Wee Rockets (38 page)

When he got back on his feet he could see Wee Paul and the scumbag trading punches. The wee man moved like lightning, placing four or five digs for every glancing blow his opponent dealt. A Tasmanian Devil on speed couldn't have kept up. Dermot was empty-handed and fucked.

"Stop that! Stop that! What are you doing?" The clipped squawk whip-cracked from the top of the stairs.

The po-faced biddy had come up to take their order and stumbled upon chaos. Her shrieking distracted Wee Paul. He glanced over his shoulder in her direction, taking his focus off Dermot for a split second. Dermot pushed himself out of the corner and took the advantage. His hand shot out and Wee Paul screamed. The smaller man stumbled backward, both hands jammed against his left eye. Blood dribbled down his cheek. Dermot rubbed his thumb on the hem of his T-shirt.

"My eye! My eye! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Dermot grinned as Wee Paul rolled about in agony. Stephen screamed. No words. Just a guttural roar. Dermot snapped his attention back to Stephen. They eyeballed each other like duelling gunslingers. Stephen scooped the tumbled wine bottle from the floor and launched it across the room. It glanced off Dermot's shoulder and smashed against the wall. Stephen lifted a chair and tossed it. Bull's-eye. Dermot toppled like a skittle.

"Get out of my café! I'm calling the PSNI! And my son!" The aul doll scampered down the stairs. Her squealed threats faded away.

Stephen paid her little attention. He knew they'd have enough time to finish the job before the first Land Rover arrived. The beaten and bleeding scumbag clambered to his feet. But Stephen had the rat cornered. He stalked across the dull patterned carpet. Then Louise crossed his path to join Emily by Wee Paul's side. Dermot reached out and grabbed a handful of bleached hair. She shrieked as he pulled her into a rough chokehold. Then he held the jagged bottleneck an inch from her face. The half-melted candle still protruded from the bottle's mouth.

"Stay back, dickhead." Dermot's battered lips parted as he sneered.

"You fucking scummy fucking bastard. I'll fucking kill you."

"No. You'll stay the fuck back. Isn't that right, Louise?"

Louise spat her words through clenched teeth. "You get one chance to let me go, Dermot. I'd advise you to take it."

Dermot chuckled, a humourless and painful effort. "I'll take my chances."

Stephen couldn't help but cringe as Louise reached behind her and grabbed hold of Dermot's balls. She threw her head back, smashing it into an already punished face. Wiry muscles bunched in her forearm as she squeezed. Dermot emitted a thin yelp and folded over. He dropped the bottleneck and clutched his sac with both hands. Louise push-kicked his floating ribs and he flipped onto his back. Stephen watched her take him apart in awe. She drew back her foot to crash it into his skull. But Dermot reached out and snatched her weight-bearing leg from under her. Stephen was shocked into action. He darted forward and tried to catch her. Too late. Her head cracked off the edge of a table as she went down. Stephen dropped to his knees by her side.

Dermot groaned as he struggled to his feet. Stephen ignored him. Louise was his only concern. He put a finger under her nose. The warmth of her breath flooded him with relief. He stroked her cheek.

"Louise. Louise. Come on, love. Wake up. Are you all right, babe?"

She groaned a little, and he knew she would come to.

Fucking Dermot Kelly!

Stephen looked up, ready to leap into action and dance all over Dermot's head. But the scummy bastard was moving again. He lashed a roundhouse kick into the already damaged side of Stephen's head. Stephen flopped to his side. He threw his own leg out, clipping Dermot's heel and toppling him forward as the fucker tried to escape. Then Stephen tried to push himself off the floor. Time to finish the job. But black snow floated in his vision and he almost puked. His strength abandoned him. He lay on his side and breathed deep.

Dermot crawled to the top of the stairs. He used the balustrade to haul himself to his feet. Clutching the banister, he staggered down the stairs. Stephen watched the bastard from the floor.

"Go on then, you sleeked cunt." Stephen's hoarse yell caused fresh agony in his skull, but his anger wouldn't allow silence. "I'll get you another time. And it won't be just a beating. I'm going to cut your throat and dump you in the Lagan."

Dermot nodded and waved his middle finger at Stephen as he sank from view. Stephen tried to force himself to chase him down and break him in half, but it was a losing battle. He couldn't even sit up.

"Stephen." Emily whispered for his attention.

"What?"

"I'm a great believer in contingency plans."

She sat by Wee Paul and stroked his hair. The one-eyed GAA hero had gone pale and eerily quiet. Emily's mascara had run to give her panda eyes, but she curved her lips in a grotesque grin.

"What are you talking about?"

"I've some insurance organised. Everything's going to work out, darling."

###

Drum and bass pumped through the walls and poured out onto the street. Joe sucked down a deep breath of summer-drizzly air. The familiar metallic scent zinged on his sinuses. He shouldered open the front door of the Greene family home. Liam's parents had gone for their monthly jaunt to Donegal and the Rockets were making use of the free house. In each hand, Joe held carrier bags stuffed with party food. If you're going to gatecrash, you better bring some goods. The musty tang of hash hung in the cloudy open-plan hallway and living room. He could feel the music in the floorboards, passing through his rubber soles and raising the hair on his calves.

Ginger Mickey Rooney was the first one to spot him. He scurried to the kitchen and came back with Liam and the Fegan twins. The jungle track died and all eyes turned to Joe. He felt as welcome as a preacher in a whorehouse.

Liam broke the silence. "You've a brass neck on you, son."

"I'm not here to start anything. Just wanted to say sorry for what I said the other day. You weren't to blame for Tommy."

"I don't need you to tell me that."

"I know, but I needed to say it. I've been a dick. Let's just get over this. It's gone too far for no reason."

Liam looked around the room to gauge his gang's reaction. They offered him very little. A few shrugs, but nothing decisive. His call.

"It's probably the drugs, Joe, but I'm with you. There's no need to keep this stupid feud going." Liam pointed at Joe's carrier bags. "What's in the bags?"

Joe liked what he heard, but he didn't relax. He needed his wits about him in case Liam was leading him on. "I brought a peace offering. Food and drink so we can eat and be merry. I'd have taken some drugs with me, but I knew you'd have that covered yourself."

"Fucking right we have it covered. We've been toking dope all night. But I've a bag of Es there to wake us up later on. I'm well up for some food too. I've a fuck off case of the munchies here."

A general murmur of agreement seconded Liam's desire to eat. Joe grinned and swaggered to the centre of the living room. He plonked the plastic bags on the pine coffee table.

"It's mostly shit I asked my ma to bring home from the bakery. Cakes and buns. I've a few bottles of Fanta there and all. You can't beat that with a big stick after a night on the weed."

"What the fuck are we waiting for, then?"

The Wee Rockets homed in on the sugary treats as one unit and decimated them. Icing sugar dusted the coffee table and white paper bags lay crumpled on the floor. Just as Joe thought he would, Liam had scooped up all the apple sponge and made a pig of himself. A whole cake, right down the hatch. The greedy shite licked his fingers with a big smile on his face. Joe suppressed a stomach-punishing wave of nausea.

"Liam, I found a bottle of Dr Pepper in our house as well. You're the only fucker I know who likes that shit." Joe tossed the three quarter-f bottle to Liam. "Enjoy."

Liam smiled and twisted the cap off. He glugged the brown liquid down from the bottle.

"Tastes a wee bit weird. Kind of chemically."

"Ach, that's just the weed fucking with your taste buds, mate."

"Aye, probably. Cheers, Joe. Here, did you not get any cake?"

"My ma works in a bakery. Missing out on a donut or two will do me no harm."

"You sure?"

"Aye, no sweat."

"Well, take a seat at least. Matt, pass him a joint."

Joe sank into the sofa between the two Franks. Fra Collins half slept on his left, and Frankie Devlin fidgeted in his usual weasel-like way. Even stoned, Frankie's eyes never got a break from zipping around the room. A real ADHD kid. Joe sucked on the joint, but inhaled as little as he could. He'd have time to get fucked up later, in the safety of his own home. Right now, he was in the company of some true blue lunatics who were doing a piss-poor job of hiding their contempt for him. Joe was under no illusions. Liam was fucking with him. Acting the tomcat. But Joe had never been a mouse. And he was playing his own game.

The night rolled on and the mood remained light, then Liam passed around the baggie of E.

"Take it easy on these Doves, lads. One each. They're strong as fuck. E Man says they haven't been cut."

Joe fished four out of the bag as it passed under his nose. He palmed three and tucked one under his tongue then faked a swallow. "These are Doves, then? Me and Wee Danny dropped some Mitsubishis the other day. Do you reckon there'll be much difference?"

Liam shrugged. "These are better. For the big boys."

Joe gave him an unimpressed lip curl.

Liam swallowed his tab with a big gulp of water. "I heard about Wee Danny."

This is the start of it,
Joe thought. "That right?"

"Aye. He got his head cracked open with a baseball bat."

Joe nodded.

"Were you not there to look after him, then?"

"No."

Liam sucked air through his teeth. "Stupid wee fucker. Still, maybe it'll knock a bit of sense into him. A wee sparrow fart like that trying to do an armed robbery? He must have been out of his tree."

Joe chewed on his lip, refusing to rise to the bait.

"I suppose he'll end up in the Juvenile Justice Centre. And the way he smokes, he may get his wanking hand greased up; for that's the only way he'll be able to keep himself in fags."

Even Fra Collins laughed at that. Joe felt his face light up, but he said nothing.

"You not going to stick up for your boyfriend, Joe?" Eddie Fegan asked. He licked his lips wolfishly.

Joe stubbed his joint out in the ashtray between his feet. He shook his head.

"Ach, Joe," Liam said. "Crack a fucking smile, will you? I'm only slagging."

Joe raised his eyebrows. The pill under his tongue had started to dissolve. He didn't want to give Liam an excuse to unleash the boys, but he couldn't encourage him to disrespect Wee Danny either. He stood suddenly. Liam flinched a little.

"I feel sick, Liam. Be back in a minute."

He ran up the stairs to a chorus of dry heaves from the Rockets. Inside the bathroom, he leaned back against the locked door. Encased in a greasy sweat, he took deep breaths in an effort to ease the ball of sickly panic in his stomach. Seconds ticked into minutes, but he didn't rush himself. He'd done it. He'd come in to the lion's den and was still alive to tell the tale. All he had to do now was slip out the window and let time do the rest.

But he couldn't leave it like that. Not after the way they laughed at Wee Danny. And really they may as well have been laughing at him.
Fuck you, Joe. What are you going to do about it?
They'd soon find out what he could do. There was no way he'd sneak away without enjoying the power of his moment. He needed to be in their presence again and relish knowing. Risky, but worth it. He spat the soggy E tab into the toilet and flushed it. Then he splashed some water on his face and went back to his spot on the sofa.

"You finish puking, you big Jenny-Anne?" Liam asked.

"Aye."

"You were gone long enough. We thought you'd fell down the toilet."

"Nah. I stopped by your ma's room and had a sniff around her knicker drawer."