by Banks, Ray
"Are you alright?" she said.
Richie tried to laugh, but it came out wrong, sounded like a cat with a hairball. He still managed a smile, shaking his head slowly from side to side as he grabbed onto the handrail. The Macky-D's bag was pinched between thumb and forefinger. It swayed too much for Richie's nerves, so he leaned his shoulder against the rail, got a better grip on the bag.
"Aye," he said. "I'm just fuckin' dandy, like."
The train lurched to a stop. There was the hiss of doors, then the clatter as they opened. Richie pushed himself from the rail and walked out onto the platform. A voice behind him told him to stand clear of the doors, please. Then the train glided out of the station.
Richie watched the Metro leave. Then he turned to look at the estate.
It wasn't a long walk to Goose's house, but Richie knew it'd feel like miles.
He fumbled for a tab, the last one in the pack, lit it, then headed for the concrete steps that took him down to the road.
10
Richie was surprised to notice that Goose's house hadn't changed in the slightest since this morning. It felt like so much had happened to him, it should've happened elsewhere, too. But then life wasn't that fucking fair, was it?
He leaned on the doorbell, and the big bastard they called Noel answered the door. This bloke was one of Goose's lads, one of the Gallaghers, did Goose's dirty work and did it with fucking relish. But Richie wasn't intimidated. He grinned.
"Y'alright?" said Noel. Then, seeing all the blood as he got closer. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, man, you can't come round here looking like that."
"It's nowt," said Richie. "It's dried. Just an accident, anyway. Goose told us to pick something up for him, like. I got it here."
He held up the Macky-D's bag. Noel frowned.
"He told you to get him a Macky-D's?"
"It's from Al. On the Leam."
Noel looked out at the street, then held the door open for Richie. "Get inside. If you fuckin' pass out, we're dumping you somewhere, you know that. Can't be having ambulances round here. Bring the fuckin' polis with 'em now, don't they?"
Richie stumbled into the house, using the wall as a guide as he headed for the front room. There was the smell of cooking in the air, like someone had been boiling vegetables. When Richie got to the front room, he saw Goose sitting with a Sunday dinner on the tray in front of him – roast beef, gravy, roasties, peas, carrots and what looked like cabbage. He wondered what fucking day it was now. Thought it was a weekday, but Goose's meal just threw him right off. Goose had a fork halfway to his mouth when he saw Richie and stopped.
"The fuck are you doing in here like that?" he said, putting the fork down.
Richie held out the Macky-D's bag. "Got your gun. Went and saw Florida Al."
"He do that to you?"
Richie shook his head. "Nah, that's a different story."
"You want to tell it?"
"You want the fuckin' gun or not?"
Goose nodded to Noel, who took the bag off Richie. Noel held the bag at the bottom and peered inside.
"Aye, there's your gun," said Noel. He pulled out the weapon with one hand, crumpling the bag up with the other. He handed the gun to Goose, grip first.
"He give you any shit?" said Goose.
Richie leaned against the door jamb. He thought about the question, and then shook his head again. "Al didn't do nowt but make us look at gay porn."
Noel laughed. It was a sound that came from his gut.
"Aye," said Goose, "he'll do that, right enough. And you paid him and everything went alright?"
"Yeah, aye, everything went tickety-boo at Al's place."
Goose twirled a finger at Richie. "So what happened then?"
"Little accident," said Richie.
"Little?"
"Nowt special."
"Looks like you're going to keel over," said Goose.
"How much did we say?"
"For what?"
"For delivery." Richie found it hard to focus now. The dim light in the room was a contrast from the train, and it was doing his head in. Things in his direct vision were crystal clear, then blurry as fuck. It was like a bad drunk all the time. He licked his dry lips. "For the gun."
"What about the bullets?" said Goose.
Richie didn't say anything.
"He try to short you on them?"
Richie looked at the bloke in the wheelchair through narrowed eyes. It was about the only way he could keep looking at him. He wondered if Goose had been tipped already. If this was some kind of trap.
Finally, Richie breathed out, attempted a shrug. "I don't know. I didn't check."
"What'd I tell you?"
"I know what you told us."
"I said check for fuckin' bullets, didn't I?"
"And you never told us how I was supposed to do that."
Goose worked his mouth. He cracked open the revolver. Frowned. "That fuckin' bastard."
"What is it?" said Noel.
"He's taking the piss, that fat old poof. Seen what he's done here? He's only loaded the gun but one, hasn't he? Fuckin' bastard'll short you one bullet, save a pound and tell you who's boss. Tell you, that flabby arse bandit's going to get his one day, I swear to fuckin' God."
"How much did we say?" said Richie again, this time louder.
"Noel, give him a fifty or something, will you?"
Noel's face was pinched as he went into the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out an orange and handed it to Richie. Richie looked at the note, wrinkled and smudged with something that he didn't want to think about. He nodded slowly to himself. This was what it was all about, eh? Fifty fucking quid to replace a right hand.
"Got more work for you if you want it," said Goose, but Richie was already shaking his head.
"Don't want it," he said.
"Don't want it? Fuckin' hell, this morning you was demanding a job."
Richie pushed himself off the door jamb, held out his left hand to steady himself.
"Now look at him," said Goose, tucking the Magnum down the side of his chair. "He spends one day on the Leam and he's a fuckin' wreck. Here, son, you get yourself seen to and I'll give you a bell later on in the week, see if I can't hook you up with something lucrative, eh?"
Richie moved into the hall, still shaking his head. "Don't bother."
"Here, hang on a sec, I didn't tell you that you could go. So don't you fuckin' dare think you can leave just yet."
Richie stopped in the dark hallway. He stared at the pattern on the carpet.
"It was Al that shorted us, wasn't it?" said Goose.
"Aye," said Richie.
"Wouldn't be that you got yourself a fuckin' gun and lost your mind out there, would it?"
"Dunno what you mean."
"You do. There's one bullet missing."
"I know that. Now."
"Just need to make sure you're not playing funny buggers with us."
"And I told you," said Richie, without a word of a lie. "I don't know how to open the fuckin' gun. That's why I didn't notice one empty." He turned slightly. "Appreciate you trying to hook us up an' that, but I really need to go. I don't feel good."
Noel was looking at Richie like he was all ready to bring the car round front and shove him in the boot. Goose paused, then said, "Go on. Go home. See your bird or whatever."
"Could be a bloke," said Noel. "You never know. Al might've turned him."
"Only thing Al ever turned was a fuckin' stomach. Go on, son."
Richie turned back to the front door. He fumbled with the latch, then stepped out into the front yard. The door closed behind him, but he could still hear Goose saying, "That little fucker left a big red smear on the wall."
It was even colder now than it was before, the wind like a slap to the face, reaching under his hoodie and biting like snakes. He started walking to the end of the path. Looked behind him to make sure nobody was watching him as he leaned on the gate, shuffled through. Then he continued up the street, walked un
til Goose's house was out of sight, and pulled out the mobile. He hadn't asked for it back. Probably forgot.
Richie was pretty sure there were minutes left on the phone. Not that he really needed them for the call he was about to make – it was a Freephone number.
He didn't call the police. They taped all their calls. Plus, they always wanted to know who it was on the other end of the line. There was never any privacy with the polis. They were all about names.
Which was why he was pressing the fives and ones. Getting through to Crimestoppers.
He waited for the line to pick up, then he said, "There was a shooting on the Leam. The Leam Lane estate. Outside The Admiral. This afternoon. The gun's with a gadgie I know. I reckon him or one of his mates might've had something to do with it."
When Richie was asked for an address, he gave it. Then he hung up, carried on down the street and chucked the mobile into the first bin that hadn't been torn off its post.
He kept walking, the blood going out of his legs. The energy too. So when he saw a bench up ahead, he eased onto it. Let his head roll back and he looked up at the sky. He thought about Becka and the baby. He thought about Goose and Noel and the police.
Then he watched the stars until they disappeared to black.
*****
COMING SOON
FROM RAY BANKS
California
Wolf Tickets