I was good at keeping watch. It suited me down to the ground.
Kelly came and stood beside me. Her face was black, her eyes were red and her hair was caked to her head.
'Bet you didn't expect this when you had your Frosties this morning,' I said.
She blinked and rubbed at her eye, even though as a doctor she should have known better.'You mean Frosted Flakes.'
'Why would you do this?' I said, changing the subject.
She glanced back at Davie.'He has a nice ass.'
'What's wrong with mine?'
'Bony,' she said.
I shrugged.'I'm married, I would have said no anyway.'
'Yeah,' she said.'I'm not your type.'
'How come you're not with your mates outside?'
'How do you know I'm not?'
'Ah right — you're a double agent.'
'Yup. And loyal to the end, because I'm going to burn to death.'
'That's often the fate of double agents,' I said.
Davie yelled across from the wall.'Will you two stop fucking blethering and give me a hand?'
His chopping had exposed a hollow space between our wall and the building next door. He'd already cut through half a dozen of its wooden slats. Together we were able to peel several more of them back until they cracked and split, allowing us to squeeze through the gap and into the vacant building. Here the air was cool and musty and far enough away from the inferno that was now the police station to not immediately suck in all of its fumes. The floor was covered in odd bits of discarded machinery and boxes full of yellowing files.
Kelly went to the top of the stairs, then stopped us again and listened. We could hear the distant yells of the mob, but nothing close at hand. We moved cautiously down the darkened stairs, listened again at the landing on the next floor, then continued our descent to the ground. The three buildings had the same basic design, so even though it was almost pitch black — the only light a very vague orange glow from the fire squeezing through shuttered windows — Kelly was able to lead us across the floor and down the corridor to the back door without any great difficulty. There were a lot of empty beer cans littering the corridor; local kids probably used it as an illicit drinking den — which was good news for us as Davie was able to open the back door effortlessly rather than having to battle with the large padlock which someone had previously cracked apart but left hanging in place so that anyone taking a cursory glance at it would suppose it was still doing its job.
We crossed a small backyard to a white painted wooden fence with a gate which was bolted shut. Davie eased the bolt across and peered out into an alley which ran for several hundred yards along the back of the main street. To the right, but shielded from us by another wooden fence, was the back door of the police station where some of the mob had lain in wait for us. We couldn't tell if they were still there. To the left of us were the backs of the other stores which lined the main street; on the other side of the alley there were the back gardens of several wooden bungalows. There were no lights visible within. Probably everyone had gone out to enjoy the lynching. It was good, that. It showed a strong sense of community.
I said, 'What about the car?'
'You want to go down to the Mountain View and ask JJ for the keys?' Davie turned to Kelly.'What about yours?'
'I live about five miles out of town. I cycled in.'
'Any chance of a doubler?' I asked.
Davie scowled at me and Kelly looked mystified.'We have to find somewhere to lie low,'he explained.' They'll be sobered by the morning.'
I'm not sure if he actually believed that, but it was something to cling to, like a life raft with a hole in it.
We began to jog along the alley.
'How's your arm?' I whispered.
'Sore,' said Davie.
'I could write you a prescription,' said Kelly.
From behind us there came a roar, and we turned to see one of the walls of the police station slowly collapse in on itself. The others quickly followed, causing the first and second floors to concertina down on top of them. There was a cheer from the crowd as flames shot up into the night sky.
One house down, two to go.
We continued along the alley for several hundred yards. I couldn't smell the smoke any more. We were getting close to the water: there was a slight fleck of sand on the smooth breeze and we could hear crisp waves breaking on the beach. It had frightened me before, but now I was ready to make friends with the sea and all of its creatures. They weren't half as terrifying as people were. Ordinary people who sold souvenirs and served hamburgers and cleaned your room by day became wild and unpredictable by night, shooting policemen and burning hapless tourists alive. There were more sharks on the land than there were in the ocean.
At the end of the alley was a long stretch of open ground leading to the beach. It was unlit, but there was a moon high in the sky which might as well have been plugged into the mains.
'If we get caught out there, we're finished,' said Davie.'C'mon — this way.'
We hadn't elected him leader, he had just assumed the role. I was better with adverbs, and Kelly Cortez could probably have bested him when it came to creating a mean poultice, but Davie was built for this: he was Rambo, to my Dumbo.
He led us into the back garden of one of the bungalows and up to the back door. He sent us left and right along the outside of the dwelling to check for lights and other signs of life.
Nothing.
When Davie tried the back door, it was unlocked. Parts of America are still like that. You can pop out to lynch someone, secure in the knowledge that nobody is going to steal your furniture while you are away.
The house smelled of cigarettes and pizza, mostly because there were overflowing ashtrays in every room and crust-filled boxes piled up in the kitchen. Davie went from room to room, and we followed, because he seemed to know what he was doing.
'You know who lives here?' Davie asked.
I shook my head.
'Not you, you Clampett.'
'Think they're on welfare,' Kelly said.
She was probably right. If the bungalow had had wheels its inhabitants would have been classed as trailer trash. But one country's trailer trash is another's privileged elite. They were poor, but they had cable. They were unemployed, but they had a computer. They didn't appear to have a phone, but they were on the Internet. Davie immediately switched the computer on in one of the bedrooms and called up AOL. Then he said, 'Fuck,' as it demanded a password.
We gathered around him, trying to smother the glow from the screen and guess the password from the odd billion words in existence, a password which was all that stood between us and emailing the cops, the Feds and the Cavalry.
'Fuck,' Davie said again.
They're fucking trailer trash,'I said.' They can't know that many words.'
He typed in the two first names he found on an overdue credit-card bill on the floor. John, then Clara. No use. He tried their surnames. He tried Miami Dolphins, Garth Brooks, Elvis, grits, crackers and gravy. I suggested Big Mac, moron, inbred and hillbilly.
From behind us a small voice said: 'We ain't no hillbillies.'
'Fuck!' we exclaimed as one, apart from the doctor, who had better breeding.
Davie recovered his faculties first and spun, ready to chop whoever it was with his good arm, but for a moment he couldn't see anyone at all. Then a boy of not more than thirteen began to emerge from beneath the bed. His hair was tousled and he was wearing a grubby T-shirt, boxer shorts and a troubled expression.
'Hi,' I said, always ready to rescue a dire situation.'We're from the local education board, want to know why you been missing so much school, son.'
'Don't talk garbage,' the boy snapped back.'I know who you are.'
'Okay,' I said.
The boy raised a cell phone to his ear.'I just gotta press this button, tell them where you are, you're dead fucking meat . . .'
I have been intimidated by a lot of people in many and varied situ
ations, but I wasn't going to take this kind of crap from a spotty teenager. So I turned menacing.'And what if we just take the phone off you before you can do that, and break your wrist at the same time?'
'Then I shoot you with this. 'He brought his other hand forward. In the glow of the computer screen we saw the outline of a gun.
'Ah,' I said.'A gun. Every home should have one.'
It could have been a toy.
I felt Davie tense beside me. He was working out the odds. Knowing American gun culture, the chances were about fifty-fifty. Add to that the fact that although it was a small room, the boy was far enough away to make suddenly rushing him a decidedly risky option. Too risky. Davie stood down. Kelly tried the friendly doctor approach.
'So,' she said, 'where are your parents?'
'Fuck them, they went to the wrestlin', wouldn't take me 'cause I got drunk.'
'When are they due back?'
'Tomorrow, some time. It's in fucking Tallahassee.'
'They like the wrestlin', yeah?'
'Who the fuck doesn't?'
'Fair point. So . . . what's your name?'
'Jamie.'
'So, Jamie, what're we going to do about this?'
Jamie shrugged.'I heard about you.'He nodded at me.'You're the one boned the spastic.'
He was wrong on both counts, but I nodded anyway.
'Fucking asking for it, that bitch' Jamie was thirteen and seemed to have an IQ to match. I was getting worried about Michelle's reputation. She needed someone to stand up for her. Oh yeah, he was just down the road.
'Too right,'I said, 'fucking bitch.'
Jamie nodded enthusiastically. We were bonding.
'We're not looking for trouble, Jamie. So I hit the bitch, nothing wrong with that, you're going to help us get away, right?'
'Hell no,' said Jamie.
'What then?' I said.'You going to shoot us all and be the big hero?'
Jamie hesitated for a moment.'Hadn't thought of that.'
Davie rolled his eyes.
Jamie smiled.'I gotta better idea.'He nodded at me again.'You gotta credit card, spastic man?'
'Sure.'
'Well, get it out.'
I handed him a garish First Trust card. He examined it like it was an alien artefact, but then recognising the Visa symbol he nodded and pointed at the computer.'Here's the deal. We get on the net, I call up some porn sites, I use your credit card to watch whatever the fuck I want to watch for as long as I want.'
'And we get?'
'You get to sleep in the next room until morning.'
'We need to use your email,' said Davie, 'or your cell phone.'
'You get one call — when I'm finished.'
'We need it now.'
'When I'm finished or no deal.'
Davie looked at me, then Kelly. I shrugged. Kelly nodded. She was more decisive than I was. Kelly and the rest of the civilised world.
'Okay,' said Davie.
Jamie smiled.' Fucking A,' he said.
29
Jamie, already ensconced behind the computer, shouted directions to the bedroom he had assigned to us. Clearly there were other brothers who had been allowed to go to the wrestling in Tallahassee. There were two sets of bunk beds, all with the bedclothes carelessly thrown back. Heavily muscled wrestlers glared out from posters on the wall. Jamie was probably the eldest because he'd graduated to his own bedroom. He was a self-confident little shit, and he had us over a barrel.
I pointed this out to Davie.'You're supposed to be the killer elite, why don't you just take him down?'
'What's the point? He thinks he has the upper hand, but in fact we have. We get to rest up, he gets to stand guard over us. Someone comes to the door he'll chase them. He's having way too much fun.'
And he was.
The walls could have been described as paper-thin, but that would have been doing paper-thin a disservice. Every beat, every grunt, every groan — and he wasn't even next door; he was along the hall, and turn left.
Davie lay down on one of the lower bunks, and after a bit of hesitation and a few furtive looks in my direction, Kelly Cortez joined him. He put an arm around her and she put her head on his chest. I had no idea what she saw in him, apart from his good looks and muscles, his commanding ways and roguish charm. But she'd learn. That was all surface stuff. Once she got to really know him she'd soon be begging for a bit of freckle and a bony arse. And I only had her word for the bony arse. Patricia had never complained. At least to me.
So I stood by the window and kept guard. Or, I stood by the window and looked out, but I wasn't really seeing. I was exhausted, but I couldn't sleep, my mind was wandering; it was the kind of hazy twilight world you find yourself in when watching a coal fire late at night, or indeed, a burning police station. There wasn't much of it left. Jamie's brothers' bedroom window gave me a half-view of the back of the main street. The ice-cream parlour had more or less collapsed as well. The third, vacant building was still holding up, but would soon go the way of the others.
Down the hall, and left, Jamie moaned in ecstasy again.
'Christ,' I said, 'how many times can he do it in one night?'
Davie laughed.'What is he, thirteen? How many times could you do it at that age?'
'Fair point,' I said.' We could be here for days.'
Kelly hhhmmmed contentedly at the prospect.
I'd known Patricia for twenty years and hadn't known her to hhhmmm contentedly at anything, unless you count the time she successfully snaffled my Marks & Spencer chocolate éclair while pretending to rummage for an Alpen bar in the fridge. I smiled at the thought of it. It was now after midnight. Back home she'd be tossing and turning in that unsettled hour before the alarm went off. In another life she would already have been up with Little Stevie. Unaccountably, I felt tears welling up. Stevie in heaven. Usually I detest mawkish things, and always I detest anything Eric Clapton produces, but he had written a song about the accidental death of his son and I had lately found the tune stuck in my head. Even if you didn't know the background to it, it was incredibly moving. Elton John had tried something similar with 'England's Rose', his re-working of 'Candle in the Wind' for Princess Diana. It was a pile of shite.
I lay down on the bottom mattress of the second set of bunks and clasped my hands behind my head.
'So what's the plan then, mastermind?' I asked.
There was no response. Their easy, rhythmic breath told me they were sleeping. Dr Cortez had her head on his chest and her left hand on his stomach. She was a good-looking woman, but there was bound to be a skeleton in the closet. Nobody fell for a man that quickly. Or at least, this man. Or at least, without huge amounts of alcohol being involved. I wondered how much Davie had told her about our misadventures. I suspected very little. They'd only had lunch. You couldn't just slip in murder and mayhem between courses. But he might have brought up the gold. Casually. Or thumped the table and said: 'I've got twelve gold bars in the bank!' Perhaps that was it, she was a gold digger.
Down the corridor, and left, Jamie climaxed again.
Davie was wrong, we weren't in control. Jamie held the upper hand. I just hoped he washed it after he was finished.
I had the most perfect dream: dancing with Patricia while Joe and The Clash sang 'Armageddon Time' in the background; Mouse sat in the corner eating a bag of chips; my mum and dad were putting candles into a birthday cake and Little Stevie ran about the dance floor in his bare feet shouting, 'Michael Owen! Michael Owen!'
And like all the best dreams, it ended abruptly: a crash and bang and I sat up suddenly, hitting my head on the wooden slats of the bunk above me. It was daylight; opposite me Davie and Kelly looked as surprised as I was, staring at the door and the three furious kids standing there.
'What the fuck are you doing?' one of them spat.
'Dad!' shouted another.
The third looked wide-eyed at Kelly, who was pulling her shirt down over her bra.
I'd been dreaming about football and chips
, and they'd been fumbling in the dark.
'Dad!'
We got to our feet.
Down the hall, and left, a deep, ragged man's voice shouted: 'Jamie! What the fuck! I told you about that stuff!'
'It wasn't me! It was them!'
'Dad! There's burglars!'
'It's them, Dad!' Jamie yelled.' They held me prisoner! They killed DJ's wife! They burned down the police station!'
This was clearly news to the kids in the doorway. They quickly backed away. Davie followed them out into the hall. Kelly went after him. I decided to hold the rear.
'Just hold on a minute,' Davie was saying.
'Jamie, now that's not true. Hi, I'm Dr Cortez, we were just—'
I heard the unmistakable sound of bullets being pumped into a chamber. Davie reappeared in the doorway, with Kelly right behind. He slammed the door shut then hurried to the window and pushed it open. He gave Kelly a hand up and helped her through. I then pushed in front of him and climbed up; he gave me a shove to speed my passage. I tumbled down into an overgrown front garden that fed directly onto the alley at the rear of the main street. Davie jumped down behind me. We'd just reached the top of the garden and were stepping over a low wooden fence, when Jamie's dad started shooting.
He was either a really bad shot, or he only meant to scare us. They were shotgun cartridges, but packed with rice, for maximum effect and minimum damage. It wasn't the sort of rice you could enjoy a good curry with, but if it hit you it could have much the same effect on your arse. If Jamie's dad had appreciated the full extent of our crimes, or the madness that had gone on in the town while he was out at the wrestling, he probably would have used live ammo. As it was the rice shots blasted well above us, but they were incentive enough for us to race away along the alley, keeping our heads down as far as we could without scraping them on the ground.
Jamie's dad might not have been aware of what he had stumbled upon, but the gunfire served as a warning call to the rest of the town. Davie had advanced the theory that daylight would bring sobriety and therefore calm to the mob. Whereas it appeared now that the opposite was true, that instead of subsiding, their anger had mounted with the realisation that they'd dug such a hole for themselves that the only solution was to fill that hole with our dead bodies.
Driving Big Davie (Dan Starkey) Page 23