Authors: John Dalton
‘You’re late as usual, Des.’
‘Yeh, just been disentangling myself from my employer.’
‘You never really told me how entangled you were.’
‘Later, eh, Errol, it doesn’t bear thinking about just now.’
‘The things you get into.’
‘The main thing is, I got my cash.’
‘Right, let’s wrap it up then.’
Des and Errol sat in the front of the unmarked black van and surveyed the meeting place. Three looming towerblocks encircled the space in front of the station where one broad main road fed into
a large roundabout which in turn led to the expressway out of the city. The traffic was constant and busy. A slip road from the main road to the station was where the meeting was planned.
‘Whose idea was this?’
‘Constanza’s. Said he likes railway stations. Said they’re a good reminder that you should never stay still too long.’
‘He’s probably right about that.’
‘Yeh. I reckon he knows he’s stayed still too long and got his feet stuck. Bumping off whores is a sign of desperation. So, how you reckon it’ll be for the meet?’
‘It’s OK. Lots of people coming and going, cars and vans parked around so we don’t look suspicious. Bit of a problem maybe with the traffic noise.’
‘I hope I can pull it off.’
‘Getting nervy, huh?’
‘Yeh. When you see the end of something, you can’t help feeling that some unforeseen snag will crop up.’
‘By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know, would you, how Scobie Brent ended up in the hospital?’
‘Me? Nah . . . but it sounds like good news.’
‘He’s in bad shape apparently, concussion and stuff. We asked the doctors to keep him in as long as possible and we’ve got a plain clothes guy there keeping an eye on
him.’
‘So he needs fingering soon?’
‘Yeh. And apparently he was half throttled as well. Didn’t he do that to you?’
‘Yeh, that’s another thing doesn’t bear thinking about.’
* * *
‘So what are we g-going to d-do then, Mouse?’
‘Dunno, we’ll have to work something out.’
‘We ought to have a g-gun, that would be b-best.’
‘It’s good, though, isn’t it, what we’re doing?’
‘G-Guess so.’
‘I mean, “revenge”, we’re actually going to try and do it.’
‘Yeh . . .’
‘It’s got to be one of the biggest repressions around, you know, and that’s the way the system wants it. Your mother gets beat up on, your girlfriend gets killed and
you’re supposed to sit meekly back and let some officious arsehole bring the culprit to justice. Huh! All justice is is punishment by boredom in the nick.’
‘And the v-victim’s friends or relatives b-bleed slowly to d-death inside.’
‘Right, when they should be getting it out of themselves and wreaking their own bloody justice. Of course, we can’t have that. People might start bumping off their neighbours. They
might start attacking the bastard system itself! God knows, there’s enough to seek revenge for there!’
‘Too b-bloody right, Mouse.’
‘It’s starting to get dark.’
‘Yeh, c-can’t be long now.’
‘The dark’ll suit us, Stray.’
The battered blue van was parked on the opposite side of the station entrance from Errol’s van. A bank of shrubbery obscured most of it from view. Jerry began to roll up a spliff on his
knees as he sat in the front passenger seat.
‘It must be strange, though, Stray, to know a woman you’ve been to bed with is dead,’ Mouse said.
‘W-What d’you mean?’
‘Dunno, it just seems odd, creepy even, that you’ve been really physically intimate with someone, and now that body’s lying six feet under being caressed by worms.’
‘Jesus, M-Mouse!’
‘Haven’t you ever thought of it like that?’
‘N-No. I think back to when we made love, b-but it’s the f-feeling of the moment, the f-feelings about her I m-miss.’
‘Must be my warped mind. It does bring home the finality of death, though, the physical awareness of sex suddenly turned to putrefaction.’
‘C-Can’t you think of anything else to t-talk about?’
‘Well, yeh, this is a great spliff.’
‘D-Don’t I always make em?’
‘Mind you, this makes me think of sex too, or feel it more like.’
‘What is it n-now?’
‘I’m getting horny, Stray.’
‘N-Now? I mean we’ve go-got –’
‘Let’s go in the back of the van and lie on the mattress,’ she suggested.
‘What about the m-meeting out there?’
‘It could be ages, and I want you to shag me, Stray. And note when I say “you shag me”.’
‘Eh? I d-don’t –’
‘You know what I mean. Up till now it’s been me on top, me screwing you, and for once I want to be the one flat on my back.’
‘I thought you liked –’
‘Come on, be honest. It’s no great deal, but I reckon you can’t do it, can you? Like with the stutter, you’re half stuck in there and you need someone to squeeze it out
of you.’
‘That’s n-not f-fair. If y-you want that y-you should say.’
‘Really? OK, let’s start with a little tickle, eh?’
‘What? Ow! No, d-don’t, you’re – oh, damn! Shit, Mouse, I’ve spilt the d-dope, get off, I –’
‘Bollocks. We’ll have to hold on anyway, Stray. McGinlay’s appeared outside.’
*
Des walked out and felt a cool breeze on his forehead. He looked up. When darkness hits the city, the sky goes. A relief. Eyes can now be rooted to the ground, horizons lost behind
ceilings of light. The sky is a distraction. It’s a void or a reminder of somewhere else. Des didn’t want to think of places beyond just yet; that could tempt fate and increase pressure
when he was so close to the end. He looked over at the office towers with their grids of light. Thirty storeys of furtive labouring. People on the scale of ants. The way it goes, the way we are,
thought Des, feeling weary once more, feeling the bruises beginning to ache. He physically tried to pull himself together and not to give in to dread. He saw a Bentley, silent and ominous, cruise
towards him.
24
‘The things we do, eh, McGinlay, for our employers.’
‘I’m not working for mine any more.’
‘Yeh, guess that’s true.’
It wasn’t exactly a fair situation. Des on his own backed up against a timetable board and the two of them, squat Ross and bulky Gus, standing a little way back by the Bentley. But Des
wasn’t going to complain; it could make them feel more at ease.
‘So you admit that you work for Wainwright, then?’
‘Nah, that’s not really the situation, although he’d like to think it was. Associates, I say. I’m just doing the guy a favour trying to sort this business out.’
‘Quite a favour.’
‘That’s business, McGinlay. A few favours here, a few deals there – confidence, self-interest. It’s complicated but it all hangs together somehow.’
‘You’ve lost me already.’
‘Yeh, well, it’s a different ball game, ain’t it? I mean, you’re just a self-employed grifter really, screwing what you can from people’s problems, like Bertha for
instance.’
‘She got her money’s worth out of me, I reckon.’
‘I bet she did. Did you know I was shacked up with her once?’
‘Yeh.’
‘Quite a woman in her way. Went to seed, of course, but she still had – what you call it? – “sexual charisma”. Charm the pants off most men. Bet you had a fair
taste.’
‘Of course, you were immune.’
‘The fuck I wasn’t! I ended up in the nick because of her! Still, that’s dead and buried now.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it. I mean, you did bump off her daughter.’
‘Don’t slip that shit in, man! She might’ve wanted to stitch me up for any number of reasons, but I don’t reckon she will any more.’
‘Huh-uh, you reckon?’
Ross suppressed a smile. ‘Ever tried cleaning windows on the third floor?’
‘What you on about?’
‘Nothing, man, cept we’ve chewed the fat long enough and it’s time we sorted this deal out.’
Des was beginning to wonder whether he could pull it off. Ross was the type who led with his mouth but nothing he said held any substance. Oil on seawater slopping around rocks and then slipping
away again. But that was words for you, something to drown in, something to obscure action.
‘So what are the basics of this conversation then, Ross?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Wainwright, when I first broached the subject, he seemed happy with a cash deal and maybe a bit of information too, but then he got peeved. Some victims of his own stupidity trashed his
house, so then he says it’s the photos or my neck. Not a good thing to say in the circumstances. I feel quite touchy about my neck.’
‘Understandable,’ Ross agreed. ‘Threats of physical violence, they rub people up the wrong way. But, you know, Wainwright’s an amateur. He loses his cool and you have to
make allowances for that shit.’
‘I don’t want to make any allowances for that shit.’
‘I know, but what the fuck, that’s why I’m here and I can’t see why a few thou your way shouldn’t sort this problem out.’
‘Sounds better. And a bit of information maybe, just to satisfy my own curiosity, you understand?’
‘Come on, McGinlay. What information? My client, understandably, just wants to keep a few photos out of the public domain. There’s nothing more to it than that.’
‘That’s got to be the understatement of the year.’
‘That’s the b-bloke!’
‘You’re sure, Stray?’
‘I f-fucking well am! I saw him d-down the Lime, ponytail and p-part of a f-finger missing. M-Mary pulled him. She said he was m-more interested in whether she took d-dirty p-pictures than
he was in her.’
‘He certainly looks a slimebag, like one of those ageing rock stars from the seventies who thinks he’s done it all.’
‘Yeh, well, this b-bleeder probably has.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ve got surprise on our side. It’s the black guy who worries me. Must be the minder. Don’t know how we’ll get round him.’
‘D’you think we’re b-being t-total idiots?’
‘Ha, probably, but it’s exciting. I feel totally aroused, Stray.’
‘N-Not again.’
‘Don’t be so miserable. We’re involved, right with the action and we have a righteous target standing out there.’
‘And I b-bet that’s as far as it g-gets. I hope McGinlay’s g-going to do something about it.’
‘Doesn’t look like it, does it? Let’s face it, Stray, that guy’s just out there for the dosh.’
‘Like everyone it seems.’
‘God, you’re such a bloody defeatist! Feel, for fuck sake! Feel the anger. Let’s bleedin well do something for once!’
‘I’m t-trying, Mouse, I really am t-trying.’
*
‘OK, Ross, let’s take this in easy stages. You said a few thou, how much exactly is that?’
‘A deuce, and pretty good for you since it’s a bonus. But I don’t mind. You’ve seen an opportunity to play the market, you have a rare commodity and it’s plain
business sense to make as much as you can. But get this, McGinlay, that’s as far as it goes.’
Des took a glance up at the towerblocks that surrounded them. As the meeting had progressed, the number of lights in the towers had diminished. People switching off, clocking off and going home.
He briefly thought he’d like the certainty of that. To turn off the wire, grab his two thou and head for home. But then, where was that?
‘OK, Ross, you’re right,’ he said. ‘This is a bonus for me and I’ll settle for that, but, well, there is an edge in this for me too, like Scobie Brent’s claws
around my neck.’
‘Come on, McGinlay, you got your own back.’
Des then noticed big Gus stepping forward. He seemed irritated as he loomed over Ross’s shoulder.
‘Shit, boss, dis guy im jus stringing you along, an you know we gotta get places t’night.’
‘Yeh, you’re right, man. Come on, McGinlay, let’s do the exchange and get the fuck out of here. You’re wasting time.’
‘OK, but you know, just for me, Scobie was the one who killed Claudette, right?’
‘Jesus, McGinlay.’
‘It’s no big deal for you, is it? You said the guy had to go.’
Ross stood back a little and put his hands on his hips. He looked around briefly at the straggling passengers heading for the station.
‘OK. Let me put you straight about Scobie, right. The geezer’s an arsehole, but occasionally in the past I have used the guy, as an errand boy, a bodyguard – for shipping cash
to the bank, delivering cars – you know. He’s a tough nut and provides good protection.’
‘What is all this shit?’ Des couldn’t help but notice that Gus was edging closer. Like clouds approaching the sun, Gus was a shadow blotting out streetlight.
‘What I’m saying, McGinlay, is that Scobie is a casual. He did work for lots of guys, maybe even Wainwright.’
‘That sounds total crap to me.’
‘You said you wanted information. Fuck knows whether he killed Claudette. All I know is I heard Wainwright cussing Scobie off, said he shouldn’t leave his spunk up a dead
girl’s cunt.’
‘I bet Wainwright would be interested in you saying –’
It was the full eclipse. Des suddenly lost sight of light as a half-smiling Gus leaned over. There was malice in his eyes and garlic on his breath.
‘Reckon I owe you one, arsehole.’
‘Piss off.’
‘You got one over me the udder night. Man, I reckon it’s repay time.’
A slab of hand attached itself to Des’s jacket. The Perspex cover of the timetable board shuddered as Des backed into it. Another slab hand began to delve roughly into places Des regarded
as private.
‘Call this lump off, Ross, and let’s finish the bloody deal.’
‘You’re too curious, McGinlay, that’s your problem.’
‘Fuck me, you were dead right, boss. Dis guy’s gotta lickle black box.’
‘OK, get the photo stuff and let’s split, and quick before anyone else comes!’
Gus’s slab hands found brown manila but they couldn’t quite get a grip. Something else made a connection. A kneecap got uppity and crushed into a groin. Gus’s great shadow
swayed back just a little, Des saw a brief flicker of streetlight but not enough. There was no room to swing a punch. It was arms around each other time, vindictive hugs. Like a drunken sumo dance,
Des and Gus staggered together, straining for imbalance and a decisive trip. Ross Constanza saw immediately that he didn’t carry the weight to sort out such a tangle. He quickly stepped back
to the Bentley, put his hand inside and brought out the gun.