Despite the injection of adrenaline, my legs were starting to feel heavy. I couldn’t stay at full throttle much longer. A few hundred yards ahead I spotted a “T” shape at the end of the Close, bookended by two large houses. My silent prayer for a safe passage between them looked a long shot; the nearer I got the more I could see it didn’t exist.
A screech of tyres announced the presence of Tommy-come-lately in the Close and re-affirmed my desperate need for inspiration. If Wells Close had a redeeming aspect, it was the large detached houses set back from the road and the promise of large gardens behind. I kept looking to my right, but all I saw were gates and fences separating fronts from rears. No way through.
I allowed a look behind and saw the Range Rover gunning up the Close. A few seconds, I gauged, and it would be on my shoulder. I had nothing left to give, but my brain still flashed “full speed ahead” to my heart, lungs and legs.
Eyes forward again, I spotted a side gate swing open, a boy barrelling through it on a skateboard. They looked a fancy pair of wheels. Too bad I’d already passed the house.
As expected, the Range Rover was right on my shoulder now, and I sensed it switching to the wrong side of the road – my side. I looked across and slightly behind, to be treated with the sight of Tommy grinning through the front windscreen, aiming two finger barrels at me. I stuck out a single finger in retort. If he ever caught up with me, I’d have some serious words to say to that snapperhead.
On impulse, I dropped my left shoulder and feigned another dart into the road. The driver, on reflex, pitched the car to the left, struggling to keep it in a straight line. It bought me a little time, but no more opportunities.
A loud bump from behind followed by tyre roar told me the car had half-mounted the pavement. The reek of octane was close now, almost making me gag. It felt like its bumper was inches away from the backs of my knees. I didn’t dare look, but I could guarantee that Tommy would have a near-coital look of triumph on his face. My only hope was to get back to the swinging gate. It was time for “Hail Mary”, part deux.
I grabbed the next lamppost and pulled off a second slingshot about-turn, my trainers skidding for grip. Immediately, I heard the Range Rover go into a full emergency stop routine. A cloud of thick brake dust billowed past my nostrils, and I tried not to choke through my burning lungs. Over the sound of my own coughing came the high pitched whine of the car’s transmission as it bashed into reverse.
I sped past the first house on the left, my eyes already straining to find the next one, trying to lock in on my very own wormhole. Then, like a celestial vision, I saw the holy gap and adjusted my trajectory, cutting through a line of small trees and vaulting a low wall into the front garden of number 11. The side gate was still ajar, and I stared through to a spacious back garden. I dinked through the arched opening, and then flicked the gate closed behind me, as if that alone would shut out my pursuers. After bounding into the back garden at full tilt, I stopped, trying to take in the surroundings through the lights bouncing in my head. All looked green and pleasant, but my vision was blurred by sweat, my chest ached, and my legs felt like sodden sponge cake.
I wiped my eyes and scanned the terrain. The garden was long, wide, and enclosed on all sides by high wooden fencing. A large shed in the far right corner beckoned, but I saw no obvious way to scale it. As I looked around, Skateboard Boy glided into view. Closer up, he was lanky and thin, but no more than twelve, all his energy given to the thrills and spills of the curved paving he was using to practice. He saw me, shifted his weight to the rear of the board, and pulled up. A neat dismount, for what it’s worth.
I put a finger to my sweaty lips, silently pleading for him to keep his peace. Standing there in his Vanns, baggy shorts, and Superdry T-shirt, it reminded me of younger days and happier times, albeit without the tidy branding. He flipped up his board and stared at me open-mouthed.
I winked at him and sucked in air. ‘Nice chops, kid.’
He shrugged back.
I could barely attach my breath to words. Panting heavily, I nodded at his longboard. ‘Digging the Alien wheels, my friend.’
He nodded at me, not sure whether to smile.
I put my hands on my hips, slouching, trying to catch my breath. ‘Listen, I’ll level with you, dude. I’m totally trashed here.’ I thumbed at the gate behind me. ‘In approximately six seconds, Voldemort and Malfoy will be crashing that there gate. I need to disappear, like, fast. What’s the best way out?’
A shy smile finally appeared on his face. ‘There’s a hole in the fence,’ he said quietly, jabbing his finger towards the bottom of the garden. ‘Just behind the shed.’
‘Thanks, man.’ A big smile wrapped right around my head. ‘Listen, whatever your mum says, you’re a good kid, yeah. And deep down, she knows it, too. Don’t forget where you heard it first.’ I started my sprint towards the shed. ‘I won’t forget this,’ I promised, racing past him. ‘I’ll even let you borrow my Superlight.’ Whether he knew what that was or not, his face brightened all the same.
When I reached the shed I turned back to him. ‘One more favour. Tell the no-bloods I went the other way.’ I added a wink, and he nodded. Our stand against the agents of evil was joined.
Somehow I squeezed through the hole in the fence and rolled into the garden next door. Regaining my feet, I spied a large bush a few paces away and scrabbled behind it. Hunched and hyperventilating, I made the most of not moving, and listened hard. From over the fence I heard voices, loud at first but then fading. Skateboard Boy done good.
As my breathing levelled out, I surveyed the new garden, wondering whether to keep moving or stay put. The perimeter fencing was as extensive and unassailable as it had been at number 11, and I cast around looking for a makeshift leg-up. That’s when I spotted a kids’ trampoline at the end of the garden. The gods were smiling and I’d soon be a jumped-up boy.
Keeping my head low, I scrambled over to the trampoline and pushed the frame up against the end fence. When it was in position I flopped onto its tight sprung surface. A few practice bounces gave me a view of what lay the other side: another garden, smaller, with obstacles none. On my next controlled bounce I sailed up and over the fence. Despite frantic arm-wheeling, my upper body got too far forward, and I landed heavily in a sprawl on the other side. I tipped onto my hands and knees and stayed in that crouch, not daring to move. My legs felt wasted from the long sprint, and my arms had to support most of my weight. I lifted my head and listened, hearing nothing at first but my own thudding heart. As that faded, I heard voices, but they were further away than before. Two car doors slammed, and finally, blessedly, a V8 roared into life. I heard it reverse and then squirt off back down the Close.
The relief was immense. I collapsed forward, lolled onto my back and let my chest beat itself into a steady state, all the while holding my shirt sleeve over my forehead. If Jesus wanted me for a sunbeam, he’d have to fork out for that invisibility cloak.
Having collected myself, I got up and walked through the garden, keeping a careful look-out on the back of the house. As far as I could tell, there was no movement. It had a “no one’s home” feel to it. The rotting stench coming from the bins by the back door confirmed my guess. No point keeping up with the Joneses when they were on tour.
I jogged discreetly alongside the house and padded over to the small front garden. After a quick coast-to-coast check, I bounded across the lawn and swung over a small fence onto the pavement. The road seemed familiar, and I glanced left and right for clues. The penny finally clunked. I was back on Dale Street, and only a pebble roll away from dear ol’ Uncle Bob’s.
Despite our bust-up, I felt a tingle of relief. This was a chance to be safe. But should I take it? I stepped forward and then hesitated. There was still a risk he would march me straight to the Big Blue House, which would defecate all over my pristine plan. On the other hand, I was all duelled out with Tommy’s wheels. The wrenching sound of said wheels turning into Dale Street made t
he decision for me. I had to make like a bandit. Despite running on empty, I dug in my heels and winged over to Bob’s place as if playing British bulldog with a thousand onrushing Vandals.
Having got to the haven of Bob’s front step, I hit the hardwood door with my fist, using up the last dregs of whatever energy remained. When the tiniest of gaps opened, I charged into the front hall, shoved Bob out of the way and slammed the door closed.
I turned to face Bob. He was stammering, and his eyes were cartwheeling, but I was in no mood to listen to his objections.
‘Things have changed,’ I said, pushing past him brusquely.
My only thought was to get to the front room and close the curtains. But as I dashed through the hall and almost fell into Bob’s front room, cigar smoke assaulted my nostrils. At that point the association didn’t register. Only when millions of pixels amalgamated into stark focus did the horror assume a bodily form. He was sat in the same place I had been sitting less than fifteen minutes previously, beaming a valedictory smile.
‘Who’s a pretty boy, then?’ said Jimmy, winking and blowing out a cloud of smoke.
‘Fuck,’ I mumbled. ‘It can’t be.’
Jimmy’s hands opened out into a welcome gesture. ‘Glad you could join us.’
I stared at him. ‘Fuck you.’
As I half turned I bumped into Bob, who’d followed after me. I pushed him aside. ‘And fuck you especially, you backstabbing piece of shit.’
Bob declined to look me in the eye.
I strode back to the hall, trying to keep a grip on my failing sanity. What was going on? Had I really just seen Jimmy in Bob’s front room? My head danced a thousand dances as I tried to make sense of the latest newsflash.
‘See ya,’ called out Jimmy, a chuckle in his voice.
‘In hell.’
I fumbled with the latch, unable to open the front door fast enough. It finally clicked free, and I yanked back, but before I could step forward, my torso was assailed by a now familiar giant hammer fist. It powered into my abdomen, courtesy, once again, of Mr Charm himself, my good friend Tommy. I slumped to my knees as the agony rushed over me.
Maybe I haven’t expressed it too well until now, but he was starting to seriously piss me off. One day, somehow, a change was gonna come.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sunday – 17:32
It was just like old times: winded, kneeling and seeing stars in my eyes. “Tonight, Matthew,” I rehearsed in my head, “I’m going to be ... getting even with these fuckers.”
Jimmy and Bob came into the hall from the front room. I looked up and stared at them, but Bob still made no eye contact. Jimmy looked his normal evil, avuncular self. He smelled much as he had last time, too: spice notes billowing from his aftershave, mingling with tobacco smoke. All bound up in another sharp suit.
Crisscrossing my arms, I tried to clamp down on the pain in my stomach. Panic signals arrived in my brain as my lungs heaved for air. My lack of breath, though, didn’t diminish a full-bore shake of the head at Bob. Inwardly I was still wrestling with denial, but the mea culpa gloom on his face made sudden sense. Bob on the take. How had I not guessed? How had I not seen it before?
Bob had been like a personal Reuters service for Jimmy. Especially when it came to scoops à la Eddie. No wonder the Kingpin and his merry men had been following my vapour trails from take-off.
As I looked down, still struggling for air and trying to regain focus, I saw a strange outline that jagged into the skirting board at the side of the stairs. I wondered if that might be where Bob stashed his spoils.
‘You don’t need a trailer to be trash,’ I croaked, using all my first breath.
Jimmy gave up a big belly laugh. ‘Me or him?’ he asked, flicking a thumb at Bob.
‘If the shit sticks, Jimmy.’
‘Shut that big mouth, Greene.’ Tommy bore over me and pressed his knee into my spine.
Jimmy gave him the hand. ‘No point spoilin’ the show.’ He winked at Tommy and then pointed his finger at me. ‘Go on. You get it off your chest.’
I had to think carefully about the right words. ‘Bob, you’re a fucking Judas.’
‘Temper, temper,’ said Jimmy.
Bob shook his head. ‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘Don’t shake it. Hang it in shame, you piece of shit.’ I waited for another breath. ‘If my Dad was–’
‘He was no different, lad. Why’d you think we were pals?’
‘Liar,’ I spat. ‘Fuckin’ double shame on you.’
‘It’s true,’ said Bob, his weight shifting from foot to foot. He inclined his head towards Cartwright. ‘Ask him.’
‘Yeah, like I listen to scumbags.’
Jimmy looked at me with a non-committal smile. As our eyes engaged, I studied him for signs of truth or damnation but saw nothing.
He turned away and glanced at Bob. ‘Let him believe,’ he soothed, ‘while he’s still young.’
I ignored the bait and concentrated on enemy number one. ‘Either way, Bob, I’m coming for ya.’ I gave him an oversized nod. ‘Believe that.’
‘Play nice, Eddie,’ said Jimmy, his nose pinching at the bridge. He looked at us in turn and broke into a smile. ‘Well, enough happy families.’ He adjusted his tie. ‘Show’s over.’ After pushing up on his toes, he took a step forward and raised an eyebrow at Tommy.
Tommy scrunched my jacket into his bludgeon of a fist, pulled me to my feet and propelled me out of the house. He stiff-armed me all the way down the drive, with Jimmy strolling along casually behind. At the end of the drive I flopped forward from Tommy’s hold and saw the funeral-style Range Rover parked a few houses down on the left. It flashed its lights.
I should have been thinking about an escape plan, but my brain fizzed with interference. An attempt seemed pointless anyway. I had zip energy, and Tommy’s grip on me was non-negotiable. It’d be like trying to pull clear of Jupiter. As we turned out of the drive I saw Bob watching me from his front window. He had one of those looks on his face that I would never forget: a layer cake of hurt, fear and shame. Yeah, like I gave a shit.
‘Follow the gold brick road all you like,’ I hollered at the window. ‘But don’t forget I’m coming for you. And pain’s coming with me.’
Tommy gouged his knuckles into the base of my neck, tightened his grip, and told me to shut up. Or words to that effect. As we walked along the pavement, all I could think about was what Bob had said about Dad. It had to be a lie, so why did he say it? Was he deflecting, trying to lessen the guilt? And why say it in front of Jimmy? Jimmy would know it was a lie. Yet his reaction didn’t fit? Back in the day, something must have gone down. But what?
Had Bob tried to recruit Dad to “Team Jimmy” and been refused? In which case, Dad would have disowned Bob. I couldn’t make any sense of it. When I searched my mind for an answer, all I got was “404”.
Whatever sad-ass saga Bob might contrive, he still had explaining to do. But for now, the schadenfreude would have to wait; I had schaden of my own to worry about. Somehow I had to regroup and focus on more immediate problems. All the while I remained in Jimmy’s custody, my fate was not only cemented, but I was losing time. Time I didn’t have. My mission, should I choose to accept it, was to find a way to blindside Jimmy, get a message to Kate, and be at the Town Hall for six. Easy when you said it quickly, but they’d stopped taking bets.
~
The Range Rover drew up, and I was hustled inside. My déjà vu vibe was not only back, but stuck on a permanent loop. Once again I was the filler for a Jimmy and Tommy sandwich in the back of a sports utility vehicle. This time I vowed to follow my own advice: stay calm, stay polite and stay outta trouble.
‘Worth every penny, that Bob,’ said Jimmy, his eyes a-twinkle.
‘You got a diamond there,’ I agreed.
‘Yeah, top drawer.’
‘As ratfinks go.’
‘What would you know about anything? I’ve had nothing but loyalty and respect from th
at man.’
‘I’ve got a tent you can borrow.’
I felt Tommy lean in and it wasn’t just his muscles that over-powered me. He smelt like an abattoir in a heatwave.
‘You could learn a lot from someone like that,’ Jimmy went on. ‘But you’re content bein’ a loser. Like your Dad.’
‘Nah, that’s called integrity. Sounds similar but the letters are all different.’
‘What, you don’t think your old man took Jimmy’s shilling in the end? They all do.’ A sly smile slithered across his face.
I lifted my hands to cover my ears. ‘Not listening, not listening.’
‘Always the witty riposte, eh, Eddie.’
‘Well, it was either that or “Go fuck yourself”, and I know you’re big on the whole respect thing.’
Jimmy gave me a squinty look. ‘You used to amuse me, Eddie. You used to be funny. Now you’re just a loud mouth.’ His eye twitched. ‘No point keepin’ you warm much longer.’
‘Might be your opinion, Jimmy, but the world has changed. Points make prizes, and dead men still tell tales.’
Jimmy tapped his armrest and looked at me. ‘You weren’t so cocky in the forest.’
‘I didn’t realise you were such a shit-kicker back then.’ I shrugged. ‘Anyway, what can I tell ya? The fear’s wearin’ off.’
‘We’ll see.’
Jimmy looked out the near-side window, feigning interest in the world outside. Tommy played follow-my-leader but looked the other way. I set my gaze straight ahead, trying to keep my bearings. From the landmarks and smell of sludge, I could tell we were near the river and heading for the old industrial area. As the car chugged along, the destination became clear: looming through the windscreen and dominating the skyline, the disused edifice of Weighton’s dark satanic mill. Jimmy had a knack for finding locations where he fit right in.
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