Fireproof (7 page)

He worried about how his mother would react when she found out about his gang's activities. Cathy read over his history of drug abuse. Of course, as Jim was only seventeen, this may have been a false history. His legal records, as a minor, were confidential, and as such the file comprised of Jim's own admissions. In sessions he had dropped hints about hallucinogen usage and at one point relayed an experience at a borstal, where he had served a few months on a drug-dealing offence.

The boy was obviously out of his tree.

Apparently, the Devil had a son named Mike, and he had recently become king of the West Belfast Hoods. Cathy was particularly taken by his description of Mike, which was carefully annotated by Mary during his last session. "He's a big fucker. And he talks to his right shoulder." He had been afraid to go into much more detail in case word got back to the Devil himself.

Cathy wanted to learn more about Jim. She enjoyed reading his file, but thought that a personal meeting with him could be so much more entertaining.

"I see you've taken an interest in young Mr McCracken."

Cathy just about managed not to jump out of her skin. She looked up into the soft, smiling face of Mary. Her wet hair hung in her face, tangled and matted, even more so than usual. The weather had not been kind to her during her lunch break. Water ran down the deeply lined skin of her brow and was absorbed by her bushy eyebrows. Her makeup had run, staining the white collar of her blouse. Her soaked-through woollen coat smelt awful. Mary's inside-out umbrella hung by her side, as useful as a sunroof in a submarine. Cathy smiled back at her weather-beaten boss.

"Hello, Mary. Yes, I had a wee peek at one of the files. I've been thinking about getting stuck into some of that volunteer work we talked about, now that I've got a good grasp of my secretarial duties."

Mary looked genuinely impressed by Cathy's enthusiasm. As she pulled off her saturated coat, her smile widened.

"Oh Cathy, you really are an angel, aren't you? Margaret and I were hoping that you'd bring that up, but we thought you would have left it another few months. Really this couldn't have come at a better time." She dragged curved fingers through the knotted mess on her head and managed to make it look worse. "There have been some very strange rumours floating around the community about what these young adults have been getting up to lately. Crime has increased as usual. But Devil worship seems to be a new craze or something."

"Yes, I can see that Mr McCracken here is concerned about it too," Cathy said.

"That poor boy is very confused by all of this business. One of his aunties is a nun, you know. Hearing about something like this would kill the poor dear."

"I notice that Mr McCracken also has a bit of a drug abuse history."

"Well, Cathy, that was my first reaction too. It's almost always my first reaction. Drugs are flooding those streets out there."

"But you don't believe that they're the cause, do you?"

"No dear, I don't. I think that some very sick people are at the centre of this, spreading a new method of self-destruction. The apathy and low self-esteem of the youths around here makes this place the perfect breeding ground to spread sacrilegious dogma. Most of these young people are already convinced that they are evil. Why not take another step and deal with the Devil?"

"What would anyone have to gain from this?"

"Sociopaths don't think about consequences or results. They thrive on the thrill of inflicting pain and chaos." Mary enjoyed dramatics. "Pushing young people to further degrade themselves and take them to new lows would give a sociopath a buzz like nothing else ever could. They want to feel superior and in control."

"So you believe that a charming sociopath woke up one day and decided to pose as the anti-Christ?"

"Yes, Cathy, and his name is Mike. There may be others involved in this nonsense, but this Mike character is at the centre of it."

"Mike, the anti-Christ?" That's not very exotic, is it?"

"Well, with education the way it is around here, this Mike fellow must have thought any biblical references would have been lost on his disciples."

"When do you think Jim will be back?" Cathy was even more curious now.

"He's started to come in every day now. The worry of all this nonsense has his head all inside-out. It's more than likely that he'll be in today."

"Could I sit in on his session?"

"You can take it if you like. I'm no more qualified to listen than you are, Cathy. We don't try to fix these people. We just offer an ear and sometimes some advice. Usually they just want to use us as sounding boards."

Cathy agreed to meet with Jim after assurances that he wasn't aggressive or lecherous towards Mary during their time together. These assurances were altogether unnecessary, as Cathy had learned to handle such qualities in her previous job, but she feigned gratitude and relief nonetheless. It sounded to Cathy as if Jim was just a bit of a softie.

***

Jim arrived at the Outreach Centre just after half three. His eyes fastened on the new girl. She drank tea from a white mug. She didn't look like the other girls he knew. The other girls wore bleached hair in high ponytails and their skin was more of an orangey brown. The new girl looked like a photo negative; dark brown hair and clear, white skin. Her full lips kissed the rim of the cup with each sip. She put the cup down and smiled. Jim felt his ribs tighten as she looked at him with chocolate button eyes.

"Can I see Mary?" Jim asked. No stuttering.
Good man yourself.

"I'm afraid Mary has quite a lot of paperwork to catch up on today and has asked me to stand in for her. I hope that's okay with you. I'm Cathy."

She held out her hand and Jim shook it. She felt soft and smooth. The nicotine stains on his fingers looked ugly and common against the creamy background of her skin.

Jim let his eyes drop to Cathy's breasts. Not exactly Jodie Marsh, but they were a great shape.

"Sweet," he said.

Cathy left her three-quarter-f cup of tea on her desk and led Jim to one of the private session rooms. It was a dingy little space. The off-white walls were bare to minimise distraction and off-topic conversation. The threadbare, brown, canvas sofas belched dust on contact. A small mahogany coffee table sat between the two sofas which were positioned face to face. Cathy sat with her back to the door and waited for Jim to take his seat. When he did, she waited for him to talk.

"So, you're new here," Jim said.

"Yes."

"You like it?"

"Yes."

"Sweet."

He nodded his head for a while, not sure what to say next. He tried smiling at Cathy but got no response. After two awkward minutes, Jim babbled.

"You seem like a good listener. That's good because I'm a good talker, so this should work out well. I mean people are always telling me I need to learn how to shut up, but I'm, like, a good icebreaker. Like, just there now. It was so quiet that it was wrecking my head and I was thinking all sorts of mad shit, like, is she going to just sit here all day looking at me? Is she going to take her top off? Is she mad, or what? But like, you're probably trained to get people to open up to you, and all that shite, which is dead on, but you don't need to play mind games when I'm in the office, because I'm a dead good talker. You just have to ask me what's going on and I'll always just tell you straight. It's the way I am, you know. I'll never change. I'm fucking mad, I am. By the way, you're fit as fuck. I'd love to take you home to meet my ma."

"Well, Jim," Cathy said, "It's nice of you to be so open with me. Unfortunately we now have a working relationship so I'd like to keep that sort of comment to a minimum. Why don't you tell me a little about what's going on in your life at the minute?"

"Oh, right." Jim felt a little disappointed that Cathy didn't jump over the coffee table and rip off his clothes, but still found it within himself to open up to his new sounding board. Cathy took notes as Jim went off on one. It was good to talk. Meant he didn't have to think.

"Well, the past month has been fucking mental for me, I'm telling you. It all started when Tony punched the head off me for mooning wee Tracey when we were having a carry out in Dunville Park. I thought that was a bit harsh, because I was fucked off my head from sniffing on a bag of glue and just got a bit hyper. I didn't mean anything by it. Well, anyway, I was feeling like a right prick from the beating, but I knew all the others would have ganged up on me if I yapped on about it all day, so I was just sort of taking a backseat. Anyway, we were just about out of cider when this big fucker strolls right up to us, hands me a score and sends me to the off licence for more drink. Well, I didn't need to be asked twice, but by the time I got back with the drink Tony was in negotiations with the big lad. He wanted to send some work our way. Long story short, we tested his mettle by getting him to do a wee job, and he passed with flying colours. Now I think I'm working for the Devil."

At this point he looked up at Cathy to give her the opportunity to tell him he was nuts. She simply nodded and waited for him to go on.

"Right, so like I was saying, I'm working for the Devil. Well, the son of the Devil, but it's the same difference isn't it? And he's not just got us working for him. He's made connections with the Hoods up as far as Twinbrook and everywhere in between. That's almost all of West Belfast! In a month! How the fuck did he do that?"

Cathy shrugged and Jim continued.

"Well, he calls me and Tony's crew the original disciples and we kind of get first rights on the easy jobs, like spray-painting pentagrams on Catholic school walls or stealing the priest's car, and we get tonnes of respect now as well. But even though we don't really do anything worse than we've done in the past, I feel guilty as fuck. We're not just doing these things for shits and giggles. We're doing them for the Devil. That's bad shit and my ma's sister is a nun. How long before we do something nasty to the convent?"

"Why does your boss want to do these things?" Cathy asked.

"It's something to do with being pissed off at religion. I think he wants people to stop believing in God."

"That seems a little pointless to me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Jim, when was the last time you were at mass?"

"I don't know… when I was confirmed, maybe."

"You see? So why go to all the trouble? Do you not think he might be some psycho? Or even just a run-of-the-mill smartarse having a laugh at your expense?"

"No, he's the real deal. And all my friends are jacked into him. It's freaking me out."

Jim patted his pockets for cigarettes before he remembered the no smoking rule. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he needed something to calm his nerves.

"Maybe you should tell him you're not comfortable with this whole business. Perhaps he'd just let you resign, Jim."

"And then I'd look like a right wee cunt. No thanks. I'd never live something like that down."

"It's a bit of a predicament then, isn't it?"

"Fucking right. So what else do you think I could do?"

Cathy made a show of crossing her legs as she nibbled on the pen she had been making notes with. Her sensible knee-length office skirt, headed north and Jim held his breath. Thoughts of cigarettes and drugs vacated his mind as he prayed for a glimpse of underwear.
I bet they're wee, black, lacy ones.

"Maybe I should talk to him," Cathy said.

"Talk to who?"
Come on. Just move that firm thigh another wee bit. We're nearly there now.
Jim crossed his own legs. He was about to burst through the front of his tracksuit trousers.

"Mike."

Jim snapped out of his trance. "Then everyone would know I'm touting to you lot. No, fucking, way."

"Nobody needs to know that you told me anything. I just need someone to point him out to me and I'll take it from there. What do you say Jim? Will you help me out?"

Jim's gaze settled once more on her thighs.
Ah, fuck it. Mike would love this wee honey.

"Aye, okay then. I'll see what I can do."

The imp timed his entrance as impeccably as ever. Mike was shaving when the little bastard appeared on his shoulder. He jerked and blood bubbled under the disposable razor.

"Could you not have waited until I was rinsing the blade, you little prick?"

"Charming."

"What do you want?"

"I have a message from our Master."

"So spit it out, Snot-Boy."

"Yes, very funny, because I‘m small and green. Great imagination you have there, Mike."

"Just get on with it will you? I have a busy day ahead."

"You have to hold a black mass. Master wants to be worshipped by you and your disciples."

"I don't know how to perform a black mass."

"That's what Google is for, Mike. You can download anything these days."

Mike sucked in his breath.

"Is that everything?" Mike asked.

"Yes."

"Then get lost so I can finish up here."