to look to where O’Leary stood, about to take another swing at the broken cart.

  Stopping in mid swing, he looked at Arne, throwing the hatchet to the ground and storming across the yard to the van.

  “I didn’t ask for questions, did I? I said to put the big ‘pulling’ thing, or whatever it’s called onto the bloody horse.”

  “But why?” Arne asked.

  “There you go again with the bloody questions Samson, what’s gotten into you? You do like working for me, don’t you?” O’Leary asked, staring up at the face of the behemoth of a man, towering above him.

  Arne sighed, tired of the other man’s orders and attitude, but he needed to make it through to payday at the end of the month, so he would have enough put aside, to pay for a bunk on one of the ships heading to Australia.

  He stared at O’Leary for a moment, who looked up at him impatiently.

  Kneeling, he lifted the heavy, leather tack in one massive hand.

  He examined it closely for a few moments, ensuring he did not harm the horse, by placing it on him the wrong way.

  “What are you taking your time for?” O’Leary demanded.

  “Just making sure, all of the bits are here.”

  “Hah, bits, I get it!” Brendan said, shrilly.

  Turning his head slowly, Arne stared at him in a manner indicating it was not meant as a joke.

  Brendan stepped from his way as he moved to Comet, reaching to one side of his head, talking in kindly and gently, finding the metal clasp on the collar he wore around his head.

  He unclipped the clasp, Comet instinctively lowering his head, whilst Arne raised the collar over his ears, away from his face.

  “There’s a good boy, you’ve done this before, haven’t you?” He said soothingly.

  Brendan looked at the scrawny man next to him, smirking derisively.

  Satisfied his orders were being carried out, O’Leary returned to the broken remnants of the cart.

  Lifting the harness and reins higher, Arne placed them over Comets head and shoulders.

  “So, how do you know how to do this Samson?” Brendan asked.

  Arne conducted his task of tacking up Comet, not looking at the other man when he replied.

  “I worked for a brewery, when I was a youngster,” he said, “it was my job to tack up the horses for the dray carts, before we took them out onto the road.”

  “Ahh,” Brendan responded.

  Carefully, he took his time tacking up Comet, conscious of the noise emitting from the other side of the van, of O’Leary wreaking his violent havoc upon what was left of the cart.

  By the time Arne completed tacking up, O’Leary finished venting his outrageous rage on the remainder of the cart, splinters and shards of wood lain scattered around him.

  “Right,” he said, “tie the thing to the back of the van and we’ll get out of here.”

  “I’m walking with him,” Arne said.

  “Yer what?” O’Leary asked, an incredulous look across his features.

  “I said, I’m walking with him,” Arne repeated.

  This evening convinced him, his pay day at the end of the month, would be his last from Corey O’Leary.

  Attempting to stare him out, O’Leary realised it an impossible task, regardless of his own reputation for being a hard man. He knew of no single man in Liverpool with the courage, or stupidity, to stare down the man t
owering above him.

  And Corey O’Leary would have no man call him stupid, so turned his gaze and walked to the gates of the yard.

  “Just make sure he gets to the yard in one piece, alright?”

  “Don’t doubt it,” Arne said, watching the short man pass through the gates and into Field Lane, where his beloved Daimler sat parked.

  Stepping into the car and with a deliberate revving of the accelerator, followed by a screech of wheels upon the gravel, O’Leary sped off.

  “Who’s driving?” Arne asked, turning to Brendan and Tony, stood a safe distance away from the horse, his eyes moving from one man to the other.

  “Err, I am Samson,” Brendan answered in his girlish voice, “why?”

  “Why? Because I want to make you a promise, that’s why,” Arne replied, managing to fashion a quick release knot with Comets long reins, tying it onto the back of the van.

  “I’m only tying him on here for his own safety whilst I walk with him,” he continued, “If you travel more than a couple of miles per hour, I promise I’ll release his reins, rip the van door off, drag you out and strangle you with it. Do you understand me?”

  Nodding, Brendan gazed fearfully at the man now gently talking to the horse, tying him to the back of the van.

  After only ten minutes into their journey to O’Leary’s premises in Bootle, Arne decided the horse appeared comfortable enough in his presence, for him to release the reins from the back of the van.

  Walking alongside Comet, he talked to him gently, following the slowly moving van.

  Several people stared at them, during their long walk back to the yard, but nobody dared to approach or question them.

  Opening the back door to the slowly moving van, Arne reached in to where he left a large tonne bag full of Comet’s hay.

  Grabbing a large handful, he offered it to Comet, who slowly took it from his hand, piece by piece.

  Eventually their strange, ambling procession, reached its destination near Bootle docks.

  Two large, villainous looking men, walked to where Arne stopped, close to the front gates.

  “Corey said for us to take the horse,” one of them said.

  “It takes two of you to take him then?” Arne asked, a glint in his eye.

  “We don’t want no trouble from yer Samson,” the other man said, “we’re only doing what we’ve been told. Anyway, it belongs to Corey now.”

  Arne gazed at the men, before staring up at the first-floor windows of the building, where he saw the short silhouette of O’Leary, staring from his office window.

  “Corey said for you to go up and see him as soon as you arrived,” the man said.

  Reluctantly, Arne passed the reins to one of them, who took the leather straps nervously.

  He patted Comet, before walking to the entrance of the building, hearing the ticking sound from under the bonnet of O’Leary’s Daimler, as he passed it, indicating he was not here for long.

  Entering the building, the corridor inside smelling of stale cigarette smoke, Arne walked to the flight of stairs leading to the first floor.

  After knocking on O’Leary’s office door, he entered the room.

  “Ahh, Samson take a seat,” O’Leary said, adjusting the garters on his arms.

  “You wanted to see me,” Arne asked, sitting on the seat facing the short man.

  “Aye, that I do,” O’Leary said, retrieving a bottle of Irish whisky from one of the drawers of his desk, “we have some things to discuss.”

  Arne leant back into the chair, creaking under the weight of his immense mass.

  “You want one?” O’Leary offered.

  “No, thank you Corey, I don’t touch spirits,” Arne replied, knowing he would not accept as much as a cup of tea, from the other man.

  “Suit yourself,” O’Leary said, settling into his chair, taking a sip of the amber fluid from the glass.

  “We need to talk Samson,” he said, staring into the eyes of the behemoth of a man.

  “Well, I’m here, so talk away.”

  O’Leary smiled, before turning to the window and waving his hand.

  “We have a matter of deep concern, which we have to speak about.”

  “As I said, I’m here.”

  “That you are Samson,” O’Leary stated, “but are you really?”

  “In what way?” Arne asked, his expression not altering.

  “I mean Samson,” O’Leary continued, “you’re here in body obviously, but is the rest of you here?”

  Arne continued staring at him.

  “I mean the likes of yer heart,” O’Leary elaborated, “because it seems to me, yer heart isn’t in it anymore.”

  “In what?” Arne replied impassively.

  “In what? In all this!” O’Leary answered, gesticulating with his arms.

  “Corey,” Arne said calmly, “what are you on about?”

  “I’m on about you, not being as cooperative as I’d expect you to be. With me being yer boss and all.”

  “Co-operating in what way? You’ve lost me Corey.”

  In more ways than one.

  “You don’t come along on any of our, shall we say, excursions anymore, for a start.”

  “Oh, do you mean when the vans are empty when I leave of an evening, yet are full of scrap when I turn up in the morning?” Arne asked, leaning forward slightly.

  Staring into his eyes, O’Leary spun his chair slowly, allowing him to stare from the window.

  “If you were fully committed to me, you’d be out there on those excursions Samson.”

  I’d need committing if I was committed to you.

  “I’m not breaking the law for you, Corey.”

  “Who said I’m breaking the law?”

  Arne stared at the back of his head, shaking his own in disbelief.

  “I’m still not going out on any of your excursions, as you put it.”

  “So you’ve said and that point is taken on board, believe me,” O’Leary said, “then there’s that business, with that bloody horse back there.”

  “What business? Because I will not have any part in being cruel to an animal?”

  “Because,” O’Leary said, spinning his chair around, “you were insolent to me, and tried to show me up in front of my lads.”

  “What? Insolent? We’re not in school Corey,” Arne said, “and my intention was not to show you up. But, I’ll not stand by and watch anybody have a go at an animal, regardless of who they are.”

  “I haven’t did anything to that bloody thing yet,” O’Leary responded, smiling and picking up his glass.

  “What do you mean yet?”

  “A slip of the tongue Samson, purely a slip of the tongue.”

  Arne stared into his eyes so intensely, O’Leary felt uncomfortable enough to avert his own gaze.

  “So, we reach a bit of an impasse,” he said, staring at the liquid swilling in the glass.

  “On the one hand, you won’t help us out building the business, and on the other hand, I can’t have you showing me up in front of anyone.”

  For a second, Arne felt he would retaliate, but seeing O’Leary concentrating on the glass, rather than meeting his gaze, he merely sighed.

  “So, Corey, where do you want to go with this?” He asked.

  O’Leary’s hand moved to one of the drawers of the desk.

  Producing a bulging brown envelope from within its confines, he placed it on the surface of the desk between them.

  “There’s two month’s pay in there,” he said, his eyes now meeting Arne’s own, “and a little something on top.”

  “You’re sacking me?” Arne said, more a statement than a question.

  “Let’s just call it a parting of our ways eh?”

  Arne already calculated in his mind the two months’ wages, not counting whatever extra O’Leary added in.

  I don’t have to work here anymore. That’s more than I need to pay my fare.

  He stretched his arm and placed his hand on top of the env
elope, surprised to find O’Leary’s hand immediately atop his own.

  “This is on the understanding, that your mouth remains shut about whatever it is you think goes on here,” O’Leary said, “understood?”

  Arne, continuing to match his, now ex-employers gaze, nodded his head in affirmation.

  O’Leary lifted his hand and smiled.

  Taking the envelope, Arne placed it into one of his jackets pockets, before standing and walking to the door.

  Turning the handle, he stopped, his back to O’Leary.

  “Oh, one thing Corey,” he said, without turning his head.

  O’Leary, in the process of lighting a cigar, looked at him.

  “What?” He asked, raising a match to the tip of his cigar.

  “If I find out anybody, has lain so much as a finger on that horse,” he said, opening the door, “I’ll be calling back to see you.”

  He turned and stared intently at O’Leary, the lit match still held near the end of the cigar.

  “And believe me, it will not be a social call. Understood?”

  O’Leary nodded, watching him turn and walk away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The street was quieter than normal.

  The women stood outside chattering, but the conversations between them was sombre.

  The most spoken about topic, being the wake a few nights earlier.

  The children sat on the pavement outside the Bennett’s house.

  Maisie and Barbara sat on the step quietly talking, whilst the boys played marbles on the pavement nearby.

  On any other given day, this activity would be undertaken with an endless enthusiasm, but today their game played out more sedately.

  Wally rolled his marble along the pavement, missing Robert’s. Robert in turn rolled his, resulting in it connecting with the bright green cat’s eye marble, he knew was his friend’s pride and joy.

  Seeing Wally about to pick it up to hand it to him, Robert waved to indicate it did not matter.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Wally rolled his next marble, this time it connected with one of the larger ‘bollies’ Robert called into play.

  He didn’t attempt to retrieve his prize and they continued their game in a lacklustre manner.

  A similar game was played out by Jack and Frank nearby, with the same level of enthusiasm.

  Jimmy sat on the edge of the kerb next to Daniel, picking stones from the gutter and half-heartedly throwing them in the direction of a tin can, placed in the middle of the road.