Beyond the Rage

by Michael J Malone

  ‘I’ll need to...’ He unfastened her bra and then pulled down her soaking panties. As he did so he averted his eyes. Alexis was past caring. Then he picked a large white towel from the pile in the corner and rubbed her dry. He draped the towel over her shoulders and ran into his dressing room. There he found a large grey T-shirt and a pair of white briefs. She needed to feel kind of decent again, he suspected and these would have to do.

  Once she was dried and dressed, after a fashion, he held her hand and walked her through to his bedroom. He pulled the quilt back from the bed and guided her towards it. She climbed in, laid her head on the pillow and waited for Kenny to pull the cover over her.

  Kenny looked down at her, at the mess of her face and the numbness in her expression. It made him think of Vi. He’d left her not long ago looking much the same, minus the bruising.

  ‘Sorry, Kenny,’ Alexis slurred.

  ‘No need to apologise,’ Kenny said.

  Alexis grabbed his hand and held on with surprising strength. ‘I have no choice. So sorry.’ Her one good eye begged him to believe her. She struggled up onto her elbows. ‘I need to talk to you. There’s things I need to tell...’

  ‘Don’t you worry, sweetheart,’ he said, all of his earlier frustrations about her completely forgiven. Whatever she needed to tell him could wait until she was a little better. ‘You’re safe here. Just get some rest.’

  ‘Sorry. Need to...’ She slurred again and closed her eyes. Her grip loosened and Kenny allowed her hand to fall onto the bed.

  How could someone do this, he asked himself. How could a man do this to a woman? He’d hurt plenty of men in his time and he was aching to hurt one particular man. If only he knew who he was and how to find him.

  Although Kenny had hurt many men in his time, he had never killed anyone. He couldn’t promise that wasn’t about to change.

  • • •

  In the living room, Kenny walked from the window to the door countless times. He needed to do something. He needed to find out who this bastard was and explain how women should be treated. There was a nice quiet spot up in the Campsie Hills where no one would be able to hear screaming. Or there was a particularly dark basement in one of the pubs he owned where no one would interrupt him.

  He needed to find this fucker so badly his jaw hurt. But he wasn’t going to find anyone stuck inside the flat. He picked out a number on his mobile and dialled. It was answered immediately.

  ‘Hey boss. You needing some work done?’

  ‘Mark, are you and your brother free right now?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘You know where I live. Be here asap.’

  Half an hour of more pacing, with the odd visit to stand at his bedroom door and gaze over the supine form in his bed, and his doorbell rang.

  He answered it and allowed Mark and Calum in.

  Mark was bouncing on his toes. Calum performed the usual sombre contrast to his brother.

  ‘What’s the job, Kenny?’ asked Mark. ‘Anybody needing a doin’?’

  Calum looked to the ceiling in frustration. ‘Chill, brother.’

  ‘If anybody’s needing a doin’ I’ll be the one to do it,’ said Kenny. ‘I need you two to stay here and look after someone special.’

  ‘Okay, man.’ Mark nodded his head like he was trying to beat the world record for nods per second. ‘There’s a burd?’

  ‘Yes, Mark. There’s a woman. She’s in my bedroom and she’s hurt...’

  ‘This got anything to do with that woman down in that place...’

  ‘Mark, give it a rest. Let the man talk, for fuck’s sake,’ said Calum.

  Kenny managed a smile at Calum. ‘All you need to know is that you’ve to let no one in or out of this flat until I come back. Understood?’

  Both men nodded. Kenny had one last look in at his bedroom and quietly closed the door. In his bathroom he picked up Alexis’ clothes and her handbag. He carried everything through to his kitchen and, out of sight of the two guys, he went through all of her belongings. There was nothing of any real interest apart from a large group of house keys and her mobile. He pocketed the keys. Her phone was still switched on so he scrolled through it, not sure exactly what he was looking for.

  The text inbox was empty, as was the sent items box. Unusual, he thought. How many people are so careful with their mobile phones? They only time he emptied his phone folders was when they were full.

  Her contacts were similarly sparse. Mostly initials. He read his. K.O. and looked for Tommy Hunt’s and was disappointed. There were only two names not initialised. Cora and Jo. The first name rang a faint bell of recognition. Cora. Could that have been the name of the girl who was murdered in Alexis’ flat?

  Jo’s number was highlighted. Might as well press Call.

  It was answered after four rings. A voice giggled. A note of happiness that was aimed at someone on her side of the phone. ‘Alexis, how are you, sweetheart?’

  Kenny read the voice for any sound of concern before he spoke. There was none.

  ‘Sorry, Jo. This is Kenny. I’m a friend of Alexis’.’

  ‘Ohmygod,’ Jo breathed. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘She is now,’ said Kenny. ‘But one of her clients has hit her rather badly.’

  ‘Ohmygod,’ Jo repeated, sounding close to tears. ‘I told her she was too good for this game. Is she okay? Did she...?’

  ‘I don’t think anything’s broken, Jo, but she won’t let me call the police or take her to a doctor.’ He wondered how much to tell her. If she was part of the same group as Alexis, she would have contact with the bastard who did this.

  ‘Do you know the flat in the Merchant City where Alexis sometimes works out of?’

  ‘Never been there, but I know of it.’

  Smart girl, thought Kenny, she was being cautious in her response.

  ‘Jo, I’m going to trust you.’ I’m desperate and running out of options, he might have added. ‘I’m...’ – he paused for dramatic effect and allowed his voice to crack a little – ‘...in love with Alexis. I was trying to get her out of the game when this happened.’

  ‘Right...’

  Kenny tried to judge from that one syllable if she was falling for his Richard Gere in Pretty Woman act. ‘Jo. I need your help. I need to find out who did this to her and I need to make him suffer.’

  ‘Now you’re singing my song, mate,’ said Jo. ‘How soon can you get there?’ She paused. ‘You got a key?’

  ‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’

  ‘Cool. Bring a bottle of gin. And thirty quid.’

  ‘Thirty quid?’

  ‘Or fifty. A blow for thirty. A full shag is fifty. Bareback and it’s a hundred. Might as well earn some money while I’m at it. Time is money, mister.’

  • • •

  In his car and passing through familiar streets clogged with the usual number of cars and his phone rang again.

  ‘Harry Fyfe here, Kenny. Got a minute?’

  ‘I’m all ears, old man.’ Kenny was surprised by the feeling of warmth he had for the old cop.

  ‘I’ll “old man” you. And I hope you’re not driving?’

  ‘Don’t worry. The pigs won’t stop me, I’m hands-free.’

  ‘Aw son, you’re not one of those wankers who wears one of those ear-pieces like it’s a status symbol, are you?’

  Kenny grinned. ‘What you wanting, you old fucker?’

  ‘Right. Aye. The banter’s fine, but. Got to thinking about the murder of a woman and child before your mum killed herself and I don’t know why it didn’t come into my head straight away.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Kenny’s stomach twisted.

  ‘This one was high profile at the time, but the reason I haven’t said anything was because it was a young mother who was killed. No child.’

  ‘Horrible as that is, H
arry, it doesn’t stand out in terms of what we are looking for.’

  ‘True. True.’ Two syllables and he sounded really disappointed.

  ‘Tell me the rest,’ said Kenny. Less from curiosity than a need to make Harry feel useful.

  ‘It’s probably nothing that will help you, but you never know. The papers were full of it for weeks. Such a tragedy...’

  Kenny had arrived outside Alexis’ flat in the Merchant City and he was wishing Harry would get on with it.

  ‘...the woman didn’t die with her son. She was killed by him. With a gun.’

  ‘A gun?’ Gun crime was still relatively uncommon in Scotland but it was even rarer in those days.

  ‘It gets worse. The boy was only ten or eleven and he thought the gun was a toy.’

  38

  With thoughts of such a horrible event filling his mind, Kenny locked his car and walked to the entrance of the flat. How would that boy have felt after he shot his mother? No amount of reassurance would ever allow the boy to reconcile himself with his actions. He wondered where he might be now, how he had turned out. He’d be about the same age as Kenny.

  Whatever the situation was with this poor boy, it had no reflection on his. The letters from his father mentioned the death of a mother and son. He’d finished the call with Harry and asked him to keep drilling his memory bank.

  His musings were interrupted by a voice at his ear.

  ‘Yeah, these are, like, keys. K.E.Y.S. and they open doors.’

  Kenny turned to his left to see a small pale face squinting at him. She must have been under five feet, her long dark hair tied back in a ponytail, teeth stained with nicotine and the skin around her eyes had more lines than a plate of spaghetti.

  ‘You Kenny?’

  ‘Jo, I presume?’

  ‘At your service.’ She bobbed up and down and flicked a smile at him. Her hands were in the pocket of her puffed jacket, which along with the hair and minus the lines on her face made her look like a schoolgirl. The words Must have had a hard paper round ran through his mind. ‘Look, I’ve been thinking I was a wee bit hasty agreeing to meet you in the flat...’ She looked past him, eyes roving up and down the street. ‘Would you mind buying me a coffee somewhere first? There’s been a lot of weird shit going on around here recently and I don’t want to end up in a bodybag.’

  ‘None taken,’ said Kenny.

  ‘Yeah, you don’t look like a killer, but I like the whole breathing thing so much I don’t want to take any chances.’

  ‘Where do you suggest?’

  ‘You’re paying,’ – she flicked the smile again and Kenny could see that a month of long lie-ins and a detox later she could be very attractive – ‘so you decide.’

  Kenny shrugged, put the keys back in his pocket and began walking. Jo kept up with his pace, her heels clicking a staccato on the pavement. They walked for about five minutes before Jo tried to begin a conversation.

  ‘You, like, the strong silent type then?’ Jo asked.

  ‘You, like, the short yappy type then?’

  ‘Better than being a miserable bastard.’

  Kenny laughed. ‘Sorry. I’ve a lot on my mind.’ He had reached his target. He stopped walking and pushed open a glass door, allowing Jo to walk in first.

  She held a hand to her heart as she walked past him. ‘My,’ – she pretended to swoon – ‘a gentleman.’

  ‘Aye. Something like that,’ said Kenny as he joined her in the small café. The room was lined with tables just large enough to take two chairs, and a glass-fronted cooling cabinet displayed a bounty of cakes and pastries. The tables were almost all occupied, which Kenny took as a good sign.

  Kenny picked a table at the back of the café. Jo complained.

  ‘Awww. I like to sit near the window so I can see everybody walking past.’

  Kenny ignored her and sat down. ‘I decide, right?’

  Jo sat down and looked to the ceiling, playing at being in a huff. ‘I’ll have a latte,’ she said. ‘With cinnamon syrup.’ Then she began to sing to the song playing in the background. It was an old Sinatra number.

  ‘Want anything to eat?’ Kenny asked.

  Jo continued to mouth the words to the song until the chorus ended. ‘Ohmygod,’ she said, ‘I have such a sweet tooth.’ She stood up again. ‘Let me go over to the cabinet and pick something.’ She walked over to the display and bent over towards it, keeping up a monologue to no one in particular. ‘Oh, that carrot cake looks lovely. Oh, and the doughnuts. And look at the size of those empire biscuits. Aye but, I always have a weakness for a nice big slice of Victoria sponge.’

  She returned to her seat with an apologetic expression. ‘Apart from having a sweet tooth, I have a terrible habit of having a motormouth when I’m nervous. Other than that,’ she grinned, ‘I have no vices.’

  A waitress who looked like she had her own personal feeder waddled over to take their order.

  ‘Somebody ate all the pies,’ Jo whispered. ‘Or should we change that for croissants seeing we’re in the Merchant City?’

  ‘Help you?’ the waitress asked, her face wearing a faint blush, suggesting that she heard Jo’s comment. She was large, but in proportion. Kenny could definitely see a waist.

  Like all thin people, Jo had no idea of the offence she had just caused. ‘You look like you enjoy your scran, babes. What would you suggest?’

  ‘Ten years of an eating disorder and a copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People?’ the waitress replied with an I-dare-you-to-complain smile.

  Kenny laughed. So did Jo.

  ‘Nice one, babes. I asked for that,’ Jo said. ‘Now that we’re best pals, I’ll have a giant chunk of Viccy sponge and a latte. The strong silent one over there will have a black coffee.’

  Kenny raised an eyebrow in question.

  Jo shrugged. ‘You have black coffee written all over your face, babes.’

  Kenny nodded at the waitress. ‘That’ll do nicely,’ he said.

  ‘Right.’ Jo leaned forward on the table. Her eyes betrayed her concern. ‘How’s Alexis?’

  ‘Not good. She’s had a real beating this time.’

  ‘This time?’ Jo’s eyebrows were almost as high as her hairline. ‘I thought Alexis was too good for that. You saying she’s been beat up before?’

  ‘She didn’t tell you?’

  ‘How did you get my number again?’

  ‘On Alexis’ phone.’

  Jo made a face. ‘I didn’t think she’d kept my number.’ She fidgeted in her pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. ‘This smoking ban’s a pile of shite, by the way.’ She opened the packet, sniffed at the neat row of cigarette tips and then closed it again. ‘That’ll have to do.’ Smile. ‘No, she didn’t tell me. We had a wee fall-out some time ago. But I was the first street-worker Alexis met when she came up to Glasgow. I gave her some tips. Taught her the lie of the land.’ Jo looked towards the window and then back to Kenny. ‘So. She kept my number?’ She made another face. ‘I feel bad. I gave her such a hard time the last time we spoke.’

  ‘Why? What did you say?’

  ‘She forgot where she came from. Was becoming too big for her Kurt Geigers.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Designer boots. And she looked down her nose at me.’ Jo chewed on the inside of her lip, her eyes leaking a light and being filled with a sense of judgement in which she found herself lacking. ‘There’s nothing like someone telling you an uncomfortable truth to make you hate yourself.’

  ‘She was trying to set up on her own?’

  ‘That was the line she gave me last time too.’

  ‘You didn’t believe her?’

  The waitress arrived with a tray and the conversation stopped. It didn’t resume until they had been served. Jo took a sip of her drink. When she lifted her head up she had a milk moustache.
She made no attempt to wipe it off.

  ‘Alexis was always making plans. She hated her pimp, said she was determined to buy herself out of her contract and go back to London.’

  ‘She’s going to London?’

  Jo reached across and patted the back of Kenny’s hand. ‘Poor sap,’ she said. ‘And here’s you thinking you were getting her out of the game.’ Jo cut through her sponge with the side of her fork and spoke with her mouth full. ‘A word to the less than wise. Alexis whatever her name is – and I speak as a friend – is one woman who loves her job. Drop her anywhere in the world and she’d find a man, fuck him and then bleed him dry.’

  ‘No. Don’t believe you,’ said Kenny, shaking his head. This didn’t square with the woman he knew. And fell in love with.

  Jo reached across the table and slapped him on the face.

  ‘Oww,’ said Kenny, more from the reflex that any actual pain.

  ‘Sorry, but that’s for your own good. Wake the fuck up, mate. You seem a nice guy. You’re good-looking. Why not get yourself a nice–’

  ‘Look. Can we get back to finding out who might have attacked Alexis?’

  ‘Sorry. Jeez, I keep saying sorry.’ Jo coughed. ‘You’re right.’ Pause. ‘Sorry.’ Smile.

  ‘Tell me about this pimp she hated.’

  ‘That’s the thing. None of us girls ever met him. He had a buddy though. A Yank, or he might have been Canadian.’ She screwed up her face. ‘He is one sick bastard. He never hurt me, like. Knew better.’ She put on what she thought was her tough face but it only made her look young and vulnerable. ‘You know, I’ve never met a nasty Canadian. The nicest peeps in the world. Apart from this guy. If he is Canadian, that is. Anyway, his name is Mason Budge. What the fuck kinda name is that? He must’ve made it up.’

  ‘Describe him.’

  ‘Kinda non-descript kinda guy. Lean. Looks like he knows how to handle himself. Same height as you, mibbe? Or just a wee bit shorter. Cropped dark hair.’ She took a sip from her coffee and acknowledged the waitress, who had returned with the bill. ‘Gorgeous cake this, hen. Did you make it?’