Long Time Dead

by Tony Black

  I felt a last surge of fire in my belly, yelled, ‘This the way Ben went… loud and proud? That the way you killed your best mate, Paul… is it?’

  For a young bloke, he held it together well. I expected more of a kick-off, more sparks. But he’d made that mistake once already, he wasn’t about to show himself up again. He knew he needed to keep it together. Paul had some idea of himself that didn’t tally with the facts, though. The lad was living up to the image of someone with more experience, years on the dial, import. But he was just a boy – who was he modelling himself on? There was no way he’d come this far without serious back-up, without protection.

  ‘Who’s pulling your strings, Paul?’ I blurted.

  His thin lips trembled above his weak chin as he pointed to the stage. ‘Get him up there.’

  ‘Well, who is it?… I know the Seriatim are hooked up with the Craft, Paul. I know the filth are wiping your fucking arse.’

  He turned. His eyes were moist, watery. I watched his thin lips part, almost imperceptibly. He seemed to take a deep breath, calmed himself, then took three steps towards me and grabbed at my collar.

  ‘Move it!’ he said.

  Hands bundled me onto the stage. I kicked out, tried to free my arms, but I had no energy, no strength. My hands were tied behind my back and I was lifted onto the stool with little effort. As I stood I felt my legs tremble beneath me; my feet swayed on the stool as the noose went over my head. I stood silently for a second or two and then I felt the noose tightening round my neck. My whole body swayed in circles under the noose. The rope dug into my neck, pressed hard on my throat and arteries. The skin beneath the rope burned, I could feel the bite of it mixing with the salt of my sweat: it stung like a lash. I tried to block out the pain, to steady myself on the stool, but it was next door to impossible for me. With every movement the rope tightened on my neck. I saw my brother and my father again, they’d been joined by Stevo… I could taste blood, death.

  Paul spoke: ‘You don’t understand a thing, Dury… not one thing.’ I tried to control my eyes, focus my gaze on him. He had his hands to his head. It was difficult to follow his movements as he paced.

  ‘I understand you killed Ben Laird,’ I spat. I still had some blood rising in me; my voice was a low rasp.

  Paul stopped still when he heard me. ‘No… you’re wrong!’ He jerked suddenly where he stood. A shudder seemed to pass through him and he ran to my side. His hands grew animated as he spoke: ‘You see… Ben was the one that was off his head, mad at his mother for running off with that whore… Did you know Tina was a whore? Bender Ben couldn’t live with the shame, so he devised a little plan to get rid of Tina.’ Paul walked to my side, poked at my chest with his forefinger as he continued, ‘He slipped some GHB into her drink one night and introduced her to some of the lads that didn’t know her, said she was just another one of his whores.’ I saw where he was going with this. He didn’t seem to need any encouragement either, his hands shot into the air, painting the scene for me. ‘They all had her, every one of them. She was a fucking whore… Ben told them so.’

  He turned away from me. His face reddened again and contorted with anger, sweat pooled beneath his eyes and nose, he gripped his fringe in his fingers. The knowledge of what he’d done was bursting out of him. I couldn’t tell if he was proud or worried – he was certainly hyped.

  I spoke, ‘But Tina wasn’t on the game by then-’

  ‘No. No, she fucking wasn’t then… she was with Ben’s mother by then.’ He slapped his hip, drew fists. ‘Fucking Ben wanted rid of her… Ben brought this about. Put us all in danger, he fucking put us all in it… He didn’t think about anyone other than himself!’

  I felt the rope cutting into my neck again, tightening harder this time. My head grew hot under the lights. My knees were buckling. ‘So you fucking hanged him for it.’

  Paul flapped his arms, then hooked them around himself, shaking. ‘No. You don’t understand. That’s not how it was… that’s not how it was.’

  I bit my lip; I could taste more blood. ‘Then tell me, Paul… how the fuck was it?’

  He scrunched his brows. His words trembled: ‘When a member brings the Seriatim into disrepute, there’s only one way to deal with it… There always has been.’ He stepped back, motioned a hand to the floor. ‘They’re put on the stool with a noose round their neck. If they survive the night, then they’re home free.’

  ‘And if they don’t?’

  Paul sparked, ‘Then they got what they deserved.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It sounded like the kind of boys’ club horseshit that you only read about in silly novels by public school ponces. Did this kind of thing really go on? Did silly wee boys think they had the right to do this? My head spun.

  ‘So Ben never made it through the night?’

  Paul shook his head. He let his chin touch his chest for a second. As he did so, there began a pounding on the door to the hall. I saw the broom jump in the handles. The pounding grew louder; some splinters fell from the hinges. I felt my feet slipping as my Docs lost their purchase on the smooth surface of the stool. I tap-danced for a few seconds, watching as the broom cracked and split. The pounding grew louder still, like a battering ram was being used, but the doors started to blur on me as the noose seemed to cut off my vision.

  Chapter 38

  MY ANKLES TURNED NUMB, my shins ached. My calves and thighs burned up. I knew I couldn’t hold on much longer. The rope dug tighter and tighter. It was hard to breathe. I started to feel my shoulders grow heavy. My mind was all over the place – awash with strange sensations. Lights, flashes. At any moment, I knew, I could slip into unconsciousness. Paul paced before me: he spoke as though he was giving a lecture, but most of it missed me. I tried to tune in, caught odd words, phrases, but everything was blurring on me. He stopped still, leaned in and stared at the stool, ‘You won’t last the night, Dury… you’re just about done as it is.’

  I heard more thuds on the door; they seemed to grow even louder and louder, but the broom handle held.

  ‘Get that fucking door,’ yelled Paul.

  A couple of the group split off, ran for the front of the hall.

  ‘Hurry up,’ shouted Paul.

  The lads got to the door, put hands on it; the banging continued. I could hear voices now, hysterical women’s voices. I didn’t know where they came from – my head, probably. Nothing seemed real to me any more; the noose cut deeper, blocked off my circulation. I choked, my breath thinned. I felt light-headed, drowsy. I wanted to drop into deep sleep. The women continued to wail, they called my name now, ‘Gus… Gus… Gus…’

  Christ on a cross, where was I? I felt enormous pain in my back, at the base of my neck, where my skull joined my spine. It felt like an electric drill had started boring into me. I wanted to yell in agony but I had no strength left.

  Michael loomed before me, shaking his head. He was younger than I remembered, a mere boy. He admonished me, started to speak, but his words were drowned out by the women, ‘Gus… Gus… Gus.’

  Bright lights flashed in my eyes. Flashing like strobes. I saw two pinpoints at the end of long roads. They shone so hard I wanted to vomit.

  A loud crash came. I heard scuffles, but I couldn’t see a thing now. I tried to open my eyes, but the effort was too much for me. I felt a pounding in my chest, my heart started to skip beats, raced and raced. Now a tightening in my chest: if the noose didn’t do for me, I knew I was minutes from cardiac arrest.

  ‘You fuck, Dury.’ It was Paul. He grabbed me, I spun on the stool. I found strength to open my eyes, my vision returned. It was blurred but I could see Paul’s red fringe shaking before me. ‘You did this… you fucking…’

  He went on, but his voice was drowned out by the wails from the other end of the hall.

  ‘Gus… Gus…’

  I recognised the voice.

  Paul looked on, open-mouthed, as the doors burst open, a blur of bodies ran into the hall. He couldn’
t seem to comprehend the turn of events – it just wasn’t on his radar. He had the whole game sussed, so he’d thought.

  ‘Gus…’ the voice shrieked out, shriller than before. It was Amy. She tried to run to me but was restrained by Paul’s mob. Hod was throwing wild punches, cracking heads. The grand arc of his hook dropped lads on the floor with each clean punch. He moved fast, near laughed off all attempts to land a glove on him. The man was on fire. Busting out of his skin.

  Behind him Tina came running. Gillian followed, but made her way more slowly. There was a scuffle as Paul’s crew ran to hold them back, but they wide-berthed them, shook them off as they ran for the stage behind Amy.

  ‘Get off me,’ roared Tina. Gillian raised her hands to her mouth as she caught sight of me, tied up on the stage, a noose round my neck. Tina yelled out again, ‘Don’t do it… don’t.’

  Paul jumped down from the stage to front Tina. He grabbed her arms in his hands. She struggled violently as he yelled, ‘You can’t tell me what to do!’

  Gillian ran for Paul, pulled Tina from his clutches. ‘Leave her alone, leave her…’ She hit out, slapped at him with the flats of her hands. I felt the whole room start to spin, then fade out as the yelling continued.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Paul.

  ‘You don’t fucking understand,’ roared Tina. She was hysterical, screaming, tears streaming down her face: ‘I saw him on the stool… I came here, I saw Ben on the stool.’

  Hod broke away from the mob, ran to Tina. His face was bloodied, his hair wet to his brow. He was short of breath, exhausted as he shouted, ‘The police are coming…’

  I tried to call to him, but my tongue was swollen, immovable in my mouth.

  Hod seemed to sense me, roared out, ‘Fitz called. I told him where you were… he’s coming.’

  Paul spun off from Gillian and Tina, fronted Hod: ‘You fucking moron.’ He lashed out, caught Hod with a lucky punch; it floored him. I felt all hope leave me. The rope bit tighter but I couldn’t feel a thing now. Paul looked maddened as he ran to the window, peered out and raised hands to his head. Blue lights were flashing on the panes; I could hear sirens.

  Paul turned back to Tina. ‘You saw him here?’

  Gillian held on to her. ‘Let me go,’ said Tina. She hit out with her hands, scratching with her nails as she tried to push the actress away. She screamed out, ‘I saw him on the stool… he wanted me to cut him down. I couldn’t… I couldn’t, Gillian… He raped me.’

  Gillian threw arms around her again, held her tight. The pair blurred into one amorphous mass in my tired vision, ‘No. No. Don’t…’ Gillian cried.

  ‘I kicked the stool away,’ said Tina. ‘He raped me. They all did. I wanted him dead… He raped me.’

  The doors to the hall swung open again. Suddenly a flood of uniforms ran in. They spread out like ants, surrounding the group of lads wherever they ran, clasping mitts on them, cuffing them up. The first figure through the door I recognised was Fitz. He stared at me, wide-eyed, his fleshy cheeks drooping with the gape of his mouth. He seemed frozen, rooted to the floor until a dark-uniformed figure swept past him, catching his arm. It was Henderson. His face had lost its hard edge. His teeth showed as he ran towards Paul, grabbed him from one of the PCs.

  ‘You stupid little cunt!’ bellowed Henderson.

  He shook the lad by the collar, his face inches from Paul’s as he spat, ‘I fucking told you… but you wouldn’t fucking listen!’

  Fitz seemed spellbound, unmoving. He looked to be trapped where he stood, nailed to the floor. Then, as if a light had been flicked on, he turned, yelled, ‘Chick… leave him.’

  The super was unmoved, landed a leather-gloved fist in Paul’s gut. ‘I fucking warned you!’ The lad fell to the ground. A crowd of stunned uniforms stood helpless, not knowing whether to intervene or leave well alone.

  ‘Chick… Chick,’ yelled Fitz. He moved now, ran at him. His prominent gut stuck out in front of him; coat-tails flapped at his back.

  Henderson’s cap went flying as he dropped to the ground, kneeled on Paul’s chest and battered into his face with fists. He called out but the words were lost to me. As the blood flew, I could taste my own rising in my throat. I gasped for breath, then steadied.

  ‘What did I say?’ yelled Henderson. ‘What did I tell you?’ His face contorted into jagged angles as he slumped onto the boy’s chest, beating him with blunt fists, ‘You’ve fucking ruined us all!’

  Fitz reached out. ‘Chick… stop this, now!’ He tried to pull the chief super away but was thrown off balance, skidded a little then landed on his arse. His actions seemed to prompt the uniforms, though – they fell on Henderson, dragged him away. He kicked out, yelling, ‘The stupid little cunt, he ruined us… fucking ruined us.’

  Fitz slowly raised himself. He looked winded as he pointed the uniforms to the door.

  The scuffles ended, and now the hall seemed eerily quiet, until Gillian fell to her knees and let out a pained, wounded cry. My eyes followed her as she slumped to the ground and lay sobbing – she wasn’t acting now. I watched her whole body tremble. Her hands clawed at her face in terror, pulling the skin so tight her eyes bulged showing the red explosions of capillaries.

  It was the last thing I saw as my feet lost their purchase on the stool.

  The rope snapped tight.

  Chapter 39

  THE HOOTSMAN SPLASHED WITH MY story on page one. Rasher even paid me a visit – well, I was hardly mobile.

  ‘I always knew you had some neck, Dury,’ he joked.

  I tapped the neck brace, nodded. Let him think he was the first to crack this one. ‘That’s very good. You should be on the stage,’ I said.

  ‘Ha-ha… so long as it’s not the one you wrote about in the article!’

  The story had caused a stir; I was pleased with that. It had been a long while since I’d had a decent page-one splash. If this was what I had to go through for them though, I wouldn’t give a fuck if it was my last.

  Amy appeared, carried in a bowl of chicken soup for me. She sat it down beside the settee. She smiled at Rasher, one of her you’re a man, I can wrap you round my little finger ones. ‘Have you heard any more about the police investigation?’

  He grinned back, stray whiskers stiffened on his cheeks. ‘Oh, aye… meant to say. They say the shit’s hit the fan down at Fettes… plod being probed big time. Lot of suspensions… and…’ he paused for dramatic effect, raised an index finger to the ceiling, ‘we had it confirmed this morning: the seventies hanging’s being reopened.’

  ‘That’s good news.’ I picked up the soup, stirred the spoon about a bit.

  ‘You don’t look too chuffed,’ said Rasher.

  Should I be? I raised an eyebrow, spoke, ‘I’ve been strung up, my neck feels like it’s a foot longer… forgive me if I don’t get up and start turning fucking cartwheels.’

  Amy blushed, looked away. There was a moment of dead air in the room. Rasher rose, mumbled his excuses and headed for the door, said, ‘Well, I’m a happy camper… put thirty per cent on the circulation with that story. If you’ve any more like it…’

  I stopped stirring, let the spoon clang on the edge of the bowl. ‘I very much fucking doubt it.’

  Rasher looked at the door, then turned, gave Amy a peck on the cheek, said, ‘I’ll see you both, then.’

  I could barely manage a wave. I was beyond sickened. All those deaths, all that hurt and misery I’d seen on Gillian Laird’s face – it wasn’t about circulation figures for any of them. I felt a deep unease growing in me. I was unhappy being part of the human race.

  When Rasher had gone, I sensed beady eyes on me. ‘You didn’t need to be so rude,’ said Amy.

  I eased a finger between the brace and my neck. ‘I’m just a bit sick of everyone wanting a piece of me.’ My mind flooded with thoughts of Stevo again; I could still smell the stench of his blood. There was no way I’d ever be able to shake it. There was no way I’d shake any of this; even if I re
covered physically, I was going to be scarred. All over. ‘I need out, Amy.’

  She tilted her head, looked down her nose at me. ‘What about Hod?… He seems to think you’re both in business.’

  I waved a flat palm, cut the air with it. ‘He’s wrong… well and fucking truly wrong.’

  ‘Have you told him?’

  The brace was pinching again. I loosened the Velcro a notch, stretched my jaw. ‘Look, Hod knew from the off this was a one-shot deal. I got him off the ropes with Shaky, he’s in the clear… now he can leave me be.’

  Amy flared, ‘He won’t be pleased.’

  ‘I’m popping more Harry Hills than Pete Doherty here… I have the shakes, nightmares, and a craving for drink that takes twenty-four-seven concentration to ignore. You think I give a shit if he’s pleased or not? He’s a big lad, he’ll get over it!’

  Amy came over to the settee, sat down beside me, placed a hand on my arm. ‘Okay. Okay… let’s just get you well, and take it from there.’

  She put those heartmelter eyes on me. Despite everything, she made me feel a little gladness in my heart… even if I didn’t deserve her.

  I took her hand. Couldn’t help grinning. ‘Rasher’s right about one thing… I’ve some neck.’

  Tony Black

  ***

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-1ae4e2-d380-5d43-df95-155f-d733-389dbb

  Document version: 1