Wee Rockets (35 page)

"I've got to say, Paul, this is a lot cosier than the back of your Clio."

"It's exactly how I imagined it."

"You get what you pay for."

Paul felt very comfortable too. He'd splashed out on some silk pyjama bottoms for himself, and matched them with a vest top that did justice to his toned arms. He'd considered going bare-chested, but figured that undressing added to the effect of a good shag. He glanced at his watch.

"Pizza should be here soon. I'm going to stick on a movie to watch while we eat. Any preferences?"

"You're the boss, darling."

He loved the sound of that. And it wasn't just Emily's accent that tickled him. It was the content.
The boss
.

"
Scarface
, it is, then."

He'd just popped open the DVD case when the doorbell chimed.

"Must be the pizza," he said.

Lifting a twenty-pound note from the mantelpiece on the way, he went to the door and answered it to Stephen McVeigh.

"Hiya, Paul."

"I thought you were the pizza guy."

"Nice to see you too. Can I come in?"

Paul leant one shoulder against the doorframe. He inched the door closed a little, restricting McVeigh's view of the living room. "I'm a bit busy at the minute, mate. Can I phone you later?"

"This is important."

"Here, why are you not at training?"

"I told you, this is important. I knew you'd given it a miss when you didn't call me to offer a lift to the pitch. Figured this would be a good time to catch you. Or am I interrupting a special occasion?"

Paul jumped on the opportunity. "Yeah, special occasion. It's our, um... anniversary."

"Paul?" Emily's cockney accent rang out from the living room. "Can I stick the kettle on?"

He poked his head back inside. "Yeah, go ahead." Then he turned back to McVeigh. "So, can I call you later?"

"I thought Sinead grew up in Twinbrook."

"She did."

"Then why does she sound like one of the birds off
EastEnders
? Whose anniversary are you celebrating?"

Paul shrugged to buy time. "She's just messing about."

McVeigh peeled back his lips in a shark-like grin. "You're full of shit. Who is she?"

"Nobody." Paul glanced over his shoulder. Emily still tinkered in the kitchen. "I'll fill you in later."

McVeigh looked him right in the eye. His lecherous expression melted into a serious frown. "I really need to talk to you about this. It's about your wee brother."

Paul rolled his eyes and widened the door. He directed McVeigh to the armchair and left him there to speak to Emily in the kitchen.

"Where's the pizza?"

"It's not here yet. That was a mate."

"Oh."

"I had to let him in."

"Oh?"

"Do you mind?"

"Mind what...? Oh, no, darling. You never said anything about a threesome. That'd have to be factored into our price."

Paul threw his hands up. "Whoa there, babe! I am
not
angling for that. Jesus, I've seen enough of that ginger beast in the showers at the club. No fucking way is he getting into my bed."

"Okay, okay. So what are you asking me?"

"Just wondering if you can wait about for a minute. He says he won't be long."

"What, out here?"

"Wouldn't you be embarrassed to meet him wearing that?"

"Um..." She stepped forward and offered her hand. "Hi, I'm Emily and I'm a prostitute. Have we met?"

"Sorry. I keep forgetting about that. Doesn't seem so important in the moment."

Emily tilted her head and the corners of her mouth twitched a little. "Ah, that's kind of sweet, I guess. Just don't forget when it's time to pay, all right?"

"Aye. Of course."

"Well, then. Introduce me to your friend."

McVeigh's tongue could have rolled out of his mouth and slapped down on the floor and he still wouldn't have looked any more gobsmacked. Paul got a little embarrassed by his staring teammate. He cleared his throat dramatically. McVeigh blinked and closed his mouth.

"Stephen, this is Emily. Emily, Stephen."

"Pleased to meet you, darling."

McVeigh shuffled his feet like a lust-struck teenager meeting a mate's hot older sister. "Hi."

They settled into their seats, McVeigh on the armchair and Paul beside Emily on the sofa, and stared at each other for a moment. Paul broke the silence.

"So, what's the mad panic?"

McVeigh glanced at Emily then to Paul.

"It's okay, mate. You can say what you want in front of Emily."

The big man shrugged. "Okay, then. I'm here to pass on some information you'll appreciate."

"Okay. Spit it out then."

"I know who's to blame for your Danny's... condition?"

"Condition? What are you talking about?"

"Well, you can't really call it an accident, can you?"

Paul's heart raced. He swallowed the sudden surplus of saliva filling his mouth. "What happened to Danny?"

"Haven't you heard?"

"Would I be fucking asking...?"

"Shit, calm down. I assumed your parents would have been on the blower to you by now."

Paul glanced at his house phone. The jack hadn't been replaced since Sinead's early morning wake up call. And he hadn't turned on his mobile for days to avoid her. Nobody could have reached him at his house. He'd been in the city since early morning, buying crap for his fantasy night and chilling out in coffee shops.

"Hold on a minute."

He bolted up the stairs and scooped his jeans off the bedroom floor. He fished his mobile out of the pocket and switched it on. Almost immediately, a series of text messages came through. The phone vibrated in his hand like a short-circuiting dildo. The messages all centred around one subject –
Wee Danny in the hospital. Fractured skull. Get your arse to the Royal to visit your brother.

Almost breaking his neck in the process, he thundered back down the stairs and skidded to a halt at the bottom. McVeigh stood up, big hands open and palms out, face calm.

"Take it easy, Paul. You need to concentrate on my info."

"A fucking fractured skull!"

"Yes, I know. And there's a culprit. Just try to relax and I'll fill you in."

Paul sat down and held Emily's hand as McVeigh told Joe Philips's version of a fucked up night. At the mention of Joe's da, Paul shot Emily a glance and she looked back, ashen-faced. He held his tongue, not wanting to give away too much in front of McVeigh.

When the big man finished his recount, he stood up, eager to leave. "I'll not keep you from visiting Wee Danny. But give what I've told you some thought, okay? And come and see me when you decide what you want to do about it. I'll help you out if I can."

Paul nodded and brought him to the door. Then he wheeled on Emily. He said nothing. Just stared.

Emily nodded. "I can help you with this, darling. Go see your brother. I'll wait here for you, and we'll talk when you get back."

"Can I trust you? Will you not just fly out of here and warn your
friend
he's in trouble?"

She bent over the sofa's armrest, and even in a state of agitation, the sight of her ass, as the hem of her nightdress raised, formed a tent in his new pyjamas. She sat back down with her handbag in her hands and pulled out a wad of notes.

"This is all my money. I always take it with me because I wouldn't trust that shifty Irish cunt with a jam donut. But you can take it with you as security. I'll go nowhere without it."

Paul felt his resolve soften. She was on his side. Truly a friend in a time of need.

But he took the money. Just in case.

Liam pumped up the volume on his stolen iPod. Hip hop beats and rhymes about dealing crack and pimping in the ghetto filled his ears. He bobbed his head while he cut open the large plastic baggy of cocaine with a penknife. The white powder puffed up as the cellophane split and dusted a small circle of desktop around the bag. Liam sat in his swivel chair and scooped some more powder out with the flat of his blade. He chopped the coke with the penknife, not sure if he needed to or not, then shaped it into lines. With a straw from McDonalds cut down to size and jammed up his left nostril, he hoovered up one of the white rails, gasping as it assaulted his sinuses. His eyes snapped wide open. He smiled.

"Not bad."

He snorted another line up his right nostril.

After a couple of songs he noticed his knees jittering. He needed to get out into the world. See people, do stuff, enjoy life. He'd come to terms with the Tommy thing. And the homeless guy thing. And the security guard thing. Sort of. The nightmares faded from his memory before the post-shower chill raised goose flesh as he towelled himself dry. The key was to spend less time in the shower; his thought tank. He'd become the king of speed showering. One minute flat, he got in, got washed and got the fuck out.

And now he had snow.

More than he could shove up his own nose. E Man had come through big style. The Poleglass dealer had phoned him that morning and they'd done an exchange in the Westwood Shopping Centre car park. Neutral territory. Liam figured that he could sell small baggies to the kids around his age. They wouldn't know if the deals were a little light or a tad overcharged. He'd probably make back double what he'd paid, so long as he was patient and careful. A couple of traits he now knew he needed to work on.

He left the house with the big bag of coke and a shitload of ecstasy in his schoolbag. If his ma broke a habit of a lifetime and decided to tidy his room, he could kiss the stash goodbye. It was safest on his person at all times. Before he could begin distributing he needed to do some shopping. Small cellophane bags, scales, baking powder and a calculator. Everything he needed to know could be found in his CD and DVD collection.

In keeping with his new decision to be careful, he decided to buy each item from a different shop. There were plenty to choose from on the Falls Road, all within walking distance. With the iPod still spewing super-bass beats and bad language direct to his brain, he added a swagger to his stride.

And almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He turned with his fists raised. Joe Philips stared down at him. The lanky bastard took one step back, out of Liam's punching range. Liam tugged the earphones out of his ears and let them hang from the neck of his hoodie. Though he regretted freezing him out the week before, he couldn't show it.

"What the fuck are you at? Don't sneak up on me."

"I called your name, but you couldn't hear me."

Liam forced his shoulders to relax and took a deep breath. Joe stared.

"So, what the fuck do you want?"

"To give you a fair chance."

"At what?"

"Staying alive."

Liam's lips flapped as he blew out an exasperated breath. "Aye, dead on, Joe. Wee bit dramatic, maybe?"

"I'm serious, Liam. Someone wants to take you off the street. If that means hospitalising or killing you, they'll make it happen."

"How do you know this?"

"They came to me asking where they could find you."

"Did you tout?"

"No! Course not! But it'll only be a matter of time before they start threatening me. And let's be honest, the way you disrespected me after Tommy's wake, you could hardly expect me to go through too much to keep you safe."

Liam stared at Joe, waiting for more information. Joe was in no rush to give it up. He needed things to speed up. Slow Joe. Never in a rush.