Wee Rockets (15 page)

"Did you eat anything?"

"Nothing much. Grilled some fish fingers."

"Do you want something to keep you going until later? Dermot... Your daddy won't be here for another few hours."

Joe's smile broadened. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"And maybe we could watch a DVD or something. We haven't done anything like that in ages."

"Do we have any we'd both like?"

"Stephen left a few films here last night." She watched Joe's face carefully. It didn't even twitch. "I'd my eyes closed for half of the scary one so I could watch it again if you like the look of it. Your choice. I'll get some food on and you get the DVD player going."

"Deal."

From the kitchen, Louise could hear Joe hum a happy tune as he shuffled through the DVDs. Guilt washed over her. Sometimes his height and attitude made it hard to remember his age. He was still a child and she needed to make more of an effort to give him the kind of attention a boy his age needed.

She toasted some soda farls and heated baked beans in the microwave. An old faithful, quick and easy. They sat on the sofa, plates on their laps and steaming mugs of tea with a packet of biscuits on a tray between them. Joe wolfed his beans down before the end of the film's opening credits then ripped open the digestive biscuits. He dunked them into his tea two at a time. The boy had hollow legs.

During a slow scene in the film Joe turned to Louise and cleared his throat. "Ma?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think you'll see Stephen McVeigh again?"

"Probably. He's seems like a nice guy. Do you mind?"

Joe puffed air through his nose. "No. You can do what you want."

"You don't like him, do you?"

"It's not even that. I just know that he doesn't like me."

"Why wouldn't he like you?"

Joe's jaw tightened and he shifted his focus back to the TV screen. "No reason. He just looks like a guy who doesn't like kids."

Louise knew he wasn't telling the full truth, but she let it go. "Son, you don't have to worry. I like Stephen and I'm going to see him again, but he'll never be as important to me as you are. If I find out for sure that he has something against you, I promise I'll drop him like a hot spud. Okay?"

"Really?"

"Of course really, you big geek!" She playfully punched him on the shoulder. "Now can we watch this film?"

Joe laughed. "Yeah. Thanks, mummy."

Louise smiled. She didn't point out that he'd called her mummy instead of ma for the first time in years.

###

Liam loved power. He always knew he wanted to lead the Rockets, but he never knew how good it would
feel
to be the boss.

After agreeing to take the reins he'd gotten in touch with the Fegan twins. Between the three of them they were able to round up the others for a meeting at the Falls Park. Encroaching dinnertime had thinned out the crowd and they sprawled out by the picnic benches furthest from the play area and adult ears. Liam shared the news with them in a steady and confident voice. No sweat.

After the murmurs of surprise, Liam continued. "So I reckon we should get to work to celebrate a shift in our... crew." He liked the sound of the word crew much better than gang. It had serious undertones. "As soon as possible."

"Who made you the leader?" Tommy Murray asked. The four-eyed wanker.

"Joe offered the gang to me this morning. Why? Do you think you should be the boss?"

"I just think there should have been a vote or something."

Liam stood up and pushed his chin forward. "How about this; if you want to take my job, you can stand up and fight me for it."

Tommy looked to the ground. "I was only saying, Liam. I don't want to be the leader. I was only saying."

Liam looked at the others. "Anyone else?"

Nobody took him up. Losing the fight to Wee Danny hadn't cost him too much respect then.

"Good," he said. "Now let's get back to my idea."

The Wee Rockets consented through silence.

Liam continued in his new business-voice. "Up to now we've been playing it too safe. Joe's a mate and I still respect him, but now that he's gone I think we can earn more cash by taking more risks. And I say we get started now. Right now."

"What are you thinking?" Eddie Fegan asked.

"That there are about a million more pensioners on the road at the minute than there'll be at ten tonight. We could do three and still have time to buy a carryout before the off licence closes tonight. So why wait?"

Mickey Rooney, the ginger nut from Cavendish Street, snorted. "Catch yourself on, Liam. The reason we've always waited until there's less people on the street was to lessen the chance of some hero tackling us. We'd have every taxi driver on the road chasing us with hammers and mini baseball bats if we went on a run now."

"Where're your balls, Mickey?" Liam asked. "It was worrying about that sort of shite that kept us back for so long. We have to move on and try new things. And I don't just mean altering the timetable. There's so much more we could be doing, but changing this one thing tonight is a step in the right direction. Next week we'll try something completely different."

The Fegan twins nodded their support and encouragement. Tommy Four-Eyes avoided eye contact but Mickey Rooney tilted his head thoughtfully. He seemed to be coming around to Liam's fresh approach. The other three Rockets didn't voice an opinion either way. Liam thought it a positive sign. It meant they were still interested.

"Do you see the man with the dog?" Liam pointed through the park railings onto the Falls Road. An aged humpback stumbled behind an energetic mongrel terrier. Every couple of steps he yanked on the dog's lead in a pathetic bid for authority. The brown and white mutt uttered a little yelp each time before bounding back to the lead's full extension.

The boys enjoyed the show until the mixed species couple disappeared into Milltown Cemetery.

"The graveyard?" Matt Fegan asked.

Liam nodded. "It'll be pretty quiet in there. Most people visit at the weekend."

"The guy's got a dog with him," Tommy said. "What if it attacks?"

Eddie Fegan made a hacking noise in the back of his throat. "It's fucking tiny! Lace the boot into it and watch it piss off."

Liam stood up. "No more talking. I'm going to the cemetery. If you want to come and help me, great. You'll get a cut of the money. If you don't, then don't bother me again. From now on we're cutting loose the dead weight."

He jogged towards the path, instantly regretting it as his heart sped up. But he'd committed himself to an energetic exit. He'd have to jog all the way across the four-lane road and up the slight incline towards the cemetery gates. Rather than glance over his shoulder to check on his backup, he pulled deep breaths in through his nose and puffed through his mouth. If he lost his breath he wouldn't be able to command his troop.

By the time he got to the gate, the twins were running on either side of him and he could hear the clump-clump of trainers on tar behind him. He stopped at the great stone arch over the cemetery entrance. Pretending to scope out the path ahead, he got his breathing under control before turning to the Rockets. Full attendance. Beezer, as his da would say.

"Right, we'll move in as two groups. Me, Eddie, Matt and Tommy will take the lead. You four hang back like you're not with us. Keep an eye out for witnesses. And if there's an awful lot of noise, sweep in and shut the old bastard up. Then we'll split. Every man for himself for half an hour. Meet up again at the new graveyard, um..." He paused to remember the name. "
City
Cemetery; the one at the Whiterock Roundabout. We'll find another jackpot before news gets out about this one."

Liam's group took the narrowing tarmac path that swept to the left and led them into the thick of the graves. They passed a black-humoured one way sign on their way to the older sites. The second group went off road, moving between headstones. Liam shuddered a little at the thought of them walking over the dead.

The old man had stopped in an untended section of the cemetery. Weeds stood higher than the black and grey tablets of stone. Clouds of midges hovered in pillars of sunlight. Liam placed a finger on his lips and rolled his feet from heel to toe, muffling his footsteps. Their target had his back to them, head bowed to look down on a grave. The tomb stone read, ‘BELOVED WIFE'. As they got closer, he could make out the pensioner's mutterings.

"... and he still shits on the carpet. Awful pest of a thing. I should have bought a Labrador, they're easy to housetrain, but this one was free. I still haven't named him, but the other day my head was in the clouds and I called for Whiskey and this one turned to me. Would it be silly to name him after the last dog? Oh, hold on love." The old man bent a little at the knees and let out a thunderous fart. "Excuse me, Mary."

The Fegan twins snorted laughter. Liam shushed them out of instinct. The old man turned. He looked embarrassed and frightened, just like all the old men they robbed. That was the difference between the grandas and the grannies. The aul dolls always looked more pissed off than scared.

"Can I help you boys?"

The little mutt sensed something was up. It stood still for the first time, by its master's heel.

Tommy Four-Eyes spoke first. "Just give us your watch and your wallet and we won't hurt you."

The pensioner's eyes widened. "Fuck off."

"That's lovely language in front of your dead wife," Eddie Fegan said.

"Shut your mouth, wee boy! Have you no respect?"

The mongrel darted at Eddie. Matt stepped forward and planted a kick in its ribs. Dog and master howled in unison. Liam barged into the old man, and toppled him onto his wife's weed-topped grave. He went through the guy's pockets while Eddie and Matt teased the dog. They stamped the ground in front of it and the wee mutt snarled and yelped alternately. Liam glanced up to see what Tommy was doing. He stood a little back from the twins, rubbing his own arms and hopping on the spot.

"Four-Eyes, get over here and take his watch."

A reluctant and pale-faced Tommy knelt by the grave and grappled with the pensioner's arm. The old guy struggled against them, twisting and rocking like a fitting epileptic, making it impossible for Liam to get a good rummage in his coat pockets.

"Take it easy," Liam said.

The old man swung at him, missing his nose with a backhand swipe by inches.

"Ah, fuck this," Liam said. He thumped the old man's jaw. The struggling stopped. "Stupid bastard."

They left him, stripped of his wallet and watch, unconscious on his wife's final resting place. The little dog wandered away from the scene, trailing his red leather lead behind him. Liam thumbed through the wallet as they meandered to the gates.

"How much is in it?" Tommy asked, breathing hard, and then wrapped his lips around his little grey asthma inhaler. He sucked in a Darth Vader lungful.

"Five fucking quid." Liam jammed the wallet into his back pocket. "What was the dickhead thinking? All that fuss for a fiver!"

The others said nothing and that bugged Liam. They were disappointed in him. He'd just talked about turning over a new leaf and making serious money. And after his first run at the helm he'd made a fiver to be split eight ways. Fuck! He needed to salvage the situation.

"We're doing another one, lads."

"Aye, down at the City Cemetery." Tommy said. The colour was returning to his cheeks. "Which is why we should have split like the other four, instead of dandering along here like we haven't just left an unconscious wanker lying on a grave."

"No, I mean we're doing another one here. Right now. Nobody saw us. We have time before the geezer wakes up."

Tommy gave him a look. Arched eyebrows and curled lips. "You're pushing your luck."

"Nope,
we
are. Or are you going to run home to your ma?"

"I just think we should stick to the plan.
Your
plan. I mean, there's only four of us here now."

Matt and Eddie clucked like chickens. Perfect soldiers; always up for a challenge.