Dividing Line Origins (Short story anthology - Dividing Line Series)

by Heather Atkinson

  “That’s what I like to see, lots of empty plates,” smiled Martina, pleased.

  “You cook like an angel Mrs Maguire,” said Ken, Oliver nodding in agreement.

  “Thank you. What nice manners. You could learn something off this pair,” she told Terry.

  “Me? What’ve I done?” said Terry.

  “I’ll tell you what you’ve done Terry Maguire, you’ve never once said thank you today.”

  “Say thank you to Martina,” ordered Frank.

  “Thank you Martina,” he sighed.

  “There we go, didn’t hurt did it?” she smiled. She frowned at Ken and Oliver. “Do you know, there’s something missing from your new look.”

  The brothers looked at each other before looking back at her.

  “I know what it is,” she said. “The hair. It’s got to go.”

  “What’s left of it,” muttered Terry.

  Ken ran a hand over his receding hair. “Our dad was the same.”

  “Martina love, you’re right as always,” beamed Frank. “They’ll look even more intimidating with shaved heads. Terry, shave them. Take it right down to the bone.”

  “Why me?”

  “You know how to work a shaver, don’t you? Get it done lad.”

  He sighed and dragged himself to his feet. “Come on then.”

  Nonplussed, the brothers followed him upstairs. As they hardly had any hair left it didn’t take long. When they returned downstairs Frank and Martina smiled.

  “Perfect,” said Martina. “I’m going to feel much better when my husband goes out knowing you two are with him.”

  “You’re not wrong there love. My new bodyguards. You’re going to do me proud lads, I can feel it,” said Frank.

  Both Ken and Oliver puffed up with pride.

  “Did you go to school?” Frank asked them.

  They both nodded. “I finished high school but Oliver didn’t,” said Ken.

  “Well, he’s going to. Don’t panic, I’m not sending you back to high school,” said Frank when Oliver’s eyes widened. “I mean you’re going to go to college part-time to get your qualifications, I like my workforce to be educated. It’ll stand you in good stead in the future.”

  “Now they just need to sort out their names,” said Terry. “Ken and Oliver sound like a bloody comedy double act.”

  “I’m afraid he’s right lads,” said Frank. “No offence like but they’re not very intimidating names and I’m willing to bet you’re going to carve yourselves out one hell of a reputation in this city. You need the names to go with that reputation. Any ideas?”

  Two names immediately sprang to Ken’s mind. He looked at Oliver and said, “you remember that holiday in Scotland, the boats?”

  Oliver smiled and nodded.

  “What’s this? What holiday?” said Frank.

  “One of our foster families took us on holiday to the west coast of Scotland,” explained Ken. “It was the only holiday we’ve ever had. They took us to the harbour at Greenock and there were two tug boats called Battler and Bruiser. We thought they were great.”

  “Bloody perfect,” smiled Frank. “So who’s who?”

  “I’m Bruiser,” called Oliver.

  The Maguires all looked at him with surprise, it was the first time they’d heard him speak.

  “Then that makes me Battler,” smiled Ken. He liked it.

  FRANKIE MCVAY

  Frankie walked the streets of Glasgow like a king. Everyone moved out of his way, either giving him a deferential nod or avoiding eye contact altogether. Scalping some wee dick in a nightclub had that effect on people. That fucking walloper would think twice before asking if he was one of The Proclaimers again. With his ginger hair and black framed glasses it wasn’t the first time Frankie had been compared to the Scottish singing duo but it was the first time he’d attacked anyone over it. That had been two years ago, when he was just twenty, sealing his reputation as a complete and utter lunatic and he pure lapped it up. He’d committed more atrocities since then but it was the scalping that stayed in everyone’s minds. The man in question had only survived thanks to some hasty medical intervention, he’d almost bled to death on the floor of the manky nightclub. Even though there had been dozens of witnesses no one could identify who’d actually done it so Frankie had been free to return home with his trophy, which he’d preserved and hung from a nail on the wall of his cellar. The scalp was the first of his collection of body parts and it had been joined by three other pieces - an index finger, a pair of eyelids and one big hairy toe. It had become his hobby.

  He was strolling through the Gorbals, revelling in the knowledge that this was all his domain, considering what and who he could use as the centrepiece of his collection. But these pleasant thoughts were being spoilt because he was certain someone was following him. He hadn’t let onto them yet that he knew they were there but he would soon enough.

  It was only a matter of time before this happened. His rise in the Glaswegian underworld had been meteoric and he was one of the city’s most feared faces. He already had the Gorbals and Govan sewn up tight but it wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he owned the whole fucking city, but he had to take out some pretty powerful people to do it. They were all well aware of this and it seemed they were going to strike first. Frankie’s face lit up with maniacal glee. He was looking forward to teaching them how wrong they were about that in the most violent way possible.

  It was fortunate he was almost home because it was becoming very difficult to walk, his muscles so stiff with rage he could feel them creak. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached and sweat had broken out all over his body, the heat of rage burning him from the inside out. His vision briefly blurred red, red with the blood he was longing to spill, he could almost detect its distinctive coppery scent, which would fill his nostrils and get down his throat, so he could taste it. Frankie’s eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned with pleasure, startling an old woman passing by.

  Frankie shook himself out of it. Now was not the time to lose himself in his desires. He had to shake off the fucking dead man walking who was following him.

  He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and casually strolled down the street. Just as he turned the corner he ducked down a snicket that ran between the rear gardens of two opposing rows of terraced houses, raced round the corner then pressed himself against the wall out of sight. It was two o’clock on a Thursday afternoon, consequently there weren’t many people about. He held his breath to listen, heard footsteps hurrying after him, which slowed before stopping altogether, the arsehole attempting to puzzle out where he’d gone. The footsteps started up again, getting closer.

  Frankie prepared himself to strike, drawing back his first. As the figure flew round the corner there was a scream and his fist hit nothing but air.

  “What are you doing you bampot? You nearly hit me.”

  Frankie was relieved to see the pretty nineteen year old girl with masses of black curls. “What am I doing Toni? You’re the one sneaking about following me. I could’ve taken your head off.”

  “I’ve been trying to catch up with you for ages,” she panted.

  Frankie hardly heard a word she was saying she looked so pretty, her substantial bosom heaving against the light, floaty white summer dress. When she was younger he’d barely noticed his little sister’s existence, she was just some mop headed girl in the background, usually making a lot of noise and getting on his tits. Then she’d blossomed into the beauty before him with long curly black locks and big dark eyes. Frankie rarely drew the line at anything when it came to his own desires but he had here. Not even he would try it on with his own sister but his jealousy could sometimes become uncontrollable. He couldn’t bear any other man being near her, not even their brother. It was enough to send him into a frenzy and he’d seen off plenty of her admirers, making it difficult for her to get a date.

  “Hello Frankie? Have you heard a fucking word I’ve said?”

&nbs
p; “Don’t swear Toni, you know I don’t like it when you swear.”

  “Never mind that. Come quick, someone’s attacked Ma’s house.”

  “What?” he roared, outraged.

  “They threw bricks through the window then set it on fire. She’s okay and the fire brigade managed to save the house.”

  “I don’t fucking believe it. Who would have the bollocks to do that to my family? When I get hold of them I’ll make fucking sure they won’t have them anymore.”

  “Come on Frankie,” she urged, tugging at his sleeve.

  Together they raced back down the snicket and onto the main road. Frankie hung back slightly so he could look at her exposed creamy thighs as she ran.

  He tore his eyes off his little sister’s legs and forced himself to think about what had been done to his ma’s house. Moira McVay was kind and gentle, a staunch churchgoer with no enemies. Many people marvelled at how she had produced a son like him, although they’d never dared say it to his face. His ma thought he was a legitimate businessman and everyone was too afraid of Frankie’s reaction to set her straight. When he got his hands on the prick who’d done this rivers of blood would flow.

  Toni led him to the neighbour’s house where he found his mother in floods of tears.

  “Ma, are you alright?” he said, kneeling before the armchair she was sat in and taking her hands. While Toni had inherited their mother’s curly black hair and big dark eyes, Frankie took after his father with his red hair and glasses. That bastard had vanished thirteen years ago, leaving Frankie to become the man of the house at the tender age of nine.

  “I got hit by flying glass when the bricks came through the window,” she hiccoughed through her tears, indicating the cuts on her hands and the grazes on the left side of her face.

  Frankie held back the tide of rage and expletives he wanted to spew forth. His ma was the only person in the world who still thought the best of him, who had no idea what he was capable of or what he’d done and he wanted it to remain that way. “Did you see who it was?” he said.

  She shook her head. “No, I was watching the telly with a cup of tea then there was this horrible smashing sound and my skin started stinging,” she said, tears rolling off her long lashes. “They set fire to the house with me inside. It was lucky I managed to get out the back door so quick. Why would someone do this to me? I live a quiet life, I’ve never hurt anyone.”

  “No you haven’t Ma and I’m going to find who did it.”

  “No please Frankie, let the polis handle it.”

  “They’re fucking useless. If we wait for them to get their fingers out their arses we’ll all die of old age. No, I’ll sort this.”

  “Don’t swear Frankie, I don’t like it.”

  Frankie blinked at her. Those were the exact words he’d used to Toni. Jesus, he was turning into his fucking mum. “Sorry Ma.” He kissed her cheek. He wouldn’t say he loved her as such, he didn’t love anybody but he did want the best for her and she was his mum. He had to send word to the entire world not to fuck with what was his.

  “Why don’t you pack a bag and go and stay with Aunty Lorna? I bet a couple of weeks on Skye would put you right,” he said.

  Moira smiled. “Aye I think it would. I’ll go tomorrow.”

  “No Ma. You’ll go now.”

  “Now? But there are plans to be made and I need to call Lorna, pack, arrange transport…”

  “My men will sort it all out for you and Toni can call Aunty Lorna.”

  “I don’t want someone else packing for me.”

  “Then pack yourself but you’re going today. Toni will go with you.”

  Toni rolled her eyes but didn’t object, she was too sensible to go against Frankie’s wishes.

  “But…,” began Moira.

  Frankie’s smile faltered, his mood darkening. “Don’t argue with me Ma.”

  Moira swallowed hard. “I’m not arguing Frankie. We’ll go, won’t we Toni?”

  She just nodded.

  “Good,” said Frankie, his smile returning, lighting up his face. He knew he had a charming smile and he used it to full effect on his ma, who exhaled with relief that he once again looked calm and amiable.

  Frankie hovered over his mother and sister, his stubborn presence encouraging them to pack as fast as they could. Aunty Lorna, Moira’s younger sister, was more than happy to have them and that afternoon they were driven to the train station by Paul and Jamesie, Frankie’s most trusted men.

  Frankie waved them off and the moment the car disappeared around the corner he casually strolled across the road to the house that directly overlooked his mother’s house. He hammered on the door, which was opened by a thin, balding man, his annoyance at the intrusion obliterated by the sight of the man on his doorstep.

  “F…Frankie. What can I do for you?” he stammered with nerves.

  “Is Davey Boy in?” he asked as he pushed his way inside.

  The skinny man didn’t even attempt to stop him. “Aye he is. He’s in the shower. He’ll be done in a minute.”

  “I don’t have a fucking minute,” retorted Frankie, jogging up the stairs.

  Frankie was led by the sound of running water. The bathroom door was locked so he kicked it open to reveal an equally skinny but younger man standing beneath the spray.

  “Hey, I’m in here,” Davey called, rubbing the shampoo from his eyes.

  Frankie turned the taps in the sink on full.

  “Aghh, that’s hot,” cried Davey, leaping out from under the stream.

  “Fuck me Davey Boy, cover yourself up. I don’t want to look at your spotty white arse.”

  Davey went frantic in his attempts to clear his vision. When he finally saw who was with him in the bathroom he paled all over. “Oh fuck,” he exclaimed, pulling the shower curtain around himself, which was clear plastic and did nothing to hide his modesty.

  Frankie grimaced. “Jeezo Davey Boy, it’s a see-through shower curtain. Looks like someone wrapped a dead turkey in a carrier bag. A fucking small turkey at that.”

  “What do you want?” he shrieked.

  “You’re a lazy wee shite who spends all his time at home. Did you see who attacked my Ma’s house?”

  “No, I didn’t see anything. I was out,” he retorted in sheer panic.

  “The only time you go out is when it’s giro day so you can buy more weed. Then you crawl back under your rock, you fucking waste of space. You’re always here and you’ve got a perfect view across the street. Now tell me, who attacked my Ma’s?”

  Frankie yelled the last few words, causing Davey’s scrawny knees to knock. He didn’t reply, he was too scared.

  “Can’t remember eh? Maybe you need a wee reminder.”

  With that Frankie grabbed Davey by the back of the neck and dragged him out of the shower to the door, the rings of the shower curtain giving way with a rattle as Davey refused to relinquish his grip on it.

  “Da, help me,” he cried as he was dragged inexorably down the stairs, still attempting to cover his nakedness with the shower curtain. “Da.”

  But Davey Senior stayed put in his armchair and raised the newspaper to hide his face, determined not to get involved.

  “Da,” exclaimed Davey in horror when he realised he was abandoning him to his fate.

  The cold air encircling Davey made him shiver uncontrollably as he was pulled out into the street and thrown into the middle of the road. He shrieked with pain as his bare skin scraped against the tarmac.

  Passers-by stopped to watch Frankie’s latest spectacle, a gaggle of teenage girls giggling at the sight of Davey’s timid, shrivelled privates pressed against the shower curtain.

  “It’s see-through you fucking dick,” snarled Frankie, tearing it from his death grip and throwing it aside, causing the girls to giggle louder.

  Frankie hauled Davey to his knees, grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled his head round to face his Ma’s house. “There it is. You must remember now. Moira McVay’s house. Who attacked h
er?”

  “Frankie, I didn’t see anything, I swear. I was asleep.”

  “Don’t you fucking lie to me.”

  “I’m not, I swear. I was asleep,” he wailed, starting to cry.

  “He’s telling the truth Frankie,” called a voice.

  Frankie turned to see Davey Senior standing in his doorway. He dragged Davey Boy round with him to face him, scraping his bare knees across the ground, grazing them.

  A car that had been forced to stop because they were blocking the road beeped its horn. Frankie jabbed a digit at it. “Shut it you fucking prick or I’ll ram your horn up your arse then kick you to make it go off,” he roared savagely.

  The driver didn’t beep again.

  “You,” said Frankie, nodding at Davey Senior. “Continue.”

  “Davey Boy was asleep at the time, out of his fucking heid on weed as usual. But I saw.”

  Frankie approached him, dragging Davey Boy along behind him. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “I didn’t know you were wanting to know about that.”

  “Why else would I be here?” he exclaimed. “It’s not for your scintillating company. Now, who did over my Ma’s?”

  The assembled crowd watched them intently, straining to hear Davey Senior’s reply. Aware of this he leaned towards Frankie and whispered it in his ear, knowing it wasn’t a name he’d want made public knowledge.

  After he’d finished talking Davey Senior leaned away again, sheltering in his doorway against the explosion he was sure was about to occur. But instead Frankie just remained silent, all the colour draining from his face. When Frankie’s eyes rolled back in his head Davey Senior, seriously freaked out, retreated even further into his house. The crowd that had stopped to watch hastily set about its business again, the street emptying in seconds. It was common knowledge that when Frankie’s eyes did that then mayhem was about to ensue.

  Frankie maintained his hold on Davey Boy’s hair, whose eyes teared up as his grip tightened.

  Davey Senior was tempted to slam his front door shut, despite the fact his son was still outside with a lunatic because Frankie’s eyes had rolled themselves back out and now his psycho stare was riveted on him. But Frankie released Davey Boy and retreated back across the street, entering his mother’s house and quietly closing the door.