He took his teacher stare away from me and passed it on to Pav.
‘Old Country not good enough for you lot, Duda?’
Pav said nothing, not because he didn’t understand the window man’s question, but because it was a dim-witted one.
‘Old Country chuck you and your family out, did they? Speak up against someone important, did you?’ the window man said.
‘They left because of –’ I felt Pav squeeze my love handle area. It’s not like I was going to tell the window man any-thing, was I? I’m not that stupid.
‘Am-I-talking-to-you-Law?’
‘No, sir.’
‘So button it then. Mouth.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘So, what’s your story, Duda?’
‘No story,’ Pav said.
The window man sniffed about a litre of snot up through his nose and gobbed it straight at our feet.
A green, slimy splat.
He gave Pav the once-over again.
‘Who cut that hair of yours, Duda? The blind barber?’ The window man’s smile returned, then he sniggered, laughed, howled.
‘No,’ Pav said. ‘Mum cut.’
The window man’s howl stopped.
‘I don’t like cheeky oafs, Duda. Got it?’ He pointed aggressively at Pav. ‘And I especially don’t like cheeky oafs from Old Country.’ The pointing made Pav’s body tense. Mine too. ‘Got it?’
‘Got it,’ Pav said.
‘So, can we go home now?’ I asked.
‘Now he’s asking if he can go home,’ the window man said to the night air.
‘Would that be OK?’ I said.
‘Now he’s asking if that would be OK.’ He was being strange, or extracting the urine, as Dad would say. ‘Sorry to break it to you, but you two clowns are going nowhere.’
‘But …’
‘There’s someone who wants to meet you two numpties. So, sorry to say, you won’t be setting off together into the night.’
‘Who wants to meet us?’ I said.
‘Get in.’ The window man pointed to the back of his truck.
Pav stepped behind me, gripping on to my back. I heard a tiny whimper from his mouth. I reached and held his wrist. Just to let him know that I was there for him, that I was his buddy, that I wouldn’t abandon him.
‘Where we go?’ Pav said, stepping back into view.
‘Rap it, Duda,’ the window man said. ‘In!’
‘But who wants to see us?’ I asked again.
‘Don’t make me get out of this vehicle, Law.’ He clicked open his door a little. ‘Do not make me do that.’
‘OK, we’re coming. We’re coming,’ I said, and pulled the heavy back door open. I jumped in first, then gestured for Pav to follow. He reached for me. I took his hand and pulled him into the wagon. The sweat almost made him slip away. The inside reeked of chemical bombs, or it could just have been sweat and farts.
‘Right, the pair of you, sit there. One word and you’ll get a severe clout.’
We said nothing.
‘Got it?’ he roared.
I didn’t want a severe clout. A severe clout would make me cry. God, imagine Erin F seeing me bubble. Doesn’t bear thinking about.
We said nothing.
Travelled to the sound of our hearts pounding.
9
Money
The place they took us was minging.
Manky dripping water fell from the roof. It wasn’t even raining. It reeked of salt, damp towels and dog shit. The stink was so bad that if you opened your mouth it was as if you were actually munching on some dog shit; it got stuck into the back of my throat. Weird: no pets were allowed in Little Town. Weirder still: I couldn’t hear any barking sounds.
‘Right, that’s you. Out.’
The window man didn’t turn off his engine. He didn’t get out himself. He didn’t tell us where we were or what we were supposed to do. We were standing outside a big barn, factory or farm. I wasn’t sure. His only instruction was:
‘See that door over there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Move your arses through it.’
We watched him driving off into the night again, searching for stragglers.
We were alone. The door faced us. I looked at Pav, directly into his eyes. I could tell he was thinking the same thing as me: if we went through that door, we might not get back out. If we didn’t open it, something worse would happen to us.
When I opened the door, Pav gripped tightly on to my elbow, as though he wanted me to be his eyes. His leader. His protector.
‘I no like this, Charlie,’ Pav said.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘I tell you. I tell you.’
‘No … I mean … oh, never mind. Just keep close.’
‘This never happen in Old Country.’
‘Pav, do me a favour?’
‘What favour?’
‘Don’t mention Old Country in here, OK?’
‘No Old Country. My mouth zip.’
‘Try not to show that you’re scared.’
‘But I terror scared, Charlie.’
Pav gripped harder, moved closer towards me; we were almost hugging. After about twenty yards we stopped walking. It was pitch-black; you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face.
My mind was spinning:
What’s that smell?
Who wants to meet us?
Why do they want to meet us?
Are we going to be hurt?
Can they damage Pav instead of me?
Am I in trouble because Pav’s my newest pal?
Is this a set-up by Pav and his Old Country mob?
Do Mum and Dad know I’m here?
‘I smell the shit,’ Pav said.
‘Me too.’
It felt as if the smell had dragged us to the ground and kicked the living daylights out of us.
From the other end of where we were standing a light shone. Someone had opened a door, allowing the light to shoot out and make a run for it. I was thinking of doing the same when a voice shouted, ‘Can you hear me?’ twice. The first time normal. The second time like he was peed off.
‘We can hear you, yes,’ I shouted back. My voice echoed.
I really tried to sound calm, but calmness had been sucked out of my body and replaced by panic and fear. My echoed tones vibrated with worry.
‘Can you see the light?’ the voice shouted.
‘Yes,’ I returned.
‘Walk towards the light then,’ the voice said.
Our steps were baby ones.
The light was on us, bright and sharp. We could see now.
‘Come through here,’ the voice said, indicating with his hand for us to go through. ‘Come. Don’t be afraid.’ Terror must have been painted all over our faces.
Inside the door was a desk. A computer sat on it, along with a lamp and a phone. Behind the desk was a chair. A comfy, swingy leather number. On the chair swung a man. Longish hair. Lush beard. All in black. His head was gigantic, his belly colossal. Too many burgers and beer. Swinging on that chair was the man they all spoke about. In every way he was the man they spoke about. I knew who he was as soon as I set eyes on him.
The Big Man was exactly how I’d pictured him to be.
‘Law and Duda, correct?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Which is which?’
‘Well, I’m –’
‘Wait! Let me guess,’ he said, swivelling on his chair from left to right and back again, eyeballing us. ‘You, skinny drawers, you must be Duda.’ He pointed at Pav. ‘And you, mega mouth, you must be Law, right?’
‘You’re right. That’s right. Very right. Yes,’ I said.
‘Thought so,’ he said, placing his two hands on the table in front of him and leaning forward like a wildcat getting ready to pounce. I shivered. Pav clutched me. ‘Do you know who I am?’
‘Erm … I think so,’ I said.
‘And who might that be then?’ he asked.
I gulped
.
‘Come on, mega mouth, who do you think I am then?’ He raised his voice.
I gulped again.
‘I think … that … erm … you might be … erm … The Big Man,’ I said.
The Big Man did a three-sixty in his chair, laughing all the way around.
‘That’s right. Here, before you, sits The Big Man.’ He did a crucifix with his arms while saying this.
‘Pleased to meet you, Big Man.’ I didn’t know what else to say. My thoughts were frozen. The last person any teenage boy in Little Town wanted to meet was The Big Man. I’d take the reality of the Regime any day as opposed to the myth of The Big Man.
‘And what about you, skinny drawers?’ he said to Pav.
‘He doesn’t know who you are,’ I said.
‘Let him speak for himself,’ he said, looking directly at Pav. ‘Do you know who I am, Skinny Malinky?’
I gave Pav a wee nudge.
‘I not know,’ Pav said.
The Big Man stood up – and boy, was he a big man – came round from the table and stared hard at Pav.
‘You’re not from Little Town, Duda, are you?’
‘He’s –’ I tried to say.
‘Shut it!’ The Big Man shot at me. He pointed a stiff finger towards my chest. Like he was holding a gun. My whole body rattled.
‘Well?’ he said to Pav. ‘Where are you from?’
‘I from Old Country,’ Pav said.
The Big Man nodded his head.
‘How long have you been in Little Town?’
‘The few week,’ Pav said.
I cringed.
‘I’d say so, given how shit you are with our tongue.’
‘I sorry, I soon to learn with Charlie,’ Pav said.
‘Not to worry, you’ll get there.’ The Big Man moved closer to Pav. ‘Know who else is from Old Country?’ he asked.
‘I no,’ Pav said.
‘My grandmother.’ I’m sure The Big Man winked.
‘Really?’ I said.
‘She came here when she was a few years younger than Skinny here.’
‘Ah, yes?’ Pav said. Eyes widening, grip loosening on my elbow.
‘Those Old Country bastards forced her family out.’
‘We leave also because Old Country bastards,’ Pav said.
‘I hear you, Skinny, I hear you,’ The Big Man said.
‘That’s mad,’ I said.
The Big Man put his hand on Pav’s shoulder, like a father would do to a son who’d done reasonably well at school sports day. In that moment I was glad Pav was here to take the heat out of the situation.
‘You need to be careful of those Old Country bastards, Duda. They don’t like it when their people come to live in Little Town. There’s talk that they’re going to take Little Town down.’
‘Old Country people?’ I asked.
‘They don’t like how we live, Law. They want to destroy it,’ The Big Man said.
‘Destroy it with what?’ I said.
‘Anything and everything they have,’ The Big Man said.
‘But that’s a lot,’ I said. ‘Then what happens after they destroy it?’
The Big Man sniggered.
‘Don’t worry, Law, that won’t happen.’
‘How can you be so sure? Old Country is strong. It has lots of money.’
‘Oh, there’s people in place to make sure that it doesn’t happen.’
‘People like you?’ I said.
‘You better believe it,’ he said. ‘There are many who want to protect Little Town. Every day, people come and ask to help.’
‘I want help,’ Pav said.
‘Hold on, tiger,’ The Big Man said. ‘There will be time for that soon. First things first.’
‘Are we in trouble?’ I asked. Something told me that we hadn’t been brought here to chew the fat about Little Town versus Old Country.
‘Trouble?’ The Big Man said.
‘Yes.’
‘Not that I’m aware of, unless you’ve been out stealing any of my stuff and playing silly buggers.’
‘We broke the dark curfew.’ I kind of bowed my head. ‘Sorry, Big Man.’
‘Ah, we all do that from time to time. I wouldn’t worry about that, Law.’
‘So … we’re here because … ?’ I asked.
‘Yes, why here?’ Pav asked.
‘Well, lads, you’re here because it’s come to my attention that you want to get your hands on a few chairs and other bits and bobs. True?’
Chairs? Bits and bobs? I let out a comfort sigh. The Big Man had popped my fear balloon. I could’ve hugged him … well, not really.
‘Have you spoken to Norman?’ I asked.
‘Indeed,’ The Big Man said.
‘You get chair?’ Pav asked.
‘I can get whatever I want,’ The Big Man said.
We looked at each other and smiled.
‘A big lock?’ I said.
‘Anything,’ The Big Man said.
‘Cool,’ Pav said.
‘Norman tells me you’re after three chairs, one table and one lock? Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ Pav said.
‘And all this is stuff for a shed?’ The Big Man said.
‘You know about our shed?’ I asked.
‘There isn’t anything I don’t know about, Law,’ The Big Man said.
‘Oh, OK,’ I muttered.
‘Norman good friend,’ Pav said.
‘Give me a few days and I’ll get it sorted.’ The Big Man said.
‘For the stuff?’ I said.
‘For the stuff,’ The Big Man said.
‘Very brilliant,’ Pav said.
‘Great,’ I said. This was a great moment in my life, as nobody – apart from my parents – had ever done anything nice for me before, without wanting something in return, that is.
Click: light switch moment.
‘We have no money to pay.’
The Big Man waved his hands. ‘Ah, don’t worry about money,’ he said.
‘How pay we?’ Pav said.
‘I told you, don’t worry about the dosh.’
‘Are you sure?’ I said.
‘I’m sure. What’s a few chairs and a lock between friends, eh?’
We looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. Dad always told me never to look a gift horse in the mouth. So, right there and then, I decided not to look inside The Big Man’s gub.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Thanks,’ Pav said.
The Big Man organised a car to drop us off back at our block. ‘I’d take you myself, but I can’t be arsed,’ he said.
As the car was leaving the smelly factory The Big Man waved us down. We stopped. The windows were electric. I felt rich. He leaned his head inside the car, smiled.
‘Remember, lads, don’t worry about any dosh.’
‘Thanks …’ I said.
‘We’ll sort something out later, eh?’ The Big Man winked before slapping the roof of the car two times.
Our shed would soon be an ultra cool place to hang out in, doing quality things like reading, teaching, chatting and generally having some sanctuary from life in Little Town. But it wasn’t the coolness of the shed, nor the comfy chairs, nor the smooth table, nor the safe locks that I was thinking about on the journey home. I wish it had been. I was thinking about what The Big Man said before his car slap.
We’ll sort something out later, eh?
Sort out what?
10
My Book
On return from The Big Man’s place, cave, den, factory or warehouse – I wasn’t too sure what to call it – my face was the colour of snow. In the mirror I saw beads of sweat on my brow. My pupils were dilated. My tongue bone dry. I stared intently at the figure in that mirror, wondering who was staring back. Thinking to myself: What have you done, Charlie? You’ve allowed The Big Man into your life, what have you done? I knew then and there that life would be different, that there would be a
Charlie Law pre The Big Man and a Charlie Law NOW.
But maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was all about a few chairs and a lock. Maybe it was a favour and nothing more. A decent gesture by a decent man. Maybe I’d got it all wrong about The Big Man being some crazed tyrant. He seemed OK after all. He didn’t do any of the things that were part of Little Town’s urban tales: headbutting, kneecapping, blowtorching, nail-yanking. He treated us well. He liked us. Sure, what type of malfunctioned brain would you have to have if you decided to blowtorch a couple of fourteen-year-olds? No, The Big Man had his wired up properly. I was a good judge of character and could tell his brain was functioning well.
So why did he say it? Why did he say those words? Why did he tell us that we’ll sort something out later, eh? I couldn’t figure it out. All I wanted to do was lie in bed, get excited about the shed and think about how I could improve Pav’s lingo skills, which books would help me achieve this, which approach was best suited to Pav’s needs. Yet my mind wouldn’t let go of The Big Man’s words. I didn’t want to sort anything out later.
I really didn’t.
Mum and Dad used to speak fondly about the library that Little Town once had. Apparently they used to cart me along to it when I was a toddler. The Regime closed it down when I was six so I don’t have much of a memory for it. They did say that a brand spanking new one would be built instead. Still waiting.
However, Little Town did still have a bookshop. Called The Bookshop, it sold books, obviously, pens and paper. All colours. Except white pens. My mission was to get my hands on a lingo book with loads of exercises and diagrams in it, a book that was simple to follow for the basic speaker (Pav), a book teeming with so many new words that it would seem as if they were being fired at you like a hundred-rounds-a-second Uzi.
Boat BOOM!
Dish towel BOOM!
Lampshade BOOM!
Shoelace BOOM!
Tank BOOM!
Grenade BOOM!
My job would be to tie them all together with my own diagrams, verbs and innovative teaching style. Easy. When my eyes opened from a troubled dream, that was my day’s mission.
Our table, when it came, would look so much better with some books and a few pens strewn over it. I wanted the shed to be a beautiful functioning thing. A home from home for me and Pav. It should never be empty. After all, a chair without a bum on it is just a chair. The good guy in me thought it would be nice to put a smile on Pav’s chops as well; the poor fella had been dragging his chin off the floor lately.
The Bombs That Brought Us Together Page 4