by Ray Banks
I get to my feet, take my cup to the sink. Pass the bin and find it half-empty. Yeah, that should do it. I check to see Alison playing with Sammy, then I drop Mo's wallet into the bin as I put the cup in the sink. There's a slight rustle, covered by the clink. Alison turns at the sound, and I'm already unwrapping a new pack of chewing gum.
“It's okay,” I tell her. “No harm done, eh?”
And she sees me to the door. It's still raining outside, so I pull up my collar again and hobble through it towards my car. Alison holds onto Sammy's hand. I look back to see Sammy waving at me, his fingers closed around a toy car. I wave back before I get into the Micra and, behind the curtain of rain on the windscreen, allow myself a long, slow exhale.
Then I turn the key in the ignition and watch the wipers sluice the rain from the windscreen.
34
DONKIN
When I came back to the world, it was the colour of my carpet, and I had one thought in my head — Innes is a fucking dead man.
I took it slow getting up, ticking off each ache as I did, making a mental checklist of every fucking kick I'd taken, holding onto it so I could remember it when I finally got my hands on the bastard. Took a breather at the doorway to the front room, staring at the mess on the carpet. Had to breathe through my mouth because my nose was mashed shut. Blood, beer and cigarette butts strewn across the floor, the table turned over. I felt my jaw, waggled a loose tooth. Reckoned one of them twats had kicked us in the mouth, even though I didn't remember it. And as I stood there, looking around the place, something struck us harder than any of them kicks.
Thank fuck Annie and Shannon hadn't been here.
Because it was obvious Tiernan didn't give a shit; his lads were here to do their job regardless. I dreaded to think what could've happened if the girls had been here. But even though it was small mercies and all that, it was enough to get my blood going and me moving. I grabbed my jacket from the settee, dug out my phone. Called Innes on his mobile, but he wasn't answering. Didn't exactly surprise us, that, and I was about to leave him a message, but I decided to hang up instead. Nothing I wanted to say to him that wouldn't be better spat into his bleeding, screaming face. So I went upstairs, got myself cleaned up, trying not to look too hard at my own face. Then I got changed and stormed out to the car, pulling a face against the sunlight that threatened to burn the backs of my eyes out.
I sat in the car for the first two songs off of Diva, just so I knew I wasn't going off half-cocked here. I needed to stow all that rage for the moment. Use the energy in a more productive way, just like what that therapist told us I should do. I couldn't go grab the cripple and beat the shite out of him, even though I knew if he wasn't behind my wake-up call, he was certainly fucking involved. Because that would be the old Iain, the fucking Donkey, right? And if I was serious about change, I'd have to be serious about now.
Put both hands on the steering wheel, breathed through my mouth nice and slow, closed the one eye that hadn't already started to puff itself shut. And I calmed down.
Then I turned the key in the ignition, started the engine. Headed for the poof's club, went straight past because there was no sign of the Micra. For a second, I thought about going in, rattling the poof's cage, but reckoned it'd be best if I kept a low profile for as long as possible. No sense in letting the crippled cunt know I was coming until I was already there.
So: no Micra, no Innes. I turned at the top of the street, headed out to Regent Road and further up to the block of flats where I knew Innes lived. As I was about to get out of the car, I stopped.
Saw the white Micra coming my way.
I pulled the door shut, moved down in my seat. Hoped he didn't see us. I watched the Micra slow up a bit as it came to the gates that led to the car park, but then he moved on, like he wasn't sure. I waited until he was well past us before I turned my motor round and followed.
Yeah, the fucker'd seen us, but he'd hoped that I hadn't seen him. And I might've had one eye swollen shut, but I wasn't all the way blind yet. I followed him up the road, watched him turn towards Eccles.
Then I followed the bastard all around Greater Manchester, a slow game of lose-the-tail, going round in bastard circles. After a while, I didn't know where the fuck we were. I'd been dragged through that many concrete fucking estates, they all started to blend into one. And by the end of it, I wasn't two cars behind him anymore.
There was no point. We both knew what was going on here.
I was about to lean on the horn, or hang out the window and shout at him to stop fucking about when the Micra slowed to a stop.
I pulled in right behind him. Kept the engine going, just like him. Just in case he reckoned he could make a break for it, which would've been just like him.
So I waited. Saw him watching us in his rear view. I watched him right the fuck back.
Saw Innes roll down his window. He put his hand out, waved it in an overtake gesture. I thought I saw half a smile on the bastard's face as he looked at us in the mirror.
Having a fucking giggle at my expense, right enough, eh? Like this was one big fucking game to him.
Well, fuck that. No more games. I had the bastard on his own, now was a good a time as any. I unclipped my seat belt, shoved open the driver's door. Ahead of us, Innes revved the engine till it roared.
I had one foot on the ground when he let go of the handbrake.
Then the Micra jumped backwards, connected hard with the front of my Granada. There was a quick shake under my arse, I heard my shoe scrape against the tarmac, and my car lurched out from under us.
I whipped my leg back into the car, clamped both hands round the steering wheel, knocked the volume on the CD and Annie was soon belting out “Little Bird” so loud I thought my fucking head was going to bust open. I wanted to knock her off, but Innes kept grinding his car against mine. I hammered at the brakes, shouted at him.
Then he chucked the Micra into gear and jumped it forward.
I saw my chance, made for the door. When I glanced front, I saw the Micra bearing down on us again, twisted a bit like he'd catch us if I got out the car. I managed to yank the door shut just as his car hit it bang on, throwing a nasty shock up my arm and punching the bodywork right in.
Tried the door handle. It didn't work. I saw Innes kick the accelerator again, kangaroo forward.
“The fuck d'you think you're doing, you daft—”
And he only slammed the car into us again. I got thrown back in my seat this time. Grabbed at the handle to get out. Couldn't see straight for the red mist, wanted to get out there and throttle this cunt.
Then I looked up and there he was, getting out the Micra. Limping across to us, this foul look on his face.
I didn't know what to do. First time in my life one of these bastards had the brass balls to fight back.
Innes reached the driver's door. Stepped back, lifted his stick like a club.
“The fuck—”
Flinched when the stick hit the window. Didn't break, but there was a crack in the glass that I'd take out of his arse if I ever managed to get out of this fucking car.
“Innes, you fuckin'—”
Second time he hit the window, the glass cracked thicker and longer. Another crack jutted out of the frame.
No, fuck this. It got too much for us, so I stamped on the accelerator. Heard the engine roar. The Granada was playing funny buggers.
A third swipe, connected hard. I realised the handbrake was on. Saw another crack. Knew the window wouldn't take another hit, and the fucking window exploded all over us. I flung up my hand to protect my face, felt the tiny bits of glass dig in and twist under my open wounds. I tightened my grip on the handbrake, slammed it down and the Granada leapt forward. Threw me against the steering wheel, but I kept my head up. I didn't think my nose could take another smack. I went back into my seat, my eyes closed. When I opened them again, I saw an arm whipping out of the car.
Innes.
I made a grab, but he was already
out of the car and limping away. He'd nicked something, I just didn't know what. I looked around the inside of the car, my ears ringing. Looked up and saw him walking backwards, one hand held up.
Realised the engine wasn't running.
The bastard had taken my fucking car keys.
I pushed hard on the handle then., felt something grind against something else inside the door. Brushed the glass of my hand, watching Innes gimp it back to his car. The Micra was all smashed up in the back, and he'd have a shitload to pay on it. I turned back and smacked Annie Lennox off the CD, then hauled myself across the gear stick, got out the passenger side.
“You,” I shouted. “You fuckin' better hold your bastard horses, son, I want a good hard fuckin' word with you.”
Reached the side of the Micra. He was waiting for us with engine running. Still had the window wound down. I made a grab for him, but he kicked the gas again, jumped forward so the inside of the window frame smacked us in the elbow.
“Give us the fuckin' keys or you'll get your rights.”
“Really, Donkey?”
He hopped the car again. Kept us from reaching in there, grabbing the twat around the neck. He held my car keys in one hand, shook them till they jingled. Innes drove slowly up the street. I walked alongside the Micra, holding my aching elbow.
“Yeah, really.”
“What happened to your face?” he said.
“Like you don't fuckin' know. It was your wake-up call.”
“Alarm clock … beat you up?”
“I took care of it. And I'm not off you, so it was a waste of fuckin' time.”
“You took care of it?” One of Innes' eyebrows went up. Probably the only one that worked. “I find that … difficult to believe.”
“Course you would, you fuckin' mong, your brain doesn't fuckin' work.”
“That's not nice.”
“You want nice?”
I made another grab. He made the car jump again. A fresh jolt to my fucking elbow. Hardest part of the body, my arse.
“I wouldn't,” he said. “Wouldn't do that.”
I relaxed a bit, backed off. Tried to be ice about the whole situation, because the last thing I needed was for that twat to feel like he was in charge.
“You know this is doing nowt but pissing me off, Innes.”
“I know.”
“And you know this doesn't end with you winning.”
Innes shook his head and half-smiled out of the windscreen. “Depends.”
“Nah, this situation, this is just something I'm going to hold onto, you know that. I'm the bloke who holds a grudge.”
“You don't fuckin' say.”
“So you also know that when I get a chance, I'm going to break your fuckin' neck.” I kept my voice low so he'd know exactly how fucking serious I was about this. “Make you a full mong, proper shoulderbiter. Put you in a wheelchair, put a fuckin' bag on your hip.”
“Uh-huh,” he said.
“So you're listening to us. You can hear us.”
He nodded, driving on. It was getting cold, and I didn't fancy being stuck out here for any length of time. I pulled my coat tighter.
“You know the minute you get back to your poof's club, or you get fuckin' home, I'm going to come in there with a couple of thickneck constables and we're going to work all your fuckin' pressure points, leave no bruises on the outside. Then I'm going to bring you down the fuckin' station and I'm going to make up some terror charges so I can keep you in a cell without food or water for a month. And we'll see who's the fuckin' smug-arse then, eh?”
Innes did this noise, like a dog laughing. He jingled the keys and glanced at us. “So when's this … going to happen?”
“Soon.”
“Right y'are, Donkey.”
“That's not helping your case, son.”
“Arrest me, then.”
He looked at us. And I couldn't stand the twinkle in the bastard's eyes.
He knew.
“Course you fuckin' know,” I said, nodding.
Then I stopped walking. Innes carried on driving at the same speed. There was no point in following him. I couldn't arrest him. Didn't have the authority. And he bastard-well knew it. I might as well have been a community support officer.
Halfway up the street, Innes slowed down and I saw his arm come out the side of the car. Heard the jingle fade as he pitched them as far he could. Saw something bounce into the grass, but I wasn't going to run for them. Didn't have the energy. Instead, I watched him drive off round the corner.
The Micra disappeared, and I breathed out. Tried to remain calm.
I started walking again, headed for the wasteland.
If Innes knew I was suspended, then it was probably all over the fucking city by now. I couldn't make out like I had any power, couldn't play that game, because I had to take it on faith that this particular nugget of information had already caught and travelled through my network. Grasses wouldn't talk to us, and neither would the average street scally. In fact — and Christ, here was a new thought that made my arse chew on my skids — I'd have to watch my back, because if it got out that it was open season on us, then other people might get the same bastard idea, think they could take a free shot. And these lads — especially the ones who might reckon they owe us some pain — weren't too clever. They'd just ape, maybe go further. What they wouldn't realise was that Innes and Tiernan's lads already got us up to the limit of shit I was willing to take. And they wouldn't cotton on to the fact that even if their memory was long, mine was way fucking longer, and this suspension wouldn't last. Soon as I got officially badged again, they'd be in the shit.
So I wasn't all that scared. As long as I watched myself, kept out of my usual haunts, I reckoned I'd be okay.
I found my keys next to a big pile of dogshit. A stroke of luck that Innes hadn't thrown a couple inches to the left, else I'd have been picking my keys out of that mound with a twig. When I straightened up, I looked back at my car. The bonnet was fucked. You could see it even at this distance, which made us think it was only going to get worse the closer I got.
But I did go back, and when I was back, I switched on Annie Lennox and I listened to the whole of “Legend In My Living Room” before I started the engine.
She calmed us down, did Annie. And I needed to maintain. Even if it felt like I was about to lose my fucking mind.
35
INNES
“Sad, really,” says Frank. “The way things turn out.”
He's talking to Paulo in the back office as I come in. On my desk is a large white cake with a couple of pieces missing. Frank has cream in the corner of his mouth and Paulo's trying to look interested, but it's obvious that Frank's been nattering non-stop for quite some time.
I frown at the cake.
“Mrs Sadler,” says Paulo.
“A thank you.” Frank goes back for another piece. “Payment, if you want.”
“She didn't have cash?”
Frank shoots me a look. “No. And I wouldn't have taken it even if she did. You want some?”
I shake my head. “Had a big lunch.”
“Turns out I didn't need your help anyway,” he says.
Paulo heads for the door. I watch him. He looks at Frank, then raises one eyebrow. “You should hear this.”
Frank smiles through a mouthful of cake at Paulo as he leaves. He gestures at the closing door with a fork, says: “I've been boring Paulo with the details.”
I put a juice down on the desk. Wave at it. “Peace offering.”
“What for?”
“Should've … helped you out. Sorry.”
He picks up the juice, nods at me. “It's alright, Cal. You've got your own stuff to do, right?”
“Right.”
“And I don't think you'd be up to a long stakeout.”
I shake my head, knowing full well I'm being fucking patronised, but I feel it's only right that I suffer it, at least for a while. Frank's obviously proud of himself, and even though t
he Lads' Club is the last place I should be right now — it's only a matter of time before Donkey gets his arse in gear and gets back round here to kick shit out of me — I can't piss on the man's chips.
“So,” I say, “you going to … fill me in?”
Frank swallows some juice, replaces the cap on the bottle. “Well, you know I had surveillance set up at her house, right?”
Surveillance. Frank can't even spell the word, let alone do it. But I'll play along. I nod.
“Cameras,” I say. “I brought one.”
“Yeah, you did. Well, I didn't move, kept a watch on her place on account of she said that it was a regular occurrence, these lads coming round and terrorising her. And I told her that there was nothing I could do if they came round. To stop it, y'know?”
I nod. “You can't get … involved.”
“Yeah, that's what I said. And she was okay with it.” He leans against the desk. “I mean the point of the job was to find out who was causing her all this bother.”
“And you saw them?”
He doesn't hear me. Or if he does, he doesn't care. “It was her car, you see, mostly. Sometimes the front window got put in, but she said that only happened a couple of times, both times Saturday nights, so I reckoned they were drunk and got some confidence from that. Anyway, most of the time they took their frustrations out on her car.”
“Off-street?”
“No,” he says, smiling. “See, that's another reason why they took to the car. Mrs Sadler always parked on the street, right under a streetlight.”
I nod. Frank shovels a forkful of cake into his mouth, pulls a yummy face and I have to wait for him to finish chewing before he continues.
“My thinking was, they knew her,” he says.
“Why?”
“They did the car. They knew it was hers, because when they got the courage, they put out her window, so Mrs Sadler was right about one thing — it was personal. And they needed the courage to get onto the property, because we both know that Mrs Sadler's the kind of lady who'd put up. At the very least, she'd recognise whoever it was if she saw them.” He takes another bite, talks through the cake. “They had a point they wanted to make.”