Scenes From the Second Storey

  "Come on then, Anto. Kill me." Her words were barely a whisper. Tears rolled, but she defiantly stared him in the eye. She flashed her oversized teeth again. "Can't do it, can you?"

  "Not so fast, pet. Maybe we'll have a little fun first."

  He waved the knife in front of her eyes. She looked past it, still staring right into his soul. He pressed the edge against her left cheek. There was little give. Slowly, almost lovingly, he caressed her from cheekbone to jaw-line with the blade. Her skin parted easily. Blood bubbled in the fissure then ran down over her ear. She hissed, but didn't scream, and her gaze never faltered.

  "What now, Anto?"

  He crashed the butt of the knife's handle into her temple. Her eyes rolled back in her skull and released him from her stare.

  ****

  "Taylor, it's Anto. Come over to mine as soon as you can. I've some stitching needs done. Come with Magee. Tell him to bring his van. Need to get rid of some rubbish too."

  Anto snapped his phone shut and went to his garage. He quickly located a bag of plastic cable-ties and hurried back to the unconscious trio on his driveway. In a minute he had them bound and ready for transport. Then he sat on the bonnet of his Jag, bled and gasped for air. He suspected a collapsed lung.

  Somebody else was watching him.

  The feeling was back. Like a change in the atmosphere before a storm. He could sense the intrusion. A disturbance in the air molecules. Round two, and he was too fucked to walk, never mind fight. He wished for a gun.

  "You can see what happened to the first three. You want some of the same?"

  "I don't want to fight, Anthony."

  Anto jolted with fright and slid off the car bonnet. Pain seared throughout his abused body as he hit the ground. He screamed.

  "Come on, Anthony. Stop acting the wee girl. Pick yourself up, now. You're embarrassing me."

  Anto squeezed his eyes shut. He hauled himself into a sitting position to face the source of that familiar voice. Then he fought for calm before opening his eyes.

  "Anthony. I didn't come all this way to watch you sit on your hole and whimper. Look at me when I'm talking to you."

  "Daddy?"

  "Fucking grown man and you're still calling me daddy. What are you like?"

  Anto opened his eyes and looked up into the face of his father. The old man pinched a Superking cigarette between his thin lips. Blue smoke curled into the night sky. He wore his flat cap and a corduroy jacket.

  "Am I dead?" Anto asked.

  His father snorted. "No."

  "What the fuck? What are you doing here? How...?"

  "I just am."

  Anto could smell him now. The cloying aroma of tobacco, Guinness and Old Spice.

  "But you can't be...you're..."

  "And what?"

  Anto stared. "I've lost a lot of blood. I'm probably unconscious. This is a dream, isn't it?"

  "I'm here to tell you something."

  Anto shook his head. He wanted to sleep. His mind had already given up the fight his body was losing. It occurred to him that his hallucination might end quicker if he simply went with it.

  "What do you need to tell me?"

  "It's been noted that you've tried to change your ways. You're not the scumbag you once were. Don't let this incident draw you back into that old life. Don't let a bruised ego dictate your fate."

  "Is this a fucking riddle, da?"

  "Watch your mouth around me, son!"

  "Sorry, but I don't understand."

  "You will, Anthony. You will."

  The sound of an over-worked diesel engine cut through the night. Anto's father smiled down at him.

  "Here comes the cavalry. Remember, you're a changed man now. Don't let this bony bitch fuck that up."

  "Da..."

  "And don't make me lose my pride in you."

  Anto closed his eyes at the sound of tyres skidding on gravel. Doors opened and clunked shut. Footsteps approached. Taylor. Magee. Panicked chatter. Anto peeked through slit lids. Headlights blinded him.

  "Don't kill them, Magee." His own voice sounded far away. "Don't kill them."

  ****

  Anto rolled onto his side and pulled the duvet up over his shoulder. Pain raged through his body. He yelped and sat up. His wounded flank pulsed raw suffering.

  Taylor sat at the side of his bed on a chair taken from the study. He glanced up from a paperback.

  "You're awake."

  "Did you fix me?" Anto asked.

  "Pretty much. You'll need to rest up for a few weeks, but you're good as can be expected."

  "Knew I could rely on you, mate."

  "Good job you've type O blood."

  "Fuck, did you have to give me some of yours?"

  Taylor nodded.

  "Thanks."

  "You need to thank Magee too. You got two pints from each of us."

  "Jesus. Don't know what I'd do without you."

  Taylor sneered. "Well, I suppose I'm lucky to be working at all. My CV isn't exactly gleaming."

  "Everyone deserves a second chance. And you've been sober for years."

  "Tell that to the BMA."

  "Was there much internal damage?"

  "Yeah, but I caught it all. Stitched you right up."

  Anto took a deep breath. "And you inflated my left lung, right?"

  Taylor nodded.

  "This is going to cost me, eh?"

  "I'll write up a full report to go with the bill. In the meantime, you need to get out of bed and move about a little. Nothing strenuous, just some slow walking. You've been out for over forty-eight hours."

  "And what about my visitors?"

  Taylor leant back in his chair. "You kept telling Magee not to kill them. He wasn't sure if you knew what you were saying, but since it's easier to kill a live bastard than resurrect a dead one, he's gagged them and left them in the garage."

  "Good. I don't want them dead."

  "Can't keep them captive forever, though. What are you going to do?"

  "See if I can cut a deal. Will you dander out with me?"

  "Yeah, sure."

  Taylor held his hand out and Anto used it to ease himself out of bed. The stairs were a challenge, but they made it. Taylor helped him into a long leather jacket and a pair of loafers and they shuffled out to the garage. Magee opened the door to them and ducked slightly to see past the top of the doorframe. He held a Beretta 9mm by his side. It looked like a little water-pistol in his huge hand. Behind the curly-haired giant, Anto's three attackers sat against the back wall, away from the toolboxes and gardening equipment. They were still, probably weak from a lack of food and proper sleep.

  "Hiya, Anto," Magee said. "Feeling better?"

  "No, I feel like shit, but that's better than dead, right? Taylor told me you lent me a few pints. Thanks. I owe you big time."

  "Ach, I know you're good for it."

  Anto pointed at the handgun. "Do you really need to carry that? They're tied up."

  "Those two fellahs look like pros. I'm taking no chances."

  Anto nodded and inched past his big friend. Shereen's eyes burned through him. Taylor had done a neat job of stitching her cheek. He studied the faces of the two men. They didn't look related, but both wore scraggy beards on their gaunt face. They sweated and shivered. Junkies. Taylor had patched up the Karate Kid's eye. A little spot of blood formed a pupil on the white gauze. The other guy had bruises on his bruises, made uglier by his paper-white complexion.

  Magee's voice rumbled behind him. "I think you need to reconsider your decision. The junkies might not hold their beating against you. Hazard of the lifestyle. We can pay them off. But Shereen will never forgive you for messing with her pretty face. She has to go."

  "I want to avoid that, Magee. Untie her gag for me, will you?"

  Magee hesitated, but did as he was asked. Shereen spat then licked her lips. She spat again.

  "Hiya, Shereen. We need to talk."

  "Fuck yourself, needle-dick."

  "Let's
try to be mature about this, love." Anto turned to Magee and Taylor. "I need to speak to her alone for a while."

  "No problem," Magee said.

  "Just be sensible, Anto," Taylor said.

  Magee hauled Shereen's strung-out friends from the garage one by one. Anto assumed they'd be stored in the removals van. Out of sight.

  "Me and you are going to come to an agreement," Anto said.

  "Just kill me and get it over with. I knew you were hard, but I never pegged you for a sadist. Or have you lost your balls since you've gone straight?"

  "You're not much of a negotiator, are you? Well, that's okay. My offer to you is a fair one. Insanely generous, actually. You'd be a complete idiot not to take me up."

  "What are you doing, Anto? Adding some suspense to the proceedings? Trying to raise my hopes before you torture me to death? Fuck you. You're a sick bastard."

  "Hey, don't give me shit, okay? You can't act the wounded party here. You tried to kill me!"

  "I was only going to rob you."

  "With Bill and Ben the Heroin Men in tow? I doubt it, Shereen."

  Shereen finally broke eye contact. She let her head flop forward so that her chin rested on her chest.

  Anto wanted to hunker down and get face to face with her, but the thought of stretched stitches overruled the urge. He took a deep breath.

  "If I let you go, what's it going to take to keep you out of my life, Shereen?"

  "You're not letting me go."

  "What would it take?"

  "Half of everything."

  "Half?"

  "It's what I should have got in the divorce settlement. But you had your accountants cook up a feast of bankruptcies and debts. I want half of what you really have."

  Anto caught a whiff of tobacco, Guinness and Old Spice. His pulse boomed in his temples and his lip curled. He wanted to spit, but his mouth had turned arid. He croaked, "Okay."

  "That easy, huh?"

  "That easy."

  "Right. Now I know you're going to kill me. You've never accepted a first offer in your life."

  "Things change."

  "Yeah. You got meaner." She looked up at him, tilted her head slightly. "Look what you did to my face."

  "I'm sorry about that. Got carried away."

  "Bastard."

  Anto shrugged. "This isn't really getting us anywhere. Here's the deal. I'm letting you go. Magee will drive you home, wherever that is. I don't want to see you again. You can write to me until we sort out your pay off, then you'll cease to exist to me. Agreed?"

  "If you're telling the truth, I agree. I'm still not convinced, but what have I to lose now?"

  "Good bye."

  Anto shuffled away from Shereen and the scent of his father. He felt a strange sort of serenity, which may have been due to the painkillers Taylor had given him.

  ****

  Shereen with vampire fangs toted a sawn-off. Her black shirt flapped open to reveal anorexia-shrunk breasts. Her floating ribs had pierced through papery skin. Combat trousers hung low on her sharp hips. Anto focussed on a patch of peeking pubic hair.

  "I want the other half," she said. "You can't kill me."

  Anto felt himself harden. "You're already dead!"

  She tongued one of her fangs. Stitches unravelled from her sliced cheek. The wound flapped open to bare yellowy tooth and bone. She winked and cupped one breast. Anto felt orgasm well.

  Shereen with fangs was suddenly in front of him. "I want the other half!"

  She shoved the sawn-off down the front of his trousers. He came in his boxers then sat up in bed, relieved, confused and in pain. He reached out to his bedside locker, snagged a warm glass of water and had a long drink as the residue of his wet dream faded. Empty glass in hand, he lay back down and sighed. He considered a shower but couldn't motivate himself. Fatigue weighed down his limbs but his mind ran free. He was done with sleep for the night.

  It had been three days since Magee had driven Shereen and her junkies away. They were dropped off outside the gates of Belfast City Hall and warned that retaliation would earn them nothing but death. Anto still hadn't heard from Shereen. Magee, bodyguard extraordinaire, had insisted on security precautions. He rounded up a small crew and they mounted a guard of Anto's grounds and the lower level of the house. Taylor called by every day to check on Anto's wounds and drop off some drugs. He didn't say it, but Anto believed Taylor was worried about his patient's state of mind. He wouldn't leave a lethal dosage in the house. Of course, these efforts were kind of in vain. Magee had slipped an old Ruger 9mm under Anton's pillow in case an attacker teleported into the bedroom.

  Apart from cameos in a new weird stream of dreams, Anto hadn't heard from his father's ghost either. Ghost. Jesus, he must've lost a lot of blood before his mates arrived. That had been one bad trip. He hadn't even thought about his father in years. A quack would call it a result of suppressed emotions or something, but fuck that shit. It was a weird waking-dream brought on by shock and body-trauma. The fact that he could smell his father again was simply a hangover from the attack. Like an acid flashback.

  Now he was kicking himself for letting Shereen go because of a hallucination inspired whim. What had he been thinking, offering to pay her off? She didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve the steam off his piss.

  And so he waited. Waited for the letter requesting the money or Shereen's scarred face to appear at his door, this time with a firearm. What an idiot. He thought about asking Magee to hunt the bitch down and end his worry, but he felt embarrassed. Magee and Taylor had both advised him against pacifism, but he'd had none of it, his supernatural experience still fresh in his muddled skull. Now his ego wouldn't allow him to admit his mistake. It was up to him to end things the right way, but first he needed to mend. No way would he risk further embarrassment by tackling her in his weakened state. And until he was stronger, nothing for it but to keep waiting.

  Fucking bitch.

  ****

  The letter came, of course. And rather than go through a solicitor or any third party who would have taken a percentage, she'd provided him with her own address. Violent anger lent strength to the injured Anto. He'd had a week of waiting and worrying. She'd sent the letter by second class mail. So much money at stake and she couldn't even spring an extra few pence for a first class stamp. Fuck the recovery period. He was well enough to snap the neck of one skinny bitch. Now he knew where to find her, it was time to end things.

  He tucked the Ruger into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. Checking himself out in the long mirror in his bedroom he noted that he'd lost a little weight himself. "Use it or lose it," as his personal trainer always said. The coat sagged on his shoulders. His sunbed tan had greyed a little too. He seriously needed a holiday. Maybe after he'd taken care of Shereen.

  He turned on his heel and came face to face with his father.

  "What are you doing, Anthony?"

  "Fuck. Fuck. No."

  That cocktail of scents enveloped him again. Anto's hand went to his heart as he took a step backwards. His father sucked on his cigarette and huffed out a cloud of smoke. Anto shook his head, blinked and still saw the bastard.

  "Did we not talk about this, son? Let the bitch go."

  "Fuck."

  "Change the record, Anthony."

  "Am I sleeping or something?"

  "You'd know if you were."

  "But..."

  "Fuck's sake, Anthony! Let's not go over all this shite again, all right? Just tell me what you're planning on doing with that gun in your pocket."

  "I have to kill her, da. She's a loose end that needs tying up."

  "But you'll fuck everything up."

  "If I give her what she wants, what's to stop her asking for more? She'll know she has me over a barrel."

  "It's only money." The ghost looked around the room. "Even if you lost three quarters of what you have, I doubt you'd starve. Let it go. Let her go."

  "No. I can't let her do this to me. She's a greedy bitch.
And I did time because of her."

  "You did time because you broke the law. Aye, she testified, but she didn't commit the crimes, did she?"

  "She may as well have. The way she spent my money. And she knew where it came from. She was as guilty as me."

  The ghost dropped his smoke and ground it into the carpet with his heel. Anto thought to protest, but stopped himself. Hallucinations couldn't stain, could they?

  "Stop trying to justify this wee revenge act. Let it go, Anthony."

  "Get out of my house."

  "Close your eyes."

  "Why?"

  "Just close your fucking eyes, Anto."

  Anto lowered his lids for a second. Little more than a blink. And his father was gone. Only the smoky, alcoholic, chemical aroma remained, and that faded as he made his way down the stairs.

  He flipped open his phone and called Magee as he strode out of the house. Had to keep moving. Bad idea to think.

  "Magee. I'm coming over to yours. Need to borrow a low-key car for a job."

  He snapped the phone shut and took a deep breath before he collapsed into the driver seat of his Jag. His wounds sent him a warning pang. He ignored them. His phone rang. Magee. Obviously the bodyguard had a lot of questions about Anto's 'job' and how it might affect his boss's early retirement from the life. He'd have to wait. Anto needed to get rolling.

  The roadster barely rocked on its chassis as Anto took blind corners at seventy miles-per-hour. Before he managed to kill himself, the road widened and led him to the Saintfield roundabout. He took a slip-road onto the motorway and drove aggressively towards Belfast. In fifteen hairy minutes he was in West Belfast and ten minutes after that he'd shut off his engine outside Magee's detached house on the Glen Road. The curtains twitched and Magee was at the front door before Anto got out of his car.